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ohproserpine · 4 months

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iii. deer dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, written before episode 7; may become inaccurate, gorey-ish descriptions of love, murder

The next night, Alastor returned in unusually high spirits. He practically dragged you onto the dance floor, twirling you around in dizzying circles for eight whole rounds. If you hadn't asked him to stop, you might have ended up collapsing from sheer exhaustion.

As it was a Saturday night and you weren't scheduled to perform, the trio of you settled in at the bar, enjoying drinks and each other's company as the night wore on.

"Come on, doll! Bottoms up!" Mimzy cheered, her laughter bubbling with infectious energy. The blonde pressed a crystal-clear glass against your lips, tilting it up and urging you to indulge further. The cool liquid burned as it slid down your throat, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. The room turned into a swirling blend of jazz melodies, clinking glasses, and loud, loud chatter.

After a few seconds, unable to endure the relentless flow of alcohol, you finally pushed her hand away with a sputter and a cough. The taste of the giggle water lingered on your lips as you slumped against Alastor's chest, your burning cheeks squished against the fabric of his coat.

"Had a bit too much, have we?" he smirked. The radio host smoothly wrapped an arm around your shoulder, the fine fabric of his suit brushing against your skin as he held you upright against him. You nestled against Alastor, swaying slightly to the music, the alcohol-induced haze casting a dreamy glow over your vision. "My, it looks as though the night's got its claws in you, cher."

"Not yet it hasn't," you grinned, your words slurring slightly as you shifted against him, a hand outstretched to grab your drink off the counter.

"Ah ah ah," Alastor chuckled as he took your glass from you, setting it aside with a careful motion. "Let's not push our luck, shall we?"

"Aw, don't be such a wet blanket!" Mimzy snorted, her curls bouncing as she plopped onto the seat beside you. "She's just having a good time! Ain't that right, doll?"

"Mhm!" you nodded your head eagerly before stopping, the ceaseless nodding causing a dull ache in your head.

"There's a good time, and then there's getting plastered. I'd hate to see the star of the show here end up on the floor. Ha ha!" Alastor boomed out with a laugh, catching you off guard. You would have stumbled off the seat if it weren't for his swift reflexes, his gloved hand wrapping around your arm to pull you back up.

"Such a klutz," Alastor tutted with a smirk as he steadied you. "See? What ever would happen to my favorite showgirl if I don't keep a watchful eye?"

"Oh, please!" Mimzy snorted as she slid another cool glass of giggle water in front of you, leaving a glistening trail of water from the condensation. "She's handled worse than this. We're just getting started!”

"Mimzy, my dear, it seems my words didn't quite get into that thick skull of yours," Alastor enunciated with a tight-lipped smile. "Allow me to say it in much more simpler terms; she has had enough."

"Oh, come on—"

"Do you want all your patrons to witness yet another fiasco in this establishment?"Alastor smiled as he bore his gaze into the blonde's doe eyes. "Because it does sure seem like a night can't pass here without a fuckup!"

Mimzy's shoulders raised in surprise. She stayed silent for a while before forcing out a response through gritted teeth. "No."

Alastor leaned in, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, voice devoid of his usual eccentricity. "Then dry up. Understood?"

"Understood," Mimzy rolled her eyes, tucking her chin to her chest as she stared at her feet.

"Lovely." Alastor hummed before straightening himself. And just like that, the tension dissipated, replaced by an air of nonchalance.

"Well! This has been a delightful night, but I do believe it's time to escort this lovely lady home, don't you think?" Alastor's tone shifted back to its usual charm, as nothing had happened. He wrapped an arm around your waist, tugging your ditzy self out of the bar stool as he began to guide you out of the speakeasy.

"Best of luck, chums!"

"Can you believe it? That lousy, two-timing rat! You introduce him to the girl of his dreams, and what does he do? He high-tails it outta here with her, leaving us all high and dry!" Mimzy ranted, shaking her fist in frustration before pouring herself another drink. "Not a word for a whole week! I had to call in Nitwit Nancy to cover her Friday shifts! And you know that broad sounds like a screeching cat on a hot tin roof."

Beside her, Angel Dust was flabbergasted, his jaw hanging open with the champagne glass dangling loosely from his hands, its contents long spilled onto the counter, creating a shimmering puddle on the bar. Husk grumbled as he wiped the counter clean with a worn-out rag, eyes flickering between Mimzy and Angel.

The spider was staring at Mimzy as if the blonde had just sprouted a third tit, his eyes wide and struggling to process everything he had just been told.

“Why is you gawkin'?!” Mimzy leaned away from Angel, unsettled by the look on his face. “Aww. Is it 'cuz I'm adorable?”

"Fuckin' hell, toots," the spider coughed out a laugh. "I'm having difficulty understanding all that you just spat at me, blondie. What happened to you ‘keeping a secret’?"

Mimzy's body tensed, a sudden realization flashing across her face as she belatedly registered the fact that she had been running her mouth.

Shaking her head, she pulled herself back together with a huff. "Whatever, alright?! I doubt—"

Suddenly, a loud bang at the door echoed through the room, causing the two demons to startle in their seats. Mimzy's head snapped towards the source of the noise so swiftly she nearly gave herself whiplash. In growing horror, she watched as the hinges of the hotel's entrance door began to creak, the walls around them starting to crack and shed plaster.

"Mimzy! We know you're in there! You lousy bitch!"

"Oh, shit," she winced sinking into her seat.

"What the fuck—" Husk cursed, his words drowned out by the sudden explosion that violently rattled the lower windows. Shards of glass rained down onto the floor as dust and debris filled the air, choking their senses. Husk whipped his head around to glare at Mimzy when she vaulted over the bar counter, seeking refuge behind the sturdy wood.

"I fucking knew it. What shit have you brought to us this time?" Husk demanded, his grip tightening on her dress as he lifted her up. Another explosion echoed through the building, the shockwaves pulsing through the floor causing Husk to stumble and drop her.

With a pained grunt, the blonde crashed to the floor, her bruised front absorbing the brunt of the impact. As she lifted her head, she met Husk's glare.

"Ahah... Well," Mimzy sheepishly smiled, her eyes darting nervously as she cowered on the floor. The banging on the door grew louder and more aggressive, echoing through the hotel lobby like a menacing drumbeat.

Angel Dust stood frozen by one of the living room walls, his hands pressed against it to anchor himself. Suddenly, he noticed the television set flickering with an eerie glow, emitting dissonant static noises that seemed to crawl under his fur. The crackling sound took on an unsettling pitch, and an odd pink electricity surged through the screen, casting a sickly hue across the room. "What the fuck...?!"

In that moment, Vaggie and Charlie stormed onto the scene, their eyes widening in disbelief as they absorbed the chaotic sight. The hotel lobby, once orderly and serene, now lay in ruins—furniture overturned, glass shattered, and the wallpaper charred.

"What's happening?!" Vaggie exclaimed, swiftly drawing her spear and slicing a chunk of concrete in half before it could reach her. The broken pieces ricocheted off the walls, adding to the destruction.

"We are under sssiege!" Sir Pentious screamed as he scrambled to get Nifty into his arms, slithering behind the toppled-over couch for cover. The banging on the door intensified, accompanied by muffled threats and angry shouts from outside. "It'sss all that harlot'sss fault!

"Harlot?" Vaggie questioned, her fiery gaze sweeping the room for a familiar mop of blonde hair. Upon spotting Mimzy, her eyes narrowed as her lips curled into a snarl. "Explain."

"I may or may not be in trouble with an overlord! Well, maybe a couple of 'em," Mimzy rushed out, her words tumbling over each other in a nervous babble. "And I may or may not have 'borrowed' one of their top showgirls. And, well, got that girl killed… but she had it coming!"

Vaggie's patience waned with each new sentence Mimzy added, and a low groan escaped her lips.

"Leave this to me," she hissed, red-hot fury flashing in her eyes as she tightened her grip on her spear. "Everyone, get somewhere safe."

"I'm afraid that will not be necessary, my dear."

A sudden crackling static, skin to the ominous hum of a radio, seeped through the room as Alastor emerged from the shadowed corners. The demon's grin twisted unnaturally, stretching up to his glowing crimson eyes, which emitted an eerie, hollow glow. Tendrils of inky shadow began to writhe and sprout from Alastor's back, emitting sickening cracking noises.

In the blink of an eye, he dashed outside, engaging in his unholy work, swiftly and effortlessly ridding the area of its assailants. The air outside carried echoes of screams and the sharp, metallic scent of blood.

Before everyone could fully comprehend the whirlwind of events that had just transpired, the screaming ceased. Shortly after, Alastor returned to his usual demeanor. Nonchalantly stepping back into the damaged lounge, he dusted off his suit, traces of blood marking his path on the floors.

"Alastor! Babyface! Good show!" Mimzy began clapping, seemingly unfazed by the gorey scene as she stepped out of her hiding spot. "Bravo! bravo!"

Upon hearing Mimzy's voice, Alastor's head fully twisted around with a loud, bone-chilling crack accompanying the movement. The radio demon moved toward her, his towering 7-foot form eclipsing her much smaller figure. He bared his sharp teeth in a menacing smile as his antlers began to grow in length, curling and twisting over his head—a display nothing short of terrifying.

"You—"

"Alastor~" Charlie's voice quivered with forced cheerfulness, her hands wringing together anxiously. "Haha! Let's, uh, try to keep our cool here, okay? We really don't need any more messes, do we? Haha!"

The princess's attempt at forced cheerfulness made her look desperate, her manic expression surfacing as her pupils visibly shrank, darting around the room like startled prey.

Alastor closed his eyes, the tension in his form visible as he took a moment to regain composure. Gradually, his antlers reverted to their usual size. With an eerie calm settling over him, he reopened his eyes, though the strain was evident in his smile. "My apologies, chum. I'll be out of your hair in a bit."

He spared Charlie one more glance, his gaze piercing, before redirecting his attention to Mimzy. The intensity in his stare bore into her as he spoke, his voice low and measured. "Since you are so eager to catch up, why don't we have a talk? In private."

With that, the radio demon snapped his fingers, transporting both of them out of the lounge.

"Dumb bitch," Husk grumbled under his breath, covering his eyes with his paws and slamming his head onto the bar counter. "We're all fucked once he finds out."

"Find out what?" Walking up to him, Angel Dust shot Husk a confused look. The spider delicately brushed away the dust that clung to his grey fur, picking out the bigger pieces of cement and plaster. "I thought they were friends?"

Husk raised his head off the counter, mismatched eyes meeting Angel's own. "Not anymore."

Mimzy slowly opened her eyes, greeted by the surreal sight of a blood-red room surrounding her. It housed a radio station complete with an array of dials and a microphone, the very tools she knew Alastor utilized for his broadcasts.

'His broadcasting station?' she noted, curiously looking about the room.

Suddenly, Alastor's firm grip closed around her shoulder, causing her to whirl around with disorienting speed. His bloodied claws moved to cradle both of her rosy cheeks, their sharp edges looming dangerously close to breaking skin while he squeezed her face as though dealing with a disobedient child.

"I thought I made it very clear that you were to step nowhere near me," Alastor forced her to stare up at him. Despite the discomfort caused by Alastor's claws digging in, Mimzy maintained her confident demeanor and glared straight back up at him. "Did I not, dearest?"

"Oh, I just ran into a spot of trouble, and I thought, who better to lend a helping hand than you?" Mimzy rolled her eyes as she pulled herself away from his grasp, massaging the tender flesh of her cheeks. "You always love helping lil ole me."

"Enough. What is it you want?" Alastor snapped. "Should you persist in wasting more of my precious time, I will relish tearing you apart limb from limb, and the symphony of your sweet screams will be a broadcast for all of Hell to revel in."

Mimzy, unfazed, leaned in with a sly grin, her fingers playfully tracing the lapel of Alastor's coat. "Alright, tall, dark, and creepy. I know you aren't going to do shit."

"After all," she batted her lashes at him, "Hurting me would be hurting her, now wouldn't it?"

The blonde pressed her finger into his chest, poking him repeatedly. "That was in the contract~ You. Heartless. Son. Of. A. Bitch."

A low, guttural chuckle rumbled in the depths of Alastor's throat. "Oh, sweetheart," he drawled, catching her finger mid-poke. "You seem to be overlooking the delicate nature of contracts. It might be wise for you to tread more carefully, relying on such flimsy assurances."

"Flimsy?!" Mimzy scowled. "I got your girl on a leash!"

"Lets make this very clear," Alastor's voice deepened into a growl, eyes flashing red in warning. "This contract doesn't grant you a carte blanche to play games with my patience. If not for her plea to spare you, your fate would have been sealed by now."

As Alastor's grip moved to tighten around her throat, Mimzy's eyes nervously tracked the sharp edge of his claws, her breath catching in her throat.

"W-Whatevah! A contract is a contract," she retorted. Mimzy roughly pulled away from him, scrambling to gain the upper hand again. "Even if there ain't a soul exchange, it's still binding!"

"Yes, indeed! I am well aware of contractual obligations, dear," Alastor grinned, his cane tightening in his grip, claws leaving indents on the dark steel. Bending down to meet her gaze, he continued, "But you seem to have forgotten that time's almost up! The expiration for your contract is nearing. And when that happens, I do intend to reclaim what is rightfully mine – my wife. At that point, you will find yourself plunged into an abyssal world of unrelenting agony."

"Abyss, schmabyss. I've dealt with worse," Mimzy scoffed, her hand waving dismissively. "Now look, I got what I wanted outta you, and I don't have to take this."

With that, the blonde turned with a dramatic flair, her heels clicking against the floor as she stomped towards the door. She adjusted her hair and straightened her dress, a smug smirk dancing on her lips.

"Have fun with your little princess and your little project," she quipped.

Over her shoulder, she shot Alastor one last look, a sly glint in her eyes. "Because I sure am having fun with mine~"

Dry up - Shut up Giggle Water - Liquor Carte Blanche - Complete freedom to act as one wishes

#sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 5 months

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Erm... Sorry? - Lando Norris

"Lando?" You called out after just getting home. Your roommate, Lando, was home for the first time in a while. His job meant that he was away a lot, so it was nice to see him around. Sure, you enjoyed the quiet tranquility, but you missed him.

"In here!" He shouted back as you located him in the living room. You couldn't help the goofy smile that grew across your face when you saw him. You stood near the couch, waiting for him to make a move. "So are you going to give your friend a hug, or are you just going to sit there?" you tutted with a sarcastic roll of your eyes.

"I think I'll just sit here," he stifled back a laugh, looking you up and down. He really did miss you while he was away, more than he'd ever care to admit. Even if he could quite easily afford to live by himself in a much nicer apartment, the two of you had shared this one for years.

You had been friends for nearly as long as you could remember, and your parents had always teased the two of you. They did even more so now that you still lived together, even after your completely different situations and lifestyles.

You were Lando's one normal thing. When he didn't have a normal childhood, with karting, then racing and everything in between, he had one constant thing in his life. You. His one safe space, and his one best friend. And he'd give it all to keep it that way.

"Don't be a dick, Lando," you playfully scoffed, opening your arms out to him. That was all it took for him to lug himself off the couch and wrap his arms around you. "I missed you," he mumbled, but you could only feel the reverberations through your skull, not hear the words.

"So, how was everything?" You asked, letting go of the embrace and sitting down on the couch beside him. "Good, good, very stressful though, to be honest," he nodded. Lando was always honest with you, since you could read him like a book.

"You know, you should just take a night when you're there. No parties or anything, just a quiet night in your hotel room. Or you can call me, whatever suits. Might take the edge off," you told him. Yes, you had told him many times before, but it didn't hurt to rehash it.

"I know, baby, I know," he sighed, leaning his head back and resting it on the back of the couch. You sat there for a moment, mouth open like a goldfish. Baby? you thought to yourself. Lando clearly hadn't noticed what he had said.

"Did you, uhm, did you mean to call me that?" You stuttered, blushing profusely. You thought he could have just been taking the mick, but his lack of a reaction told you otherwise. "Call you what?" He asked, completely oblivious.

"Baby." You said, your eyes flickering up to his face to try and gauge any sort of a reaction. "What? I didn't call you-" he started, but then it clicked. His mind had cast back through the past few sentences, and he just looked at you, dumbfounded.

"I, erm... Sorry? It just kinda... Slipped out," he reasoned, unable to make eye contact with you. You could see he too was also flushed as he ran a hand through his curly locks. You both sat there in uncomfortable silence, neither of you knowing what to say.

"Sorry..." Lando mumbled again, his eyes flashing up to yours and back down to his hands, which he was fidgeting with in his lap. Lando was mentally scolding himself - he couldn't believe he had let that slip.

He had wanted to tease you by calling you an affectionate nickname, but he didn't mean for it to slip out in a genuine manner. It just rolled of his tongue naturally, almost out of habit. He liked the way it sounded when he was talking to you, it fit for him.

"It's OK, it was an accident," you nodded, but it came off more as a fact that you were trying to convince yourself of. "Yeah, an accident, yeah," he confirmed, repeating the word over and over again in his head until he hopefully believed it.

Your heart stopped for a second. You saw that particular glimmer in Lando's eye. The one that told you his was lying to you, but he was trying his best to conceal it. But, you didn't want to push it, things were awkward enough.

On the other hand, Lando was contemplating doing the exact opposite thing. He wanted to push it, arguably, too far. He could tell you had sussed him out, and he should have guessed that lying straight to your face would get him absolutely nowhere.

Without allowing himself a second thought, Lando put his hands on either of your cheeks and pulled you in, close to him. He slightly hesitated when his lips were barely even a millimeter away from yours, before mustering up all of the confidence he possibly had in his body.

He pressed his lips against yours, the tension of the moment melting away for a slight moment, before he pulled away again. "Lando..." you sighed, placing an affectionate hand over one of the ones that were on your cheek.

Lando swiftly retracted his hands away from you. "Sorry, I just-"

"Lando,"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have kissed you I just-" Lando frantically rambled, his leg nervously bouncing up and down. "Lando, listen," you softly said, trying to calm him down and get him to think for a second. "No, but I shouldn't have done that after I called you-" He started fumbling again.

You didn't know what else to do, so you tugged him closer to you and stole his lips with yours. "Take a breath for me, yeah? It's OK," you tried to soothe, but you could tell he was very embarrassed by what he had done. "Did you just kiss me?"

"It stopped you needlessly apologising, didn't it?"

"Needlessly? You mean I don't have to say sorry?" He asked, nearly completely gobsmacked. He thought you'd yell at him, maybe make him leave the apartment or leave yourself. "Are you going to keep rambling or are you going to kiss me again?" You asked, looking at him in a way you never had before.

It was the softness of his touch, how tenderly he had kissed you. It left you surprised, but desperate for more. And Lando could happily give you more. "Now that I can do, baby." He smirked, pulling you closer again. But this time you weren't surprised, not in the slightest.

A/N - I want to write, but the lack of motivation and inspiration I have had in, what feels like, the last few months is so frustrating. I wrote this a while back, just never posted it. I'm halfway through a couple requests, they are coming.💖

|masterlist|

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angelxd-3303 · 10 months

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Ok, it's finally done!

Here's some close-ups:

Firstly, MafiaXFlower Shop. At first I was gonna make Luigi our flower enthusiast, but I decided to switch things up a bit. Bowser definitely has his hands full once a mob boss sets his pretty eyes on him!

Next, SelkieXPirate. Luigi may be a tiny little thing, but he certainly doesn't seem afraid of the baddest Captain in the seas!

Then we have the classic High School au. This is how I picture the couple in the fic Summertime Sadness, being written by myself and @yaoipigglet .Pining idiots.

Ah, yes, the childhood friends trope. By far one of my favorites. Children have a way of seeing beyond physical differences.

Ahh! My favorite so far! I love Luigi's expression here! Tangled is definitely one of my favorite Disney movies. Rapunzel's dress suits out green bean quite well, don't you think?

