#while giving him the space to grieve if he needed it

[bootyliciousbeta]

Can someone take Christian's phone away cos he's been spamming me with voice notes of him drunk and saying shit about me putting more effort into being a comedian online than a good pack beta and it's hitting too close to home :(

[captainsaveawoah]

Idk. Something, something secret baby/double life except Johnny and you are together and you’re kept a secret (surprise the man is secretive about his life) from the team.

Bit of a timeline au, You date a few years, you two get married, but it’s still all a secret. Price has an idea, his will has changed, signed off on it himself but doesn’t dig too deep, knows his boys will come to him.

Gaz is the first to comment, Johnny never taking anyone home. Can hear the man most nights finishing into his hands with a groan that sounds something like a name. Johnny just laughs and tips his beer, steering the conversation away.

Ghost though. Can see it. The way Johnny, despite wanting to charge in, gun ‘em down, will take caution, the worry in his words when he’s hurt or downed, not for himself but for someone at home.

Yet, Johnny stays quiet. Doesn’t say a word, rushes back to a “cold, empty apartment” Simon can tell when he and his bird are having a rough patch (little bit of a ghoap thing because they are as gay as they come idk) can tell when Johnny and his bird are in a good place. But the man doesn’t say a damned thing.

You and Johnny have sex… a lot of sex, when he’s home of course. A young couple, so in love, so happy, so wrapped in each other it’s like you made for one another.

You get married, he builds you a house, moves you to Scotland of course. “Need our weens to speak like their papa, yeah?” Knocks you up. Gives you THE CHUBBIEST little boy with his daddies eyes. You know about the task force, know they don’t know about you. You wish they did, wish you knew them personally, they’re the only family Johnny has, but you know Johnny keeps you away for your safety.

He’s about 3 when Simon is at your door. Your eyes widen, like you think you’re dreaming before your on the ground screaming and BEGGING Simon to say it’s not true.

The big guy sticks around, Johnny had felt he wouldn’t come home on this one, told Simon about you before the mission. Asked him to look after you and his son if he doesn’t make it home for supper. Ghost shrugs him off, makes some stupid joke but watches Johnny’s body crumple to the ground as he gets shot in the head.

Johnny told him it had to be him, “Kyle’s got a bird. Captain’s got too much on his plate. Plus you seem to escape death at every turn. Need you to take care of my heart.”

Your son is quick to take to Simon. You not so much, he hangs around, eats all your food, changes his clothes all the time, crowds your space while you grieve the man who became your whole.

But there are days, when you hear Simon and think it’s Johnny. There are days when Simon holds your son and you see Johnny. There are days when Simon’s head is between your thighs you feel like it’s Johnny. You feel bad, he tells you it’s okay. And you believe him, you feel it, mourn it with each passing day, knowing that one day you’ll look up and see only Simon, Johnny will always be there, but one day it’ll just be Simon.

Idk tho.

[sixpennydame]

Captain Levi had never planned to fall in love with you, the pregnant widow of a Survey Corps member.

Your husband wasn’t part of his squad, but he’d seen him fall, just seconds too late from being able to save him. He’d found a letter to you in his pocket and delivered it to you in person; it was the least he could do, he thought. You were gracious and thankful to have this last message from your sweetheart but Levi saw the depth of sadness in your eyes, and something else simmering just below the surface.

“I’m pregnant,” you confess. “Three months.”

“Do you have family to go back to?” he asked.

“I have no one.”

And that’s how Levi found himself visiting your house whenever he came into Trost. It was late fall, so the Corps was on hold from any expeditions, and after he picked up his usual cleaning supplies, he’d find himself picking up some things for you and bringing it by.

“There’s some tea there that is supposed to be good for morning sickness,” he says as he hands you a bag of groceries, “and some of my officer’s rations of red meat. I heard that’s good for a growing baby.”

“You’re too kind, Captain. You don’t have to do all this for me.”

You were right, he didn’t, but he couldn’t help worrying about you, a soon-to-be mother, raising a child on her own.

A month turned into two, then three, your belly growing rounder, your features becoming even softer. There was a glow about you he couldn’t describe, almost angelic.

His monthly visits had become weekly; you would cook him dinner and he’d stay until the fire in the hearth was embers, and your eyelids became heavy.

But this time, as he stood up to leave, you took his arm.

“Captain…could you stay? Just for tonight.”

He knows he shouldn’t. You’re still grieving and probably just lonely. But he can’t deny the pull you have on him. You’re beautiful and kind-hearted, witty and spirited. His thoughts drift toward you so naturally now, wondering how you’re feeling, if you need anything.

If you need him.

And so he follows you to the bedroom and lays on the bed beside you, making sure to stay on his side and give you the space you need. You toss from side to side, finally lying on your back.

“The baby’s too active tonight. I feel like I’m a human punching bag,” you sigh out, then you roll over to look at Levi.

“Do you want to feel it?”

You gently take his hand and place it on your belly. For a while, he feels nothing but the pounding of his own heart, touching you in what feels to him to be so intimate.

But then there’s a little bump under his hand. Then another.

Levi’s experienced many things in his life, but never has anything brought him so much awe than those two little movements.

He spent that night with his hand on your stomach as you drifted to sleep, and decided right then and there that he would do whatever it took to keep you and that little one safe, healthy, and happy.

[elixirfromthestars]

Tulip

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x Florist!Reader

Summary: On a night when the past weighs heavy on Bucky, fate brings him to you.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning(s): established nickname -> tulip / fluff / mentions of grief

a/n: After seeing how much people loved Biker Bucky in Usual I decided to share more of their story with you all 💕 This is going to be a bigger collection of fics, so I will have an official taglist for it and there's more info on that here. That taglist in this fic is not related to the tags on here. The tags on here were for just for fun!! Hope you enjoy!! Likes, comments, & reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

next in their story ♡ // the whole collection ♡

It was one of those nights where Bucky was irritated without reason. His face was etched into an intimidating scowl as he looked at nothing in particular in his bar. The laughter was too loud, the clinking of glasses irked his eardrums like nails on a chalkboard, and his heart felt heavy. Almost as if one of the men in his bar were pressing down on it with their heavy boot. 

Bucky was getting tired of this. Of having these moments where his body thrummed with discomfort and his fingers found the familiar grooves in the wooden table he sat at—etching the oak with erratic lines until his nails were chipped and uneven. He could already hear the shit Sam would say as soon as he saw the added marks. 

Bucky was getting restless—reluctantly so.

“Hey, Buck, one of the—”

“‘m goin’ out for a ride.”

As soon as Steve came over to give Bucky an update on the business, Bucky stood up from the table and dismissed himself. Steve held back a sigh, his lips forming a tight line as his best friend blew him off. He didn’t take it personally, at least not tonight. More than anything Steve was worried for Bucky. It was never easy seeing him fall into this state once a year. 

Bucky always got like this around the anniversary of his father’s death. 

Steve and the rest of the crew exchanged wary glances as Bucky pushed through the bar in a rush. His hands at his sides flexed as he sought out the comfort of his bike. He took out his leather gloves from his jacket—dark and weathered from years of wear—and slipped them on before mounting his Harley. It thundered to life underneath him, the deep rumble easing the tension in his shoulders. 

He pulled out of his parking space, the blacked-out engine chrome gleaming under the streetlights. Bucky had no set destination, just a familiar path he had taken hundreds of times while on patrol. One that transgressed the entirety of the small town he lived in. 

The small town he and his gang protected. 

Bucky twisted the throttle, the Harley's roar echoing through the quiet streets as if warning the town of his presence. He drove down the roads at a steady speed, letting the breeze brush through his hair like a soothing balm. Hoping the night and his Harley would take away the hollow ache in his chest. 

He couldn’t keep thinking of his dad. Not right now. There was too much going on in his life. 

Bucky wouldn’t allow himself to be swept by the bittersweet memories. There were dozens of problems at the bar he needed to solve, rival gangs were stirring up trouble in neighboring towns so his people depended on him now more than ever, and his Ma and Becca relied on him as the sole provider.

Giving himself a moment to grieve—to feel—was a luxury he couldn’t afford. 

After a full loop around the town, Bucky decided to survey the downtown area once again. It was nearing ten at night and the majority of the businesses were closed, and yet he was still adamant about getting a good last look before he returned to the bar. 

He witnessed the usual: Yori and his son closing up their family-owned restaurant for the night, Mr. and Mrs. Fury bickering on their walk home, the savory aroma of Stark’s Pizzeria wafting through the air as he drove by, and a stack of wooden crates dancing in mid-air. 

Hold up. 

Wait a minute.

What?

Bucky had to do a double and then a triple take to make sure his eyes weren’t tricking him. He hadn’t had an ounce of alcohol tonight, and yet he began to gaslight himself into thinking maybe he had. 

That was until you appeared from behind the wooden crates. Huffing out in annoyance and setting them down on the bed of an old pickup truck. Glaring at them as if the fury behind your eyes would suddenly make them ten pounds lighter. 

Bucky stared at you from afar perplexed and yet with a ghost of a smile on his face. He had never seen you in town before, meaning you must have moved here not too long ago. A faint memory of Sam telling him a new shop owner was coming into town crosses his mind, but Bucky couldn’t remember all the details.

With a multitude of other things on his mind, he hadn’t been paying attention at the time. 

The Harley’s rumble softens until it comes to a still as Bucky parks it on the street opposite you. He sits on it for a moment watching you, searching his brain for the finer details of what Sam had mentioned, but nothing comes to him. He’s left to find out more about you in the here and now. 

Bucky suddenly catches the determined expression on your face as you go to pick up three of the wooden crates again. His eyes widen and before he even registers what he’s doing he swings off his bike and jogs over to you.

“Here let me help,” Bucky doesn’t ask or wait for a response as he easily takes the crates from your arms, lifting them as if they weighed nothing. You watch him in startled awe, wondering where this incredibly strong stranger had come from. Hand on your heart to calm yourself down from the sudden intrusion on your solitude. 

“Oh! Um…you really don’t have to—” 

“‘m already carrying ‘em, dollface. Jus’ tell me where to put ‘em.”

Bucky’s voice was calm and collected, but on the inside he wanted to ask you what the hell were in these crates. He’s used to carrying heavy boxes of supplies for his bar, but even then he’d use a hand truck to haul everything in. To think you were trying to carry all of this by yourself…he didn’t know whether to be impressed by your determination or laugh at your stubbornness. 

The wooden crates obstructed your view of each other—and he’d never admit it—but they covered enough of his eye sight to where he had to tilt his head to watch his step.

“Here, let me guide you,” you placed a tentative hand on his arm, trying to ignore the way his bicep flexed under it. There was fragile cargo in those crates and you needed to make sure they got into your shop safe and sound. Bucky showed no signs of rejecting your guidance. 

You carefully led him inside, sliding away any obstacles from his path with your feet. You were still adding the last touches to the decor so there were tools, supplies, and different sized cardboard boxes scattered across the floor. You were able to direct him to a spot in front of the main counter where he could put the crates down—the one area clear of anything.

He placed them down gently before turning to face you. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat the moment his eyes met yours. Your pretty irises glimmered with sincere appreciation coupled with a soft smile that caused an unfamiliar warmth to spread through his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that. His brain has gone fuzzy, words evading him. Almost like a part of him that had been dormant for far too long was yearning for him to not break this gentle moment with you.  

You on the other hand were enchanted by the color of his eyes. A rich blue you tried to pinpoint through the catalog of flowers in your mind. Could the color be matched to a morning glory? A harvestbell? A brunnera? Forget-me-nots? Delphiniums? Hydrangeas?

The longer you thought the more you concluded no flower seemed close enough to the particular shade of blue that was looking right at you.  

“Thank you,” your voice was far too quiet for your liking when you broke the silence. You brought Bucky back to the present, yet not from the trance you had him in. He was particularly invested in the curve of your lips when you spoke and the way your eyes held his like you had known him all your life. 

Bucky cleared his throat, propping his arm on the counter in a nonchalant manner, “Not a problem—looked like you could use the help.” He topped his cool reply with a casual shrug and smirk that made it seem like he did this all the time. 

“Was it that obvious?”

“For a second there I thought those things would crush you.” 

Your sheepishness melts away into a laugh. The sound leaving your lips before you could stop it. You imagine what you must have looked like struggling with those heavy crates. The mental image of it is enough to fill you with mortified mirth. 

Your laugh elicits a soft chuckle from him—the first proper laugh he’s had in about a week or two. 

“‘m gonna go get the rest for ya…” he pushes himself off from the counter, but his voice trails off by the end when he realizes he never asked for your name. A heartbeat passes and with one quick lookover your frame a nickname falls effortlessly from his lips. 

“Tulip.”

Your heart does a little flip in your chest. You know exactly why he called you that. You were wearing denim overalls self embroidered with a multitude of small tulips adorning it in a range of colors. As if that weren’t enough tulips, you had two small pink tulip hair clips on either side of your head, pinning your hair away from your face. 

“I-It’s Y/n, actually.”

“Pretty thing like you—Tulip suits ya.” 

The nickname already had your heart fluttering, but the wink that followed his compliment had you weak in the knees. This man was handsome—deadly handsome. You had sworn off men for a whole year and counting—and now this man presented himself into your life tempting you to throw that oath away until it was nonexistent. 

“Thank you, but you really don’t have to help with the rest um…”

“Bucky. The name's Bucky. And I don’t have to, but I want to, so don’t worry ‘bout it, Tulip.”

With an emphasis on the nickname he’s chosen for you, he makes a smooth exit, the smirk never leaving his face as he saunters back and forth from the pickup truck and carries in crate after crate for you. You distract yourself with miscellaneous tasks around your shop. Yet, your eyes drift to his form here and there greedily taking in his display of strength. 

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky notices, and every time he does he unknowingly straightens up his posture. Trying to make it seem as though the crates were as light as a feather.

When’s he’s all done—after ten crates in total—you’re behind the main counter, arranging a small basket of goods as he approaches you. 

“That’s all of ‘em. Mind me askin’ what’s in ‘em?” Bucky motions over to the crates at his feet with a nod of his head. You present him with a basket of sweet spreads encased in decorated mason jars—the covers all distinctly patterned with different florals. 

“They’re my homemade jams and honeys. As a thank you for helping me carry all those crates in here, I’m giving you one of each,” you hand him the basket and his features soften. His fingers hovering over the rim of the basket like he doesn’t believe he deserved such kindness.  

“Tulip, ya really don’t have to thank me for helpin’.” 

“I don’t have to, but I want to, so don’t worry about it, Bucky.”

When you echo his words from earlier and use them on him he lets out a breath of a laugh, a grin of disbelief on his face. He didn’t expect that. Having his words used against him in a good way.

He was used to the opposite of that.

You were something else and Bucky liked that. He liked that a lot. Especially the way you said his name, it sounded sweeter falling from your lips. As if his name were made out of the same sugary sweetness the goods in the basket were. It caused a stutter within his chest he wasn’t used to. 

No one’s ever given Bucky butterflies this quickly–or maybe ever like this in his life.