And here we have Labyrinth. I honestly haven't watched this movie since I was a kid, I forgot how interesting it was. I tried to make Bowser look more menacing, and almost goblin-like. Poor Lu, he just wants his bro back.

Another classic, species swap! Peach is glad her partner in plumbing has found someone, she just didn't expect it to be a doe-eyed dragon thing!

Lastly, not that was requested awhile ago, HadesXPersephone. I wanted Luigi's dress to be airy and flowing, like ancient Grecian clothing. I know I could have modeled Bowser after Dry Bones, but I wanted the skull to make sense with my design. That, and the fire in place of hair looks pretty cool.

Thanks again for the help, I had so much fun making this!

#traditional art #luigi #bowser #my au #bowuigi #aus #so many aus

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cablecar-s · 1 month

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to love and self loathe

part 1 part 2 part 3

I'm Just A Guy, With A Boomerang!

Okay, so maybe she was a tiny bit rusty as being Spider-Woman. No big deal, just a few more days or nights being in the suit and she can-

Wait- No, this was supposed to be the only and last time she was even putting on the suit. It was just a precaution! You know, if the other vigilantes weren't able to make it because of the decoy or whatever Black Mask was planning.

. . .

God what was she doing...?

Swinging from building to building, she headed into the direction of Wayne Manor. Except, she soon found out just how far the manor was from the city. By the time she made it to the manor, just on the edge of the forest where she saw the clearing of the rather large and gothic mansion, she was quite literally out of breath.

"Damn rich people..." She wheezed, slightly panting as she tried to catch her breath. Once her breathing went back to normal, she climbed over the aging stone wall and jogged over to the massive building.

Scaling up the wall, she peeked through the multiple windows, making mental notes to herself as she continued to go through each window.

"Now if I were a bunch of thugs, where would I-"

And as if on cue, a large explosion shook the mansion, smoke coming out from one of the sides of the mansion.

"There, I would be over there." She sighed out.

Quickly crawling her way over, she let herself inside the very large ballroom, trying her best to not gawk at how fancy it looked whilst crawling on the ceiling.

"Nobody move! Or the brat gets it!"

Looking down, everyone was in a state of panic while a thug with a black mask held a young boy hostage, a gun to his head.

With the smoke slightly clearing up, she had taken note that there were about 8 men, and they were all armed, wonderful.

All of them were shoving through the crowd of rich folks, seeming to look for someone in particular. While they were busy doing that, she quietly dropped down, trying to use the smoke and people, hopefully they didn't scream out when they saw her.

"Sorry, pardon me." She quietly whispered, squeezing past the many expensive suits and dresses. "I like the tie." She complimented, though everyone just gawked at her as she put a finger up to where her lips were supposed to be as she made her way over to one of the thugs.

"Hey." She called out, poking the thug's shoulder.

"Wha-" Turning around, about to aim his gun at her, she quickly webbed his mouth shut with one hand while the other had shot out a web to take hold of his gun to take it out from his hand. Shooting out another web to wrap his upper body, she jabbed the butt of the assault rifle into his stomach, causing him to let out a muffle 'oomph!'.

Stumbling back from the impact, she gave him a simple push into the wall before using her webs to keep the man stuck to the wall.

Dusting off her hands, she soon took notice of the many rich folks who only looked at her in bafflement. A bit embarrassed at the attention, the Spider cleared her throat, pointing behind her shoulder.

"I should.. I should probably go." Raising her hand up, she had her web shooter pull herself back up onto the ceiling, crawling on her hands and feet to get to whichever criminal she saw next.

For the next 20 minutes, she was able to take down two more guys before the hostage situation had gotten worse.

Finishing up with keeping one of Black Mask's stuck to the ceiling, the sound of laughter from Mask's men had garnered her attention.

"Now we're getting somewhere." The man holding Damian grinned cynically. Just opposite of him was another one of the criminals, now having Bruce Wayne as a hostage, another gun pressed to his head.

"Alright Mr. Philanthropist, you're gonna listen closely and do as we say: Within 24 hours you're gonna give us 20 billion in exchange for the brat." Damian's hostage tightened his grip around his neck, pressing the gun even closer to the pre-teen's skull.

"I will kill you all." Damian hissed out, but he was only met with getting hit with the gun, making him grunt in pain.

"Shut the hell up." His captor growled out.

"You can have the 20 billion, just leave my son out of this." Bruce said, doing his best in trying to stay calm.

The man only cackled, the sound of his gun cocking, his finger now hovering over the trigger. "We're gonna need the 20 billion first Mr. Wayne."

"Ahem."

All heads quickly swiveled to the sound, only to see Spider-Woman standing there, almost a bit awkwardly.

"Didn't know we were supposed to bring guns to a party as fancy as this." She commented.

It went silent for a moment.

Okay.. Great start.

"Who the fuck are you?" The young Wayne's captor hissed out.

"Oh you know," She let out a small nervous huff. "Just a passerby, thought I would take a look around Gotham and all." She waved a hand nonchalantly. "And you know, it's really nice in Gotham, well, of course, minus all the crime and guys trying to mug an innocent bystander every ten minutes."

She continued to ramble, her arms moving about.

People only looked at her like she was crazy, and honestly? She couldn't blame them.

She herself had no idea what in the hell she was doing, she just hoped she could find herself an opening before the situation escalated any more than it already has.

At some point, the captors were getting irritated, now finding her ramblings tiring.

"Would someone get rid of this bitch already!?" One of them yelled out.

In that moment, her senses tingled, but everything had almost gone in slow motion as the sound of a gunshot rang out, making people scream while some sort of black baton was simultaneously thrown at one of the captors.

Bruce Wayne's captor let out a pained yell as he had been hit with the baton, to the Spider's left though, another yell of pain was heard, as it was one of thugs who was about to shoot the woman.

"What the-!?" Damian Wayne's captor's attention quickly turned to where the baton and gunshot had came from.

Taking this moment of distraction, the female vigilante quickly shot out a web and yanked the gun out from the captor's hand.

"Hey!" Turning his head to look at her, she shot another web, making it cover his entire face. Alarmed, his hands quickly let go of the boy and tried to pull the webbing off. Damian, in response, turned to his captor and gave him a swift kick, knocking him back onto his butt.

There was no time to relax though, for from the corner of the Spider's eye, she saw another one of Black Mask's minions point their gun straight at Damian.

"Hey kid watch out!" She yelled. Quickly running towards him, she closed the distance by grabbing him with her web before shooting another web and pulling themselves up to the ceiling.

An echo of screams rang in the ballroom, everyone now running and panicking, all of the rich folk quickly trying to leave the now dangerous room.

"You alright?" She looked at the boy who had a scowl, arms crossed.

"I'm fine." He retorted.

Rude.

"Okay Mr. Grumpy-Pants." She muttered.

Hearing more gunshots, she looked over and saw two of Gotham's vigilantes fighting off the rest of Mask's men.

"Hey so, I'm gonna leave you up here real quick-"

"You will not-"

It was too late though, the young Wayne found himself webbed into a cocoon, now stuck to the ceiling of his home while the Spider made her way down to help the two men.

"Release me at once!" He yelled at her, fuming.

Both Red Hood and Nightwing were preoccupied and cornered by Black Mask's minions. Both fighting the men and dodging the bullets they shot at the vigilantes.

Too preoccupied, Nightwing had realized too late as one of the men were about a second away from getting shot. But an all too familiar sticky string had pulled the gun out from the minion's hands only to be promptly knocked out with a harsh kick from behind.

"You boys need help?" She questioned, tossing the gun to the side.

"We have it just fine."

"That'd be appreciated."

Red Hood and Nightwing glanced at each other, but Red Hood seemed to be the one to look away first. With a smile, Nightwing threw his escrima stick, shocking a criminal as they went down while he looked back at the Spider.

The two nodded nodded at each other at the result of Red Hood's lack of resistance and made quick work of joining the two men.

"I don't think I've ever seen you around in Gotham before." Nightwing turned a bit, dodging a fist that flew his way.

"Ah well, I just thought I'd do a bit of sightseeing." Spider-Woman replied, webbing one of the men's foot to the ground, causing him to fall face first onto the ground.

"And Gotham was your first choice?" The first Robin looked over at her, both brows raised, while simultaneously kneeing a man in his face.

She let out a small laugh, weaving her way behind a guy before shoving him to fall to his knees.

"I let the wheel of fate choose for me." She shrugged.

Nightwing quickly picked up his escrima and tossed it to her, her web shooting out to have it come to her faster.

Once in hand, she tossed the escrima in the air a bit before catching it once more and hitting the man, who was trying to get up, in the back of the head, causing him to fall once more, though this time staying down for good.

"You two, less talking and more beating Sionis' men up." Red Hood grunted in irritation, taking hold of the man throwing a punch at him and bent it the other way, causing the man to let out a blood curdling scream.

Both Spider-Woman and Nightwing backed up into each other, their backs pressed to each other.

"Is he always that snappy?" She questioned, causing him to laugh.

"He's nice, I promise."

She only let out an unconvinced hum in response.

Clasping his fingers together, Spider-Woman stepped into his hands as he threw her into the air. Finding her target, she shot two strings of webs to the ground before pulling herself feet first, giving the last guy a good kick, and a long-term concussion, to the head.

A satisfied hum left her lips, hands on her hips.

Nightwing whistled a bit, walking over to her. "You're pretty good." He mused.

She couldn't help but feel giddy at the compliment, remembering the adrenaline rush that comes with being a vigilante.

"Why thank you." She said in a bit of a posh accent, one arm slinging behind her back while the other wrapped around her stomach, and bowed.

Nightwing chuckled at her antics as she straightened herself up.

"I thought I'd be a bit rusty, but it seems I still got it." She hummed brushing her shoulder. Soon, she felt something sturdy and warm brush against the back of her head, slowly tilting her head backwards, the looked as Red Hood was tilting his head down to look at her.

"What are you doing here in Gotham?" His robotic voice questioned. "And don't give me that 'sightseeing' bullshit."

Turning herself around to face the slightly scary man, she looked up at him clearing her throat and held a finger up.

"Uh well, for starters," She started. She only looked as he continued to stare at her, waiting for a response.

God was he scary when you weren't a citizen.

She seemed to be having a hard time trying to come up with something, a sense of deja vu coming upon her.

"I have.. Family..?" Her response was more of a question than an answer, and that only made Red Hood even more unconvinced.

"Really." He crossed his arms.

"Ye.. s...?" She slowly drew out the word a bit more, slightly cringing at how unsure she sounded herself.

"If you are done chatting then it would be smart of you to let me down before I come down myself!" A voice, slightly far away, yelled out.

All three vigilantes looked up towards the voice and saw Damian still stuck to the ceiling.

Nightwing snorted a bit at this, the Spider quickly clearing her throat.

"I uh, better go get him." Letting out a nervous chuckle, she glanced at the two vigilantes before webbing her way up to the ceiling, ripping away at the webs to get the boy out from his cocooned confines.

"I don't trust her." Jason squinted his eyes at her, watching her every move.

Dick rolled his eyes at this. "You don't trust anyone Jay- Ow!"

His head went forwards, a light slapping noise echoing in the walls.

"Vigilante names, we don't know if she can hear us or not." Jason stated.

Dick only let out an annoyed huff, rubbing the back of his head, there was a bit of a smile on Jason's lips, his mood slightly lifting after giving his older brother a good smack.

The Spider soon let their youngest brother down back to the ground. They only watched in amusement as the two seemed to have an exchange of words before Bruce made his way over.

"You're alright?" He questioned his son, crouching down a bit to take a look at him.

"Fine." Damian huffed, looking away, arms crossed. "I told you this party was useless." He slightly glared at his father who only chuckled, giving a small ruffle to his hair.

"I'll make it up to you, promise." He smiled. Standing up, the billionaire looked at the female vigilante. "Thank you, for saving my son."

"Oh, I mean.." The Spider became a bit bashful, a sheepish laugh leaving her mouth. Rubbing the back of her head, she slightly looked away, waving her hand a bit. "It wasn't just me who helped too."

She looked over at the other two vigilantes, the two seeming to be talking—more like bickering, no one needs to know that but them though—until Nightwing lightly elbowed Red Hood who begrudgingly followed behind the masked vigilante who made his way to them.

"Mr. Wayne." Nightwing said with a smile.

"Ah, Nightwing." The billionaire smiled, looking over at the man that stood behind the more chipper vigilante. "Red Hood."

Red Hood only gave the man a curt nod, muttering the billionaire's name as a greeting. He shifted his weight, having crossed his arms before promptly looking away afterwards.

It became a bit awkward after that, Spider-Woman only watching with slight discomfort at the odd greeting she had just witnessed.

Clearing her throat, all three men looked over at her. "Well I uh, I better get going." She pointed behind her.

"To New York?" Bruce questioned, raising a brow.

"What?" She questioned back, looking at the man before blinking a bit too much. "You.." She pointed at herself. "You know of me?" She asked, dumbfounded.

He chuckled at this. "Of course, you were all over the internet with your disappearance." He mused.

"Oh.." She mumbled, remembering seeing the many articles as well. Everyone questioning as to where she had gone, and if she was coming back.

The flash of a smile and a melodic voice calling out her name came to her, making her grimace.

"Everything alright?"

She snapped her head up to look at the billionaire who had a bit of concern on his face, the two vigilantes looking at her with questioning look.

"Uh, yeah, sorry." She hummed nervously. "All that fighting really tired me out." She winded up her arm, rocking back and forth on her feet a bit. "Anyways uh, thank you, for having me. Sorry about the mess."

Her hands moved around all over the place, taking small steps back towards the large hole in the wall. "I'll be, I'll be going now, haha.."

Turning around, a web shot out from her wrist and she had left with the wind.

"Some party that was." Dick mused.

"Father did you see how she stuck me to the ceiling like some insect?" Damian quipped.

"Maybe because you are one." Jason mused.

Immediately, Damian's head turned to look at his brother to give him a glare. Bruce only sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Enough." Looking over at his two oldest, he gave them a questionable look. "Does anyone want to tell me what Spider-Woman is doing in Gotham?" He questions.

Dick shrugged at this. "Beats me."

Jason stayed quiet, a bit of a grimace falling on his face.

"Jason."

The second Robin only rolled his eyes, looking at his adoptive father.

"She seemed to have come to Gotham a week ago. Only trail she left was her webs." He informed, arms still crossed.

"And I wasn't informed about this because..?"

Jason shrugged. "Didn't seem important."

The father and son duo stared at each other for a good while, tension slightly building up.

Fuck, this wasn't how Jason wanted this to go.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Bruce beat him to it.

"Well as long as she doesn't pose a threat." He sighed out. "You two should probably get changed, I'm sure Gordan and the others will be here soon."

And right as Bruce said that, the distant sound of sirens could be heard, the colors red and blue flashing in a distance through the darkness and trees.

With a nod, both Jason and Dick went to leave—Damian following along to head to his room—Dick going on ahead, all the while Jason having stopped in his tracks after hearing his name be called out.

Turning his head, he looked over his shoulder, seeing Bruce stare at him for a moment, his lips pressed into a line.

"Will you..." He hesitated for a moment. "Will you be staying for the night?"

Jason stopped breathing for a moment.

Did he want him to stay? Or was he just asking out of formalities? Of course Bruce wanted him to stay, he was his son for crying out loud.

Jason's mouth suddenly felt dry, having to lick his slightly chapped lips. His eyes darted around the room, suddenly feeling like that walls of the ballroom were closing in on him even though there was a giant hole in one of the walls.

"No, I'll be going back to my place." He flexing his hand a bit to try and calm his nerves, feeling his clothes suddenly feeling a bit too small on him all of sudden.

"I see. Take care then. I'll see you tomorrow." Bruce said softly.

"Yeah." Was all Jason was able to muster before walking off, leaving the man by himself in the large ballroom.

His footsteps quickened once he left the room, a somewhat nauseous feeling overcoming him. Quickly moving the arms of the grandfather clock once more, he wasted no time going down the stairs.

Fast walking to his motorcycle, he kicked the stand up and stuck the key into the ignition.

"Leaving so soon?"

Jason paused, hand just barely about to turn the key to start his bike. It was quiet between him and Dick, the two not saying a word.

"Bye." Jason said, his bike roaring to life at the same time, almost drowning out his goodbye as he sped off.

Dick only sighed, watching his younger brother leave the Batcave, the smell of exhaust and gasoline filling the air.

At least he's trying.

part 1 part 2 part 3

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood #spiderwoman reader #to love and self loathe #strangers to friends to lovers #dcu #dc universe #x reader #female reader #I'm pretty proud about the fight scene #reader is just a lil silly #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #nightwing #tim drake

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jpitha · 2 months

Text

Between the Black and Gray 26

First / Previous / Next

"Shit!" Fen dove to the ground and slid into the legs of the first guard, knocking him over, and he tumbled into a pile with a grunt. The second saw that and skidded to a stop, putting the momentum from his run into swinging his rifle like a club.

"That's odd" Fen thought as she ducked under the rifle butt and reached up to twist his weapon out of his hands. "Why isn't he shooting?" She used the momentum imparted on the rifle by its previous owner to swing around and clock him in the skull, knocking him down.

Northern stood there, mouth agape.

Fen cycled the action on the rifle and checked it. It was loaded with armor piercing rounds. That was also odd. Who were they expecting to fight? She looked back towards Northern and picked up the luggage. "Well? Come on then. Grab that rifle, no sense in wasting it."

"Yes ma'am!" Northern grinned as she picked up the rifle and ran after her.

The original guard that had let Fen in was not at his post, his door sliding up and down as it hit an obstruction. Fen looked down only to see a booted foot blocking the door, preventing it from closing. The guard from earlier was face down just outside the doorway, with a pool of blood around his head.

"Northern... do you know a different way out?"

Northern peered around Fen. "I see what you mean. Seems like someone came in before us."

"Come now Fenchurch, surely I'm more than just 'someone'?"

Fen turned behind her, and saw Nal, standing there in the uniform of the Discoverers, flanked by two more guards.

"Nalenni? What are you doing?"

"Me? I'm just cleaning up a source of contraband. Tell me though, what are you doing? First they keep you aboard Dreams longer than me; that's fine, I figure they're trying to recruit you. Then, I hear that Dreams and her two escorts were obliterated when it blew itself up and the only witness was a human in a brand new Frigate with a ton of money and crates of weapons who has 'no idea' what happened." She put her hands on her hips. "I have to say Fen, I am impressed. If you did it, I have no idea how. If you didn't I have no idea how you escaped."

Northern looked down at Fen. "What's all this?"

Fen looked back at Northern. "Tell you all about it once we get out. You have my word I didn't do anything bad." She thought a moment. "Well, nothing I thought was bad at the time."

Nal looked at them both. "A new friend already Fen? My, but you tend to burn through them." She snapped her fingers and the two guards brought their rifles to bear. "Now ladies, let's not be stupid. Cooperate and I'm sure you'll both survive the day."

Northern locked eyes with Nal and mumbled out of the corner of her mouth "How bad do you want to get out of here?"

Fen tried to not react. "Uh, pretty badly? My ship is in the public docs if it hasn't been impounded. We can get there and go. I have no... real ties here." It wasn't exactly true, and it wasn't exactly a lie.

"When it happens, duck and run out of the door."

"When what ha-" was all she could manage before Northern reached behind her and whipped something at Nal and the guards faster than any human could. The K'laxi didn't have any chance of reacting as the concussion grenade blinded and deafened them.

K'laxi have larger eyes and ears than humans. It makes sense as they evolved in the large forests of their home. They were originally crepuscular animals, best suited to early morning and evening. Their sight - while not quite having the same contrast or color dept as humans - was excellent in low light.

The concussion grenade must have hurt like hell. All three of them screamed and dropped whatever they were holding to cover their eyes. Their ears flat on their head and they nearly collapsed onto the ground.

Fen dove through the door, with Northern following close behind. She used the rifle to slide the dead K'laxi's leg out from the door, and it slammed shut. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Fen, what the hell was that?" Northern's voice rising with each name she intoned.

"Can it wait?" Fen looked around the beige hall. She came from that direction, but it only led her to the bar. She was sure she didn't want to bring this heat on Ullen.

"No Fen, it can't wait. What. Is. Going. On." Northern put her hands on her hips and stood there, her face stony.

"Dreams had a shackled AI and I freed it using the code that Gord showed me, and she was quite... upset at being shackled for a few hundred years, killed everyone, gave me their money and the frigate, helped me leave and then blew themselves and their escorts up!" Fen blurted her story out in one breath, as fast as she could.

"That's... a lot, Fen."

"I know."

Nothern raised her eyebrow. "Why do I believe you?"

"It's true?"

She sighed again. "Yeah, it probably is. You know the unlock code for the AI shackles?"

Fen nodded "Yeah, it's 0001."

Northern's laugh was harsh. "Of course it is."

"Northern? Do you happen to know of an exit from here? I came from that way-" She pointed "-but I don't want to bring this heat down on the guy who let me in. He's...a friend"

Northern looked around, her eyes flashing blue for just a moment. "This way. If we go down here, we can take a freight lift closer to the docks."

Northern lead them down a hall, then jogged left and right as they walked through the endless beige. She made a few more turns and Fen decided to stop trying to keep track. The identical hallways were making her thoroughly lost. Northern didn't seem to mind though. She walked on at a regular pace, head high. Occasionally, she'd stop and appear to think for a moment before continuing on.

After what felt like Fen to be an endless series of halls, her feet were getting sore, and she was flagging. "Northern, are we close? I need a break."

Northern turned back and smiled. "We're close now Fen. Gotta keep going if you want to get to your ship. We've walked all the way across Minaren and up about thirty levels. In fact..." She stopped at a doorway, and touched a panel on the side. It slid open with a little vibration brought about from age. "Here we are!"

Fen peeked inside. It was no larger than a closet, and along the far wall was a ladder. "How far do we have to climb?"

Northern looked up. "Not too far. Couple dozen meters probably. Here-" She reached down to the cart that Fen was pulling and pressed a button. Straps flowed out of the bottom and the wheels tucked up inside. "It's a little heavy, but it's got good balance. Strong girl like you should be able to carry it no problem." She winked, and pressed a button on her carts, and they configured similarly. She wore one on her front and one on her back.

Fen struggled to wear the converted backpack. She got it on, but Northern was not lying about the weight. Northern seemed to have no problem with the weight. She started climbing, and Fen followed close behind.

True to her word, it was only a dozen meters or so until Northern stopped. Fen looked up and then blushed. Northern was wearing a skirt. "Northern, why did you stop?"

"One moment Fen, I have to open this hatch." Fen heard keys being punched in on a pad, and a grunt of effort, and then she felt her ears pop with an equalizing of pressure.

Northern scurried up out of the hatch, and Fen followed behind. They were on the dock in front of...

"Fen? Why the name of our blessed Ancestors did you come out of the floor? And who is that with you?"

"Zhe! You came!" Fen was surprised at her own relief at seeing the former K'laxi Discoverer.

Zhe's tail swished. "I did. I thought about what you said, and well, life on Minaren is pretty stable, but it's boring! I'm young. I want to see the galaxy, maybe make a name for myself. If nothing else do something other than lead people in for questioning." Zhe looked up, and up at Northern. "Who is your friend?"

Northern grinned wickedly. "I'm Northern Lights. Nice to meetcha. So that's three of us? Sounds like a crew to me, Fen. Let's boogie."

"Let's what?" Fen couldn't tell if Northern was using strange slang out of habit, or to be annoying.

She gestured towards the ship. "This is yours right? Let's jet. Let's abscond. Let us leave this place."

Fen looked around. Other than Zhe, nobody seemed to notice them. There didn't seem to be extra guards or anyone shouting for them to surrender immediately. Did they get away clean? "Zhe, did you hear anything about Nalenni running a raid on the Basement?"

Zhe's ears swiveled forward and her eyes widened. "How do you know about Senior Discoverer Nalenni?"

"Senior Discoverer? Huh." Northern made a face at Fen. "Uh, She was my last job with Gord. We were contracted to bring her here, actually. When we linked in Gord and Spyglass saw the Supers, dumped her and me into a pod and left."

Northern stared for a moment and then nodded. "Yes, that does sound like Gord actually. He was always a cautious one. I have to say Fen, you have a knack for being around important people at odd times." Northern turned to Zhe. "You still didn't answer the question though. Did you hear about Nalenni running a raid?"

Northern was just asking a question, but she must have intimidated Zhe something fierce. Zhe squeaked and nearly jumped at the question. "S-sorry Miss Northern, I haven't heard anything. I'm pretty low in the organization anyway, nobody tells me anything."

Northern grinned again "Miss Northern? I like you, friend. You can just call me Northern though, it's all right." She turned to Fen. "Shall we?"

Fen walked over to the airlock and laid a hand on it. It opened without protest. Huh. Maybe they really would get away clean. She waved them in.

"Come on. Let's get out of here, and see if we can find some more crew."

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #humans are space oddities #humans and aliens #jpitha #writing #humans and ai #humans are space capybaras #humans are space australians #Between the black and gray

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1800classiccherries · 11 months

Text

Dinner!

⚘ Miguel O'hara x fem!spider!reader

⚘ fluff! injury

⚘ summary: Miguel gets hurt during a mission and Y/n finds him and helps.

⚘ wc: 924

You sigh, sitting in the cafeteria, spider watching (people-watching but y'know, with spiders). You wondered why Miguel refused to let you go on this mission with him; you normally always accompanied him, but not today. To be honest, you felt like a loser sitting there alone; every spider passing by was talking to someone except you. It had crossed your mind to look for the others in your circle, but they were all on missions as well.

You pick up the empty cup on the table, throwing it away as you walk out of the cafeteria. Where were you going? You didn't know where, but sitting there alone was making you sad.

Walking past the corridor that leads to the monitoring room, you hear a stifled groan echo inside. You pause, debating on whether or not to check it out because, to your knowledge, Miguel was out right now.

Jumping a few times to hype yourself up, you start down the corridor. "Hello? Is someone in here?"

It seemed like no one was there, and no one responded, but your spider sense was telling you otherwise. It was telling you to swing to the platform. So you did; you knew better than to ignore the sense.

Shooting a web up, you zip through the air, lightly landing on the platform.

"Why didn't you tell me you were back?"

Miguel was there, hunched over one of the control panels clutching his side. With a sharp inhale, he stands up to his full height, but not without him wincing as a result.

"Just got back, figured you were busy," he says, looking the other way.

"You know I'm never busy, Miguel," you glace to where his hand was holding his side, "What happened?"

"Nothing major; it's just a scratch."

"Scratches don't bleed like that, last time I checked." you retort, crossing your arms over your chest. "Let me see it, please."

"Y/n. It's fine, really." he brushed off, beginning to walk away.

You gently place a hand on his bicep, "Please. let me help."

He looks at you for what feels like forever, and his shoulders relax, "fine."

You look around for somewhere he can sit. Why are there no chairs here? Does he ever sit? Your eyes settle on an open space on the control panel.

"Lean against this. I'll get some supplies and be right back."

You come back with an arm full of bandages and a bowl of soapy water. "I'm back," you set down the supplies before taking a step back to look at Miguel. His hand is no longer covering up what seems to be a deep wound spanning quite a few inches; whoever he was up against must've been really strong to get through his suit. It seemed he didn't need stitches, which was good. You wouldn't have been able to do that. The problem at hand was how you were going to go about this, his suit was in the way, and you didn't have the guts to ask him to take the top part off.

"Do you need me to take off the top part of my suit?" He asks, noticing how you're looking at him.

"Yeah, thanks," you turn around.

"You can turn back around, Y/n," You hear his voice from behind; it also sounded like he was laughing a bit, but you weren't sure.

You turn around, and if this was a cartoon, your eyes would've popped out of your skull. The top of his suit was gone, now revealing a sculpted torso. However, you don't let yourself gawk long since there's a task at hand.

You move closer to him and crouch to get eye level with the wound. You pick up the rag in the soap water and get started. As you were washing the wound, you wondered if you should strike up conversation or just stay silent.

You chose the former, "How'd this happen?"

"I don't want to talk about it." So much for conversation.

But the tension in the air was palpable. You could feel his eyes on you, and it took everything in you to not look up, not while you were this close to him.

"I can feel you staring at me," you mutter, feeling your heartbeat pick up.

"Sorry, couldn't help it. You're really beautiful."

"Stop," you chuckle softly, having a hard time focusing with him being shirtless and complimenting you. On the outside, you stayed calm, but inside, on the other hand, you were bouncing off the walls.

You finish cleaning the wound and grab the bandage wrap, "Could you stand so I can wrap up the wound?"

He does as you ask, putting his arms out a bit so you can wrap the bandage around his torso.

When you're done, you take a step back and look up at him, "All done. I'm no doctor, though, so go to the infirmary if anything happens."

"Alright, thank you." there was a look on his face you couldn't recognize as he took a few steps toward you.

"It's the least I could do; we're friends, after all..." Sadly.

You both stand there, unsure of what to do now. Miguel looked at you; he contemplated if now was a good time to ask you out to dinner.

"Would you like to get dinner sometime?" He asks, a little nervous about what you'd say.

You felt a smile tug at the corners of your mouth, "Like as a date?"

He nods, "As a date."

"Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

Thanks for reading!

#cherry's works ‧₊˚✧ . ˚#atsv x reader #atsv #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv x black reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099

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thoughtsandbones · 7 months

Text

A cranium full of tea and coffee

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Cafe Reader

Synopsis: Ghost takes a trip to a cafe out of town and meets a curious young lady and bond over books.

Warnings: Fluff basically, slightly OOC Ghost.

Song inspo: Baba O' Riley - The Who, Asleep - The Smith, With You - AP Dhillon, Wise Enough - Lamb and Excuses - AP Dhillon

A/N: (Discovered AP Dhillon a few weeks ago, because I have a bad habit of listening to songs/bands I already know...) SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL COFFEE SHOPS!!

(Reader is wearing glasses cos who doesn't love glasses...? Also I assume my reader is South Asian because there is a lack of South Asian representation for COD fanfics sorry not sorry)

MASTERLIST

It was quiet rainy Thursday afternoon in the the small town centre of Maidsfield. Ghost had the next seven days off and he was already bored out of his mind in his flat in London that he decided to take a train to a nearby town centre, Maidsfield, on the outskirts of London.

As he sat on the train he pulled out a book from his rucksack, flicking through the pages. His firm fingers ran over the bumps of the illustration on his new hardback copy of Stephen King's Salem's Lot.

Ghost hated the hustle and bustle of London cafes. All full of business folk, rushing in and out, talking too loudly on their mobiles, hosting noisy meetings next to him.

Office folk should stick to the office he remarked to himself the one and only time he went to a chain cafe in central London when a bunch suits sat next to him cackling over their espressos. When he looked up from his book he caught one the suits staring at him, giving him an odd look. Of course Ghost was wearing his signature skull balaclava, which often meant every day folks staring at him with odd looks.

Ghost returned the book in his backpack and sighed heavily, hitting his head back on the headrest of his seat. The carriage he sat in was virtually empty. He looked behind him as the train pulled to a stop and the other passenger got off. Ghost took this opportunity to go the toilet and switch from his regular skull balaclava to a black face mask the covered his nose and mouth, leaving the top of his head bare.

Before placing the mask on, Simon quickly brushed out his messy light brown hair so it was somewhat neat. He didn't wear any black paint today, partially because he forget his standard paint at base and also thought he'd give his skin a break today. Giving a final glance at himself in the small mirror he sighed again and raised his eyebrow at his reflection.

Simon left the toilet, and swung his backpack over his right shoulder, and stood by the doors as the train reached his stop. When the doors opened, he stepped out and pulled up his hoodie to combat the rain.

Walking out the station, Simon stood momentarily to the side. He realised he had to no idea where he was going in this new town. This was quite unusual for Simon, always a man prepared for anything and everything, especially on the battlefield. But this was not the battlefield. For the next seven days he had to acclimatise to civilian life.

Coffee shop sprung into his mind at last, and he walked down the road past various hurrying from shop to shop, trying to shield themselves from the onslaught of rain that came battering down.

Simon didn't mind the rain, he was strangely comforting to him, but as it became heavier he soon realised he had to find refuge in a warm cafe.

A chain coffee shop was just on his right, Simon glanced into the shop and saw that it was very busy, partially full of suits.

Fuck chain coffee shops he thought and walked on down further into the town. Simon was determined to find a small cafe that was not too busy.

Turning right down a small alleyway, Simon walked down the cobblestones pathway and noticed a coffee shop that drew him in instantly, Cerebrum Coffee Potions, which had a logo underneath of a white skull with a snake wrapped around the base.

Simon walked in and saw that it was virtually empty

"Afternoon!" Said the lady behind the counter who working behind the coffee machine

"Afternoo'" Simon said, shaking off the rain that drenched his jacket.

He noticed on the side a winding staircase that led upstairs. He took in the cafe, the various gothic art in black frames and antique tables and chairs adorned the bottom floor.

"Bit wet outside?" The lady said laughing slightly at Simon's drenched jacket and hood that covered his damp hair.

"Just a bit" Simon said, forcing a chuckle moving over to the till, gazing at the menu behind.

"What can I get you?" the lady said wiping her hands on her apron.

"Tea, Earl Grey please" He said and the lady typed away on the tablet. Simon gazed again at the winding staircase.

"There's space upstairs if you'd life" The lady said, noticing Simon's wondering eyes.

"Cheers" He said, returning to look at the total amount on the card machine.

"That's £2.30 please" She said, Simon pulled out his card and tapped it against the machine.

"Wonderful, I'll bring it up to" She said

"Thanks" Simon said, and made his way up the staircase, the walls were also decorated with more artwork of various skulls, both human and animal, woven with flowers or snakes.

As Simon reached the first floor, he noticed a younger woman, wearing a black hoodie, blue jeans with bright pink boots, sitting in the corner typing away on her laptop. Tortoise shell glasses framed your face that moved as your scrunched your nose. You looked up at Simon, who moved to the table in the opposite corner.

You smiled briefly as you locked eyes with him, Simon nodded back as he took a seat. Returning to typing, Simon pulled out his book and placed it on the table as he took his wet jacket off and placed it on the chair next time.

His eyes wondered at the antique coffee machine opposite him, serving as a condiment table. So far, he felt comfortable and relaxed compared to the chain coffee shops that had previously been in.

The barista came up the stairs holding a tray and placed it on the table where Simon sat.

"Anything else I can get you?" She asked him

"No, all good thanks" Simon said, moving the tray close to him and taking the black teapot, white teacup and saucer off and setting it to the side.

The barista smiled and walked over to the other lady in the corner.

"R/n, how's the report going?" She asked

You looked up with a disappointed look, pouting your full lips at the barista.

"Awful Jane" You sighed "Only so many times I can say experiment didn't work out well due to lack of time" You continued

"Awh, well I'm sure your supervisor will understand" Jane replied giving a smile.

"Hmm, hope so" You said smiling before returning to her laptop.

Simon watched as the barista walked back down the winding stairs, before pouring his tea in the cup, where he noticed there was also a skull embossed in black on the side.

I like this place so far Simon thought to himself as he poured the tea into his cup, placing one sugar cube, taking the vintage spoon stirring the hot dark amber liquid before adding a dash of milk.

He gazed at the lady in the corner again, who was making funny faces at her laptop as she typed with fervor, leaning closer and closer to her screen.

After he was sure that she wouldn't look, Simon took off his mask and took a sip of his tea. The taste of bergamont slid over his tongue, mixed with the sweetness of sugar. The warmth soothed his cold shoulders as he took another sip.

"Ahhh" Simon moaned aloud, he looked up briefly to see if you had noticed, yet you were still typing away, one eyebrow raised and only inches away from the screen of your laptop. Stopping momentarily, you rest your head on your left hand, with your pinky finger you slide your glasses up your nose bridge.

A part of him wanted to say 'Any closer and you'd be in your laptop' but he held his tongue. He opened his book and began re-reading the first chapter of his new hardback.

You sighed heavily and withdrew from your laptop, you leant so far back that your head hit the white brick wall behind you. Your skull bounced softly. Confusion struck you. You hit your head again on the white brick wall, and your skull bounced again.

Simon looked up curiously as you repeated the move, eyes bewildered as you knocked your head again.

Why is the wall so soft? You thought, whacking your head a bit harder this time, and then repeated the motion a few more times, staring blankly at the red walls in front of you. Withdrawing your hands from the keyboard of the laptop you touch the brick wall, as you pressed against it, felt it was soft slightly.

Of course it's a fake brick wall... You conclude, bouncing your skull again. You look over at the man in the corner, who was staring at you with his bright blue eyes in confusion. Your eyes widened as you realised you were not alone... The man in the corner had locked his eyes on you, you noticed his

"Ah sorry" You laugh nervously "It's a fake brick wall" you add smiling at him and touching and pointing to the wall behind you.

Simon was taken aback by that smile, that showed dimples in your cheeks.

"S'alrigh'" He said before returning to his book, smiling under his mask. Returning his focus back to the book, but his eyes flickered back to you.

Picking up the cup, Simon took another sip, taking pleasure in the sweet hot tea, he turned the pages of his book, fingers tracing the edges of the next page as he read on.

You got up from your table and went downstairs, grabbing another coffee from Jane. As you made you way up the stairs, you noticed that the man was reading a Stephen King book from the bold font on the spine.

"Stephen King fan huh?" You blurt as you caught eyes with the man again.

Simon cleared his throat "Yeah" he said closing the book, showing the cover.

"Salem's Lot!" You say grinning at him "I like Carrie, got a signed copy when he came into town last year at Page Stoner"

Simon leaned back in his chair, wonder captivated him.

Finally, someone who also likes Stephen King he thought, reminiscing the time he tried to get Johnny to read this book, but refused stating he hated anything to do with horror.

"Carrie is a good one" he said moving his hand from the table and resting it on the edge of the empty wooden chair next to him.

"Did you go to Page Stoner to see him?" You asked, taking a sip of coffee, still standing near his table.

Simon was confused, Page Stoner?

"Ergh no, I'm not from here" He said

"Ahhh" You sigh, "Where do you hail from then?"

"London" Simon said, not telling the whole truth "Wanna sit down?" He added motioning to the chair opposite him.

"Sure" You said smiling, setting down your coffee on his table "Let me just pack my things" You said, realising that you left your stuff unattended.

Simon watch you sit in the chair opposite, taking another sip of coffee.

"What's your name?" You ask

"Simon" He replied

"Nice, I'm R/n" you say, smiling again brightly

"Nice to meet you R/n" Simon said, admiring the dimples in your cheeks.

"So what do you do for a living?" You ask

Simon looked down at his half empty cup. He knew this was dangerous territory and didn't want to give too much away.

"Army" He said, blue eyes meeting yours.

"Ahh, Royal Marine?" You guess, judging by his muscular and tall build.

"Can't say" He murmured, taking his mask off, so he could take another sip of his tea.

"Oh sorry, I didn't mean to pry" You said, looking down at your cup of coffee, briefly looking at his face, you saw a glimpse of several scars over his lower jaw and over his nose.

"It's okay" Simon replied "How about you?" He asked placing his mask back on.

"Student, studying a masters in chemistry at UCL" you say "But I live here, commute to university"

"Nice" Simon said, looking down at his cup, observing you as you took another sip.

"How's your tea?" You ask

"Best Early grey I've had" Simon chuckled, tapping the edge of his cup with his right hand.