For the next twenty minutes you both dove into small talk to get to know each other better. It started off as a pretext of a friendly conversation between two business owners, but it quickly became something more. You confirmed Bucky’s assumptions about you being a florist when you chatted away about your shop. Your outfit and the floral mosaic that decorated one of the walls—the one you told him your aunt had hand painted—was enough for him to put the pieces together. You learned that Bucky owned a bar a few blocks down, one that he ran with his childhood friends. He had served the military with a lot of them and even knew some of them since he was a young boy.

As if the leather jacket, the leather gloves, and the motorcycle parked outside wasn’t enough to tell you—he clearly was a biker. You knew as much when he had this passionate look in his eyes as he went on and on about him and his bestfriend Steve fixing up motorcycles since their high school years. He saw the same passion in your eyes when you told him the story of how your aunt had awakened your love for gardening. The very catalyst of events that led you to move into town and end up on this night here with him.

Both of you offered a part of yourselves in that conversation. An exchange that might seem small to others, but that to the both of you meant so much more. For you both had closed a part of yourselves off for quite some time. 

For entirely different reasons, but with a similar outcome nonetheless.

“Let’s make a deal. I get to keep callin’ ya Tulip and you can call me for help anytime ya need it,” Bucky offers this after you explain to him that your aunt had only been visiting you and left a few days ago. Leaving you to finish up the preparations for the grand opening of your shop in a few days time.

“Tempting offer…” you start, pretending to think about it and hiding your delight at the thought. In reality, you could use the help, and seeing more of Bucky was an added bonus that was hard to refuse. You wanted to get to know him better—you couldn’t deny that—and this seemed like a perfect place to start. 

Plus who were you kidding, you enjoyed being called Tulip. 

“Alright deal,” your smile matches his when you agree. Bucky was in the same boat as you. Not knowing where this could go, not dwelling on what the future may hold, but certain that he wanted to spend more time with you. 

Reluctantly, Bucky pulled away from the counter,“Well I gotta hit the road, the guys’ll be wonderin’ where I’ve been.” The vibrations in his pocket from his phone notifications told him as much. 

You hid your disappointment behind a grateful expression,“Of course. I won’t keep you any longer. Thanks again for the help, Bucky. Let me know what you think of the spreads!” 

Bucky grabbed a hold of the basket of sweets, and slowly walked backwards towards the exit as he wanted to keep his eyes on you for as long as he could. Every fiber of his being fighting to stay.

“Anytime, Tulip—and I’ll let ya know. Have a good night.”

“You too, Bucky. Drive safe!”

Bucky walked back to his Harley smiling like a teenager with a crush. His every step feeling lighter than earlier in the night. Whether he recognized it or not that day, it was all because of you. There was just something about you that was refreshing to Bucky, like the morning air after a night of heavy rain. The first rays of sunlight after a cold winter’s night. The cool breeze that brings you back to life on a hot summer’s day. 

That was you. 

You were the morning air, the sunlight, and the cool breeze. 

He didn’t know it yet, but in due time he would. 

In due time, you would be his Tulip. 

tagging some lovelies who asked to be tagged & others who seemed eager to read more ♡ ♡ ♡

@fanfictionreaderfan @nicksolemnlyswears @tilltheendofthelinebuckaroo @princessjellyfishlove @thewritergremlin-rae

(these tags were only for this fic and not for the full collection, so if you'd like to be tagged for the full thing let me know!!)

[mvth3r]

thinking about daryl giving you a nickname…

18+, mdni

AN: this was a midnight brain worm while i was working on something else, so just walk with me ok!

daryl wasn't really one for nicknames.

he'd never had one coming up, always just "daryl" or "merle's brother" or something else sneered and distasteful. that was fine with him. to daryl, nicknames were rooted in sarcasm and mean jokes.

it hadn't started any differently with you.

that day in the quarry way back, the morning after the walkers had attacked their people. daryl was already aggravated, sweaty and thinking about merle (alone and hurt and alone), and he didn't much like these fucking people anyway, so when you stood with glenn, insisting on a burial over burning, dried tear tracks on your face (those people were your people too. you were mourning with the rest of them), he didn't hold back, sneering "well ain't you just a fuckin' peach," and watching your face harden in the wake of his words.

daryl didn't mean for it to stick, but he found himself defaulting to the silly name anyway. first when he was annoyed at you. you were soft, unfit for the grime of this new world, then when he was poking fun, and eventually... something else.

in the cdc, with a hangover keeping you slumped over the table, "shoulda stayed out the bottle if ya couldn't handle it, peach."

over the long winter on the road, with barely any food or water, "keep up, peach, i ain’t gon’ carry you.”

in the prison, sharing shifts up in the watchtower (because you were sort of friends now) (because daryl felt almost rewarded when your eyes lit up at your nickname), "don't need to teach you on the bow, peach. you're just fine with a knife."

trapped in the train car in terminus, fussing over his injuries even though you could barely map him out in the dark, "peach. peach. quit it, ‘m alright."

the road to alexandria was long and brutal. 'peach' turned into your name and your name turned into silence. daryl was grieving, you were grieving, and the space between you felt like a chasm, dark and wide. finding that community was a blessing in disguise, not just for the group, but for you and daryl specifically. you came back together behind the walls, both unwilling to acclimate, but knowing you needed to try.

‘peach’ made its way back into circulation slowly and then so frequently that even the alexandrians began to catch on.

when daryl had to leave with aaron for a run, “later, peach. i’ll find ya after your shift.”

laughing over your assigned job, “the hell you know about gardenin’, peach? they shoulda put ya in the tower.”

inevitably your relationship shifted into something more intimate. it wasn’t a secret, hell, the group had seen it coming long ago.

‘peach’ stopped being a nickname and became a term of endearment. something daryl reserved for tender moments.

startling awake when daryl joined you in bed, late after a long run, “just me, peach, go back to sleep.”

when you came back from a run that turned dicey, a little worse for wear, “lemme see it, peach, i got ya.”

and in… other moments as well.

your body pressed firmly against daryl's, his lips a breath from yours, whispering, “tell me what ya need, peach. you know i’ll give it to ya.”

daryl laid between your legs, two fingers curling cruelly against your g-spot while you rode out your orgasm above him, “there ya go, peach, so fuckin’ good.”

daryl had never been one for nicknames, this fact held up even after the world ended. your own family was rarely on the receiving end of a playful moniker. but to him, ‘peach’ was easy as breathing and, to you, it sounded like “i love you” every time.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Tim and Danny are half-siblings

Champagne glasses shine in the light like jewelry on people’s wrists and necks and cuff links and literally anywhere else someone can fit. Honestly it’s giving Tim a headache.

Thankfully he wasn’t the only one suffering at this pointless gala. Not that the fundraiser for homeless kids in the city is pointless, but did they really need to throw an expensive party?

“You okay, Timmy? You’ve sighed like four times now,” Dick comments on the comms they all have in.

“Yea, I just-“

“Mr. Drake! How nice it is to see you again. Have you met my son, Daniel?”

Tim turns to find Vlad Masters, CEO of dalvco, dragging along a teen who looked like he would rather be anywhere else but here. The boy, Daniel, glares at the hand holding him by the arm.

“It’s Danny,” like it was the hundredth time saying the phrase.

Masters pretends he doesn’t hear it.

Tim is already working on how to get out of this conversation. He’s dealt with too many parents pushing their kids in his direction tonight.

He throws on a smile anyway and holds out his hand for a shake.

“Tim Drake-Wayne, nice to meet you, Danny.”

Danny hesitates for a second and it results in a tightening of the jaw and subtle glance to where he was glaring before as if Masters just tightened his grip on the teen. Tim says nothing about the awkward pause.

Danny shifts his weight to subtly step on Masters polish shoes, drawing the attention of the man and allowing Danny to slip a piece of paper into the handshake. Tim raises his eyebrows for Danny to see before falling back to pleasant neutral. He tucks the note into his pocket casually.

“Same.”

Tim’s smile becomes a bit more genuine at the teenage behavior.

“Now then,” Masters jumps in after getting himself situated, “I had been meaning to make an appointment with you, but every time I call you are always busy.”

Tim knew this was coming.

“I’m not receiving any calls about the Drake name, Mr. Masters, as you are well aware.”

“You would think that as a young businessman you would look to someone with more experience.”

He really wasn’t being subtle at all, was he?

“I wonder how Bruce would react if he heard you,” Tim warns even though he knows full well Bruce can actively hear the conversation. He turns to Danny while Masters is recovering from that reminder. “Our newest adoptee is about your age. Duke Thomas. He should be around here somewhere if you want to exchange numbers.”

Danny opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off. Masters’ hand goes from clenching the teen’s arm to squeezing his shoulder in what appears to be a warning.

“Oh no, I forgot to mention, Daniel’s entire family and his friends, along with an unfortunate teacher, all died recently in a terrible accident. I was given custody of the poor boy, of course. He’s like the son I never had. Anyway, we wouldn’t want to upset him by replacing what he recently lost, would we? He needs his space to grieve.”

The condescension with the insensitive wording left Tim speechless for a moment, and with the silence over the comms so were everyone else listening.

Tim finds Danny glaring down at the floor with clenched fists. The teen rips himself away from Masters, and when the man tries to chastise him, he turns and stares the man down with such a hateful expression that Tim had to keep from tensing. He had seen too many of those looks in the field, usually on the faces of those he was fighting.

Whatever silent conversation that was happening between the two was ended with Danny grinding his teeth and running away to what looks to be the direction of the restrooms.

“So sorry about him,” Masters apologizes like it wasn’t his fault Danny almost committed a crime. “He’s a bit sensitive right now. I honestly had hoped he would feel better after getting out of the house.”

Masters sighs almost theatrically, “Enough of that. Here is my business card for when you finally decide to-“

Tim walked away before he could finish.

It’s in the bathroom that he finds Duke talking to the door of one of the stalls. They make eye contact but all that’s there is concern and confusion. Danny wasn’t talking.

“Hey, Danny, right? How you holding up? That was kinda rough, huh?” Tim tries.

Silence. Then, “Did you read my note?” He hears come from the other side, small and thin.

Right. The note. Tim pulls it out of his pocket quickly.

“Yea, yea, I read your note,” he lies as he’s quietly unfolding said note. “It’s just, you know… oh.”

Duke raises his brows in surprise at Tim’s sudden change in tone and expression. Tim couldn’t even guess what his face was doing but it was the least of his worries. The younger leans in to read over his shoulder.

“Oh,” agrees Duke.

I think we are half-siblings. Please help me take him down. I’ll send DNA if you need it. It can’t wait.

Oh indeed.

“What does ‘oh’ mean?” Dick suddenly asks over the comms which Tim forgot were still in. “Guys, seriously, do I need to come in there?”

“No,” Tim answers quickly only to realize that Danny can hear it too. “Duke, can you cover the door?”

“Sure, man.”

Tim takes a deep breath and shoves his emotions way down. Danny was already upset and obviously trusting Tim with this, he needed to be a solid support that his little brother this teen can lean on.

It could also be a trap.

“Danny, can you come out please?”

There was hesitation in the air, but he finally hears the click of the lock and the door swings open. The poor kid was holding himself tightly and shrinking into himself, afraid of Tim’s reaction.

“Danny,” he says gently. Danny still flinches. “Why do you think we’re half-siblings?”

He lets the teen chew on his lip for a few moments before he has to repeat himself.

“I was going through my parent’s stuff,” Danny rushes out, “like paperwork and stuff… I found a box pushed way back with letters. At first I thought they were my parents’ old love letters, but it wasn’t my dad’s handwriting even though he signed it ‘Jack’. There was also a picture of my mom and your dad together on an excavation site. The date on the back made a lot of sense because when you add nine months, that’s my birthday.”

Danny looked at Tim with such a lost expression that Tim felt a bit lost himself.

“I never would have thought my dad would cheat on my mom. He was too afraid of what would happen if he did, I thought,” Tim says, leaning into it a little.

“Right? I never thought my mom would, my parents were infatuated with each other, but maybe they were having problems at the time? I don’t know, I didn’t actually read the letters.”

“Can I look through them?”

Danny blinks and then rubs the back of his neck anxiously.

“I mean, yea, but they’re back at my parent’s house in Illinois. I would have to find a way to send them to you, but Vlad is kinda watching my every move at the moment so-“

“What if I went alone?” Tim jumps in the suggest. “I have enough money to go on a mini vacation. I could sneak in when everyone’s asleep and find them.”

“Honestly I doubt it’s locked. You could just walk right in. If you don’t mind the wasted gas, then okay, sure. Need the address?”

Tim respects the confidence and trust.

“Nah, I got it, but I will still need that DNA sample.”

Danny swallows nervously.

“Right, um, what- what do you need? I don’t know how this works.”

Tim nods and a smile to calm the teen down. His nervousness was definitely noted though.

“That’s okay. I’ve done this plenty of times with women who claim their child is Bruce’s. Always ends the same.”

Funnily enough, Danny relaxes at the reassurance lined with warning.

“Oh, that’s good. Okay. Just tell me what you need. Can we do it right now?”

Danny glances at the door and Tim understands the rush.

“Sure, come here,” Tim waves them over to the little sitting area. He pulls out his pocket knife with a mischievous smirk. “Don’t tattle on me.”

Danny stares with a wide smile and even wider eyes. It’s kinda funny how excited he is when most people would wonder why Tim was pulling a knife on them. Maybe they were brothers.

“Whoa, how’d you sneak that in? There was a whole metal detector and everything,” Danny fans.

“A true magician never reveals his tricks,” he smiles at Danny’s pout.

“Lame. You probably paid off one of the waiters or something.”

He actually planted it in one of the plants inside before the event even started, but the kid was close.

“Or something.”

“I always wanted one,” Danny murmurs wistfully.

“I’ll get you one,” is out of his mouth before he knew it.

“What?” Danny jerks up in surprise. “No, you don’t have to do that. I wasn’t expecting-“

“I know,” Tim cuts off the guilty ramblings. “I want to. You should have one.”

“Aw, little Timmy is bonding with his brother,” Dick coos over the comms.

“We don’t know that for sure, Richard,” Damian reminds.

“He sounds pretty legit to me,” Duke adds.

Tim ignores them for the most part.

“Lift up your leg. I’m just gonna give you a small cut on your calf to get some blood. It’ll be quick, okay?”

“Okay.”

Danny doesn’t make a sound when metal meets skin and slices through. He presses down on the wound with his handkerchief to collect the blood. Of course that wasn’t enough for him to cover all the bases, so he asked Danny to spit in his empty champagne glass, which the teen complied with zero complaints.

“Is that it?” Danny asks curiously.

“Yep! I’ll run them down to the lab ASAP and compare against mine. I’ll let you know about the results when they come back. Let me get your phone number.”

Tim was quietly getting more hopeful with how cooperative Danny had been. He hands over his phone easily with a chirped “sure!” to also let Tim put in his number.

“We have to be careful though. Vlad’s been over my shoulder since I moved in. If he finds anything he doesn’t like, it won’t be good,” Danny laughed it off like that was normal.