"This coffee shop is great. Better than those shitty chain stores"

"Indeed" Simon agreed with you.

"You like any other Stephen King books?" He asked, clearing his throat again.

"Yeah, I love IT and The Shining" You say, remembering you had a copy of The Shining in your bag, pulling it out to show Simon.

Simon took ahold of the book, flicking through the worn pages, clearly read many times.

"Didn't get this signed then?" He said, opening the first page of the book.

"Nah, was only allowed to get one copy signed..." You said remembering the look on Stephen King's face when you brought five of his books with you to the signing.

"Did you try and get more than one book signed?" Simon asked, grinning under his mask.

"Yeah..." You said, guilt flooded your face, cheeks turning slightly pink.

The rain outside pounded against the window where they sat, you look out, eyes trailing the raindrops running down the glass. Thunder bellowed outside. Perfect weather to be inside.

"Good thing you settled with Carrie" He said, setting his eyes again on you.

"Hmm" You smile in agreement

"I haven't read The Shining..." Simon started, staring back down at your copy, running his forefinger against the creases of the worn spine.

A grin appeared on your face as your eyes met. Simon saw your deep doe eyes glisten slightly.

Was this guy flirting..? You ponder,

"I haven't read Salem's Lot.." You replied, grinning mischievously.

"Want to do a swap?" Simon suggested

What are you doin'? A little voice spoke up in his head

"I'd love to" You say beaming at him.

Simon took in your big smile, that it made your dimples even deeper which caused a warmth to spread across his chest.

"Any chance you have a pen?" He said without thinking

Don't do it the little voice whispered again in his head

"Sure" You say, reaching for you rucksack, and taking out a pen from the outside pocket and handing it to Simon.

Simon grabbed a clean napkin from the tray and wrote his number down, his fingers went numb slightly as he hurriedly finished the last four digits.

"If you're in London the next few days, we should meet up" He said, handing the napkin over to you.

Taking the napkin, you fingers graze his for a moment, Simon ran his fingers against yours, a sharp zing simmered from his fingertips, up his arm to his chest, he quickly retracted his hand before temptation grew to hold your hand in its entirety.

The stairs creaked as Jane the barista came up, stopping just at the top.

"Sorry, guys, I'm about to close" She said

"Ah shit, it's 4:30 already?" You say bewildered checking your watch.

"Yep, times flies eh!" Jane said as she made her way back down.

Both you and Simon began to pack your belongings, Simon handed Salem's Lot over to you, and he placed your copy of The Shining in his bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"You heading home now?" You ask

"Yeah, train station actually." He replied

You nod at him and then peer out the window, it was still raining. You notice his jacket was slightly damp still. Your heart fluttered a bit, as you thought about offering to walk with him... He seemed so enticing and it was actually great to meet another avid reader of Stephen King.

Pulling out an umbrella from your backpack you hold out to Simon

"Think you might need this" laughing slightly as you motion to his damp jacket with the umbrella

Simon chuckled and moved closer to you, peering down at your slim frame and then looked out at the ever persistent rain outside.

"Think we both need it" He said raising his left eyebrow and then motioned with his head.

"Guess we'll have to share it then" You say smiling

"I'd like that" Simon said, gesturing you to go first down the stairs.

Once outside, you opened the umbrella, Simon took ahold of it, placing his hand briefly on your back as you both walked away from the coffee shop. You were quite surprised at how tall he actually was when you stood beside him. Together you walked down the wet cobblestones towards the train station.

Simon looked down at you and smiled under his mask. Today, he was grateful that he hated chain coffee shops, because it meant he met someone sweet like you.

#modern warfare fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #modern warfare fluff #fanfic fluff #cod fluff #simon ghost riley x female reader #thoughtsandbones #ghost fluff #simon ghost riley fluff

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opalescentdreamscape · 1 month

Note

i am thinking of Price in the stardew au/fic/hc when you come dragging yourself back to the farm at 12:30 AM beat up from the mines and having encountered a few too many monsters

oh my god i didn't even THINK OF THAT, he'd be so protective and almost overbearing about it for sure lol.

He absolutely stays up to wait for you. And any time he sees you gearing up for the mines, he starts fussing.

"You've got your sword? You remember the technique I showed you to block better? Got food? Where are your good boots, I don't want you twisting an ankle and being stuck down there. I don't care that you have a totem to get back, go put your good boots on."

He fusses over you like a mother hen, partially because he hasn't seen you in action, and partially because he just cares that much about your safety and well-being, especially since he doesn't want to have to follow you down into the mines. So of course he stays up on those nights when you're mining, worrying more and more as the clock ticks closer to 2am.

This night is no different than usual, except that you've been going to this place you call the Skull Caverns recently, and you've been coming home with less leftover food and more bruises and cuts than you ever did in the Pelican Town mines. He goes from reading on the couch to pacing when 1:00 hits, then to getting dressed and finding his sword, hidden away in a dusty box but still sharp enough to be of use by 1:30. By the time you dragged yourself into the house, John had already made up his mind to finish suiting up and go looking for you, and you can see the desert totem in his hand as proof. Not that you had time to notice much else before you pass out in the doorway.

The next morning you wake up late, around 8am, covered in bandages and neosporin and with John banging around in the kitchen. The smell of eggs and bacon rouses you, but as you walk into the kitchen, he tuts and tells you to get your butt back in that bed or so help him he will tie you down.

"I love you to death, darling, but you aren't getting up until I say so after what happened last night. And no more trips to that cavern until you get better gear because I do not want to be paying a visit to Harvey's office, worried out of my mind, just because you don't know when to quit. And I already checked all the crops and animals, so you have no excuse to be getting up."

And really, what more of a reason could you need just to stay in bed all day being pampered by your husband?

#anon ask #mikah's musings #drabble #stardew valley au #cod au #crossover #john price x reader #fluff #gender neutral reader #this was an excellent ask thank you #very much got the wheels turning in my brain bc it's an excellent scenario

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that1emowitch · 4 days

Text

Guilt

A/N: This was the result of a horribly vivid series of nightmares and daydreams I had. Kinda raw in some areas. T/W: Suicide Attempt, Suicidal Thoughts, Canon-Typical Violence Set after UTRH, in an AU where Bruce isn't a shitty Dad and Dick didn't know about Jason being Hood.

Word Count: 11152

The dull ache behind Dick's eyes felt like a constant thrumming in his skull. It wasn't a headache, not exactly, but a dull, throbbing reminder of the fragmented sleep he'd wrestled with all night. Images flickered at the edges of his mind, fleeting and nonsensical, the aftertaste of a nightmare he couldn't quite grasp.

He was both grateful and terrified that he couldn’t remember the nightmare.

He was better off in this void, just floating, disconnected, not real…

RING!!!!

The shrill blare of the alarm ripped him fully awake, a jolt that sent a tremor through his already strained muscles. He swatted at it blindly, silencing the insistent shriek. The harsh light of dawn filtered through the blinds, painting sickly yellow stripes across the rumpled sheets.

He stared at the ceiling, the white plaster a stark contrast to the leaden weight in his chest. His mind, usually a whirlwind of thoughts and plans, was a vacant lot. No playful banter with himself, no strategising for the upcoming day. Just… nothing.

There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. He knew that. His body ached in a way that transcended physical exertion, a deep, bone-deep weariness that lingered even after the adrenaline of the night had faded. He couldn't remember what had woken him, the nightmare a fleeting memory already dissolving into the fog of exhaustion.

He didn't need to remember, anyway. Nightmares were a part of the deal, these days. Unbidden companions in the lonely hours between sleep and wakefulness. With a sigh that rattled his chest, Dick rolled onto his side, pulling the covers tighter around himself. He didn't move, didn't think, didn't even breathe deeply. He simply existed, a hollow shell adrift in a sea of grey.

RING!!!!!

The dull ache behind his eyes morphed into a throbbing pressure as the alarm screeched back to life. Dick flinched, a low moan escaping his lips. The sound was a physical assault, each insistent ring echoing in the hollow space of his skull.

A weight landed on his chest, accompanied by a wet tongue being dragged across his chin. Haley, his faithful Bitewing, had apparently decided Dick's alarm clock wasn't loud enough. He forced a weak smile, scratching behind the dog's ears and kissing her face. The familiar warmth of Haley's fur offered a flicker of comfort, but it wasn't enough to dispel the leaden weight pinning him to the bed.

He knew he should get up. He had work, he had gymnastics classes to teach, patrol later… But the thought of facing the day, all those people, felt like scaling Mount Everest in flip-flops. What happened to Extraverted Darling Dickie Grayson? He wondered momentarily.

Every fibre of his being screamed for just five more minutes, ten maybe, an eternity of oblivion beneath the covers. But he knew the world wouldn’t stop for him.

With a sigh that rattled his chest, Dick finally pushed himself upright. The world tilted slightly on its axis as the blood rushed back into his legs. He stumbled slightly, catching himself on the nightstand. His room mirrored the chaos within him. He’d never been a very clean person, but at least he tried. However, today, clothes were scattered across the floor, a half-eaten protein bar lay abandoned on the desk, and his Nightwing suit, lay carelessly crumpled on the chair like a discarded exoskeleton.

He should put that away later.

The kitchen beckoned with the promise of coffee, the lifeblood of heroes (or at least moderately functional ones). For a second a ghost of a smile played across his lips at the hypocrisy of it – he spent hours preaching to Tim to drink less coffee, and here he was.

But it vanished just as quickly. Even the mere thought of turning on the coffee maker, the measuring, the brewing, felt like an insurmountable task. His stomach rumbled in protest, a pathetic counterpoint to the exhaustion gnawing at him.

It’ll be fine, He told himself. I’ll just buy something to eat later.

He shuffled to the bathroom, the fluorescent light assaulting his already strained eyes. The face staring back from the mirror was pale, and drawn, with dark circles that seemed to have taken permanent residence under his eyes. It was a face he barely recognised, a face that held none of the usual spark, none of the cocky charm that had once been his trademark.

He splashed water on his face, the cold offering a temporary jolt. He looked away, refusing to acknowledge the haunted look in his reflection. There was no time for introspection, not now. He brushed his teeth with mechanical motions, the taste of toothpaste sharp and metallic on his tongue. Just get through the day, that was the plan. One step at a time. He repeated the mantra to himself, a silent plea in the face of overwhelming apathy.

Dick finished his bathroom routine, the harsh light revealing the full extent of the damage beneath his eyes. He looked older, wearier, a far cry from the ever-youthful Dick Grayson. Even Haley, usually a whirlwind of enthusiastic tail wags at the start of the day, sat by the door with a subdued thump of her tail. A pang of guilt stabbed at him. Haley deserved better than a shadow for a companion.

He knelt down, scratching her ears with a forced smile. "Hey girl, you feeling under the weather too?"

Haley licked his hand once, a gesture that felt more like sympathy than her usual exuberance. The decision hit him with the sudden clarity of a gunshot. He couldn't take care of Haley right now, not the way she deserved. Alfred, with his endless patience and love for all creatures, would be a far better guardian.

"Alright, girl," he said, his voice rough. "Looks like you're going to spend some time with Alfred for a while. He'll spoil you rotten, trust me."

Haley tilted her head, a flicker of something akin to understanding passing through her intelligent brown eyes. Dick clipped on her leash, the familiar weight a grounding presence. “Don’t worry,” He whispered, trying to keep his voice light. Dogs hear emotion, not words, he reminded himself. “We’re still going for our walk!”

Dick brought Haley on their usual round through the nearby dog park. It was quite deserted today. Dick found himself thanking the heavens for that. It passed in a blur, and before he knew it Haley was leading him back to their apartment building.

As they walked out of the lift on Dick’s floor, Mrs Sanchez, their friendly neighbour, stopped him in the hallway.

"Dick Grayson! My goodness, you look like you could use a good night's sleep."

Dick's stomach lurched. He plastered on a smile, the effort a physical strain. "Ha! Just a late night, Mrs. Sanchez. Nothing a good old cup of coffee can't fix, right?" His voice sounded too high-pitched, too strained even to his own ears.

Mrs. Sanchez peered at him with a look of concern that scraped against his already frayed nerves. He needed to get out of there, fast.

"Well, don't you push yourself too hard, young man. We all need to take care of ourselves sometimes."

Dick mumbled a goodbye, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He couldn't handle her well-meaning concern, not now. He reached his apartment door, the key feeling like a foreign object in his hand.

A single glance at his reflection in the hallway mirror was all it took. The dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises, stark against his pale skin. Panic surged through him. He couldn't let anyone see him like this.

He darted back into the apartment, his heart hammering in his chest. Reaching for his makeup bag, something Roy and Wally had once gifted him as a joke, he applied concealer with trembling hands. The product did little to mask the exhaustion etched into his face, but at least it offered a thin veil of normalcy.

He could pretend to be your average 22-year-old, living alone and juggling two jobs. Not a… whatever he was.

He couldn't let the exhaustion show. He squared his shoulders, a mask of forced cheer replacing the despair that threatened to consume him. One step at a time, he reminded himself. Just get through the day.

Dick emerged into the gymnastics centre, the mask snapping into place as quickly as he shut the door behind him. A charming smile played on his lips as he greeted Mr. and Mrs. Lee, parents of one of his young students. The practised ease of his interactions with the neighbourhood was a comfort he clung to.

Inside the bustling gym, Dick was a whirlwind of encouragement. He coached flips, offered playful corrections, and high-fived successes. He was the embodiment of a patient, enthusiastic mentor – everything Tim would bluntly call "excessively cheerful, but very Dick Grayson."

But beneath the surface, his mind was a warzone. The exhaustion from the night pressed down on him like a heavy cloak, making his movements sluggish and his words stilted. He felt like a shell going through the motions, a hollow imitation of his usual vibrant self.

Then, a voice shattered the fragile illusion.

"Hey, Mr. Grayson! You know, you kinda remind me of someone," chimed in a bright-eyed seven-year-old named Ethan, mid-somersault.

Dick froze. Remind him of someone? A smile strained on his face. "Oh really? Who's that, buddy?"

"My big brother, Jason! He used to come here and watch me practice sometimes. Before you came here. He’s way cooler than you, though," Ethan declared with a mischievous grin.

The air in the room seemed to thin, the noise fading into a background hum. In Ethan's place, Dick saw a horrifying image – a lifeless Jason, his once-vibrant eyes vacant beneath a bloody hood. The memory, sharp and sudden, ripped a gasp from his throat.

He stumbled back, forcing a laugh that sounded more like a choked sob. "Woah there, Ethan! Don't flatter me too much!" He ruffled the boy's hair, desperately trying to regain his composure. "Jason was one of a kind, that's for sure."

“Was?” Ethan’s brows furrowed. “He’s not dead, he’s just in college.”

“Yeah, that— sorry,” Dick stumbled over his words, quickly leaving Ethan’s side to correct another little girl’s somersault, desperate to distract himself.

But the vision lingered, a dark stain on the periphery of his vision. His smile felt brittle, his cheer forced. The mask he wore felt suffocating, amplifying the growing emptiness inside.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. All he could feel was a crushing weight of guilt.

He'd failed Jason. He'd failed to protect him. And now, what about Tim? Would he fail him too?

The question echoed in the hollow space where his joy used to reside, leaving him numb and utterly alone.

The final whistle blew, signalling the end of the class. The excited chatter of the children faded as they filed out, leaving Dick feeling like a deflated balloon. He knelt down, forcing a smile as he helped Ethan onto his feet. "Good job today, champ! Keep practising those flips!"

Ethan grinned, oblivious to the storm brewing inside Dick. As the last child left, Dick slumped onto a padded mat, the exhaustion finally overwhelming him. He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of the day pressing down. He couldn't stay here, not now. He needed to see Tim, needed to know his only remaining little brother was alright.

He drove back to his apartment, a restless energy coursing through him. Leaving Haley behind felt wrong, but he knew Alfred would be happy to have her company. As he packed a duffel bag with essentials, a dark thought flickered across his mind. Why would Alfred be happy? Lately, Dick had barely visited, and hadn't even returned Alfred's texts.

Pushing the thought aside, he loaded Haley into the car, patting her head reassuringly. "Hey girl, we're going on a little trip. You're gonna be staying with Grandpa Alfie for a while, alright?"

Haley whined softly, sensing his distress. Dick scratched behind her ears, offering a weak smile. "It'll be fun, trust me. Alfred has the best treats."

He drove ‘till evening, the familiar Gotham skyline rising on the horizon as dusk approached. Dick felt a tremor of apprehension run through him. He hadn't visited the Manor unannounced in years, not since his last fight with Bruce… he shut that door in his mind with a slam.

Parking the car in the driveway, he took a deep breath, steeling himself. He rang the doorbell, the familiar chime echoing through the silent house. The door creaked open, revealing a smiling Alfred.

"Master Dick! What a pleasant surprise!" Alfred exclaimed, his eyes lighting up with seemingly genuine joy. Dick blinked, surprised by the warmth in Alfred's voice. Had he missed a birthday? Some family event?

"Hey, Alfred," Dick managed, forcing a smile.

"Come in, come in, Master Dick. It's good to see you. I was just about to start making dinner." Alfred bustled around, ushering Dick inside. The familiar scent of freshly chopped vegetables and baked bread filled the air, a comfort he hadn't realised he craved.

As Dick settled into a chair, Haley nudged his hand with her wet nose. "Oh dear," Alfred said, spotting Haley. "It seems you've brought a guest."

Dick sighed. "Yeah, about that… I'm going to be a bit… unavailable for the next few weeks. I was hoping you could look after Haley?" Shame burned in his throat as the words left his mouth. He couldn't bring himself to say it, not yet. He shouldn’t even be asking Alfred for help; he’d raised Dick out of kindness and obligation to Bruce, not because he genuinely wanted to. He shouldn’t be forcing this on the already overworked man.

Alfred knelt and scratched Haley behind the ears, the dog wagging her tail enthusiastically. "Of course, Master Dick. I'd be happy to. In fact, it will be nice to have some company around the house. It's been a bit… quiet lately."

Dick's heart clenched. Was that Alfred's way of asking him to return? He couldn't say anything. Not yet. "Thanks, Alfred. I… appreciate it. Just let me know if you need anything."

"Now, now, Master Dick. You focus on whatever you need to do. You just let me know when you plan to be back."

Dick nodded, unable to meet Alfred's gaze. "Yeah, I'll let you know."

He spotted a bowl of little sweets set near the kitchen counter, likely for Tim or Steph when they passed by. He considered popping one in his mouth, if only to maintain his carefree and playful persona, but eventually decided against it. He couldn’t stomach putting something in his mouth, he felt like he’d throw up.

Instead, Dick rose from his seat, the floorboards groaning under his weight. The playful charade felt hollow on his tongue, the thought of a fake snack turning his stomach. The sweets felt almost cruel, taunting him like that.

Clearing his throat, he forced out a question, "Uh, Alfie, do you know where Tim's at?"

Alfred paused in his chopping, a knowing look settling on his face. "Master Tim is in the Batcave, Master Dick. Said he was catching up on some case files."

A wave of relief washed over Dick. Tim was safe. He was here. But the relief was tinged with a prickling unease. He hadn't spoken to Tim in weeks, hadn't even bothered to return his texts. All that, after promising himself he’d take care of his little brother this time. Guilt gnawed at him, a familiar sensation these days.

He nodded stiffly. "Thanks, Alfred."

He made his way towards the Batcave, each step a descent into the familiar yet intimidating haven.

The cave door hissed open, revealing Tim hunched over a holographic computer and newspaper clippings, brow furrowed in concentration. He looked pale, too thin for a 14-year-old, but his eyes held a familiar fiery determination.

Dick stood there for a moment, the cavernous space suddenly deafening with silence. He wanted to apologise, to explain, to offer some semblance of support. But the words wouldn't come. The weight of his own struggles seemed to constrict his throat.