Tim had suspected a heavy hand with the shoulder squeezing earlier bordering on abuse with what and how he said what he did, but it was looking worse than his original hypothesis.

“Danny,” he says softly, like when he talks to a victim as Robin. Which might ring true here and Tim was already getting angry about the whole thing, if the abuse is real, he might fly off the handle and Kon will be forced to reign him back in. “Do you want to tell me about Masters?”

Danny immediately goes on the defensive, looking around the empty room and shoulders going stiff.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Danny denies.

Tim isn’t surprised, but he also isn’t happy.

“I have more power than you might think, Danny. I can help you.”

Danny shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I don’t- You- It’s complicated.”

“Then explain it to me. Please trust me, Danny. I can help get you out-“

“This isn’t about me!”

His words ring off the tile, making it louder than intended. Danny flinches at the sound and looks to the door with anxious eyes.

“Hey,” Tim whispers. It still makes the teen jump. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“I know that,” Danny snaps, but Tim knows not to take it personally.

“Alright,” Tim agrees easily. That seems to make Danny relax a bit. “What did you mean it’s not about you? It’s your DNA we’re checking against mine.”

Danny bites his lip in anxious contemplation. Looks like Tim is gonna have to pull this one out like teeth.

“Is there someone else involved?”

Danny hesitates but finally nods.

“You can trust me, Danny. I won’t do anything that isn’t in your best interest. I promise.”

Danny’s lip is bleeding but neither of them say a word. He looks desperate and alone. It makes Tim’s skin crawl.

“Promise you won’t do anything yet?”

Tim nearly sighs with relief.

“Yes. I promise.”

“So you won’t tell? You can’t tell,” Danny insists.

Technically it wouldn’t be telling if they can hear him in real time.

“I promise I won’t do or say anything. Whatever is said here is confidential, alright? I won’t tell anyone,” Tim assures.

It seems to do the trick because Danny creeps closer to whisper after checking the door one more time.

“Vlad is my godfather. Uncle Vlad, right? He has always wanted a son and he was obsessed with my mom, so when he met me he, I don’t know, flipped a switch or something and his attention was on me all the time if it wasn’t on Mom. He wanted me to renounce my dad and go live with him. Obviously that didn’t happen so he tried the next best thing apparently and decided he was gonna make a clone of me.”

Danny pauses and Tim needs it to seriously contemplate what even is his life.

“It didn’t work out the way he planned and the only clone to make it was a girl, my cousin, Danielle. Yes, he named her after me. Some things happened, we worked it out, so Danielle was on my side and hates Vlad, right? Well, when everything happened,” he swallows thickly, “Danielle came back from traveling to be with me. Vlad took that opportunity to confine her to the basement. He never wanted a daughter. He never cared about her. So now he’s using her as leverage against me. If I try anything or don’t do what he says, she’s the one that gets punished. If I try to run away, he’d kill her. I know he would. And before I knew about you, she was the only-“

“The only family you had left,” Tim finishes.

Danny nods with a pleading expression.

Tim can understand the primal urge to be close to a blood relative that actually cares.

“Now you have me,” Tim offers with a small smile.

Danny makes the effort to try and smile back, though it falls flat quickly.

“We don’t know that yet. I could be wrong. I’m sorry I threw all this at you, I just- When I found those letters and thought that… I just-“

“I get it.” And he did. He really, really did. “You know, even if we aren’t related I still want to-“

Danny’s phone rings, making the teen jump. He glances at the name calling with a scowl. He doesn’t answer.

“Vlad’s looking for me. I gotta go, but, um, thanks… for taking my word for it and being so nice about it. I promise I’m not trying to pull something for your money. I didn’t even know you were rich until I looked you up-“

“Danny.” Tim was coming to the conclusion that Danny tend to ramble when nervous. He stands and guides the kid toward the door. “It’s okay. I know you’re not lying. I’ll text you the results, okay? We’ll figure this out. Just be patient for me, alright?”

Danny nods and fidgets with his suit coat. He doesn’t make a move to leave yet, instead he turns to face Tim.

“Um, you can say no. I just- is it okay if I hug you?”

Tim blanks for a solid few seconds. It’s only Dick’s cooing and Damian’s sassing that snaps him back to reality. This was real, he has to remind himself. He might have a half-brother and he wants a hug. Tim can do hugs. He can crush a hug, totally.

“Uh, yea. Hugs are okay.”

Danny must not care about his awkward response because he suddenly has thin arms around his waist and soft hair tickling his cheek. They were at the ideal height difference where Danny can rest his head on Tim’s shoulder comfortably. Tim wraps his arms around the teen’s shoulders and just felt.

If Danny really is his half-brother, then fate really is cruel to deprive him of this kinship all throughout his childhood.

Danny pulls away first, face to the ground, and ears red.

With a wavering voice he stumbles out an apology and a thanks before bolting out the door, narrowly running into Dick. He’s disappeared into the crowd in a blink.

“You okay, Tim?” Dick asks.

Tim blinks, “I have a brother.”

“A possible half-brother, but yea, still exciting.”

“The results will come back a match,” Tim says confidently.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Drake. This Daniel sounds pathetic, he would only hold you back.”

“Damian, there is nothing pathetic about trying to protect someone. Danny is thinking about his little cousin,” Dick argues. Damian doesn’t dispute.

“My parents never loved each other,” Tim confesses. “It was a marriage of mutual convenience. It is very possible that my dad found a lover outside their marriage.”

It was weird talking about his parents like that, but it was true. His mother told him once that marriage isn’t about love, it’s a contract between two people with mutual interests and values. His father was always somewhat withdrawn.

Danny had the black hair, the blue eyes, and even the skin tone to match his own. His jaw line was wider and eyebrows thicker, but honestly, they could be brothers if they stood side by side. Half-siblings isn’t even a stretch.

“He’s my brother. I know it.”

Tim spots a flash of silver hair from the crowd and narrows his eyes into slits.

“My brother who is being abused by his caretaker apparently,” he says in a voice that sounds like he’s planning a murder.

Huh. Now that’s a thought.

He could just kill Masters, that would certainly get him out of the way.

“I don’t like that look,” Dick says cautiously, leaning to bring Tim attention to him and not Masters hunting down his little brother. “We’ll help him, Tim. Don’t go overboard here. You can’t afford to get too emotionally involved.”

Tim sends a glare his way.

“Why don’t I prove what I already know, then?”

“Tim-“

He already had the champagne glass in his jacket pocket and his handkerchief in his breast pocket. He shoves past Dick and heads toward the front doors. No one stops him as he leaves the party early and hails a cab back to the manor to start his analysis.

It’s a half a day later when Tim sends a text with an emoji of two males holding hands and a green check mark. It’s an hour later that he gets a shooting star in response. He smiles widely and then gets to work on planning Masters’ demise and his brother’s and ‘cousin’s’ escape into his custody.

[soft-pine]

when i think about this scene from 15.15 it makes me want to chew glass and tear up the walls in rage.

AMARA: I wanted two things for you, Dean. I wanted you to see that your mother was just a person, that the myth you'd held onto for so long of a better life, a life where she lived, was just that, a myth. I wanted you to see that the real, complicated Mary was better than your childhood dream because she was real. That now is always better than then. That you could finally start to accept your life.

for the record i want to say i am a known amara-hater. don't like the non-con shit. don't like that she's doing what so many beings in spn do and narrativizing dean's life back at him while judging him because she drew the wrong conclusions. but i think fandom does have a tendency to take those claims at face value because that is easier than combing back through to check if it's correct or not. (see for example, rachel saying dean only calls cas when he needs him in 6.18. narrativizing, incorrectly. but i digress)

so let's talk about mary. because, through the seething rage, i think two main things about this claim. 1. dean does not have this mythos around mary and 2. mary has arguably more of that mythos around dean.

first off, we'll tackle the claim that it's a myth that if mary hadn't died, dean wouldn't have a better life. because that is absolute, utter, dogshit. OF COURSE HE'D HAVE A BETTER LIFE. while i will always maintain that clearly mary and john were far from stable before she died, her death was what speared john forward into hunting, into turning his kids into soldiers, into neglect and parentifying, and every other god forsaken thing he did. "a better life, a life where she lived, was just that, a myth" - girl, i DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE DIVINE, SHUT THE FUCK UP.

like please don't come here acting like dean grieving the future he could have had that didn't include him taking care of his younger brother alone in motel rooms for days while maybe actually being left as bait for the Kid-Eater is a character flaw on his part that he needs to learn better from.

next, amara claims dean needs to see the "real, complicated Mary."

but hasn't he? dean goes back in time and meets his mom in 4.03 and 5.13. and both times he treats her both as a competent hunter and a colleague. like to be clear, before that, i dont think he was wrong to be relying on a four-year-old's memory of what his mom was like because that's literally all he had access to. but dean actually did meet and interact with the whole, complex woman who was his mother long before amara decided to teach him a lesson with her as the homework. in both 4.03 and 5.13, dean tries to give mary advice to save her life but he doesn't belittle her experience hunting or her desire to leave and life a normal life. i don't know what more you want from him in terms of interacting with his mom as a whole, real, complex person?

this also applies wholly and completely to his interactions with her when she returns in s12. he apologizes for being nervous for her safety (AFTER SHE WAS JUST RESSURECTED) at first. mary says she wants to hunt, dean gets on board. mary says she needs space, dean asks clarifying questions to best support her request. he gets mad at her not for being who she is or needing what she needs but for lying to him for months and working with people who tortured him and sam.

in fact, s12 is what i would point to to indicate how well dean articulates and navigates the nuance of being hurt by someone's actions while still understanding and empathizing with why they did it and forgiving them. for example, he says this in 12.04

DEAN: This whole mom thing, it's... I mean, we get her back, and then she leaves. I hate it, but I get it. I do. I guess I'm just...still working through some of that crap. I'll try to be less of a dick about it.

[you're not a dick, dean, ilu]

in fact, dean's much maligned "how 'bout for once, you just try to be a mom?" isn't even about dean wanting anything particularly maternal from mary. it's about him not wanting her to ditch them to hunt alone and/or with the aforementioned torturers.

so circling back to amara's speech about expectations and myths. cause while her words do not apply to dean. amara's speech does remind me of something that happens upon mary's return in s12. these lines from 12.03:

DEAN: Mom, it's okay. All right? You're home now. MARY: No. I'm not. I miss John. I miss my boys. SAM: We're right here, mom. MARY: I know. In my head. But I'm still mourning them as I knew them. My baby Sam. My little boy Dean. Just feels like yesterday, we were together in heaven, and now...I'm her, and John is gone, and they're gone. And every moment I spend with you reminds me every moment I lost with them.

of course she has every right to grieve the time she lost with her kids. but someone in this room is having trouble really looking at the people in front of them because of their idealized memory of who they were compared to are and It Is Not Dean.

and i just think about dean's speech in 12.22. cause it wasn't dean that needed to see the real mary. it was mary, tucked away in her dream world where sam is a baby and dean is a little elementary schooler who likes pie and has never held a gun, who needed to see the real dean.

[indecisive-capricorn]

Headcanons to Miguel O'Hara x Pregnant Reader:

WARNINGS: There will be a bit of angst, grief, mentions of child loss, but loads of fluff.

SUMMARY: Getting pregnant is one thing, but how will your beloved partner, Miguel O'Hara, react to it when he finds out? And how will he be like throughout your pregnancy?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have been noticing that for the last few months, the Miguel O'Hara imagines are decreasing and I am still very high in my reader phase for him, so in an attempt to feed my fellow still on high Miguel O'Hara lovers, I'll be posting several imagines or headcanons for him. Apologies if it's a little rough, been some time since I made a headcanon.

MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: Before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight.

When you first found out you were pregnant, you were quite unsure what to do. It wasn't as if you were afraid that Miguel might abandon you or anything, but because of what had happened with Gabriella, you knew children was a very sensitive topic for him.

You had talked with Miguel in the past about children and he considered the possibility of having children with you in the future but he didn't feel as if he was ready for kids yet. He was still grieving over Gabriella and you didn't blame him. She was his kid and no parent should ever have to endure the feeling of losing their child, but he has to and it was a scar that he would bring along with him throughout his life.

That was the reason why you are quite nervous to tell Miguel the news and you actually tried to keep it hidden from him for some time. You managed to do a good job at it but it also made you accidentally distant yourself from Miguel too.

Miguel was quick to catch on that something was wrong. Look, you can be the greatest liar in the world and he will still manage to find out your deepest secrets without needing you to tell him any of them. But even before you distant yourself from him, Miguel was able to sense the changes your body was going through. He wasn't precisely sure what it was but he knew something was different and you could blame it on his spider senses for giving him the ability to know that.

Miguel thought you were on your period at first and needed space, but he grew suspicious when your behaviour still had't changed after a few weeks.

And that was when he decided to confront you about your behaviour. He missed your light touches, your cuddles and your daily kisses, especially the cheek kisses you usually give him every morning before going to work or before going on a long mission. He missed pulling you into his arms while sleeping in bed with you, only to have you scooting to the far side of the bed the last few weeks. He missed you so much and he was hurt by your actions as well.

Even with how nervous you were, you didn't want to hide the truth from Miguel any longer, so you told him about your pregnancy.

Shock was an absolute understandment to describe Miguel's reaction to the news. Like, all the signs of your pregnancy the past few weeks came up to him in large capital letters. He should've known from it all but then again, even if you were already displaying a small baby bump, Miguel would only believe it once you actually said it to him.

Miguel would be happy next and he'll be kissing your cheek. He'll say that it is a wonderful news and would ask you for more details about the pregnancy and the baby's health. He'll be quite joyful about it but you knew that there was more to it than that.

You knew your partner better than anyone in the multi-verse and you knew for a fact that while Miguel was more than happy and excited about the news, you also knew that Miguel felt very scared. He was scared that he might fail to protect you and the baby the same way he failed to protect Gabriella. He would swear to you on that day that no harm would ever come to you or the baby as long as he's alive, but it still didn't vanish the fear inside him.

It is something Miguel can't control. Ever since Gabriella died, Miguel had closed off almost everyone in order to protect himself from losing more loved ones. It changed when he met you. You had slowly but surely began to tear down his walls, and encourage him to fight his fears.

His fears continues to stay in him, but you are always there to assure and remind him that you and the baby will be with him for a very, very long time.

After he has gotten over his initial worries and fears, Miguel will be celebrating the news with you. It could be going to your favourite restaurant for dinner or even something as simple as going to the park for a walk and get ice cream. It didn't matter how they celebrate it as long as his beautiful baby mama is happy.

Miguel is the type of person who reads every pregnancy book he can get his hands on. He'll also be taking notes of every word the doctor says during your pregnancy and Miguel will be the one to ask the doctor lots of questions in each appointment. The doctor might think you love to chat and talk about the baby but boy, Miguel could be bringing a whole damn book filled with questions about the baby and your pregnancy, and that wouldn't even be enough to stop him from asking. Miguel is actually tempted to get a personal doctor for you. The guy is filthy rich after all, but you protested against the idea and he decided not to. Of course, he'll secretly have a personal doctor in his contacts and if you ever found out about it, he'll just say it's a precaution.