Tim finally looked up, startled at his presence. "Dick? What are you doing here?"

The question hung in the air, raw and accusatory.

"I, uh…" Dick stammered, the cavernous space amplifying the awkwardness. "Just checking in. Making sure you're, uh, doing okay."

Tim stared at him for a beat, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, I'm fine," he finally said, a touch too quickly. He turned back to the holographic display, dismissing Dick with a finality that stung.

“So, what’re you up to?” He tried to keep up the conversation, not let this light fade.

Tim’s brows furrowed ever so slightly, the way they did when Tim was annoyed but masking it. “Just working on some case files,” He answered after a beat. He returned to his files, the awkward silence stretching between them. Dick had always been the one to fill silences, to crack jokes, to bridge the gap between them. But today, the words were locked away, a prisoner in his own mind.

Dick felt a strange sense of vertigo. He, the usually charming, charismatic Dick Grayson, was at a loss for words. It was a feeling so foreign, so unsettling, it made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

The weight of his helplessness was crushing. Here he was, the supposed older brother, and Tim was the one holding it together. It should have been the other way around.

Suddenly, an impulse seized Dick. He leaned down, ruffling Tim's hair with a gentleness that surprised even him. "I love you, Timbo," he choked out, the words thick with unspoken emotions.

Tim froze, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I… love you too, Dick," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Dick straightened, a strange emptiness settling in his gut. Was that all there was to say? Where were the heartfelt conversations, the shared anxieties, the bond they used to have? He was lost, adrift in a sea of his own making.

"Alright, well, uh… I'll see you around," Dick stammered, the awkwardness hanging heavy in the air. He beat a hasty retreat from the Batcave, the silence following him like a phantom.

As he emerged into the Manor he spotted the last rays of evening sun disappearing through the windows. It was getting late; He couldn’t drive back to Bludhaven and make it to patrol tonight. He sighed. Guess he’d stay at the Manor tonight.

Then another thought hit him. Bruce.

Bruce was right here, in this house. Dick couldn’t handle another argument with his foster father tonight, he’d finally lose it.

He wouldn't see Bruce. No, not tonight. He wasn't ready for that conversation, not until he understood the storm raging within himself. Tonight, he just needed a place to crash, a roof over his head.

With a sigh, he headed to his old room at the Manor. He passed by the kitchen, just to tell Alfred he wasn’t very hungry, that he’d eaten on the drive to Gotham. Then he retreated to his bed, setting an alarm to wake up right before patrol.

The trapeze stretched endlessly above a churning abyss. Below, the wind howled, whipping Dick’s hair into his eyes. A sickening fear twisted in his gut, the spotlight blindingly bright. He noticed the lack of a safety net below – no one in their right mind would try this trapeze. But that's where his parents were, clinging desperately, their faces etched with terror as the rope slowly snapped.

"My Robin!" His mother's voice, strained and raw, barely reached his ears.

But this wasn’t how it actually happened, was it?

He lunged, arms outstretched, the distance impossibly vast. His fingers grazed his father's, just for a fleeting moment, before their grip loosened. Their cries, a horrifying symphony of despair, were lost in the howling wind as they plummeted.

Dick screamed, a primal, agonising yell that tore from his throat. He launched himself forward, defying gravity, but it was too late. The net gave way with a sickening snap, offering no solace, no reprieve. He watched, his world turning into a swirling vortex of red and bone, as their lifeless forms crumpled on the unforgiving ground.

Then, strong arms enveloped him, pulling him back from the precipice. A choked sob escaped him as he buried his face in a familiar chest. Warmth and an iron grip anchored him, a sliver of safety in the face of utter devastation.

"It's okay, Dick. It's okay." Bruce's voice, rough with emotion, offered a fleeting balm. He was nine again, small and angry and vulnerable, clinging to Bruce, who promised to keep him safe. But the moment of comfort was shattered.

A manic laugh echoed through the darkness, chilling Dick to the bone. There, standing between him and Bruce, was the Joker, his painted grin grotesque under the harsh light.

"Ah, Boy Blunder, always the disappointment!" he cackled, his voice dripping with venom. "Couldn’t even save the last one, could you? What was his name? Oh, yes, poor little Jason."

A wave of murderous fury washed over Dick. Visions of Jason, lifeless and pale in his funeral casket, flooded his mind. He lunged, fueled by a primal rage. The fight was a blur of fists and fury, his own screams mingling with the Joker's hysterical laughter.

He didn't know how long it lasted, the adrenaline a white-hot fire consuming him. But eventually, the Joker lay still, a crimson stain blooming on his chest, the sick smile plastered permanently on his cold, dead face.

Dick stared at his hands, stained red, realising with a sickening dread what he had done. He didn’t completely regret it.

His breath came in ragged gasps as he turned to face Bruce.

But Bruce wasn't there. In his place stood Batman, his features obscured by the cowl. The disappointment in his eyes, a bottomless pit of sorrow, was a blow worse than any physical harm.

"You failed, Dick," Batman's voice, a low growl, echoed in the vast emptiness. "Just like you always do."

The words hung heavy in the air, a chilling indictment. Then, Batman turned and walked away, his silhouette fading into the darkness.

Dick was alone, the deafening silence broken only by his ragged gasps for breath. He was lost, adrift in a sea of despair, the echo of Bruce's voice a constant reminder of his failures. He had failed his parents, failed Jason, and now, he had failed Bruce. There was nothing left, no hope, no redemption.

He woke with a gasp, heart hammering against his ribs, the nightmare clinging to him like a shroud. The sheets were damp with sweat, the cold air of the guest room a stark contrast to the inferno within him.

As the nightmare receded, a chilling realisation dawned on him. He didn't know what scared him more, the brutal deaths of his loved ones, or becoming the faluire that Bruce feared him to be.

But the terror wasn't over. A cold, clammy hand brushed his cheek. He bolted upright, his scream echoing in the empty room. Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating a horrifying tableau.

Jason's lifeless body lay beside him, his face contorted in a silent scream. Tim, his usually perky little brother, was sprawled on the other side, a crimson stain blooming on his chest. A choked sob escaped Dick's lips as he scrambled away, his back hitting the wall. Panic clawed at his throat as he saw a weathered tombstone by the foot of the bed. The inscription sent a fresh wave of terror crashing over him: "Alfred Pennyworth. Loyal friend, devoted father and grandfather."

Dick could feel sticky, hot blood on his fingers, coating his body, drowning him. It’s like he was bleeding to death. Catalina’s honey-sweet voice echoed through the room, too distant to make out the words but loud enough to choke him.

Across the room, Barbara lay unconscious, a pool of blood spreading beneath her. Her breaths were shallow and raspy. A horrifying realisation dawned on Dick. He wasn't bleeding to death, she was. The nightmare wasn't over, it was just getting started.

“No, no, no…” Dick whimpered, covering his head with his hands and curling into a ball, willing the nightmares to go away. But they persisted, tearing him apart piece by piece, clawing and ripping until there was nothing but a hollow void left.

It was his fault.

All his fault.

In the distance he could see figures hanging by their necks, suspended from trees. Wally, Roy, Garth, Raven, Gar, Donna… Kori lay on the ground beneath them, still and frozen, devoid of her usual warmth and fire.

NO! He wanted to scream, but no words came out.

Dick clawed at his throat, gasping for air that wasn't coming. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs, echoing in his screaming ears. But the screams were silent, a horrifying internal torment. The figures around him, bathed in the sickly moonlight, remained motionless, their lifeless faces a tableau of his deepest fears.

A piercing shriek ripped through the room, jarring him awake. It wasn't Barbara's ragged breaths, nor the echo of his own silent scream. It was the blaring of the guest room alarm clock, a harsh intrusion into the chilling nightmare.

He lay there, eyes squeezed shut, fighting for sanity. The sheets were still damp, the air thick with the memory of terror. But the phantoms were gone. The room was devoid of the macabre scene that had played out moments, or was it hours, ago? He couldn't be sure.

Slowly, Dick opened his eyes, blinking against the weak light filtering through the curtains. The room looked normal, empty except for the furniture. Relief washed over him, a fleeting wave in the ocean of despair. He couldn't remember the specifics of the nightmare, just the raw emotions – fear, loss, and a bone-deep sense of failure.

He pushed himself out of bed, his muscles stiff and protesting. A quick glance at the clock confirmed it was still 10 pm. Tim and Bruce must have left for patrol by now.

Good.

He wasn't ready to face Bruce, not yet. He couldn’t explain that he loved Bruce, that he was sorry they fought all the time. Couldn’t explain how much he regretted everything he did wrong. Couldn't explain the nightmares, the vulnerability they exposed.

Instead, he showered, the cool water doing little to soothe the turmoil within him. He dressed quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, a stark contrast to the sleek black suit he should be wearing.

Downstairs, the house was quiet. The scent of coffee hung in the air, a tantalising lure for his exhausted mind. But he couldn't allow himself the comfort. Not today.

He slipped out a side door, the cool morning air a shock to his system. He needed the Batcave, the familiar weight of his Nightwing suit, the focus that came with flying over the city. Maybe tonight, when Gotham needed him, he could outrun the monsters that haunted his dreams.

The thrill of the chase coursed through Dick's veins as he apprehended the third group of muggers that night. Adrenaline was a poor substitute for a good night's sleep, but at least it kept him sharp. Everything was still a blur, but it was more like he’d mentally checked out but functioning, rather than being catatonic.

Landing gracefully on a Gotham rooftop, he scanned the area, his gaze falling on a familiar traffic light-coloured figure perched on the edge.

"Robin?" Dick called out, his voice barely a whisper above the city's constant hum.

Tim startled, his wrist-computer snapping shut with a click. "Nightwing. Didn't hear you come up."

Dick landed beside him, noting the furrow in Tim's brow. "Lost in a case already, Baby Bird? Early start, aren't we?"

Tim shrugged, his expression uncharacteristically guarded. "Just following up on something. You wouldn't know anything new about the Red Hood, would you?"

Dick's breath hitched. Red Hood? The brutal vigilante-slash-crime lord Bruce had been obsessing over just a few months ago? "Red Hood? Why do you ask?"

Tim tapped his wrist-computer, lost in thought. "He disappeared for months, then suddenly reappeared a few weeks back. But B... well, Batman isn't exactly pulling out all the stops to find him anymore. It’s like they’ve made peace or something. It's weird, right?"

A knot of unease tightened in Dick's gut. This was strange. Bruce wouldn't just abandon a case, especially one involving a dangerous vigilante. Not unless there was a reason he wasn't sharing with them. And knowing Bruce, that was likely the case.

"That is weird," Dick agreed cautiously. "Did B say anything about it?"

Tim shook his head. "Nope. Wouldn't tell me a thing. So, I figured I'd do some digging myself."

Dick understood Tim's curiosity, but a part of him worried about the direction this investigation might take. It was standard Robin protocol to disobey Batman’s orders, but the Red Hood was dangerous, and absolutely hated Robin.

The image of Tim, bloody and dying in the Titans Tower, flickered over reality for a moment, chilling Dick to the bone.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could voice his concerns, a crackle of static interrupted him.

"Nightwing, Robin," Oracle's voice cut through their comms, sharp and urgent. "Gunfight in progress, two blocks east of your location. Possible hostage situation."

Dick exchanged a quick glance with Tim. "Looks like we have other priorities for now, little brother. Let's go."

Tim nodded, his earlier apprehension replaced by a steely focus. Together, they launched themselves into the night, the mystery of Red Hood temporarily put on hold as they raced towards the sound of gunfire.

Sirens wailed in the distance as Nightwing and Robin descended upon the scene. A dark alleyway echoed with the frantic pop-pop of gunfire, a silhouette of three gunmen visible against the flickering glow of a streetlamp.

"Civilians?" Dick barked into his comm, eyes scanning for any signs of bystanders.

"Scattered on the east side of the alley," Oracle responded. "Looks like a family caught in the crossfire between Penguin and Black Mask’s gang members."

A plan formed in Dick's mind. "Robin, you take the east side. Evacuate the civilians, get them out of here. I'll handle the shooters."

"Got it," Tim replied, his voice tense but steady.

Using the shadows as cover, Dick and Tim flanked the alleyway. Tim, nimble and agile, slipped through a fire escape and disappeared into the darkness. Dick, utilising his acrobatic skills, launched himself across the open space, aiming for a dumpster that offered a sliver of cover.

The moment he landed, a hail of bullets zipped past him, embedding themselves in the metal with sharp pings. Dick cursed under his breath, whipping out his Escrima sticks and attacking the criminals. His aim was precise, taking out the gunman's peripheral weapons one by one. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Robin leading the mother and her daughters away.

Tim's voice crackled through the comms. "Family's safe. Heading back to your position."

Relief washed over Dick, momentary and fleeting. Just then, the last remaining gunman, desperate and cornered, emptied his clip in a blind rage. Dick, focused on returning fire, didn't see the glint of two stray bullets not aimed at him, that pierced into Tim's abdomen before anyone could react.

Tim's startled yelp ripped through the night, followed by a heavy thud as he crumpled to the ground. Dick's blood ran cold. "Robin!" he screamed, his voice raw with terror. Ignoring the remaining gunman, he launched himself towards his brother.

A dark figure swooped down from the rooftops, a blur of black and grey. Batman landed with a heavy thud, his cape billowing around him. He disarmed the gunman with an effortless efficiency before turning his attention to the fallen Robin.

Dick reached Tim's side, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Tim lay near motionless, a spreading stain blooming on his red chest. Panic clawed at Dick's throat. "Baby Bird! No, no, no!" he choked out, his voice thick with despair.

He fumbled with his communicator, his hands shaking so violently he could barely press the buttons. "Oracle! Get Leslie to the Cave, now!"

"Already on it, Nightwing," came the reply, laced with urgency. But the words seemed to fade away as Dick focused on the shallow breaths escaping Tim's lips, the crimson that stained his gloved hand.

He pressed his hand over the wound, applying pressure with trembling hands. The world narrowed to the sight of his little brother, pale and still, the life draining out of him with each laboured breath. The fear that had haunted his nightmares was now a terrifying reality, and Dick was utterly helpless to stop it.

The world spun, a kaleidoscope of red and black blurring around Dick as he pressed his hand onto Tim's chest. A horrifying vision flickered over Tim's pale face – Jason, lifeless and cold, his blue eyes staring emptily into eternity. Dick's stomach lurched, a primal scream trapped in his throat. This couldn't be happening again. Not Tim. Not another brother lost!

His vision swam as a large hand clamped on his shoulder, firm and steady. "Nightwing, stand back," Bruce's voice, a low growl, cut through the haze of terror.

Dick felt himself being pulled upright, a numb puppet on a string. Bruce knelt beside Tim, expertly assessing the wound, the cowl doing little to hide the worry etched on his face. Dick watched, detached, as Bruce called for the Batmobile, his own voice gone, replaced by a hollow echo.

When the Batmobile arrived, screeching to a halt in the alley, Bruce scooped Tim up, his movements swift and practised. He looked at Dick, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions Dick couldn't decipher.

"Get to the cave," Bruce ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. Dick could only nod, his body a statue carved from despair. He watched as Bruce disappeared into the Batmobile, the red taillights vanishing into the night, taking with them a piece of his soul.

Alone in the blood-soaked alley, the weight of his failure crashed down on him. He hadn't been able to protect Jason, and now, he had failed Tim too. The guilt was a crushing tsunami, threatening to drown him. He sank to his knees, the cold concrete biting into his skin, a welcome contrast to the inferno raging within him.

Slowly, the hallucination faded, but the sight of Tim, pale and motionless, was no less horrifying. The red stain on his shirt grew larger, a macabre bloom mirroring the one that had claimed Jason's life.

A choked sob escaped Dick's lips, tears blurring his vision. He couldn't stay here, couldn't face the echoing silence of the empty city. With a Herculean effort, he pushed himself to his feet, a tremor running through his limbs.

He stumbled back to his motorcycle, the vehicle suddenly feeling unfamiliar, a foreign object beneath his shaking hands. He revved the bike, the purr of the engine a distant echo in his ears.

The drive back to the Batcave was a blur. He didn't remember the streets he passed, the red and blue lights of police cars flashing by like phantoms in the night. He was on autopilot, driven by a desperate need to be with Tim, to somehow make things right.

By the time he reached the Batcave, the air hung heavy with a sterile scent and the rhythmic beeping of life support. Bruce and Alfred were there, a grim tableau of concern etched on their faces. Tim lay on the medical table, his chest rising and falling with the help of the machine, a stark contrast to the peaceful slumber he should have been in.

Dr. Leslie, her brow furrowed in concentration, worked on removing the bullets from Tim's abdomen. The exposed flesh, the glistening red, sent a wave of nausea crashing over Dick.

He stumbled back, his legs giving way beneath him. Bruce caught him before he could hit the floor, a firm hand on his shoulder. Dick could only stare at the scene before him, his mind numb, his body a hollow shell. Bruce’s face was tight, eyes filled with… disappointment?

Of course Bruce was disappointed.

Dick had failed. He had failed them all. And the worst part? He didn't know if he could even face Tim if he lived. Because how could he look at his little brother, his Baby Bird, and not see the ghost of Jason staring back at him?

Bruce's hand tightened on Dick's shoulder, his voice low and gravelly. "Get some rest, Dick."

But Dick saw only disappointment in his father figure's shadowed eyes. Disappointment in his weakness, his inability to protect. Jason's lifeless face flickered again, superimposed on Tim's pale form. He heard the words Bruce was too stoic to say: You failed. This is all your fault.

So Dick decided to say them instead.

"No," Dick rasped, his voice raw. "It's my fault. I failed him, just like I failed Jason."

The words tumbled out, laced with a self-loathing that twisted his insides. He couldn't stay here, not under this suffocating weight of his failures. Not with Bruce's silent judgment hanging in the air.

With a surge of adrenaline that surprised him, he ripped his arm free and stumbled back. "I… I need some air," he choked out, the words a desperate plea for escape. He didn't wait for a response, just bolted towards the Batcave entrance, the image of Jason's lifeless eyes burning into his retinas.

He didn't remember the ride into the city. His mind was a chaotic storm, replaying the events of the night on a loop. The alleyway, Tim's crumpled form, the sickening sight of Tim's wound. The crushing guilt, a relentless tide threatening to drown him.

He reached Babs’ old apartment on autopilot, the familiar surroundings offering no solace. He hadn’t come here in years, why now? He couldn’t stay here, he shouldn’t be here. He needed to run.

Without a second thought, he twisted the keys once more, the engine roaring to life the moment he threw himself on the bike. He sped through the city, the wind whipping at his face, a welcome sting against the numb terror that had him in its grip.

He had no destination, no plan. Just the desperate need to escape, to outrun the demons chasing him. As he weaved through deserted streets, a familiar landmark caught his eye – the old Gotham Mall, looming over him. And on the side at the top, nearly 20 stories high, a smaller gargoyle jutted out, barely visible in the night.

A jolt of recognition shot through him. It was Jason's favourite gargoyle, a hidden nook he used to visit after patrols. The memories were still crystal clear in Dick’s mind – sharing greasy Batburger take-out and laughing at each other's jokes. A bittersweet memory, tainted by the weight of his guilt.

He pulled over, the bike screeching to a halt on the deserted street below the tower. He grappled up, climbed the building with practiced ease, his movements fuelled by a morbid curiosity.

As he reached the gargoyle, a wave of vertigo hit him. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down. Heights hadn’t bothered him in years since his parents’ deaths. The bustling city stretched out below him, a tapestry of twinkling lights and inky shadows. The street seemed a dizzying distance away, a good twelve stories down.

He felt a strange sense of calmness wash over him. The city, once a symbol of hope and justice, now mirrored the chaos within him. Here, perched on the edge, he could almost see the peace of oblivion beckoning.

Was this the only way to escape the ghosts that haunted him?

The wind howled around him, a chilling symphony to his despair. Below, the city lights bled into a blurry mess, the distance both terrifying and strangely inviting. A voice, insidious and cold, slithered into his mind. 'They're better off without you, Dick. All you do is bring pain. Jason, Tim, your parents...even Barbara left ‘cause she saw she’s better off far away from you.'

The names echoed in the vast emptiness of his mind, each one a fresh stab of guilt. Jason's lifeless face superimposed itself onto the city lights below, a horrifying reflection of his failure. Tim, pale and broken, joined the macabre image. His parents plummeted into the abyss, their screams lost in the whistling wind. Bruce's face, etched with disappointment, loomed large.

A choked sob escaped Dick's lips. This pain, this crushing weight of failure, was unbearable. He could end it all here. Finally find some peace, some solace in the oblivion below. It wouldn't solve anything, wouldn't bring them back, but at least it would stop the pain. He wouldn't be a burden anymore.

This would be better for everyone.

A tear streaked down his face.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. This was it. This was the only way out. As he leaned forward, a hand slammed onto his shoulder, yanking him back from the edge.

He stumbled back, heart hammering against his ribs, eyes flying open to see a large figure standing behind him. The moonlight cast an eerie glow, obscuring the figure's face. But the voice, a familiar rasp that sent shivers down his spine, cut through the chaos in his mind.

"Wingding, what are you doing?!"

Disoriented, Dick's eyes snapped open, the city lights swirling before him. A hand, rough and calloused, gripped his shoulder again. Someone was calling out to him, desperate, but it seemed so far away. He blinked the grogginess from his eyes, his breath catching in his throat.

Standing there, bathed in the pale moonlight, was Jason.

Jason, in the Red Hood gear, minus the helmet. His face, too old and grown-up, was etched with a mixture of anger and something that looked… like concern?

But there, superimposed on the living Jason, was a horrifying image of Jason's lifeless body, the grotesque grin of death frozen on his face. Dick's mind reeled. Was this real? Was Jason a hallucination conjured by his fractured mind?

"I'm sorry," Dick choked out, his voice barely a whisper. "I couldn't save you. I'm the reason you're dead…"

Jason swore under his breath. This wasn't good. Dick's voice was thick with despair, his eyes glazed with a terrifying emptiness.

"Dick, listen to me," Jason said, taking a tentative step closer. "It's me, Jason. You're not hallucinating."

His words seemed to be filtered through a thick fog in Dick's mind. They didn't register. He took a stumbling step back, the world tilting precariously beneath him.

Finally, this would end.

"Dick, don't do this!" Jason yelled, his voice laced with desperation. He lunged forward, grabbing for Dick's arm. But in his haste, he overshot, his own momentum causing him to stumble.

Dick flinched at Jason's movement, his gaze fixed on the horrifying apparition that mirrored Jason. He saw Jason's hand reaching out, but didn't register the concern in the action. To him, it seemed like a desperate lunge to drag him over the edge.

He let out a whimper, squeezing his eyes shut. "Leave me alone," he mumbled, collapsing backwards, his body hitting the rough stone of the roof behind the gargoyle with a heavy thud. “I failed you. Failed Tim. Bruce. My parents. Everyone.”

Jason landed hard beside him, the wind knocked out of him. Dick didn’t fully register bulky arms wrapping awkwardly around him, his face being pressed into leather in an imitation of safety. This was the Red Hood, for God’s sake! Dick really should run away. But why did the criminal save him?

“Look, Dickface, you were in space when I died, okay?” A voice shouted in the distance. “Fuck, don’t give up on me… Dick, hey, stay with me…”

He was being lifted.

Everything was a blur. City lights below him – above him? He couldn’t tell. Leather wrapped around him, someone in Kevlar holding him tight.

Sounds, distant, too bright.

Too muffled, at the same time.

The world was a swirling kaleidoscope of pain and fragmented images. One moment, Dick saw the distorted city lights, the next, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Then, darkness.

He surfaced again to find himself being lowered onto a cool, firm surface. A pair of gentle hands, large and calloused, held him steady. A familiar scent, sterile yet homey, reached his nose. "Alfred?" he rasped, his voice dry and thick.

The reply was a murmur, barely audible. Then, a flash of Red Hood’s logo, stripped bare of the leather jacket and paired with a familiar black-haired boy – Jason? But how…? Wasn’t he…

A new image snapped into focus. Tim. Lying still on a bed next to him, pale but undeniably breathing. Machines whirred and beeped rhythmically, a comforting counterpoint to the frantic hammering of his own heart.

Tim was alive. A wave of relief so intense it almost knocked him out again washed over him. He had failed him, failed them all, but Tim was alive.

Then, another thought wormed its way into his muddled mind. How did he get here? Where was Jason? He tried to lift his head, but a searing pain shot through his temple, forcing him back down.

"Easy, Dick," a calming voice said, a hand pressing gently on his forehead. "You need rest."

He recognized Bruce's voice, but it sounded distant, muffled as if underwater. He wanted to ask about Jason, about how they got back, but his eyelids felt heavy, the effort of forming a single thought monumental.

The confusion deepened. Had Jason carried him? How was that possible? More importantly, how was Jason even there?

He drifted in and out of consciousness, the fragmented images blurring further. Alfred's face, a mask of concern, swam into view. Briefly, he thought he saw Jason lurking in the shadows, his helmet back on, obscuring his face. But then, the image dissolved, replaced by Tim's pale visage, the rhythmic beeping of the machine a lullaby against the storm in his head.

Just as he was about to grasp at the question of Jason's presence, exhaustion claimed him. His eyelids fluttered shut, the darkness finally a welcome embrace. The swirling questions, the self-loathing, everything faded into a blessed oblivion. He couldn't fight the demons in his head right now, not when the one battle truly won mattered most – Tim was alive, and maybe, just maybe, so was Jason.

Dick could see his parents’ mangled bodies on the ground, far, far below.

He was balanced precariously on a swinging trapeze, his hold on the wire loose. He’d be joining them soon.

Tears, free-flowing, streamed down his face as he stood, letting go of the wire. Then he was jumping, letting go of his grappling hook, letting himself fall.

He was falling, falling, falling..

The ground hurtled closer yet seemed so far away, his Robin cape billowed in the wind above him. Bloody corpses on the floor raised their hands to him, beckoning.

Join us in peace.

The last Flying Grayson, he thought with a morbid smile. Meeting the same fate.

Then a voice called out to him – Jason? Then another one. Tim. They… were grieving him?

The ground, now bloody and shattered, came closer and closer, when Dick suddenly realised, NO.

No, he didn’t actually want to die.

He had Timmy, Bruce, Alfred, Babs, Haley, Wally, Roy, Kori, all his other friends…

No, he couldn’t die.

But it was too late.

He hit the floor with a sickening crunch, feeling every second of pain as his bones crushed, as his flesh splattered on the ground next to his parents, as his breath abruptly stopped.

He was dead.

Dead, dead, DEAD—

NO!

Dick jolted awake, gasping for air. His heart hammered against his ribs as if trying to escape his chest. The remnants of a nightmare clung to him, a chilling memory of falling, the wind whistling past his ears, the ground rushing up to meet him. He shuddered, pulling the thin blanket tighter around his shoulders.

His surroundings swam into focus – the sterile white walls of the Batcave infirmary, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor next to him. Tim. He was still unconscious, but alive. A wave of relief washed over Dick, a bittersweet counterpoint to the lingering terror of his dream.

A low murmur reached his ears, a conversation in hushed tones. He strained to listen, his heavy eyelids threatening to close again.

"…didn't expect you back, Jason," Bruce's voice rumbled, an undercurrent of surprise evident.

"Not like you were exactly sending out welcome parties, Bats," came the sardonic reply, unmistakably Jason's. He was… alive! There was a defensive edge to his voice, but a touch of something else too, something Dick couldn't quite decipher.

"That's not the point," Bruce countered. "But… thanks. For what you did."

A scoff escaped Jason. "Don't make me out to be some hero. I only came back for Dick."

Dick's breath hitched. Jason came back… for him? A flicker of warmth ignited in his chest, a spark of hope amidst the ashes of despair. Despite the gravity of the situation, despite everything, a tiny part of him bloomed with joy.

“You’re always welcome here, Jaylad,” Bruce’s voice sounded again, low and vulnerable.

But the effort of staying awake was proving too much. His eyelids fluttered shut, the words "for Dick" echoing in his mind like a lullaby. He drifted back into sleep, the remnants of his nightmare replaced by a sliver of hope, a fragile belief that maybe, just maybe, there was still a way to outrun the demons that haunted him.

Dick blinked open his eyes, the harsh morning light momentarily blinding him. His head throbbed with a dull ache, the memory of the nightmare a distant echo. He turned his head, surprised to find himself back in his room at Wayne Manor. The familiar mahogany furniture and plush bedding offered a stark contrast to the sterile white walls of the Batcave infirmary.

Sitting beside his bed, his back ramrod straight, was Alfred. The usually unflappable butler looked older, more weary than Dick had ever seen him. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his hands trembled slightly as he set a glass filled with a clear liquid on the bedside table. "Electrolytes, Master Dick," Alfred said, his voice gruff with unspoken concern. "Dr. Leslie advised us to get some fluids in you."

Dick reached for the glass, his throat parched. "Thanks, Alfred," he rasped, his voice hoarse. He took a tentative sip, the cool liquid soothing the dryness in his throat. He glanced across the room, his gaze landing on a figure slumped asleep in a corner armchair. It was Jason, the Red Hood helmet resting on the floor beside him, the harsh red of his gear clashing with the soft, floral-patterned fabric of the chair.

"Jason?" Dick croaked, his voice thick with confusion. "Isn't he… isn't he…" He trailed off, the words getting caught in his throat. How could Jason be here, alive?

Alfred's lips pursed into a thin line. He looked at Jason for a moment, a flicker of something akin to pity crossing his face. "There's a lot to explain, Master Dick," he said finally. "But it's a conversation perhaps best left between you and your brother." He straightened, his voice regaining its usual firm tone. "We'll need to get some real food into you soon. Your body needs its strength back."

With that, Alfred turned and left the room, leaving Dick alone with the sleeping Red Hood – Jason. His mind raced. Jason was alive, that much was clear. But how? So many questions swirled in his head – a tangled mess of confusion and disbelief.

He soft sound of Alfred shutting the door was enough to jolt Jason from slumber.

"Hey, Dickwing," Jason rasped, his voice rough from disuse. As Dick focused, he noticed the glint of emerald green in Jason's eyes – they used to be blue... But the biggest shock was how much Jason had grown. He was older, his features hardened with time and experience, the lines etched deep around his eyes telling their own story.

"How...?" Dick's voice cracked, barely a whisper. "How is this even possible?" The news that Jason was alive should have been a joyous one, a weight lifted from his shoulders. But it was overshadowed by the crushing confusion and a tangle of unanswered questions.

Jason shifted in the chair, the leather creaking in protest. He reached for his discarded helmet, running his fingers over the red skull emblazoned on its surface. A deep sigh escaped his lips, heavy with a mixture of regret and defiance.

"There's a lot to unpack, Dick," he said finally, his gaze meeting Dick's. "Bruce knows. He figured it out a while back."

Dick stared at him, his brow furrowed. "Knows what?"

"That I'm alive," Jason confessed, the words sharp like a knife. "And that…that I'm Red Hood."

Dick's breath hitched. Red Hood? The brutal vigilante that had been terrorising Gotham for months? The same man who’d tortured Timmy? It couldn't be… could it? A wave of nausea washed over him, the confusion churning in his gut.

"But…but I saw you…," he choked out, the memory of the funeral, of Jason's lifeless body, a vivid nightmare.

"You did," Jason agreed, his voice low and sombre. "I came back, somehow. Not sure on the details. But Talia… she found me. Used some Lazarus Pit mumbo jumbo to truly bring me back."

He paused, his gaze flickering away from Dick. "After that, I was…lost for a while. Angry, vengeful. I blamed everyone, Bruce, the Joker… you..." His voice hardened as he uttered the last part, a flicker of pain flashing across his green eyes. “I took it out on the kid. I… I’m so sorry about that, I don’t… I don’t expect you to forgive me, but…”

Jason cleared his throat, looking down at his hands.

"Then Bruce found me. I… I let him find me. He talked me down, pulled me out of that spiral. I went dark for a while, trying to figure my life out. But…" Jason hesitated, his jaw clenching. "Seeing you on that rooftop, about to…" he choked on the words, his hand tightening around the helmet.

"About to jump," Dick finished for him, a wave of understanding washing over him. It was accompanied by immense guilt, fear, dread. He was about to jump.

Jason nodded, his voice thick with emotion he tried to hide. "The thought of losing you… You weren’t just supposed to die like that, just leave, and…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. The raw vulnerability in his voice, so unlike the hardened Red Hood persona, sent a pang through Dick's heart.

"So you came back," Dick said, a flicker of hope lighting up his eyes. "To the Manor, to us?"

"Yeah," Jason admitted, meeting Dick's gaze head-on. "I still have scores to settle, and this city needs someone cleaning up the streets. But seeing you like that… it scared me, okay? And I don’t say that often.”

The admission hung heavy in the air. Dick looked at Jason, his heart overflowing with a mix of joy, confusion, and a touch of fear. There was so much to unpack, so many questions to be answered. But for now, the weight of his grief had lessened, replaced by a sliver of hope. His brother, against all odds, was alive.

“Please don’t do that again,” Jason whispered, startling green eyes focused on Dick’s.

“I…” Dick’s throat tightened. The hallucination of Jason’s corpse superimposed over the real Jason again, but Dick pushed it away. “I won’t. I promise.”

Jason left after a minute, unable to take the emotionally charged conversation for too long, leaving Dick alone with his thoughts. He didn’t even get to hug his little brother.

The silence that followed Jason's departure was deafening. Dick stared at the empty chair, his mind racing with a million questions. How long had Bruce known? Why didn’t he tell Dick? And how had Jason become the brutal Red Hood?

A storm of emotions churned within him – relief at Jason's return, anger at the deception, and a gnawing fear for the path his brother had chosen. Yet, amidst the turmoil, a fragile hope flickered. Jason had come back. He had cared enough to risk everything to save him.

Lost in his thoughts, Dick hadn't noticed the soft knock at the door. It creaked open, revealing a weary Bruce Wayne. His usually stoic expression was etched with lines of worry and guilt, a stark contrast to the calm, collected persona he usually donned.

Dick flinched, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. This was his fault. The worry etched on Bruce's face, the exhaustion in his eyes, it was all a reflection of the pain he'd caused.

"Can I come in?" Bruce asked, his voice gruff but laced with a vulnerability Dick hadn't seen in years.

Dick nodded, unable to form the words to respond.

Bruce entered the room, closing the door softly behind him. He stood there for a moment, the silence stretching between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Then, to Dick's surprise, Bruce did something he hadn't done in years. He crossed the distance between them and pulled Dick into a tight embrace.

The sudden gesture caught Dick off guard. He stiffened for a moment, unsure how to react. But as Bruce held him close, Dick felt a wave of warmth wash over him, a stark contrast to the icy grip of guilt that had held him prisoner for so long.

"I'm so sorry," Bruce whispered into his hair, his voice thick with emotion. He repeated the words over and over, a broken mantra that spoke volumes.

Understanding dawned on Dick. Bruce wasn't just apologising for keeping Jason's secret. He was apologising for everything – for the pain of their parents' death, for the weight of being Robin, for failing to protect them both. Yet at the same time Dick wasn’t sure why Bruce was apologising – he wasn’t the one who’d just tried to commit suicide.

Dick wrapped his arms around Bruce, a silent response to his apology. He didn't need words.

Dick wanted to be mad at Bruce, for keeping Jason’s return a secret. But then again, he… he wanted comfort. However undeserving he was of it.

He pulled away after a minute, looking at Bruce with tears in his eyes. “Where… how’s Tim?”

Bruce’s expression shifted, but Dick couldn’t read him – since when could he not read Bruce?!

He feared the worst, but instead Bruce replied, “He’s awake. On bedrest for two weeks.” Before Dick could comment on that, he added, “Just like you.”

Dick flinched.

Bruce sighed, his hand cupping Dick’s face. “Are you okay?”

Dick melted into his foster father’s touch, a tear slipping out of his eye. “No,” He whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

Warm, steady arms wrapped around him again, pulling him into another hug. “Shh,” Bruce whispered, kissing the top of his head. “It’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here now, okay?”

After a minute of this, Bruce asked quietly, “Are you… Do you still want to…”

Do you still want to jump? Dick heard the unsaid question that hit like a stab to his heart.

“No,” He forced out as his throat threatened to close up. “I don’t – I didn’t actually want to—”

“Then what were you thinking?” Bruce’s voice is uncharacteristically small, pained.

“I wasn’t,” A choked sob escaped Dick's lips as he clung to Bruce. The embrace felt like a lifeline, anchoring him in a sea of swirling emotions. He wanted to be angry, at Bruce for keeping Jason's return a secret, at himself for breaking down so completely.

But the anger wouldn't ignite. In its place was a numb despair, a crushing weight of guilt that threatened to consume him. "I just… I don't know how to fix this," he mumbled, his voice thick with despair.

Bruce remained silent, his hold a comforting pressure against Dick's back. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice gruff but laced with a gentleness Dick hadn't heard in years. "There's nothing to fix, Dick. You didn't break anything."

The words hung in the air, a challenge to the narrative Dick had built in his mind. He pulled away slightly, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "But I did. I failed Tim, failed Jason…"

"No," Bruce interrupted, his voice firm yet soft. "You didn't fail, Dick. You saved them. You saved Tim from me, when I wasn’t at my best. And Jason… seeing you like that, on the edge… that was his wake-up call. It reminded him what he almost lost."

Dick stared at Bruce, his brow furrowed in confusion. Bruce was right about Tim, but Jason… how could him seeing his big brother on the edge like that be a good thing? No child should have to see that…

But he’s not a child now. He’s grown up…

"Jason went off the rails," Bruce continued, his voice low. "Consumed by anger and vengeance, controlled by the Lazarus Pit. But seeing you, realising what he could lose… it pushed him back from the edge. Maybe… maybe it can be a turning point for him."

A sliver of hope, fragile yet persistent, began to bloom in Dick's chest. Was Bruce right? Could Jason actually be on a path towards healing?

Bruce squeezed his shoulder gently. "We'll figure it out together, Dick. As a family. But right now, you need to focus on healing yourself."

Dick met Bruce's gaze, a flicker of understanding passing between them. The apology, the comforting embrace, it wasn't just about Jason's secret. It was about everything – the weight of the past, the burden of their vigilante roles, the unspoken fear that had gnawed at them both.

He nodded slowly, a small, shaky smile forming on his lips. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way forward. A way to deal with the guilt, the grief, the fear. He wouldn't be alone. He had Bruce, and Tim, and Alfred, and now… he had Jason too.

Dick sank into the worn leather armchair, the familiar creak a comforting presence in the otherwise tense atmosphere of Wayne Manor. Weeks had passed since his breakdown, and he was slowly piecing himself back together. The manor, a place that often felt like a battleground of memories, was currently an oasis of sorts. It was strange, having everyone under one roof again, a makeshift family reunion brought on by tragedy.

Haley had settled well into her new environment at the Manor, loved it, even. Why wouldn’t she? After all, everyone here found reasons to spoil her rotten. Right now she was running across the room, chasing a toy Jason threw. She stopped just long enough to press her wet nose into Dick’s hand, waiting until Dick rubbed the back of her ear before she bounded back to Jason. Jason ruffled her fur, whispering sweet words and kissing her face.