Speaking of being filthy rich, when it comes to buying things for you and the baby, there is no budget. Before you were pregnant, you still somehow managed to convince him to give a limit when it comes to spending his money, but after he finds out you're pregnant? Yeah no, Miguel will be spending a shit ton of money because it's the love of his life and the mother of his child we're talking about here! He's not paying attention to the price tags, just paying attention to the quality because Miguel only wants the best of the best for his family.

One of the things Miguel knows is really important is quality time and throughout your pregnancy, he tries to be less at work. Miguel can't be out of work completely since the multi-verse needs him, but he can find people to cover his work while he's away to spend time with you.

Miguel is overprotective of you. He has always been protective and perhaps a tad possessive before, especially when there are other guys around, but he is much more protective when you're pregnant. Miguel knows you're not fragile. Hell, he worked with Jessica while she was heavily pregnant and she could have still easily beaten his ass. But there's this instinct that keeps on urging him to just be on guard all the time and because of it, Miguel is always on guard, unless you two are at home alone together.

Miguel adores your growing baby bump. It could still be a small one and Miguel would already be in love with it. He is always touching your stomach, either caressing it gently or leaving several kisses, and this continues on as it grows over time. Miguel's eyes will shine brightly whenever he feels the baby kick.

With that being said, every wish you make is Miguel's command. He will do anything and everything to make you as comfortable and relaxed as you can be. Swollen feets? Miguel's there to massage them. Late night cravings? Miguel's already on the way to the grocery store to buy the ingredients. Suddenly bursting into tears because of your hormones? Miguel's immediately there to comfort you.

Miguel doesn't usually like to take pictures but he tries to take some pictures of you throughout your pregnancy and put them all in a single photo album. He'll also put in the pictures that he had kept of each ultrasound appointment into the album. He does this so that one day when the baby is finally born and has grown much older, Miguel wants to be able to remember all the times of your pregnancy. The photo album is definitely one of his most cherished things and he'll be adding more pictures to it once the baby is born.

Overall, Miguel will be a little scared at first but he will always be very supportive of you throughout your pregnancy and try to be the best partner he can be to you and be the best father to your baby.

[vampiricgf]

Because I love you enough to turn around

(I will never turn from you)

leon kennedy x f reader

wc: 1k +

warnings : alcoholism, self guilt, self shame, mention of a noose as imagery, angst into like hurt comfort sort of thing

sorry im sick n also been thinking heavily about orpheus and eurydice and what it means to love someone enough to turn around (promise it's not all angst but it's pretty heavy on it)

You're in that twilight space between sleep and wakefulness when the door opens. There's no need to startle because you already know who it is, know from the heavy footfalls that make a particularly loose board on the floor groan as he slips off his boots. Know from the softer padding you catch turning the left hand edge, into the bathroom and just as you think it you hear the light click on.

Not every day can be a good day.

It's what circles around and around in your mind as you catch the sound of the taps squeaking on, the sink running at full blast. At least he has the decency to not climb into bed with you reeking of whiskey and possible bile. But you don't resent him for it.

You've never resented him for anything. Never begrudged him anything. Not the constant distance, the secrecy, the occasional white lie you knew was for your own comfort so you never told him you knew he was lying. Never asked him about details, never pressed him, never let yourself get so overwhelmed you dissolve into hysterics no matter how many times you felt yourself reaching that point.

And you don't do any of that now, as you feel the mattress dip with the additional weight and feel him staring at your back. You'd forgotten you put on one of his old t shirts, just to comfort yourself against the uncertainty of if he'd be back before the sun, aggressive and ever constant, demanded you get up and face another day.

Being with Leon was like being stranded on a sheet of ice. Uncertain of its thickness, if it could handle any fluctuation in weight or pressure. Terrified of every crack and fissure that threatened to spread, to send the portion you found yourself on plunging into subzero depths that would stop your lungs and squeeze like a vice grip over your heart.

But it was exhausting to constantly monitor for those hairline fractures, to be the loving partner while wishing you could just grab his shoulders and scream in his face about how desperately you needed him to get his shit together. But you'd never do that, know he doesn't need it from you of all people.

But you don't turn around. You don't give any indication that you're awake and aware and grieving like some old war widow for the millionth time in your short life for a man that still has breath in his body.

Not even as his fingers run down your bicep, hesitant as if he's touching spun sugar that threatens to melt with the slightest heat.

"I know you're awake."

You don't respond, let the silence hang heavy and imposing as a noose from a solitary beam, but you do turn then to finally take him in. And fresh chips are dug out of your own heart as you do, a proverbial ice pick gradually working to cleave you in half.

God has he always looked so tired?

"You should get some sleep," your hushed voice sounds flat, even to your own ears and you hope he doesn't take it as cruelty when it's not. It's a kind of bone deep, spiritual exhaustion. An unspoken wish for a rest so deep the entire world could collapse around you and you would be none the wiser, uncaring as the sky above and just as unseeing.

"I'm sorry." He says it to no one in particular as he turns away from you, stripping off socks and pants.

As you turn back over your eyes burn in the dark, like someone stuck two searing hot coals into the sockets and you bite your bottom lip hard enough to feel a sting. It's good, it's grounding. You shouldn't cry, not like this, not now. Just another burden added to the lump sum is all it would be.

So you don't, you level your breathing as best you can as you feel him climb back into bed fully this time, tentatively putting a hand on your hip as his chest presses against your back. He touches you like he's afraid.

And you're powerless against the way that one single touch acts as a battering ram, destroying the hurriedly constructed emotional dam in a spectacular splintering of wood, and you feel yourself start to tremble. The moisture from your nose is the next signal of disaster, the sign that there is no undoing what has just occurred. And your eyes are suddenly full of all the water in the world, as if you've drunk dry every sea and river on earth only to refill them from yourself.

It feels more like watching someone else weep and sniffle as if their life depends on it, being the unattached observer before turning away, hand over the mouth to hide the shape of words. Glad it isn't me.

But it is.

His arm comes around you, tightening up as he presses his own face against the back of your neck. And the tears flow ever faster, spurred by the shame of being the emotional one. The one that can't help but be naked in their weakness.

You don't move to shift him away, don't move to get up or hurry to the bathroom. You simply can't be bothered. If nothing else he can witness your grief, and there is a strange sort of comfort in that.

You could wail, berate him about breaking his promises of things being different, being better but what's the point of shooting at something that's already dead?

And it's then that you feel it: wetness spotting against the skin of your neck, rolling down your back before being absorbed by the well worn cotton. You feel it and you turn and your heart breaks again seeing his blue eyes twinged in red, one of the many different shades regret dresses itself in. Your reflection is drowning in saltwater, as if trapped in the sea with no hope of rescue.

So you cling to him, arms around his neck and fingers lacing a crown as you hold each other and you cry as if it might be endless. As if all that might exist for eternity is this: the longing and the waiting and the grieving and the sobbing. But in his embrace there is a hope, a small light that peeks through the cracks, so faint you could almost swear you imagined it.

He doesn't smell like liquor.

And for some reason it makes you sob harder, like you're trying to form the shrieking gale force winds of a hurricane from one small human vocal chord.

"I got hung up when we got back, I tried calling- figured you were asleep." His voice is a fragile thing, shaking as a newborn foal on its unfamiliar feet.

For all that you don't begrudge him neither does he towards you. He can't muster up indignation that you doubted him, not when recently he's given you no reason to believe in him. He knows the biting amber liquid is both a crutch and a dog collar with inward facing spikes. Hasn't ever been able to trace the exact point when he stopped seeking comfort in you and instead sought it in sticky bar tops and grimy shot glasses, a flask snuck into a jacket pocket. But it hardly matters when the damage is done.

He spends every day choking on each word he can't say to you. Each time he comes home like a stray that got in a fight to collapse on your doorstep, it bulges and sticks fast in his throat. Every time you cradle his jaw with your fingertips and clean blood from some fresh wound his esophagus caves in on itself. Every time your eyes get unfocused as they linger on his drunken form before you turn away he feels more of the paint peeling off himself.

All of you has felt so out of focus. So he clings to you now, squeezing your body against his like he might be able to absorb you into himself, tuck you away for eternal safekeeping, if he just tries hard enough. Like if he presses his lips to your cheeks, nose, forehead, again and again you'll gain more opacity with each one, be returned to flesh and blood like a princess turned to stone in a story. Awakened by true loves kiss.

So he kisses you, over and over and over. With each pass of his lips you seem to reanimate, hands fliting around his body like you can't decide where they belong, can't decide what part of him to touch or if you should touch all of him. His own drag the worn out shirt over your head, bare your body to his stinging eyes and it's like a salve for all the wounds that still feel like they're split open and oozing all over the floor.

Your kiss tastes of salt and of pain and of loss and of guilt. He wishes he could unhinge his jaw like a snake, swallow all of that ugliness in one pass and leave you as pristine as you were in the beginning. Before he ruined you. Turned you into a hollowed out city, teetering on the edge of uninhabitable.

But renewal, rebuilding, it's all possible. Crumbling structures can be fixed without ripping down the entire framework. They do it every day, how many does he drive past at any given time?

So his lips carve a tender path down the column of your throat until he's hovering over your heart, placing a kiss so chaste against the skin of your chest it's almost religious. You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him still, hold him in just that perfect space above the thundering muscle echoing in his ear as it presses against your warm body.

Not since he was a child has anyone held him so firmly, so tenderly. Not that he would even allow it anyway, not from anyone outside of you. You were the first taste of softness. The first time you whispered that it wasn't selfish to want to be held he felt the fault lines erupting inside himself. It wasn't brave or righteous to continually deny himself or to self flagellate through every word and action, it was nothing but one continual act of self desecration.

But you poured all your love into an empty man, made him whole again and watched as he wasted it. Fresh tears pooled between your breasts, dislodged to drip down your ribs with every breath. He could cry for eternity and it would still never properly express the depth of his shame. Shaking fingers crawl spider like up your sides as he struggles to keep a firm hand on his own breathing, not give into the temptation of rapid, lightheaded madness.

Your fingers marking light trails through his hair soothe him, like calming a thrashing rabbit kicking against its cage. Slowly he can hear his own heart falling into sync with yours, his own chest expanding and sinking in time with yours.

It feels like maybe the world has stopped, stopped and fallen away and all that's left is this room and the two of you. One eternal embrace, stretching out across time like summer saltwater taffy.

And he swears a new promise, whispering against your skin like he could brand the words there forevermore.

I won't waste it.

[demonictacobeard]

Charlie, pacing the floor: Vaggie, I’m worried about Adam. He hasn’t come out of his room in a week! And he hasn’t spoken to anybody since the first day

Vaggie, mumbling: Coming from someone who was his subordinate, trust me that’s a good thing

Charlie, not hearing her because Vaggie spoke so low: He has texted my dad, which is a good sign but also weird?

Vaggie, raising an eyebrow: That is weird, I wouldn’t expect that because there’s the whole wife seducing thing between them

Charlie, nodding and poking her phone: It shocked me too. But Dad spammed him with pictures of different ducks he made and Adam actually replied.

Vaggie: Did he tell him to stop?

Charlie, shaking her head: No, he was confused as fuck why Dad’s in love with ducks. I think Dad’s still typing the response to that….but I’m losing track of what I was originally saying. I’m worried about him! What do we do?

Vaggie, begrudgingly assisting only because she loves her girlfriend: We’ve only taken on residents who’ve been in Hell for a few years, Angel’s been here since the 40’s. But It’s only been a month and a week since Adam’s been in Hell, he’s still coping with it and grieving his old life. That will take time, give him space to wallow then start including him in the activities

Charlie, sighing: You're right. He needs time. And while we wait maybe I can at least get some ribs sent to his room to make him feel a little better……

Meanwhile, Adam who is in a nest of covers hiding from the new world he was stuck in: I didn’t think anybody could have this many fucking opinions about ducks. Except those fucker’s who invented the duck stamp competition on earth, Hah the apple bastard didn’t mention that. I’m gonna rub his face in it

Lucifer, his wings popping out in excitement: THE HUMANS HAVE WHAT?!

[cordidy]

Grieving...

The LaDS men helping you after Josephine and Caleb's fake death (cause he definitively is "shady guy" idc).

I took the part of not dating cause I wanted some friendly comfort and since Zayne is a chilhood friend I assumed he would be more present than the others, hence his is longer (😏🤭)

TW : mention of death, funeral

Featuring Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel and Sylus.

English is not my mother tongue.

- Zayne was in surgery when the explosion happened and it's only a couple of hours after you got admitted to Akso's ER, when he got back to his office to relax, that he got the memo as your physician.

- He spends the night by your side, refusing to move until you wake up and holds your hand the next day when the police comfirms they did not find any remains in the rubble of the house.

- The man will be HERE for you all the way down, moving onto your couch the moment he brought you back home. While he can't clear his bussy schedule, his free time will be dedicated to you, making sure you get healthy meals, rest and all the support you need but also leaving you space of needed.

- Zayne is very organized so wether it's the paperwork with the insurance or the funeral organization he will help and will even step up to take decisions when you mentally can't.

- He's madly in love with you but won't try anything innapropriate in your weaken state, going as far as gently push you away when you try to hit on him one night just to feel something else than the despair you've fallen into.

- "Not like this" he will whisper as you try to kiss him before breaking down in his arm. He will hold you while carressing your hair to try and sooth you thou, kissing your forehead gently, lulling you to sleep with sweet words.

- The day of the funeral he stands by your side, holding your hand tight to remind you you are not alone, your fingers intertwined being the only thing grounding you.

- On the following weeks he will abuse his prerogative as you physician to check your tension and run tests to make sure you are not letting yourself drown in sorrow. Dropping by you place after work will also become a habit and he won't hide the fact IT IS to check up on you, no shit given at the side eye you give him while he is cooking you dinner instead of instant noodles.

- Xavier finds out when the news reaches the Association.

- He will volunteer to bring you flowers and condoleances on behalf of your coworkers and will offer to drive you home when you get discharged from the hospital since you are neighbors.

- He will find ANY occasion to show up at your door. "I ran out of sugar" "do you have hot water ?" "The delivery guy (he bribed) gave me your package" all of these just to check on you without saying it out loud cause he knows you don't like people seeing you in a weak state.

- He will barely get sleep as he wants to be sure he won't miss your knock on the door when you'll start doing the same just to not be alone with your thoughts.

- It will become a habit for you to fall asleep on his couch whihe watching a movie to try and change your mind since your place, so full of memories, will become unbearable. His place will turn into your sanctuary even when he is at work as he gave you a spare key.

- After the funeral, once you're back to work, he will always offer to train together whenever he sees that look in your eyes, just to keep you busy and will start to do some overtime (mainly in the firm of sleeping at his desk) so he has an excuse to walk home with you.

- Whenever one of your friend come to visit and he knows he had a couple hours he will take the opportunity to turn the N109 zone upside down, looking for intel

- Rafayel heard about the explosion on the news, like everyone else but did not realize you were involved so, when you did not answer his messages for the past 3 days (cause you were at the hospital) he got pretty annoyed at being ignored, spaming your phone with complains.