"Who knew you were a dog whisperer, Jay?" Dick remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Jason glanced up, a scowl flickering across his features before softening at the sight of Haley. "I’m not gonna be mean to a dog," he muttered, tossing the toy across the room again. Haley bounded after it, barking excitedly. “Plus, she likes me. Do you know how few people like me?”

The dynamic between him and Jason was…complicated, to say the least. Jason came and went like a phantom, his presence always shrouded in a tense silence. Dinners, once lively affairs filled with banter, were now punctuated by awkward silences and stolen glances. Jason avoided Tim completely, the air thick with unspoken resentment. Tim returned the favour, too skittish around the older boy. The Titans Tower incident still resonated deeply, a fresh wound on both of them.

Dick, caught in the middle, felt the weight of their fractured relationship. There were moments when he saw flashes of the Jason he remembered – the sardonic wit, the fierce protectiveness, ghosts of the sweet boy he used to be. But those moments were fleeting, overshadowed by the hardened vigilante he had become.

"Haley does favour you, Master Jason," Alfred observed, entering the room with a tray of steaming tea. He set it down on the coffee table, his gaze lingering on Jason. "Though I wouldn't recommend letting him chew on your jacket."

Jason snorted, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Noted, Alfred."

Despite the tension, there was a flicker of warmth in the interaction. Dick realised, with a pang of sadness, that these fleeting moments of normalcy felt all the more precious because they were so rare.

"Miss Barbara came by while you were resting," Alfred added, placing a small bouquet of lilies on the side table. "She asked me to tell you she misses you." He looked between his boys. “Both of you.”

Dick felt his heart skip a beat. Barbara had visited? He hadn't spoken to her since their break-up, the weight of his emotional turmoil driving a wedge between them. The lilies, their white blossoms a symbol of purity and new beginnings, offered a sliver of hope.

"I miss her too," Dick admitted, a melancholic note in his voice. Across the room he saw Jason’s faraway, guilty look, how he absentmindedly patted Haley.

The rest of the afternoon unfolded in a quiet lull. Dick and Alfred chatted about Gotham's latest crime wave, the normalcy of the conversation a balm to his troubled soul. As evening approached, the manor was cloaked in an eerie silence. Tim had retreated to his room, while Jason vanished into the night, leaving only the faint scent of leather and gunpowder in his wake.

Dick sat alone with his thoughts, a tangle of emotions churning within him. He was alive, his family, albeit fractured, was reunited. But the road to healing, both for himself and for the relationships shattered by grief and anger, seemed long and perilous. Yet, as he looked down at the lilies, their fragile beauty a testament to resilience, a single thought bloomed in his mind – hope. He wouldn't give up on his family, or on himself. There was a chance, however slim, to rebuild what was broken, to forge a new path forward, together.

He was…

He was so glad he was still alive.

It still hurt, he still had nightmares despite knowing everything was better now, but…

He wasn’t alone anymore.

His brothers were both with him, Bruce loved him again…

Everything was better.

He was so glad he hadn’t jumped.

#dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #batfam #batman #red hood #bruce wayne #batfam fic

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tackytigerfic · 6 months

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im very excited for the Wartime!AU. Its a trope that is not very common in the Drarry fandom - I noticed many other HP fics have quite a few prominent Voldemort wins AU.

Hello Anon, thanks so much for this ask. I'm really happy that you're excited, it still feels like a lovely shock to think that someone might be interested in anything I write. I don't believe I've read any Voldemort Wins AUs before—they tend to run long as far as I can see, and my reading habits run to shorter fics. Also, like you say, I don't think there are very many in Drarry, and I don't really read outside of the ship. And anyway, i can't read any at the moment because when I'm writing I try to avoid reading fics that deal with the same tropes. So I'm looking forward to diving into all the time travel/multiverse/wartime AUs I missed over the last two years! Writing an AU has meant that I needed to do quite a bit of world-building, plus because it's a multiverse fic and we meet Harry and Draco from another world, I've had to keep track of their timeline too. I am already dreading the editing process and wondering how I can possibly ask beta readers to dive into what might very well be an absolute shitshow of inconsistencies. But I'll worry about that when it's done! In the meantime, here's a little snippet of the first time we see Voldemort in this fic. We hear a lot about him, but we hardly ever meet him due to the circumstances of the fic. I'm really looking forward to writing the ending where (hopefully) he'll really come into his own.

CW for widescale attack on Muggles and mass deaths

“Well, that’s that then,” Percy said, and when he tried to raise his coffee to his mouth, his hand shook so that liquid sloshed over the rim of the cup. On the big screen at the top of the room, the Muggle news channel was playing out an endless scroll of horror.

“Enough,” Kingsley said, and he took the cup away from Percy, wiping the spill up with one of his sleeves. “You need sleep and food, in that order.” He looked around murderously at the rest of the Order, at every strained face in the room, as if daring anyone to argue.

Percy sighed, then very carefully, as though his body hurt, pushed his chair back and walked stiffly towards the door, Kingsley stalking alongside him, hand at Percy’s waist, robes swirling.

Harry stared back at the television channel, feeling unable to look away for long. They were still searching the rubble of the tube station for survivors, the newsreader said in her uninflected tone, but the death count was already almost double the previous record for a Tube disaster. Unimaginable, the newsreader said, but the trouble was that Harry could imagine it all too well, had travelled the Victoria line so many times, had run down the steps in Finsbury Park towards the platform, bumped shoulders with the crowds streaming onto the tube, held onto the blue metal poles as the train rattled on underground.

Now the Muggle PM was giving a speech, pale but composed, praising the emergency responses, lamenting the loss of life. A tragic accident.

“If only he knew,” Remus scoffed, then threw down the latest copy of the Prophet, smuggled out of wizarding London, already days old. On the front cover was the Muggle PM, looking slightly bemused, almost entirely unmoving, clearly believing he was posing for an ordinary camera, a sea of dark-suited aides out of focus behind him. Next to him stood Voldemort, looking satisfied, a thin smile curling broader and then receding again as Harry looked, an endless smug loop. He looked very different to how Harry remembered him. He looked ordinary, finally—not the same as he had at school, with the cloud of dark hair, the luminous eyes, the cool appraising stare. But he didn't look like he had when he first returned, either. He was no longer bald, the skin of his face no longer stretched tight over his skull. His eyes were a deep speculative brown, the edges crinkling slightly as he smiled. He looked tired, and very, very human.

“He’s done it then,” Ron said flatly. “He’s secured an alliance.”

#tacky's fth #drarry #asked and answered

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mintmatcha · 1 year

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i feel like it's the beginning of izuku having some kind of breakdown. he can't function and he hadn't seen his mom in so long and how could he just pretend it didn't happen for a tv interview and he doesn't want to be a hero anymore and--

that realization is like a punch to the skull and has him full-blown hyperventilating and trying to figure out where it went wrong, how he let everything get out of hand but who can replace him but he doesn't care but he has to care

the thoughts are racing and for the first time in a long time he's frozen in fear, and the tears start to come and it burns and hurts in a way he hasn't felt in a long, long time

(im not great at angst but djdjdjdjd ur izuku is making me lose it)

continued from this (cw for parental loss)

Swallowed by a pile of unfolded sheets and mostly dry blankets, Izuku can barely manage to look up at you. The suit you had pressed for his television appearance is crumpled behind him, tucked up and under his elbows, uncomfortably trapping his arms close to his sides, but he doesn't move. He lays there, watching the stationary ceiling fan as if it has the answers he’s looking for.

Every other time Izuku has been in your bed, it's been for sex, but now there's no sheen of sweat on his skin, no tickle of a genuine smile; his skin is pale with grief, stricken physically sick from anguish, a misery clinging so tightly to him that you feel it yourself, gripping your heart tighter with every beat.

He had disappeared immediately after his interview, gone before you could even think what to do. It took hours to track him down, calls to friends who hadn’t heard the news and visits to his usual haunts.

Any other day, you might tease him for breaking in with your spare key, tease him for not even folding your laundry, but today you offer the little peace you contain.

"Are you okay?" you ask as you approach, even though you know the answer. Deku calls you his 'fixer', the person who keeps things running smoothly from behind the scenes, but this is something you can't repair.

"My mom died," he repeats, voice brittle with disbelief.

"I know." You sit on the edge of the bed and hesitate for a long while, contemplating exactly what to do. You can't fix this. You can't make this better. "I’m sorry."

"I know." The stillness of it all, how his chest barely rising with every breath, how the street outside in silent, how you can’t bring yourself to move, haunts you. If you don’t do anything, maybe it’ll be like this forever, suspended in a moment neither of you wants to remember.

So, you inch closer to him.

“Sit up for me.” You tug him up by the shoulders, guiding him up into a sitting position. Izuku is still oddly like a rag doll, letting you move his arms where they need to be as you guide his suit jacket off his body, dropping it into the pile below you. Once it’s gone, you begin with his cuffs. Yucking your thumbs under the linen and caressing the soft skin there, you feel the scars from his youth. raised yet dormant, phantom pains sometimes still rumbling under the surface with rain is on the way.

When you drop the cuff links into the floor and begin on the front placket, Izuku seems to gather himself. His hands settling on your thighs, no playful squeeze or tender stroke. Just a simple touch to feel you there.

His voice reverberates in your hands as you undo the collar’s button. It’s a shiny, opalescent white, a stark contrast against the black of his shirt. Real mother-of-pearl, the salesman had told you, made from oyster shells. "Am I a good person?"

That question haunts you, doesn’t it?

You undo the next unbutton. His white undershirt is practically threadbare and it reeks of cigarette ash, something different from his usual brand. There might be a tinge of alcohol on his breath, but you can't quite tell.

You’re good to a fault, good to the point it’s bad for everyone around you.

Another button and you can see the dark curve of a scar across his sternum, still hyperpigmented because it hasn’t had time to fade. In the right light, you can even make out the remains of stitches under the surface, yet to dissolve.

You’re so good it’s almost killed you.

Another button. It’s as smooth and cold as it was before it was cut, nestled in some poor mollusc that didn’t know any better.

“Sometimes I wish you were less good,” you murmur.

I think you’d be happier then.

"I haven't visited her in months," Izuku lets his head roll to the side as if it takes too much will to keep it up. His curls are held in place by too much hairspray, practically defying gravity as he talks, mumbling under his breath the same way he does when he’s analyzing data: even and scarily calm. "Ahe texts me every day, but I'm busy, I’m so busy, I’m-"

The hitch in his voice surprises both of you.

“There’s not enough time.” He helps you shrug off his dress shirt and his hands return to your sides, clutching your much tighter this time. “I don’t have enough time, there isn’t enough time to do it all, I'm only one person.”

His voice stays even and distant, but his hands are trembling as they close tighter, thumbs digging into the soft inside your hipbones. The pressure aches, then hurts, growing with every word.

“How am I supposed to do everything?” he mumbles, “I can’t be a hero and a person, I can’t be a hero and a partner, a hero and a son-”

"Izuku-" You think he might crush you without even realizing what’s happening. His palms are squeezing, fingers digging, all of it so tight you can’t wiggle away even when you try.

"I don't want this anymore, I don't want to live this life,” Izuku’s voice cracks again, “I don’t want- I don’t-

His eyes seem so verdant against their red rims. "I chose television over my mom."

“Izuku.” Your hands find his face, cupping his cheeks and pleading for his attention. “You’re hurting me.”

The pain unfurls when he lets go, blood rushing back to damaged skin. It’s going to bruise and you’re going to feel the hurt with every step.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t-" he watches his palms as if they can offer him any explanation. The skin under your touch smudges and you realize his screen make up is still on; you drag your touch down, exposing new seas of freckles, dark and bountiful. When your hand trail to the curve of his jaw, his throat bobs with a slow swallow, once then twice.

“I know you didn’t.” And with that, you crumble into each other. Izuku buries his head into the soft below your collar bone, dragging you less than gently into his lap. You wrap yourself around him as tight as you can muster and yet it doesn't feel like enough.

"You have to let go," Izuku sighs after a long while, "I'm afraid you're gonna see me cry."

You slink off of the bed toward the door and he tenses with every step, muscles bunching with worry and self restraint. You give him once last glance before you turn off the light. You've seen him nude before but never so bare.

You can find him in the dark, arms extended, open and demanding like he needs you, even if he doesn't want you. Pressed up against you, you can feel what you can't see: the wobble of his lip, the wet against his cheek.

"I thought it was so annoying to have her text me every day," he whispers, voice barely pieced together through its cracks and gives, "And now I want is one more. One more text."

His body hiccups with a sob, silent before he lets go completely. It's ugly. It's snot and anguish, nonsense pleads to someone and no one, anger, grief, and emotions you aren't sure have names.

You hold him. That's the only thing you can do. This isn't a cross you can bare for him.

#content.cold #sad deku au

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jamdoughnutmagician · 2 months

Text

Kiss It Better (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Reader) 18+

A familiar face shows up at your apartment in need of some tender love and care, and who are you to deny him?

Word Count:2, 523 (oops!)

Warnings:Fluff, Smut, Mentions of injuries (nothing too graphic I think?), Blowjobs, Cowgirl Position, Nothing else I can think of unless I've missed something you want tagged (just send me a message!)

Authour's Note:First time writing for him (I can't believe it took me this long!) but I love him so much, and I just really wanted to have a stab at it!

Masterlist

You settle yourself against the soft cushions of your sofa with a heavy sigh, working a very long and tiresome shift in the emergency room had left you almost nodding off to sleep whilst the tv played quietly in front of your weary eyes.

Just as your eyes are about to flutter close you hear something knocking against your apartment’s window.

You reach your hand down by the side of the sofa where you keep a baseball bat at hand. Living alone in an apartment in a big city could get dangerous, and you never wanted to be without some kind of weapon to defend yourself, especially late at night.

Armed with your weapon of choice you stalk slowly towards where the noise is coming from, the knocking getting louder as you move closer. It’s only when you get close enough to your balcony window that you let the bat drop by your side with a huff.

“Adrian..” you sigh as you help him into your apartment through the window.

His soft brown curls are a little dishevelled as he looks at you with a guilty expression.

“I didn’t know where else to go, okay?” he huffs.

Adrian was your across-the-hall neighbour, living in the apartment opposite yours, and one night whilst you had been getting home from yet another late night shift, you had seen him battered and bruised leaning down, slumped against his front door. Gone was his casual outfit and tired expression from working downtown as a bus-boy at Fennel Fields. He was wearing what looked to be a very tattered teal and black tactical suit, and a pained expression on his face, wincing with every shift of his body.

Panic and worry filled your chest that day, which he tried to laugh off with a pained smile and an easy quip of ‘You should’ve seen the other guy’

You immediately rushed to his side, crouching down to meet him.

“I think you had better come with me.” you tell him as you slip your arm under his shoulder to help support him. “Can you stand up for me?”

Despite clocking off from a long and arduous shift at the hospital, your nursing training and need to help those who needed it kicked in. You had already made the decision that you were going to help him, you just needed to get him to his feet and into your apartment where you could get a better look at him.

The fact that you had admired him from afar and thought he was cute had nothing to do with why you wanted to look after him. Of course not.

“So, are you like an angel or something?” he asks, the question coming out as a little grumble as you helped him up to his feet.

Okay, so in addition to helping patch up his obvious injuries, you were also going to have to check him over for concussion.

“Not an angel, no, just a very concerned neighbour.” You smiled, as you both made it through your apartment’s door without any trouble.

That night your adorably dorky neighbour spilled his secret to you.

“Bus-boy by day, Vigilante by night. I’m basically batman.” he says all too proudly.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s quite what Batman does.” you dismiss with a soft shake of your head whilst you clean his wounds.

“You're lucky I didn't crack your skull open with this, Adrian.” You say as stashing away your baseball bat, before you guide him towards the small dining table in your apartment’s kitchenette. “Sit.” You instruct him, pulling out one of the chairs from under the table.

You reach into your kitchen cabinet, where you keep your first-aid kit handy. Truthfully you never really used it all that much, that was until you had met Adrian, after that you were going through band-aids and sterilised wipes way more than you ever had before.

“Nice to see that you're prepared for anything.” He chuckles, wincing when the laugh hurts him a bit too much.

“Do I even want to know what happened this time?” You ask tentatively. You knew that Adrian had many targets on his back just by being Vigilante, it wasn't something that made him popular amongst the people who he found himself entangled with.

His lip is split, and a few scratches and bruises decorate his freckled cheeks.

“I think the less I say, the better.”

“Can I take your glasses off?” You ask.

He nods, and you reach out towards him to gently take the wire frames from his face.

“Okay, so, like, this is going to suck okay?” you tell him, as you reach for the disinfectant wipe to clean away the dried blood from his split lip, leaning in close to him make sure that his wounds are sufficiently cleaned.

He hisses as you clean him up, the disinfectant stinging his skin.

“Your lip should heal on its own after a few weeks. It’s not that deep, so lucky for you, you’re not going to need stitches.”

“That’s good news, I suppose, can’t have the bad guys ruining this pretty face now, can I?” he laughed softly.

“Do you want Hello Kitty, or do you want Smurfs?” you ask him, holding out the selection of band-aids in front of him as you nod to the grazes on his knuckles.

“Hello Kitty, obviously. Never did trust the Smurfs. Little blue bastards.”

You wrap the band-aid around his finger gently, and settle back against your chair with a quiet huff.

“Thank you for taking care of me everytime.” He says shyly.

“Adrian..”

“No, no I know, it’s probably not what you had planned for your Friday evening, y’know looking after me and all, but I just wanna let you know that I’m grateful for it.”

“How’d you even know I was going to be home? I could have been on call?”

“You leave your curtains open when you’re home, I can see the glow from the tv from the window.” he explains. “I know you like looking out into the city. You never leave your curtains open if you’re not home.”

“Nice to know I’ve got the infamous Vigilante looking out for me.” you smile.

“Anytime you need me, I’d be there for you, you know that.” he murmurs, his head cast down, not daring to look at you. “I’d never want anything to happen to you, least of all because of me.”

Getting up from your seat you make your way over to him, tilting his head up to get him look at you.

“Every time you come here with a new set of injuries, I patch you up, we order a pizza and then you leave, and every time it gets harder and harder for me to pretend that I don’t care for you more than I should.” you admit, the words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them.

“Wait? Y-you like me? As in you, like, like-me like-me?” He bubbles, looking deep into your eyes.

“Adrian, that first day I patched you up, I brought you into my home, cleaned you up and we sat and watched Tangled on the couch, sharing slices of pepperoni pizza. If I didn’t like you I would have told you to just go to the doctors, and wished you all the best with your recovery.”

“I guess I feel a little better now, knowing you feel the same way.” he smiles. “Would I be a total dork if I asked if I could kiss you now?” he looked at you with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“You’d still be a dork.” you smirk as you lean in closer to him. “..but lucky for you I happen to like dorks.” you whisper against his lips, carefully pressing delicate kisses to his lips so as not to hurt his split lip too much.

In kissing you, Adrian wraps his arms around your waist and brings you close, sitting you in his lap, with each of your thighs sitting astride his.

“This is happening right, like I'm not having some sort of out-of-body fever dream right now?”

“No, this very much is happening right now.” You purr in his ear, playfully tugging his earlobe between your teeth and shifting your hips down to grind against the growing bulge in his pants. “..and if you want, there could be a whole lot more happening if you follow me to the bedroom..”

Leading him by hand towards your bedroom you pull him towards your bed, gesturing for him to make himself comfortable.

He sheds his tactical suit, leaving him in a pair of tight black boxers, the fabric of which were tented where his cock strained against its confines. Upon seeing him out of his gear you notice that his body also has taken a few hits, purple bruises blooming on his skin.

“Christ, Adrian, look at you. Come on, let me take you to the hospital, they can check you out proper-”

“No!” He cuts you off quickly. “No. Hospitals just mean more questions and more people poking their nose into my business, and I don't need that. I'm fine, I promise. I just wanna spend my night with you. Please.” he tries to quieten your worries with soft kisses pressed to your lips.

“Okay..” you sigh in defeat, “..but if you start having trouble breathing, or anything feels weird, anything at all, you need to tell me alright?”

“Got it, doc,” he nods. “..Now, where were we?”

“I believe I was about to knock your socks off, Vigilante.” You say with a seductive giggle, joining Adrian of the plush blankets on your bed.

You hook your fingers into the elastic waistband of his boxers, whilst you look into his eyes.

“Lift your hips up for me, please.”

Adrian responds to your request, lifting up enough so that you can tug his boxers down his legs, throwing them over your shoulder to a dark corner of your room.

His cock springs free, slapping up towards the soft trail of hair grazing his lower stomach, dribbling a sticky patch of pre-cum on his skin.

“Can I suck your cock, please?” you ask, looking up at him from under your eyelashes, as you place soft kisses to the inside of his thighs.

“Like I'm gonna say no to that.” he scoffs with a laugh. “It’s all yours.”

You settle yourself between his spread legs, lying down on your stomach.

You start by peppering kisses to the inside of his thigh, your lips inching closer and closer before deciding to take mercy on him and licking a stripe up his cock, and letting your tongue swipe over the pool of pre-cum the beads at his tip.

His thighs flinch with sensitivity, a stifled whimper threatening to slip past his lips.

You take his length into your mouth, the flushed pink head of his cock almost bumping against the back of your throat as you bob your head over him.

Gathering the mess of pre-cum and saliva in your mouth you drool over his cock, using your fist to pump slick strokes over him, whilst your lips suckle on the tip.

Your fist keeps working on his cock in wet, messy strokes, your hot mouth descending lower, taking his balls into your mouth. Letting your tongue sweep across the skin, and sucking them gently.

Above you Adrian looks the picture of blissful pleasure, his head thrown back, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he tries his level best to not bury himself deep in your throat as you take him back into your mouth once more.

You suck him off for a little while longer, enjoying the heavy weight of him against your tongue before he's gently tapping you on your cheek, your eyes meeting his flushed expression.

“S-stop..” he huffs. “You're gonna make me cum if you keep that up.”

“I thought that was the plan?” you murmur, pulling off him with spit-slick lips.

“It is, I just wanna be inside you when that happens.” he admits, as the flush on his face deepens.

“Alright then big boy, you're calling the shots.” you smile as you begin to shuffle up his body, sitting in his lap with his hard cock nestled between your wet cunt. Rolling your hips slightly so he feels the wet drag of your heat over every inch of him.

“A-ah fuck” he whines. “D-do you have any condoms?”

“Top drawer on your left.” You mumble against his neck, showering him with kisses.

He reaches into the drawer beside him, eyebrows drawing together when his hand comes into contact with something hard, and oddly shaped. Bringing out to get a better look at it, he suddenly realised what he's picked up. It's a small, pink vibrator. He pulls away to look at you, embarrassed slightly at his new-found discovery.

“Your other left, Genius.” you smirk taking it from his hands and putting it back in your drawer.

He reaches over to his other side, finally finding the box of condoms before ripping open the foil packet and sliding one on.

Reaching behind you, you take his length in your hand and position him at your entrance, sinking yourself down slowly, inch by inch until he’s fully seated in you.

You roll your hips slightly, in an experimental movement, testing the waters, but when you feel his hands settle on the curve of your ass, playfully squeezing the plump flesh, you gain confidence in your movements. Bouncing yourself over his cock happily.

“F-fuck you feel so good..pussy’s just pulling me in..” he babbles as he revels in the way you ride him.

You arch your back into your movements, breathy gasps slip from your lips every time his cock nudges deeper into you, hitting against that sweet spot that has your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure.

“Just wanna stay buried in the pretty pussy..God, you're so tight..tell me you're close please.” he moans, his own hips thrusting up to meet you.

“Please…” you whine, teetering on the edge of pleasure.

“You need a little extra, huh? Just need me to rub you right here, yeah?” he says all too cockily, his thumb finding your clit easily, rubbing quick little circles over it.

It didn’t take very more than a few more rolls of your hips, and Adrian pistoning up into you before you were riding out your release, clenching around him tightly, your walls hugging his length as you cum.

It also didn’t take Adrian very long to reach his high, spilling his release into the condom when he feels the way that your cunt squeezes his cock so perfectly, moaning into your mouth with a sloppily placed kiss.

You flop back against the bed with him holding you close, both of you steadily trying to catch your breaths.

“So you’ve got a vibrator, huh?” he laughs, harmlessly poking fun at you.

You lightly slap your hand against his arm with a laugh.

“If you’re not careful, I’ll end up using it on you.”

“Is that a promise?”

Tagging a few moots but I know that this is a completely different character than I usually write for so absolutely feel free to ignore this complete, I don't mind at all!

@mrsjellymunson @penguinsandpotterheads @paybacksawitch @splendiferous-bitch

#adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #adrian chase x reader smut #vigilante x reader smut #adrian chase x female reader smut #adrian chase peacemaker

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happyk44 · 5 days

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Thinking abt Hazel who usually gets Macaria to do her hair since they have similiar hair types (I perceive Macaria to appear black in her day-to-day, like Thanatos). Or sometimes Zagreus, who loved to play with his sisters' hair as a kid and is still willing to sit down for a few hours to do painstakingly complex braids.

But they're both gone, doing their own thing, when Hazel comes down and she sighs because this is the only free moment she has and sure she could get it done at Camp Jupiter or New Rome but she liked the family aspect.

Also it's free when her siblings do her hair. And free is always convenient.

She considers Nico, who's not that bad at it, he just takes way longer than everyone else and his plaits aren't as tight as they could be, when Pluto walks by. He prompts her and she tells him and blinks confused when a second pips by and she's suddenly seated on a plush cushion, products and brushes and combs around her. Her father is seated behind her, his long long legs stretched out.

It's sort of annoying how tall he is. He's behind her and yet his feet pass hers.

Why the hell is she and Nico so short? Even Macaria, born by Hades' sole hand from the dirt of the underworld and dessicated souls, defaults to just below average.

His fingers are cool against her nap as he separates her evenly. "What were you looking for?"

"Uh-" A book appears on her lap. She flips it open. Dozens of hair styles on every page, every hair type accommodated, every style listed. Even the ones far out of date. The models differ - in age, in race, in gender, in time period.

They feel familiar, familial. She wonders what it would take for her to join this family photo album. If she'll be present by mere existence, or if she needs to display a style never seen before for it to count.

"Uh, I usually just get..." She pauses on a photo. The girl is smiling wide with jewels adorning each plait. Even in the turnarounds, when her face is no longer visible, she seems happy. "This one is nice."

Pluto's chin scoots across the top of her head as he looks down. "Fulani with ornamental accents," he muses. He waves his hand as a bowl of beads appears between their legs. Different colours, different gems. "Pick. I'll let you know when I get there."

Hazel picks up the bowl. The jewels glitter. "Did you do all of these?"

"Most of them," he says.

She pulls out a thick golden bead. "Do you like doing hair?"

It seems a stupid question when it hits the hair and she curses her brain for not catching her tongue. But he answers, amused, "Sometimes. When you're patient. Nico never was, but fortunately Hades is a little more relaxed than I am."

She thinks of Nico, young, and tucked into their father's lap, wet locks being combed and brushed back gently as they dry. She thinks of him squirming, as kids do, bored of sitting still while his hair is trimmed. Or curled. Or whatever he had going on. For all she knows, he was being braided too, with slick smooth plaits. Over and under, over and under. Thin fingers and a idle smile listening to the chatter of a toddler.

"I didn't have much help when she was born," he continues. "And Macaria liked to play rough with the dogs and chickens and Furies." He clips part of her hair to the side and hums softly. "And their claws are not quite suited to crafting ponytails or braids from thick curly hair."

Hazel sets a beautiful onyx bead with her slowly forming pile. There's a thin golden imprint of a skull on it. The skin of it is smooth. Even the grooves are so subtle she can't feel them with her fingertip, only sensing it from the catch of her nail.

"And you just... carried on with it?" She pauses, shifting her head with gentle guide of his hands. "Even when they had other people without claws to help?"

"Of course." The comb is gentle as he passes it through. Slow and steady. Like Macaria and Zagreus, but softer somehow. "I'm your father. Why wouldn't I keep doing your hair?"

#happy talks pjo #idk how to end it so im just gonna cut it here and try to study #im v sore and tired #hazel levesque #hades (pjo)#my writing #my fanfic #pjo fanfic

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bumbburger · 11 months

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So I found this AngelSoap +Human Ghost au drabble I started writing and don't remember a thing about it but yall can still see it

Simon stepped out of the bathroom of his modest apartment. No steam followed him, despite him just finishing a shower. He never used the warm water, too good for him, he always thought. Luxury was never his desire. He never sought it out, far too good for the Ghost. He put on his boxers and far-too-worn pair of sweatpants, electing to skip the shirt tonight. He brought his towel up to his head and rushed it over his hair until he was satisfied, the pale gold no longer dark from the water. He sighed, throwing the towel back into the bathroom, knowing he'd just pick it up later. He fell back into his equally modest bed, just long enough to suit his height and bulk, and laid awake to stare holes through his ceiling. He wiped a calloused hand over his face and turned his head rightly into his cold pillow.

Another long night, not that they bothered him anymore. A loud crashing outside disturbed his already unrestful night. First, he turned opposite to his single door and window from which the noise emanated. His eyes glued to his clock, bright red numbers burning his corneas.

1 A.M.

Goddammit.

He pealed himself from his bed and reached for an old sweatshirt on his rickety wooden dresser, slipping it over his head. Attached to the seam of the hood was a half-skull mask. He pulled it over his nose quickly and rushed to his door. A flashlight he had mounted to the wall, he pulled it down and kept it in his off-hand as he reached for his door. If only he didn't absolutely live for shit like this.

He felt so alive, opening his door to pursue something he couldn't see. Something he wanted to find, he was drawn to it. His socked feet moved themselves down the steps and onto the gravel, his brain in autopilot. His eyes flickered along the line of bramble that sat clutched to the opening of the woods. There was something out there, and he wanted to find it. Had to find it, whatever it was that had the audacity to disturb his sleepless rest. He cleared the brush with ease, tracking through the woods. It was cold, but no wind bit his bones. No breath escaped his mask. He trudged on, carried by the sound of soft thumping beyond the trees. Half a kilometer, his expertly trained ears predicted. That surpassed the woods, something was flailing on the moorside beyond.

Ghost needed to find it. He cleared the forest in a matter of minutes, suppressing his footsteps on the decaying foliage that littered the ground. The pale moonlight cast an eerie glow on moor, like a melancholy painting that you could feel hollowing your heart. The land was layered, gently sloping down at several points. Ghost listened for the thumping again, which he surely thought to be from one of the natural dips. He moved forward silently, using sparse patches of rock, and graciously placed long grass to cover himself. He stalked forward, never making a sound. The rustling became closer, clarifying into the sounds of a struggle. Ghost quickened his pace, heartbeat steady as a drum.

He was certain now that he was just about 10 meters from the scuffle. He posted up behind a conveniently sized rock, just enough to conceal his figure. Slowly, he peered out from his cover and immediately identified the silhouettes of three men. The two with the upper hand in the fight were quite some sizes larger than the man they had on the ground, who had his hands over his face defensively. The smaller one was not armed, nor was he intent on fighting; so what was the other two's angle?

Ghost's hand itched on his holstered knife, one of many on his person. He quickly calculated in his head that he wanted to help the defenseless man and ask questions later. He picked his target, electing the man closest to his right side. He pounced in one jarring motion, completely ripping the bigger man away from the engagement. With one stunned, he turned sharply to dig his knife into the calf of the second attacker, dragging him to cold ground. When Ghost's eyes met that of the smaller man's, he was only greeted with a mortified stare. As if he was mortified that Ghost had intervened.

What?

In Ghost's slight daze, he faltered just a moment. A moment long enough for the attackers to turn on him. This would prove to be a frugal effort. The instant one grabbed Ghost by his arms, the smaller man jerked upward from his defensive position.

"Shut your eyes!" He all but pleaded with Ghost, his accent proving to be Scottish. Ghost didn't know why, but he trusted him. His eyes fell shut with his free left arm covering them. He swore he saw splashes of light peer in over his sleeves, and suddenly, the deafening silence of nighttime fell upon the moor again. Save for the laboured breathing of one man in front of him.

Ghost dared to open his eyes now. They first scanned scene of the attack, searching for the enemy. There were no enemies to be found, but in moonlight Ghost saw two scorch marks on the cold grass.

What the hell.

His eyes fell upon a huddled shape on the ground. The small man was curled up, away from Ghost and breathing raggedly. Ghost stepped closer to him, remaining cautious.

"You alright...?" He asked him, voice hardly more than a whisper.

The small man still flinched at his voice. However, he did raise his eyes. Beautifully blue moonlit eyes met Ghost's amber stare.

"Been better..." He slurred out, accent heavy. His eyes scanned Ghost up and down. "Are ye hurt-?" He questioned.

Ghost was taken aback slightly. What should he care if he's hurt? He wasn't the one getting beat on the cold ground just moment before.

"M-me? I- yeah, I'm alright." Ghost replied.

The man grunts a bit.

"Mmf. Dinnae want 'em gettin' their hands on you... dangerous things, they are." He seemed genuinely concerned for Ghost.

Ghost was stunned. This stranger cares about him? How odd...

The man's head lulled back as he let out a huff. He had his left hand plastered to his side, a puncture wound lying beneath it. Ghost was certain there were various other injuries, but that one seemed the most dire. He didn't come all this way to start a fight and leave a presumably innocent man to bleed out on the ground.

"Well, I can't very well leave you out here, it's freezing." He knelt down by the man and positioned himself to scoop him off the cold grass. When he got no signs of disapproval, he proceeded. He elected to carry him bridal-style back to his own apartment. He had plenty of first aid there from patching himself up at home. He spared a glance back at the scorch marks, finding the whole situation completely fucked. He gave no more thought to it.

-----

The man awoke in an unfamiliar room, graced with an unfamiliar fabric covering his legs. A blanket, he determined. There was, however, a familiar masked face in the small kitchen that was attached directly to the bed area. He grunted as he propped himself up slightly. The man with the black balaclava, adorned with a skull print, had turned his head to glance at his guest.

"Up yet? I've got some questions for you." He ceased from what he was busying himself with in the kitchen and moved into the bed area to sit himself on a wooden chair beside it.

The smaller man looked down at himself, bandages covering his midsection. A gracious gesture from the bulky-skull man, he thought.

"Er, what'ye wanna know then?" He glances over the deep brown eyes that gazed right back at him. He'd never felt so intimidated by a human man-

Bulky-skull man crossed his arms across his broad chest.

"What's your name, then."

"'M name's Johnny- what're you called...?"

Skull-man's eyes lit up just a bit with amusement.

"Well Johnny, you can call me Ghost-"

"Oh I dinnae realize we're usin' our made up names- everyone calls me Soap."

Ghost was taken aback again. He stared holes into Soap. The audacity to get snarky with the man who gave up his bed and resources for a stranger's comfort-

Soap shifted uncomfortably. He avoided the Ghost's gaze, entirely worried that he'd offended him.

"I- I didn't mean to offend I just- I mean, I also have a nickname-" Soap rambled anxiously.

Ghost ceased his hellish stare.

"Relax. I'm not going to beat you up more after all the trouble to get you here. I've got more questions anyway." Ghost relaxed his posture and watched Soap close his mouth and loosen up a bit himself. His eyes met Ghost's again, attentively.

"What exactly happened when you had me close my eyes? I saw light."

Soap was silently hoping Ghost wouldn't mention... any of that. It all suddenly became complicated for him. He hesitated before he spoke, but ultimately decided to tell the truth.

"Soon as those beasts laid a hand on you, I had to smite 'em."

Ghost found the answer to be infuriatingly vague and cryptic.

"Alright, you're gonna have to give me a bit more than that." He watched Soap fidget with his hands a moment.

"'M not really s'posed to tell you..." He averted his gaze to his hands.

Ghost huffed through the fabric around his face.

"Take a look around. You're in my bed, in my apartment, using up my first aid. Now I'm not sure why in the hell I decided to let you in here at all, but we'll say it's because I'm intrigued by you. You owe me answers, and honest ones." Ghost's voice was a low growl, it made Soap shiver.

Soap interlocked his fingers and rested them on his lap. He glanced at Ghost for just a second but averted his gaze again.

"I'm uh... an angel. This is m' first time down here with all the humans... I'm the youngest one so I insisted on goin' off on my lonesome. Always wanted to explore down here, da's prettiest planet. But ah, the demons caught m' scent pretty easy. I wasn't really... prepared for 'em." He paused for a breath. When his eyes did finally meet Ghost's again, they were full of thought, and deadly attentive. Soap continued.

"So they got to beat the piss outta me, think they had a lot o' fun with that. Then along came you, n' you broke 'em offa me. But when they turned on you, I think my er, proper angel instincts took over. It's like a pulse of light, meant to cook the fuckers and send 'em back to hell. Y'know, I had no idea I could do that- never went well in my trainin' upstairs. Guess you changed that, though."

Soap took a breath and looked up at Ghost, expecting him to throw him out any second.

Ghost sat up a bit straighter. He took some time to formulate his next sentence.

"So you're heavens littlest Angel?" The question was moreso to poke fun at him.

"I guess I am... I mean, I'm only 27. M' siblings are all eons old celestial waves and- oh that's a joke isn't it?"

The amusement returned to Ghost's eyes. Oddly enough... he believed Soap's batshit fucking crazy story. The man- Angel- seemed quite lost himself. Ghost knew his next question.

"Have you got wings then?"

Soap nodded curtly.

"...Can I see?" Ghost asked.

"I dunno, can I hear your real name?" Soap offered.

Ghost scoffed lightheartedly. A counter offer? How bold.

"Simon."

Soap gazed at him, only now noticing the tufts of pale blonde hair that dared to peak out from his mask. Simon, Johnny liked that name.

Satisfied with Ghost's answer, Soap held up his end of the bargain. He leaned forward, allowing the once hidden wings to plume from his back and fill the room.

Ghost found himself stunned for what felt like the thousandth time that night. They were magnificent, incredibly well-kept wings. They were divinely white with baby blue hues striking down a few feathers, the same blue he held in his eyes.

"Where'd you hide those?" Ghost asked, breathlessly.

"Have to hide 'em because I'm not supposed to let you humans know what I am... like uh, blendin' in I suppose. House rules'n all..." Soap answered honestly, a bit crestfallen now.

Would this encounter get Soap punished? Ghost wondered if he'd made some horrible mistake in intervening now. Soap must have caught the nervousness in Ghost's eyes, because he spoke again.

"Don't worry Simon, heaven has much better things to do than peep in on me anymore, I hardly fit in up there. Still feel it's my duty to protect you though- demons might'a caught your scent too..."

Ghost almost laughed.

"I feel I'm the one who's done the protectin' so far. Anyhow, I've had enough holy talk tonight. I'm making some stew. You're gonna have some and then you're gonna get some rest while I try and find better accommodations for a little Angel like yourself." He was doing that thing with his voice, making it deep enough to rattle Soap's brain just a bit.

Soap realized he was a little hungry... he'd never been hungry before in his life. The earth was such a bizarre place, but now that he met Simon, he wasn't so terrified of being on his own.

Ghost got up to return to the kitchen. He was cooking now, cutting up a white onion on a paper plate. Soap watched him cook, he seemed very focused. Was this really how it was to live as a human? It was sort of cozy to him. The apartment was lit by soft yellow lamps and overhead lights, not so bright as to burn Soap's eyes but gentle enough to ensure he stayed sleepy.

#ghostsoap #soapghost #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghoap #soapghost au #soapghost fanfic #soap x ghost

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