- One evening, he shows up at your door unannounced, all pouting and whinning, thinking the bruises on your face are from another "stupid mission" and it's the reason you didn't show up to his last exhibition when he "really needed you to protect me from all these snobs !"

- "You obviously don't care about me or your job as a Bodyguard ! I could have died over the past 3 days and you wouldn't care" He complains dramatically, not expecting you to snap at him (very poor choice of words from his part thou !) and break down in tears, telling him how immature he is, that the world doesn't revolve around him and you don't want to see him again before slapping the door to his face.

- Thomas is the one telling him what happened when he reads about the upcoming funeral in the news and Rafayel is mortified. He shows up at your doors with flowers and when you tell him you don't want them he stops you "they are for your family..."

- He will spend all his nights on the phone with you, talking about everything, listening to you cry or just being there and won't hang out until you fall asleep (also answering on the first ring whenever you call him back if you had a nightmare)

- Sylus is not around at that time but that doesn't mean he doesn't know someone is trying to frame his organization and himself for the explosion. He will remain in the shadows thou while trying to find out who did it.

- Not being involved with you yet, it's not really about you but more about "fuck around and find out" to him.

- Luke and Kieran will attend the funeral discretly to keep an eye on the survivor and see if anything suspicious happens.

- You also start noticing strange little trinkets left here and there, a little coin, a shinny rock, a pretty leaf....

[currentfandomkick]

Based on this post

Tim tried not to remember.

But when you die the first time from electrocution and get dosed with enough ecto-everything the first time you die, electricity becomes a memory trigger.

Static shocks from a sweater just reminds you of shock wars with someone warm, no specific images.

Somedays when you get hit with Nightwing’s escrima sticks, even low level, you get a flicker of fighting some Discount Dracula and brush it off as a hallucination.

A few rogues hit him with live wires in the rain. Those were always bad. Flickers of people in googles and the worst neon jumpsuits hovering over him, saying words he couldn’t hear. He always felt floaty after, and hid at Drake Manor in his parents’ closet.

His mom’s perfume and Dad’s rank colognes were grounding. those hallucinations were getting worse, sure, but you’re Robin, and as Robin you can’t let Batman down.

Nightwing needs a brother that he can trust to handle Bruce’s depression, suicidal-by-vigilantism, and escalating violence. Nightwing holds everyone else together. Tim can hold just himself and Bruce together and give Alfred a break.

Tim can do it, he swears. He can’t fill growing void Jason’s death left, but he can make supports for Bruce’s crumbling everything. He can be a safety net for Alfred, who is never given grieving space for his lost loved one. He can be the no-drama little brother Nightwing needs after Jason’s death.

But he will not touch being Bruce’s son. Especially after the JJ incident and the memory influx. Bruce is too much like Jack as Brucie, too much like Fruitloop as Batman.

Tim is not Alfred’s grandson or son. He’s a co-parent for Bruce in his time of need (and bullying the man back into someone Jason had loved once). Alfred can be his friend, bug not family.

Tim always honored the dead and mourns them, even when they don’t remember him. Even those that never knew him stretching centuries back. He learned from this life’s parents that bonds are sacred and their loss devastating. They showed him in archeology and actions.

And Tim, he. He’s doing okay.

After the Joker and Freakshow merging into one personas he was shocked over and over.

He heard Freakshow say to kill Sam in the memory.

Vlad strapping him down and zapping him over and over again. His parents vivisecting him despite his screams. Jazz killing them and helping him escape, only to die in Tucker and Sam’s arms in the car. Again.

He killed the Joker then and there. Gun shot.

After the Joker got him and he escaped, he was doing Fine, really! Spectra overlaid on Harley at times, cooing he’s a creepy boy with freaky little powers and his misery is her favorite food.

He has to be useful. Keep Bruce’s head above water. Keep Nightwing from worrying about him. Be the easy kid and he’s loved (conditionally).

His dad only showed up and spoke to him about sports he couldn’t get into, but his new step-mom softened him. He can admit to missing and mourning mom while relaxing so much with Dana.

Dana noticed him flinching at lightning, gave him a noise machine, and offered to get him noise cancelling headphones.

When he admitted his hearing got ‘a lot better lately’ as quietly as he could, she hugged him and told him she’d break the meta abilities to Jack for him.

It wasn’t like Tim hid the ‘tortured by Joker for a few weeks’ thing. Dad knew it was Tim that was nabbed. He also knew Tim was in a Robin costume for a cosplay contest, and found out afterwards how… well, Tim being Robin was.

There are a lot of open secrets in the family. In the extended Drake family, that includes the first Black Canary was Diana Drake, who had too-sticky fingers and was disowned when she kept failing to either improve in hiding it or stop. The meta abilities were low on Tim’s list of priorities as existing… breaking it to Bruce was a hard no-go. So mastering them quickly was key.

Dana asked if he’d tested his vocal range.

Tim had not.

They started with a piano to check. Tim… Tim went far above and below where Dana could hear as they switched to everything from dog whistles to playing with infrasound.

Jack walked in at some-point and they didn’t notice.

Tim was busy working out if hearing echolocation from the Caves’ bats is why he started getting annoyed when he was there that he finally saw Jack sitting there, watching Dana test him.

Tim braced for yelling.

He got a hug. And his Dad holding him too tight while whispering “please don’t leave like Diana”

Tim did break a bit. Not for long, but enough.

Jack finding the Robin suit was not on Tim’s bingo card during the time he was debating coming clean to his fellow Just Us members about his meta-awakening.

Nor was going to Wayne Manor to let Bruce know he was planning to take a break from Robin for personal reasons, only to find his Dad holding Bruce at gun point and demanding Bruce “stay the fuck away from my son”

Jack did hit Bruce with the butt of his gun after Bruce muttered something Tim didn’t hear.

Jack drove them back, the silence tight around his throat. Everything in him demanded he scream to get this growing thing out.

He slammed his hands over his mouth.

Dad pulled over and helped him to a warehouse, feigning needing to vomit.

Tim kept the pitch above human hearing as he screamed, screamed down and was shaking all over.

Jack rubbed his own ears for a moment before helping a collapsing Tim back to the car.

Jack called Tim out sick and the three had a Talk about him being Robin. Especially with his powers emerging.

“Look, B doesn’t know. None of his masks do.” He’d have heard it from Bruce by now if he had. “Nightwing doesn’t either.”

“Batgirl, and the purple one, if they know they’ll tell that prick—”

“Jack,” Dana warned. “Tim, does anyone have any reason to suspect anything?”

Tim took a deep breath and sighed. “No one but us. Diana did a good job severing traceable links back, and I’m not even sure if the current Black Canary knows her mom was from Gotham or believes the cover Diana gave out.”

Jack’s shoulders dropped as the tension drained out of him. “That’s, that’s good.”

“… you have to apologize for the gun at somepoint,” Tim grumbled.

“Not if you’re not Robin.”

“… i may have been debating dropping Robin and toying with making a new alias again.”

“… is this another Mr. Sarcastic thing,” Dana whispered to him.

“Dana!”

“What? I’m not detective but i did do my research young man,” she teased while jabbing a finger at him playfully.

“I—Tim what am I looking at, why is there no armor, and how are you bald?”

“Hahaha, how about we pretend that stint didn’t happen and go over conditions for me solving crimes—we all know i’ll find a way and my team is notorious for international incidents on low stakes, let alone what we’re willing to do for each other.”

Jack and Dana shared a look.

“No Batman.”

“No heroing in Gotham,” Dana added to Tim’s surprise. “Not until we have a better idea on scope, triggers and how you can control and manage your abilities as well as how out you want to be as a meta, in each identity. You can’t unring a bell.”

Tim sighed. “Got it, got it… so i can go on missions with Young Justice still?”

“I’m writing a note that Batman is not allowed near you,” Jack insisted. “He’s not willing to do what it takes to keep you alive.”

Tim took a deep breath before agreeing to that term, and asking to update Alfred and Dick on the matter.

Jack moved to stop him but Dana gave him the go ahead.

Alfred accepted the situation for what it was. Dick offered to sponsor him in the hero community in Bruce’s stead, and reminded him the Titans are always happy to have him, Robin or not.

Jack rolled his eyes but let it slide.

“So Young Justice Missions…”

“Is there an adult on the team?”

“Red tornado is our supervisor,” Tim answered quickly.

“…fine.”

“And Titan missions?”

“They’re adults, they can keep an eye on you,” Jack conceded easily. “Maybe one of them can help with the new,” Jack gestured to all of Tim.

Tim huffed at him. “Thanks dad, really means a lot.”

Jack waved him off. “Weapons check at the window, supervision on missions, and we keep working with your powers. You can tell who you choose, but if you want to be out as a hero, you will be making a new name and will not be patrolling Gotham under this roof, am i understood?”

Tim paused. “So in college I can or—“

“Tim,” Dana warned.

Tim sighed. “Got it… but i can still do casework that’s not in the field?”

“As long as they can’t trace you.”

“Great! And shit, I’ll have to let my rogues know.”

“ ‘your’ rogues?” Jack echoed in disbelief.

Tim smiled at Jack. “Yeah. Some are just mine, especially Anarchy. And Nygma is going to be so bored without me.”

Jack looked at the ceiling. “You just had to be Robin, didn’t you.”

Tim smiled. “Someone needed to, and its not hard to be light to Batman’s dark after the last one.”

The silence hung again. “No dying on me,” Jack warned Tim. “I’m serious.”

Details were ironed out on the days to come. Dana made him promise to call daily while he stayed with the Titans. To not run from her and Jack, please. He also had daily pitch practice, and was given noise dampening headphones as a disability aide for a general sensory disorder so Tim could better focus in classes.

Jack still didn’t trust Batman/Bruce for shit.

…And Tim can’t fault him. Not when he knows his dad wasnt joking about being willing to kill to give Tim a chance at being safe. And that the man who killed mom and put Dad into physical therapy died in jail a few weeks before they moved from a mansion to an apartment.

Tim isnt stupid. Drakes kill to keep their own safe. Bats don’t.

Tim…. Tim doesnt want to, and Dad respects it. Dana isnt the killing type, but won’t stop Jack or whoever he hires.

Joker’s persistent living status AFTER killing the second Robin didn’t endear Bruce to Jack in the slightest. Tim being tortured for weeks and awakening the family meta-gene only soured whatever mild distaste remained into visceral disgust.

Stephanie became Gotham’s Robin while Tim is now the YJ’s and Titan’s was the only compromise Jack would make.

Jack’s rules made more sense as Tim’s… memories(?) from his last life began to spill out. The mundanities of school and home were easily manageable. Making small memory shrines to his late friends in his last life soothed an ache in his chest. Tucker had a sand timer and random bits and bobs for tech, Sam got a few house plants and his old camera. Jazz had a teddy bear and a few psychology papers he thought she might enjoy. Dani got fudge and a few language books with a world map. He still felt guilty for not stopping her death. Technus got an old handheld he didn’t use anymore, Ember got incense and he played indi rock for her. Dora got a dragon figurine and a Disney princess folder with some dress designs he thought she’d like. Pandora has a few batarangs he scavenged and fixed. Frostbite’s was by the icemaker, and was gifted herbal tea blends in ice cube form.

Dana called it grieving and encouraged him to let it happen and let himself feel. He… tried not to think about Jack and Maddie.

Tim trippled down on cold cases to cope. Jack began to turn off the internet after 3 am, only to work again after 9.

He was managing. And working out pitches and how they relate to his emotional state.

The problem came with training at the Tower as Robin, the boy with no powers and working through joker trauma.

During a spar with Dick, Tim had a flashback to Dani’s End and Perfect Danny melting. His own fucking Death too!

It was vomit inducing.

He came to to Nightwing crowding him and murmuring, “breathe with me baby bird”

They didnt talk about it after.

Tim noticed Dick stopped using electricity during their spars altogether, and carefully stayed a certain distance from him in the field. Static picked up on it and Tim shook his head when he moved to talk about it. He just. Needed a bit more time.

He hated himself for it. For the concern causing and being so… useless.

He grabbed another stack of cold cases in Bludhaven and kept solving them, as Tim, Robin and left ghem for Dick to handle.

Dana and him would practice his range at home. Piano ready.

He forgot that plants snitch to Ivy.

Ivy tapping his window to state the dandelions found his singing ‘annoying’ and he’d be getting lessons in singing for plants “or else” was an experience he did not need, nor was he reporting to anyone until a few days later.

Dad took a deep breath and asked him if this is what he wanted.

Dana offered to move closer to her home town and job hunt there if it made Tim more comfortable.

Ultimately Tim ended up getting lessons in plant language from Ivy, as he could hear them anyways. It could be useful for when he works out a new vigilante identity in the future.

Stephanie catching him at Ivy’s while her big boy “Denny” was arguing with Tim about if Tim can shatter concrete with a scream yet given his voice is cracking every other word lately was not in his plans.

Stephanie was about to ask what was going on when Ivy chimed in with “now Timmy, Benny isn’t wrong about it if we go with a thin layer of concrete and you put some effort into it. You can go very low and it does freak out people when you follow the angry tree hum. Now, if you scream that it should be destructive—didn’t a cousin of yours have the same meta ability?”

Tim denied it as keeping cousin Diana’s secret was a family thing. Ivy finding it out with how hidden it had been was not in the cards. Stephanie overhearing was also far from ideal.

Ivy let it go eventually, and demanded Tim do more community service for the beaches. He had no objections, and just asked if she could not implicate him in her next murder spree.

Ivy agreed to ‘think about it’ before letting Tim go after he finished reorganizing some of her chemicals and cleaning her tools. Their agreed ‘payment’ for his lessons in plant language and her interest in his meta abilities being vocal based but having a major change in his hearing.

He wasn’t the first meta she’d taken an interest in helping, and Tim saw signs of others, bumping into a few before and none of them saying shit.

Stephanie met up with him a block away from Ivy’s lair.

She hit him like Sam used to. And agreed to say nothing until he gave the word.

Her reminding him of Sam ached in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Her agreeing to say nothing relaxed him more than he realized he needed to.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. But Ivy for help?”

“Plants outted me. Apparently my singing is disturbing.”

“It is, the plants have good taste.”

He let himself feel normal for a bit. Ivy doesn’t out metas or use them. She is going to kill though, and probably ask for a few warehouses as payment or bribery for her silence on his skills at a later date… which Tim could give her in a few years time as those were in the trust set up by his mother before her death.

Her offerings were given by everyone at home. Dana left her baked goods. Tim left his grades by her shrine when he wasn’t closing cases—the solved ones were left there for a day or so before he’d change them out. Dad spoke to her sometimes, getting her up-to-date on the gossip in their field and new achievements from colleagues they liked and failures from those she despised.

It was comforting.

Dad even knew Tim was planning to do landback with a chunk of ‘wasteland’ that the company kept dumping on, and was planning to rehab it beforehand. If he had slipped an army of sunflower seeds there a while back and gave Ivy a tip about it well… she was willing to trade info on a few cases that he fed back to Stephanie as Robin. Ivy may also catch him working a few cold cases now and then.

He’s aware she’s a dangerous rogue and will continue to kill. He also knows that when he focused on solving a string of women’s deaths and located the (still living) killer that the man was dead after their lesson, and before he submitted his findings to the GCPD cold cases department.

He’s not stupid. He knows she prefers to kill. But he doesn’t.

It makes working with the Titans on weekends awkward when Nightwing begins to notice Tim responding before the others and frowning into the air when the grass gives him tips on when events take place and for incoming company.

No one presses him on it. Static bumps his shoulder and passed a ‘talk when you’re ready’ note to him.

Then the fact Ivy did not hit him with cuddle pollen but did hit Stephanie as Robin and threw them in a room together was just plain embarrassing.

It also meant Ivy figured Tim or Robin had a crush on the other and just. Why?

He finally understood how Sam felt during Ember’s first appearance and he was made to lovestick… sort of. Stephanie koalaing him until they broke out and he managed to get them to one of the quieter Paramedics two blocks over wasnt the same. But close enough.

Dana did get the alert about him being near the attack, and she looked at him too much like Jazz had when she was concerned for his wellbeing.

He wondered what Tucker would say to all this. Two lives and two sets of parents later, and the one who checks him first is the step mom closer to Babs’ age than his father’s.

There’s a million jokes Tucker could make about that.

Dana and Dad had a talk about it, and Tim knew it was written just so he didnt hear it. He hears so much more lately its maddening some days.

He was given the upcoming three-day weekend to stay with the Titans, and Dana suggested asking Raven for tips on managing reincarnation memories.

Dad said he called for a “Jazz, Sam and Tucker” in his sleep a lot. A “Valerie ” on occasion too.

He wanted to melt into a puddle.

Dad muttering he’d find his first parents’ souls and get back at them his damn self didn’t help in the slightest… nor did seeing Dana hide Constantine’s business card in her tampon drawer.

He gave in a bit. His friends can’t know yet, not while he’s working it out. And Raven is Dick’s friend—it would get back to him too fast for Tim’s liking.

He knocked on the door.

“Tim?”

“Hey Virgil, is now an okay time for that talk?”

—

That’s what i got for now. May do another part if anyone is interested.

Also let me know if i missed any tags

[chasingpj]

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞

"Hi, my name's Nico!"

pairing: platonic!nico di angelo x older sister reader

summary: you found your pugsley addams

warnings: brief mention of injury, grieving a family member

category: one-shot but not really

a/n: this is probably awful but do i need to fulfil my big sister urge to protect our beloved nico? yes. yes i do. i got this idea listening to Here With Me by d4vd, if you want something to listen while reading <3

“Hi, my name is Nico!”

Tousled dark brown hair, big brown eyes, a toothless grin, and a squeaky voice. Strangely, he doesn’t cower at your eyes, sizing him up. Either he doesn’t care or he’s clueless to your judgment. You're sure it’s the latter. 

How could this tiny boy, with too much life in his eyes, and too much excitement in his voice be a child of Hades? Considering your father’s exciting track record with children, this wasn’t what you were expecting when Chiron mentioned you had a brother moving in soon.

He’s just so… lively. 

The blinding daylight outside poured through your agape curtains and it surrounded his small frame like a giant halo. 

The sight was violent.

It gave you a headache. 

“What’s your name?” He waits antsy for your answer and you debate on even giving him one. 

Father told you he didn’t have any living children besides you. Considering the boy in front of you, it was a lie, or he had forgotten about him. Either way, you plan on arguing about it later. 

How dare he give you a roommate. Let alone a roommate barely in the double digits. This boy could have a tantrum today, and you didn’t sign up for babysitting.

“My side.” Your fingers point to the left of the cabin which is furnished with a bed, shelves, a desk, and a nightstand you got shipped to camp. “Your side.” 

Lazily, you point to the right. The lone bunk bed that initially occupied the space is tucked there, ready for the roommate you never thought would arrive. 

After three years, you had debated on getting rid of it, maybe donating it to the Hermes cabin. Gods know they need it but you guess keeping it was the right choice. 

“Inside voice only. No laughing, no whining, no groaning, no screaming, and especially, no crying.” 

The boy’s face falters into a slight frown. Your unblinking, emotionless face had settled into his awareness. For the first time since he’s arrived, he looks down at his feet. “Okay.” 

Your vision follows his movements as the boy retreats to his side of the room. His suitcase drags across the floor, making a wretched sound and it shoots irritation straight into your chest. 

Harsh words threaten to spill from your lips but they get caught at the back of your throat.

At least he’s compliant, you consider. Better bubbly and compliant than bubbly and stubborn. 

★・・・・・・★

“Psst.”

Did you imagine it? The sound was so faint and quick, you weren’t sure if it even happened. 

Voices in passing weren’t foreign to you. The occasional energy likes to linger around. 

If it was that, you refused to spare a single movement to signal you heard anything at all. A bothersome ghost wasn’t really in your plans tonight. 

There wasn’t a twitch in your face or a pause in your breathing that gave you away. And as you do every night, you remain laid on your back, hands lightly folded and rested in the middle of your stomach. 

“PSST.” 

Great. 

The second time was filled with so much urgency you couldn’t conclude it as a trick of the ear. Suddenly, you’re filled with dread. And it wasn’t from the possibility that when opening your eyes, you may find an entity looming over you. Honestly, you wished that’s what you were expecting. At least then, you’d be more interested. 

But no, you knew the sound came from no one other than the pest who sleeps across the room. Even now, you are fully aware of his small presence beside your bed. 

You had to give him credit. At no point did you hear him approach.

A silent stride just like yours? Maybe you actually are related. 

“What?”

Nico tenses up, his hand flings back to his side. He was just questioning if you were even alive, judging from your barely rising chest. Not sure what to do after your lack of response, he thought giving you a little poke would get a reaction but from your tone just now, he was glad he didn’t get to test that out. “T-the statue…” Nico didn’t dare look over, gaze set on your blank face. “What about it?” “It blinked.” 

Nico rubs his sweaty palms on his pajama pants, feeling the looming presence of Hades's statue. 

The past few nights, while lying in his bed, he kept returning to the same conclusion. He couldn’t be the only one who thought sleeping in a room with a giant statue was kinda creepy. 

Sure, it was just stone, but at times, it felt like it was looking at him. He thought he was just imagining it at first. Bianca did say he had a habit of spooking himself out but it didn’t stop him from sleeping with the sheets over his head. 

Tonight, however, amongst the deliriousness of waking up, he made the mistake of looking over. His vision was hazy, but he was sure of what he saw. The statue had blinked. Clean and quick as if it was supposed to do that. It was more than he’s ever seen you blink, and he’s been with you for almost a week. 

“It does that sometimes.”  

“What?” Nico’s voice was laced with so much emotion you could imagine what face he was making. Behind your eyelids, you envisioned the scared face Mr. D made you identify recently in therapy. It was so comedic to you, you almost smiled. 

“Go back to sleep.” A whine immediately leaves Nico’s lips, and your hand moves up, arm bent at the elbow, your pointer finger in the air. “No whining.” “But—” “Still whining,” you point out, and Nico remains quiet for a moment. Taking consideration of his silent movements earlier, you assumed he retreated to bed, but as he cleared his throat, you wished you could roll your eyes with them closed. 

“I’m scared.”  

“And what do you want me to do about that?” 

“I don’t know. When I’m scared, my sister—” 

“I’m not your sister.” 

Nico frowns but remains in his spot unmoving. As the seconds passed, your awareness of his presence started to irk you.

“Ugh.” 

The tired glare on your face makes Nico cower, and you sling your legs to the side. Another sigh leaves you and you march over to his side of the room. He waits as you rip the fitted sheet from the top bunk and throw it over the statue. 

“There. Happy? He can’t stare at you if he can’t see you.” 

“Now it just looks like a ghost,” Nico shifts, fear still on his face.

There’s a smack as your palm meets your forehead. A child of Hades scared of a ghost? You were about to tell him to get used to it but before you can nag him an idea graces your mind. 

Quickly, you walk over to your desk, hands searching for a black marker. Once in your grasp, you drag a chair to the stone and stand on it. 

Two circles for the eyes and one smiling open mouth. 

Moving away to see your drawings, you decide it was a refreshing sight compared to the usually stoic face of the god. 

“Better?” you ask, tone still bored as you cap the marker.

Nico’s eyes light up, a smile growing wide on his face. Who would be scared of a happy ghost? He nods brightly, and you make your way down, eyes rolling at the entire situation. “Go to sleep,” you command, and Nico nods, more willing than he was a few minutes ago. As you both return to the covers, the boy glances across the room one more time. “Good night,” he calls, and you stare at him for a moment. 

He always says it despite you never saying it back. Under your gaze, he waits expectantly, but it never returns. Just as every night, you lie down without a word. 

★・・・・・・★

Capture the flag isn’t your cup of tea. 

In the summers, you never participated. The bright sun, the humidity, it all made you want to claw your skin off. 

Usually, you get out of it but Mr. D pointed out there was no reason not to participate since most of what you hate about it isn’t a problem this time of year. One comment from him and Chiron takes it upon himself to ensure you attend. 

You hated it. 

Forced to strategize with Thalia and Percy, you are reminded the weather wasn’t the only thing you despised. It was dealing with everyone else too.

"I'll take the offense," Thalia volunteered. "You take defense."

"Oh." Percy hesitated. "Don't you think with your shield and all, you'd be better defense?"

"Well, I was thinking it would make better offense," Thalia said. "Besides, you've had more

practice at defense. What do you think, Y/n?” 

Your gaze flickers between the two waiting expectantly for your opinion. 

The tension between them has been something else since they’ve come back from retrieving Nico and losing Annabeth in the process. It’s not like there wasn’t any tension before but right now, you can smell the power struggle and it stinks. 

“I don’t care. Argue amongst yourselves.” 

With that, you turn on your heels, looking for the boy who surprisingly isn’t standing behind you like a shadow. Your eyes search the crowd for a few seconds until you spot what looks like a pile of floating armor next to the Stoll’s. 

A small sigh leaves your lips. Whoever gave him that definitely is setting him up and judging by the poorly contained laughs of the Stoll’s, you can guess who’s rooting for Nico’s downfall. 

The boy, painfully unaware of this, just beams at you, too excited for the game ahead. Lazily, you make your way towards him and immediately, he’s bouncing happily, his mouth ready to bombard you with questions. 

Your palm rises before he could and he freezes, obeying your silent command. “You need to tighten that.” 

He looks down at himself, his helmet swinging down into his eyes and he struggles to pull it away. “Which part?” 

“All of it,” you snap. The sadness that flashes in his eyes shouldn’t have affected you but you straightened up, closing your eyes to recollect yourself. “We’ll get you better armor afterward.” 

Nico nods, gaze softening as you adjust the straps of his armor. You tug on them as much as you can, jerking the boy left to right with the movement. 

Once every strap couldn’t be tightened anymore, you step back to take a look. It didn’t do much but at least his plate is snug against his chest.

“Okay kid, stay out of the way and be careful with that thing.” Nico looks down at his sword, which is probably too heavy for him. “We need to get you another weapon too. Gods, who did your orientation?” 

Nico points over at the Stoll’s who are occupied with other campers. Sending a glare in their direction you huff, “Of course.” 

"Heroes!" Chiron calls, swiftly getting everyone’s attention. "You know the rules! The creek is the boundary line. Blue team—Camp Half-Blood—shall take the west woods. Hunters of Artemis—red team—shall take the east woods. I will serve as referee and battlefield medic. No intentional maiming, please! All magic items are allowed. To your positions!"

“Do I get magic items!?” Nico screeches causing you to cringe. Whipping your gaze in his direction, he cowers sheepishly, his eyes filled with hesitant apology.  “No. Remember what I said. Stay—” “Stay out of the way and be careful with my sword.” Nico finishes your sentence and he smiles at the evident distaste in your expression. 

Your eyes flicker along his frame. “And don’t get hurt.” 

★・・・・・・★

Nico, to no one’s surprise, got hurt. 

Honestly, you couldn’t be upset at him, it’s not his fault he got caught in a spell cast. 

A certain Circe camper did a fine job at missing her every target, leaving Nico standing in the outfield like a giant bullseye. The force alone sent him back a few feet and he slid across the field like a rag doll for a few more feet afterward.

As he lay there limp in shock, you genuinely thought he died. Before you could wield the ground to swallow up his attacker, he groaned and stumbled back on his feet. 

Lucky for her, disappointing for you. You haven’t gotten around to doing that trick in a while. 

“Well, you definitely have blunt force trauma injuries, everywhere,” Fletcher says, removing his hands from Nico’s abdomen. The boy reclined in the cot flinches at the bruises already forming along his ribs. 

It looked pretty bad. So much so that you decided it would be cruel to tell him to stop crying.

“But you don’t have internal bleeding in your lungs so at least you won’t drown in your own life source.” 

Despite the smile Fletcher flashes at Nico, it doesn’t affect the look of horror on his face. 

“Nothing Ambrosia and Nectar can’t fix. You’ll be fine in a couple of days.” Fletcher helps the small boy sit up in the cot. He passes him a small cup of Nectar and orders him to drink up while he gets what he needs for the sling Nico’s arm will be in for a little bit. 

A sniffle leaves the boy as he observes the drink he’s left with. “What does it taste like?” “It depends on the person,” you sit back in your chair. “Usually tastes like something nostalgic, a favorite food or drink. You won’t know until you try it.” 

Nico nods, hesitantly taking a sip. As the flavors settle on his tongue, his eyes progressively widen. Next thing you know, he’s swallowing it like he hasn’t had a meal in days. 

“It tastes like the almond cookies they had at the Lotus Casino!” 

You nod in response, having some memory of Nico telling you about the Casino he and his sister lived at for a while. He’s told you plenty about it, you just weren’t listening most of the time. 

“I liked those the most because it reminded me of the cookies my mom would buy us.” 

Nico looks down at the cup, his smile faltering by the second. There’s a shadow clouding over his orbs and you quirk an eyebrow. The sadness overtaking his features looked strange. Sure you’ve seen him upset but you knew enough to recognize this expression as anguish. 

“What is it?” Your words came out more monotone than you intended. Shifting in your seat, you wondered why you even asked. Vulnerability wasn’t really something you sought after. It puts a bad taste in your mouth. 

“I was just wondering if Bianca would taste the same thing… but she never ate the cookies with me.” 

A hum leaves your lips. You don’t know much about that sister of his but you knew two things: first, you were here while he was hurt and she wasn’t. Second, her absence made Nico upset. 

“I understand.” Your vision is set on the small window beside you. Set on the fields of campers ahead, you ignore Nico’s burning stare. “I don’t like the taste of my nectar or ambrosia.” “Why?” “The flavors remind me too much of things I want to forget. Your sister probably didn’t eat those cookies for the same reason. It’s too much. Too many things tied to the things you like the most.” 

Nico’s silent, staring at the paper cup in his hands as if he was searching for something. 

“Nico, there’s one thing you need to know.” He averts his gaze over to you. “You’ll make friends, you’ll have lovers, you’ll have family but at the end of the day, the only person you truly have is yourself.” 

The boy shifts in his place, eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t let people steal parts of yourself from you. They’re going to disappoint you, expect it, and don’t be sad about it.” 

Silence followed somber and stuffy silence. For once, you were glad Fletcher returned in all of his child of Apollo gleam. He was better at cheering Nico up than you were, that’s for sure. 

★・・・・・・★

“What do you mean ‘He’s gone?’” Percy slowly retreats from your advances. Twice already, he’s stared at the glowing eyes of a child of Hades and the second time was even more intimidating. 

“He just disappeared,” Percy stutters out. “It looked like shadows took him, and then he was gone.” 

Schist. You didn’t even know the little rat could shadow travel. By now, he could be anywhere. You’ve been on him about training, but he still had that childish clumsiness to him. His chances of survival would be out of pure luck. 

A groan leaves your lips, knowing you’d have to go find him. If it were anyone else, you would have let them be, but this unfamiliar urgency in your chest wouldn’t allow it. You had to find and drag him back by his ear if you had to. 

Your eyes roll at the son of Poseidon, and you turn on your heels without a word. So much drama because of that sister of his. 

Rushing down the stairs of the pavilion, you conjure the shadows to form a portal that’ll lead you straight into the forest. 

Di Angelo, you better be alive when I find you. 

★・・・・・・★

How does a 10-year-old with short legs get so much distance? 

After hours of searching and instigating some fights with monsters, he was nowhere to be found. Concluding that, maybe, hopefully, he found his way out of the forest, you have to settle with waiting for him to return. If he returns.

Tired legs take you up the porch steps and you shrug off your coat the moment you step through the door. As the warmth graces your chilled skin, a floorboard creaks.

“Nico?” 

“Y/n?” Your name comes out of his mouth like a desperate plea as he reveals himself out of the shadows. With rosy, tear-stained cheeks, and watery eyes, Nico bolts in your direction, and for a moment, you think he’s going to attack you. 

It would be a bold move. Though, with his speed, he could get a good hit but he ended up doing something much worse. 

He hugged you. 

His small frame flings into you, short arms grasping your waist as if his life depended on it. 

“Percy broke his promise,” he cries, hot tears running down his cheeks and dampening your shirt. “Bianca,” he shutters. “He told me she died.” His frame shivers harder, the action almost too violent for his frame. You weren’t sure how but his grip tightened, “What am I going to do?” Get over it. 

The hostile thought was a knee-jerk reaction. Your mouth was about to relay the message but you stopped yourself, the words getting caught in your throat. 

The logical answer didn’t feel right. Why didn’t it feel right? 

Suddenly you’re aware of the sunken feeling in your chest. Its foreign nature made it hard to distinguish whether it hurt or if it was discomfort. 

This is odd.

Nico cries and cries, and by now, the clothing of your shirt is sticking damp to your skin. The longer you stood there, stuck on what to say next, you felt an urgency as if your response was timed. 

Rarely were you lost for words. Actually, you can’t recall a time when you have but right now you stood with your mouth open like a fish out of water. “You stay here,” you say abruptly. Nico pulls away, eyes glistening in the ray of moonlight seeping into the room. He’s so small. 

Not that he’s not small on any other day. His narrow shoulders droop and turn into themselves from the weight of the news. He looked fragile, searching for something other than his grief and he’s searching for it in you. 

It wasn’t often someone came to confide in you. Your advice was always too abrasive, and cold, and never did you have the urge to give something different. 

That’s what made this moment so strange. As Nico waits expectantly, you can’t find it in yourself to disregard him. 

“You stay here,” you repeat, the words delivered before your brain could process them.“And you train, and make friends, and find your own way around life.” Nico frowns, sleeve wiping his nose. Amongst his sadness, something flickers in his eyes. “Stay here with you?” With you. 

You couldn’t begin to decipher what that question made you feel. Forget the question, its delivery was hopeful and that surprised you the most. 

The feelings were almost overwhelming and before it completely flooded your senses, you shoved it to the side.

“Who else?” You clear your throat in an effort to get yourself together. “Is there anyone else who lives here besides me? Does the statue count too?” The question was genuine but something about it made Nico crack a smile.

“Anyways, you’ll see her again.” You shrug, stepping out of his loose embrace. 

“I will?” “We’re the children of the dead. We can just find her.” Find her so I can kill her again.

Nico sniffles, the sound snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“Stop crying,” you blurt out, and the boy blinks, face pink. “Crying doesn’t fix anything,” is all you say before returning to your side of the room. 

Nico swallows, trying to suppress the tears. 

You were right. Crying doesn’t fix anything but even though it was true, his emotions were all too much for him. Sniffling softly and wiping his face with his sleeve, he retreats to bed. “Good night,” he says, voice quivering. 

Nico crawls into the covers, the fatigue hitting him the moment he rests against the spring mattress. Unexpecting, he wraps himself up, eyes shut tight in hopes he’ll be asleep soon. “Good night.” 

Nico’s eyebrows furrow. He finds some strength to lift his head just enough for you to be in his line of vision. Blinking in surprise, he swears he saw a smile on your face. It wasn’t teasing, or happy. It was comforting, as slight as it was. It wasn’t much but to Nico, it made him feel like he’d be okay. 

Without another word, you slid into your covers and went to sleep. 

★・・・・・・★

“Where’s the brat?” With crossed arms and a look of determination, you stood authoritatively at the double doors of your father’s dining room. 

The god sits at the very end of the grand table, skeleton butlers wait on either end of the room to serve him. On the polished mahogany wood, the bulbs of the many crystal chandeliers lined up across the ceiling reflect like ornaments. As Hades wipes the sides of his lips with a cloth napkin, the side of his mouth quirks as he catches Nico peeking behind your back like a child behind a mother’s skirt.

Since when have you been maternal? 

“I’m sorry, who?” Your father asks with fake confusion. The smile on his face already gave you a headache. You weren’t here to play games, you meant business. 

“You know who.”

Hades clears his throat and his eyes flicker over to Nico. Quickly, the small boy retreats nervously, eyes set on your back. “I don’t know where your sister is, boy.” 

“I don’t believe you,” you cut in. Nico wasn’t going to speak, the boy practically shivering in his father’s presence. Even as he refrains from confrontation, he’s in awe at your comfort towards the god. 

“There’s dead people in and out of this place. You think I would know?” Hades asks and a hum leaves your lips.

“I would think you’d at least keep track of your kids but if you’re going to be this useless to me, I’ll find her myself.” 

“Wait.” 

You halt turning on your heels and raise an eyebrow. There was a moment of disbelief, your father helping and not making everything so difficult for you, for once? You wonder who could have possibly granted this miracle. 

“She’s somewhere down here,” Hades says and you wish your expression could get straighter. “Wow, I would have never figured that out. Thanks.” Grabbing Nico’s sleeve, you begin dragging him out of the room. 

“She’s not in the meadows, I checked. I don’t think her life has been judged either but Charon said he rowed her in. I can feel she’s close.” 

You sigh. Finding her is proving to be more of a challenge than you thought. By now, you would think she’d be judged and categorized wherever the judges saw fit. However, from the dead ends, you’ve stumbled upon so far, you consider that she doesn’t want to be found. As annoying as it is, the chance to prove you can find her was enough to get you to keep going, “Noted,” you mumble, already deciding where you will look next. “Close the door on your way out!” “No.”

★・・・・・・★

“Okay, listen here…” You move a little closer, eyeing the name tag on the frightened guard. “Atrius. Have you seen Bianca? She looks like this kid.” Pointing at Nico, the ghost peers over your shoulder. 

“No, I haven’t seen her.” As definitive as that statement was, he didn’t sound so definitive. His bones clinked together as he shivered in your presence. 

“I don’t like when people lie to me.” You stare into his empty eye sockets. One moment passes and then two and then three and still he hasn’t budged. Irritation buzzed at the back of your skull. You had the time but none of the patience to play hide and seek. 

Nico stands a short way behind you, partially concerned for your victim. He wasn’t sure what you were going to do if you didn’t get what you wanted. The skeleton flashed him a look and even with no skin on his face, he could tell it was pleading. 

“Help me!” He was saying without a word. 

The boy doesn’t move from his spot though, instead looking away sheepishly. Pleading or not, he looked scary. That and Nico really wants to find his sister. “I’m not lying!” He insists and it annoys you even more. Quickly, in one movement, you grab his leg and tug so hard it comes straight out the socket. Tossing it to the side, your eyes don’t leave him as he yelps, falling straight to the ground. “Tell me where she is, or I’m tossing both of your legs into Tarturus. Last chance.” 

Atrius wails at your threat, the sound was so hysteric you almost missed his confession. “She’s hiding in Lady Persephone’s garden, amongst the pomegranate trees!” 

Nico flinches when you whip around. Already he was unsettled by your interrogation methods but nothing prepared him for your face.

You were smiling. Your eyes looked lit up. 

Not gracing him a look, you walked right past him. From his surprise, his brain never gave his body the signal to move. Instead, he averts his attention to a distraught Atrius whose more than relieved he finally got you out of his bones. 

Right as he’s about to look away, Nico jumps in his skin as the skeleton looks right at him once again. It was only then did he find the courage to move. Walking backward, he smiles sheepishly. “Um… thank you,” Nico’s tone is apologetic. Across the courtyard laid Atrius’s leg and the boy takes a step in that direction but is halted by the sound of his name. “You’re coming or not?” You ask him, foot tapping with impatience. 

Not wanting to keep you waiting, Nico forgets about retrieving the guard's limb. “Sorry about your leg!” He shouts behind him, hoping the apology was soothing enough as he joins your side. 

The young boy stares at the back of your sneakers as you make your way through the underworld. Already he’s seen some things that spooked him out too much. This was like walking through a horror maze for him. 

For you though, he notices you’re more comfortable around here than you did at camp. Your usually confident stride had purpose and authority. He wonders if he’ll ever walk through here the same way you do one day. A part of him hopes he does.

“Alright.” Nico halts, almost bumping right into you as you stop in your tracks. “We walk through here silently. Watch where you’re stepping, if you crush one of Persephone’s plants, I can’t help you.” 

The boy’s face contorted with fear. “What do you mean you can’t help me?” He couldn’t decipher the look you flashed in his direction but it sent your message well enough. Don’t step on one of her flowers and you won’t find out. 

Nico’s small nod is enough to get you moving. With silent and slow steps, you walk along the paved pathway toward the cluster of trees in the back. 

It hadn’t settled into Nico’s awareness that his sister was hiding. You could tell. He was still hopeful and excited to see her and you can imagine if he knew, he wouldn’t be happy about it. 

You’re not happy about it, that’s for sure. What even was her problem? If there was anything Nico deserved, it was to see her before she gets sent to the meadows or decides to reincarnate. 

Once you approach the trees, you shuffle through them. You’re thankful Nico’s naturally taken the role of your shadow because he mimics your sneaking, staying out of sight with you. 

He probably thinks your caution is due to Persephone arriving at any minute. You feel this strange tightness in your chest, he really has no idea you’re trying to sneak up on his sister so she doesn’t have the chance to run.

Right as the thought passes, you catch sight of something moving in the trees. Locks of brown hair wisp through them and the pulse in your neck picks up. It seems you’re not going to avoid a chase. 

Nico barely had time to catch up as you bolt through a straight diagonal through the trees. You admire her audacity to try and get away. The smile that stretches across your face is from amusement alone. 

As Bianca makes a sharp right, you gather the shadows at the tree's stumps and will them to consume your body. Nico blinks and suddenly you’re gone. His quick steps come to a stop as he looks around, trying to catch any sight of you. Then he hears a cry of pain and he moves fast in that direction. 

The only thing on his mind was the possibility you got hurt. Even if you were in your father’s territory, were there still monsters that could attack you? Even worse, what if you stepped on Lady Persephone’s plants? If you can’t help him in the scenario he did, what was he gonna do? 

His pace quickens as he hears another cry and finally, he bursts through a wall of vines. 

Still clouded by his concern, his brain barely processes what he stumbled upon. There you were, fingers grasping tight at his sister’s ear. Bianca groans and struggles in your pinching grasp and you look up at Nico with a gleam, like a fisherman who just got his catch of the day. “Got her.” 

“Nico?”

Bianca freezes at the sight of her brother. There’s a silence that follows and you’re surprised Nico didn’t immediately bombard her with questions. 

The girl straightens up once you let go of her and as your arm returns to your side, you catch the tears brimming Nico’s waterline.

Yeah, this is when you clock out. Your work here is done. 

“I’ll… wait for you over there,” you point through the trees and at the meadow of flowers that wasn’t too far. It’s enough distance to be an earshot away. 

Nico nods, his eyes unmoving from his sister. 

Once you’ve shadow traveled to your spot, you didn’t dare look in their direction. With your eyes planted on the flowers, you wait for Nico to return. 

The boy didn’t take too long which left you lost for words. He didn’t look happy when he met you in the garden. His eyes held a feeling a part of you understood. 

“I want to go home.” He frowns. 

Home. You didn’t even consider camp a home and you’ve been there for three years. 

“Okay.” Your voice was right above a whisper. 

Whatever happened back there was the end for him, the last time he would see her. Knowing how that felt, you waited. Just a moment, maybe two. If Nico had any reservations or second thoughts, you gave him time. When nothing came, you hoped whatever happened, he’ll find peace in it. 

The shadow gathered slowly, first at your feet then at your legs and soon the two of you were traveling through blurred shadows and harsh winds.

★・・・・・・★

“Who did this?” You weren’t sure if the streaks of water on Nico’s face were from his eyes or the toilet water soaked in his hair. 

The boy sniffles, cheeks and nose flushed from his embarrassment. After the incident, he rushed back to the Hades Cabin to wallow in self-pity but his assumption you wouldn’t be there was wrong. He didn’t want to admit what happened, scared he would disappoint you for clearly losing this battle.

His mouth opens to answer but nothing comes out. He considers lying but as you raise an eyebrow, he grows too anxious to come up with one. 

“Nico,” you say his name firmly and the frown on his face deepens. “It was Clarisse and her siblings, they-” he gurgles out through his watery whines and you sigh. “They…, I-” 

“Breathe.” You kneel to his height and take a deep breath, waiting for him to follow. He does, his chest filling with air and he releases it shakily. 

“They surrounded me in the bathroom and Clarisse shoved my face in the toilet.” 

His lip quivers as he recalls the memory. Nico’s eyes flicker across your hardening features and you rise from your spot. “Go clean up,” you demand, already heading to the door. 

“What are you gonna do?” “I’m going to fix it.” 

★・・・・・・★

Gravel crunches under your shoes, without a single weapon you persist into the camp’s arena. Clangs of swords and grunts could be heard from outside of the entrance and as you made your way through the doors, there were the Ares’s campers sweating and panting from their already hard day of training. 

Clarisse stands there authoritatively, the swing of the grand door grabbing her attention and the snug look on her face had set off a slight rage in your chest. 

You were ready to wipe it off. If only she knew what she had coming. “Did Nico tell on us?” One of her brothers asks mockingly, your presence already known to the entire group. They stood, waiting for a fight as they make no effort to sheath their swords. 

A smile almost graces your lips before you could even execute your plan.

“His big sister is fighting his battles for him.” They laugh and joke at your brother’s expense and something snaps in your mind. 

The ground suddenly sinks into itself, and Clarisse and her siblings stumble to the side in confusion. Before they realized what was happening, there was no chance to run. 

A sinkhole, perfectly round and deep enough to trap them forms right under their feet. They roll and drop to the bottom, coughing at the gravel waterfall surrounding them. 

You hear their shouts and complaints and you make your way to the edge. Looking down at them, you ignore their demands to be let out.

“No one messes with my little brother.” 

As if on cue, there’s a screech in the distance and it immediately fills their expressions with dread. A lopsided smirk appears on your lips and soon the shadows of massive wings appear overhead. 

You whisper a demand to attack in ancient greek and the harpies swoop down with a call like a battle cry. There’s a collective panic of your victims and a laugh leaves you, watching as they spear their swords in the air at every charge towards them. 

Calmly leaving the chaos you’ve caused behind, you find an audience. Unaware of their bewildered expressions, not because of the scene but at the joyful smile on your face, you hoped you’ve sent a message.

Be nice my brother or else.

masterlists

[regencyrosalie]

biblically accurate modern!husband!anthony hc’s 🤍

first post here ! <3 i hope u love it <3

- anthony “i love my wife” bridgerton trying to go about his daily life when he quite literally wants to stay in bed all day with you.

- anthony is THE lightest sleeper on earth. if you get up at night, you’ll come back to the bedroom and hes just sitting up in bed half asleep like 🧍🏻‍♂️

- speaking of, if you even want to get up, you’ll have to wriggle out of his death grip. he will hold onto you throughout the entire night, and if it’s hot, he’ll make sure to have a hand sprawled across the bed onto you.

- sometimes you have to remind him to back off a little because he genuinely acts like you might die every time you leave the house

- insists you call/text him (preferably call) when you arrive at at wherever you’re going so he know you didn’t get hit by a car or something on the way there

- speaking of, Anthony texts like he he does not understand what a phone is.

- quite literally really only uses his dad’s old desk phone and emails. he owns an iphone 7 that is usually sitting in the back of his bedside drawer for days at a time.

- he loves all of his siblings equally, but Hyacinth has him wrapped around her finger at all times.

- will do pretty much anything for his wife, but is much more firm with his siblings.

- which is why every time they need something and you aren’t around, Hyacinth is sent to give him her best puppy eyes. he folds almost instantly every time without fail.

- genuinely does not really have many “friends” that aren’t also family. he used to in college, but he just doesn’t find it necessary anymore, and also doesn’t have the time.

- he has reading glasses. enough said.

- scared of bugs.

- talks about pretty much everything with Benedict, who he’s probably closest with in his family besides his mother.

- used to play with/take care of Hyacinth as a baby when Violet was grieving.

- sometimes struggles to pronounce big words when he’s arguing and it pisses him off so much he has to leave the room.

- likely has most of his siblings set up with a therapist, but doesn’t get one for himself until his wife tells him to.

- all of his spaces are organized meticulously, usually by color or number order.

- will check to make sure every door to the house is locked at least three times before going to bed.

- which can take up to an hour when staying at Aubrey Hall.

- we all see how he softened in season 3. his siblings tease him about it sometimes, but they’re all delighted. and he couldn’t care less. he thinks he is the luckiest man on earth and rolls his eyes every time he thinks of how angsty he was.

- if you have children, he’s the most loving father in the world. will wear a tutu if the need arises.

- he can’t have you in his office for more than thirty minutes or he gets distracted.

- he didn’t cry for years after his dad died, and now he cries about once a month.

- most animals love him for some reason.

- has nightmares relatively frequently after edmund dies, but they die down as he gets older.

- favorite color is navy blue. changes to light blue once he’s married.

- good with babies and toddlers from when hyacinth was little.

- you make him take breaks while he works everyday, and they become his favorite parts of the day. you bring him tea and sit in his lap and pet his hair, sometimes he falls asleep. he tells you to wake him up but you never do.

- still uses an alarm clock.

- refuses to leave bed until ten am every day.

- smells like sandalwood and cinnamon.

- idk why but i feel like he fucking LOVES sudoku puzzles.

- but dont ever ask him to do a real puzzle thats more than 50 pieces or he may start crying.

- type of mf to read actual newspapers.

- no one in the family has serious allergies, but he still keeps an epi pen everywhere just in case.

[iridiss]

“who will (MCD) Aphmau choose?? Laurance?? Garroth?? Aaron?? which side will win the ship war—“ fuck that noise. this ain’t about that. it ain’t about which male wins the trophy, it’s about which love does Aphmau lose first. It’s about the loss of who dies first, who isn’t there, who is gone and who comes back. Who is there to hold her in the night, while they grieve and hope and wait for their husband to come home. How do the boys hold and love one another intimately and deeply.

How does Garroth cradle Laurance in his arms after he escapes all the torture he endured in the Nether, running his hands through his hair and telling him everything’s gonna be okay. It’s about Aaron losing his wife and feeling so hopeless, so depressed and traumatized, lost and full of bleak, self-destructive self-loathing, believing wholeheartedly that no one could ever love him like that again, only for him to find not one, but three (maybe even more!) whole people who love him and marry him and bring out the light in him again, making him smile all over again. It’s about Aphmau trying to carry the entire world on her back, trying to do everything herself and fix every single person’s problems all by herself, so the other three boys come in and tell her “hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to expend yourself like that, let me help you carry the burden for a while. rest, sleep, take care of yourself and slow down. I’ll take care of the dangers for a while.” It’s about Aphmau coming into the world alone and coming out of it with a tight-knit community and a circle of love all around her, because she just holds that much overflowing love in her heart that she has to share it all. It’s about Laurance and Aphmau teaching Garroth to love himself and build up his self-confidence after his family tore it down. It’s about Garroth learning what true family means. It’s about Laurance and Aaron recovering together at the end of it all, healing from the time they both turned into monsters because of cruel, godly forces out of their control using them like puppets. It’s about Laurance bringing fun, light, life, and confidence into Aphmau, Garroth, and Aaron’s worlds, light they all desperately need. It’s about Garroth being a soft place to land to Aphmau, Laurance, and Aaron, because they all desperately need the comfort and the stability that he provides. It’s about Aaron finding home.

It’s about healing from past mistakes and ridding yourself of guilt. It’s about maintaining your humanity and your sanity through love and family and hope. It’s about them working together as a team, because they need, need, NEED each other so badly. It’s about the four of them all slowly dying and rotting while they’re on their own, away from their partners, fighting time and space and the gods and the cosmos above to come back to them.

It’s about Laurance dying first, so Garroth and Aphmau miss him dearly and desperately try to get him back. And then it’s about Garroth disappearing next, so Laurance and Aphmau and Aaron miss him dearly and do everything in their power to get their husband back. It’s about Aaron still holding on to his self-loathing enough that when he sees Garroth loving Laurance and Aphmau, he thinks he’s so much better at loving them and so much purer of a soul than Aaron has ever felt that he genuinely believes that Laurance and Aphmau would be better off with Garroth in his place. Then it’s about Aaron dying, and all three of them are horrified and grieving, and then Aaron comes back as The Shadow Lord, and they have to fight against time and space and the gods to prove to Aaron that they love him so damn much, that he breaks free from the mind control and fights to come back. It’s about undoing the scar that Shad and Irene’s relationship left behind. It’s about all three boys giving their life in self-sacrifice, each of thinking the others will be happier without them, and each being proven so damn wrong.

It’s about all four of them reuniting at the end and getting their happily ever after together.

[ailithnight]

Aheem... prompt from @regonold

16 Hours

Danny remembers the first time something shorted out his powers. Vlad with his stupid Plasmius Maximus thing. Well, 'remembers'. Mostly he remembers the aftermath.

Apparently Vlad hadn't known at the time exactly how Danny ended up half ghost. He thought it had been a slower progression like his own development. It hadn't occurred to him that Danny's original death had been much quicker.

Danny remembers a short, light shock. Really, the spector deflector was worse. But this shock... suddenly his muscles were seizing, his heart stuttering, his Lichtenbergs burning. And then, nothing. A blank space in Danny's head that apparently spanned 3 hours.

Next thing he knows, they're in some kind of vehicle. There are sirens outside (a police escort, Danny would later learn). His mom is driving like her life depends on it. And Vlad is giving him chest compressions, looking grieved and panic striken. He's crying. They both are.

"Please tell me you didn't have to kiss me." His voice comes out pained and raspy. Mom almost crashes the vehicle.

"No, Little Badger. Thankfully, you kept breathing. Just your heart that was struggling." Vlad chuckled, guilty yet relieved.

It was another hour before they made it to the nearest hospital from the stupid hunting cabin. 6 more for all the stupid medical tests. "An accident," Vlad told them. "Small shock, but with an already weak heart..."

Any other time, Danny might have argued. Tried to make Vlad admit more guilt. But the whole ordeal had exhausted him to much to care then.

The second time was marginally better. At least with the Fenton Crammer, it was a steady loss. And Danny managed to fix it before his healing factor fully failed. It still hadn't been pleasant, fighting Skulker and dealing with Dash while phantom echoes of his death arced across his body. But he'd managed.

This. This is so much worse. Danny thought it would be like the Crammer again. A steady decline. But it isn't.

And it isn't like the Maximus either, a one then done, pain then nothing, dying then dead, moment.

No. This is more like the blood blossoms. This is torture. This is hell.

The suppression cuffs let just enough of his power bleed through, just enough healing factor, to keep him alive. Alive and in agony for... hours? Days? Weeks? Minutes? Danny couldn't really tell. His thoughts had long since turned to nothing but static and pain. All he knew was that time was passing around him while he was here, suffering on the absolute brink of death yet unable to embrace it.

Oh god he wanted to die. Please just let him die already! It's too much. A death that should only last a few seconds drug out into an eternity. His muscles ached with the strain of being locked up. His insides were broiling from the electric heat. His heart stuttered and stopped and started and stuttered. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts!

He might have been screaming. He might have been Wailing. Or he might he been choking on weak uneven breaths. Danny didn't know. Didn't care to know. Didn't care if he ever found out the details of his time in chains. He just wanted, no needed, it to end. But it just dragged on and on and on. And Danny was lost in it.

Too far gone to even realize when it ended.

.

Batman hadn't been there when the new meta appeared, quite literally materializing from nowhere in the conference room mid-meeting. He had been dealing with a mass Arkham breakout at the time. So he wasn't there. An unfortunate fact which will haunt him for the rest of his life and possibly beyond.

He should have been there. If he had only been there...

He didn't blame his team mates. They didn't know. Who would have guessed that simple power suppression cuffs could ever be an instrument of torture. He'd never considered it possible.

He didn't blame his team mates. How could he blame them? Batman wasn't even the one to connect the dots. Red Robin figured it out. He always was good at stringing together thoughts know one else would think to connect.

Red Robin asked the right questions. He figured out in 5 minutes what the rest of the league and the best doctors -not technically- on earth had been agonizing over for 16 hours.

16 hours too long.

He should have been here. Should have come sooner.

"Don't know, B!" Flash had met him at the Zetas, already rambling at top speed before he could reorient himself after teleportation. Everyone else had gone home, unable to help and needing to tend to their own cities and responsibilities.

"He just- He appeared out of nowhere while we were in meeting. Didn't trip any alarms or nothing. Just popped up. We figured it had to be teleportation, but he'd have to know where the Watchtower was to do that.

So we figured, you know, random kid teleporting into the Watchtower during a Justice League meeting. Not good. Big threat. Bats would tell us to detain. So we did.

But before we could get him to a holding cell, there was this flash of light and he changed or something. He had white hair and green eyes and some sort of jumpsuit on when he appeared.

But after the light he had black hair and a t-shirt and jeans and I actually didn't see his eyes cause he just collapsed on the spot.

Started convulsing or seizing or something. And screaming. God, B, the screaming... So we took him to medbay and...

He's dying B. He has to be. He's got a fever that keeps spiking and dropping, his muscles keep spasming, and his heart keeps giving out...

He looks 14. He looks like..."

Flash had trailed off there, as they reached medbay. Bruce understood his reluctance to complete that sentence as soon as he saw the boy.

He looks like a Robin.

Like all 4 of his sons combined.

Like someone mixed Dick's and Jason's faces and put it on Tim's body at Damian's age.

It can't even be a trick. The suppression cuffs are nullifying his abilities. This is what he truly looks like.

His sons.

In pain.

In agony for 16 hours because Batman prioritized Gotham over an emergency on the Watchtower.

"When exactly did you say he collapsed."

"When we were moving him to a holding cell after we caught him. He was a trick to catch too. He-"

Red Robin cut him off. "Yeah, sure. But when exactly did this start. What happened immediately before?"

Flash was less then pleased about being interrupted, but acquiesced after a look from Batman. Tim had an idea. Tim was on to something. "Like I said, just after we caught him and got the cuffs on so he'd stop slipping away again."

Bruce couldn't keep the growl out of his voice one he realized what Tim was suggesting. Of course he knows it wasn't their fault. He's told all of them as much since. But in the moment...

"Take them off!"

"What?"

"It's the cuffs! Take the damn cuffs off! They're killing him!"

Flash wasted no more time, bolting out of the room to fetch the disabler. Tim didn't bother waiting for the fastest man alive. He had the cuffs disabled before Flash would have been able to swipe his access card into the detainment center storage room. Bruce practically threw the cuffs out of the room in his haste to get them away.

The change had been... not nearly as quick as Bruce would have liked. The heartrate settled out almost instantly, although into something a bit too slow for comfort. But it was steady and Bruce knew nothing about this kid's normal physiology so he counted it a win.

The screaming, of course, had long since choked off. According to Flash's report, his vocal cords failed after about an hour. But his facial expressions still indicated consciousness, though not awareness.

The muscles stopped spasming and unlocked slowly over the course of several minutes. Flash was back by then, looking a bit put out to have lost a race against Red Robin. Batman could not give a single flying fuck about Flash's ego right then.

Shortly after his muscles unlocking was when he finally passed out. Once more, Batman thought about 16 hours. 16 hours and he hadn't even been able to slip into unconsciousness for relief. He should have been here.

The fever was the slowest to break. In that it still hadn't broken almost 2 hours later. Batman had sent Tim and Flash home after Red Robin finished squeezing all the details he could out of Barry. Tim had given him a look before leaving, some mixture of worry and mischief. "Should I tell Agent A to prepare a room?" Bruce just rolled his eyes and shooed him off. Hopefully to bed. Knowing his son, probably not. Tim was most likely still up doing research. Bruce wanted to call Alfred to wrangle Tim to sleep.

But calling Alfred would mean leaving the room so the still potentially a threat meta couldn't hear if he woke up. And Bruce couldn't leave him. Not until the fever broke. Not until he woke up. Not until he knew the boy that looked like his sons would be okay.

Not until he could apologize for being late.

16 hours.

16 hours too late.