#likes lets just grieve him for him and stop projecting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nevernonline · 7 months

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✧.* svt members as 13 reasons why.

synopsis: seventeen members and the 13 reasons why/how you fell in love with them

warning/s: food mention, swearing, mentions of alcohol, broken bones, menstruation, mentions of death or a friend, pregnancy.

genre/s: non-idol svt! x reader falling in love

note: pls this is not about the tv show by the same name in any way!! lol. enjoy 🍀

seungcheol:

his smile. it was the first thing you noticed about him. you spotted him working behind the counter of your favorite coffee shop. ordering was going to be difficult but you got through it smoothly. after coming in nearly once a day for a week and ordering the same coffee he finally spoke to you. “flat white with oat milk, right?” and there was that smile again. you just nodded and went to present your card to him and he waved you buy, paying for your coffee with his free daily employee beverage. calling out your order a name ‘cheol’ and a time and a place to meet him for a date written on the drink ticket with a smile. He told you to promise you’d come so you can go out for a drink which you did. you found out he’s not just an employee but an owner. you kept seeing him after that, it got serious, the coffee was always free, and the smile was always on his face just as it was yours.

jeonghan:

his nature. Something about your co-worker made people flock to him, you never understood why, you always felt he was doing it for show. The joking, the laughter, his winking in your direction, you didn’t like him, you couldn’t when his whole life felt like it was out to torture you. You on the other hand didn’t have the same magnetic energy he did, you were quiet and reserved while he was talkative and spirited. The first time you spent alone with him you realized what the hype was about. You were working late on a project thinking you had the office to yourself, but little did you know the office to your side was Jeonghan. You were starting to get tired so you had decided to break out the tequila you keep on your bar cart for nights like this, taking a break from your computer you poured a glass and shot it back, now putting on a favorite song of yours to let your body move after being sedentary dancing with your back to the glass wall and door hiding you from the outside world came a knock that startled you, before even turning around you stopped the music and took a deep breath in not believing someone saw you letting loose. “Oh, shit.” you were staring at Jeonghan in your doorway, “I thought I was alone, I apologize.” His hand waved your way signaling you not to worry and he stepped through the threshold, pouring two more drinks for the pair of you. “I don’t mind by the way, it's good to get your energy up.” a cheeky smile appeared pressing play on your computer again, the two of you spent your restless night dancing away in your office, you finally understood why so many loved him, now you did too.

joshua:

his advice. joshua was your older brother's best friend, basically a siamese twin connection at his hip since birth. growing up with him was special to you, he always helped you. Even the first time you got your period he ran to the store to buy you a box of pads and told you not to be embarrassed. your first college party he lectured you about taking drinks from strangers and offered to drive you there and back home safely. gave you advice on boys and losing friends. Somehow he always knew the perfect words to say to you. When you were in your twenties a close friend of yours passed away and he accompanied you through your whole grieving process. somewhere along the way he fell for you, your brother always said that the two of you would fall in love, you didn’t agree. After years of just nearly missing the window for opportunity, your birthday was the perfect place to wish for a life with him. he pulled you along to the backyard of your home with a surprise, a necklace with your two birthstones on it and his advice finally turned into a confession. he’s been in love with you since that night he brought you home, you didn’t remember telling him you had a crush then, but you could never forget it now.

jun:

his charm. having a friend set you up on a blind date made you want to throw up, she gave you the rundown on everything about him. he was her co-worker, he had a smile that would make you just happy from looking at him, loved his family, well dressed, and on and on, but knowing that she already approved of him made your stomach sick, what if you didn’t like him? what if you continue being your only friend not in love or with a significant other forever. as you got dressed you felt the need to try harder than normal, its stupid to have high expectations of someone you’ve never even met, but you heard about how great he was from the rundown you knew you had to live up to the things she might have said to him about you. waiting outside the restaurant for this supposed dream guy you wanted to flee, you just pretended to talk on your phone waiting for him to arrive and suddenly a face came into your view. wide cat like eyes, perfectly tousled hair, freckles plastered across his face like a constellation, he was beautiful and it was like someone perfectly crafted your ideal type. he introduced himself as jun, a name that perfectly suited his cute nature and that's when you knew. The date spanned nearly your entire night into the morning, just talking, enjoying his company. you showed him pictures of your cats and he begged you to meet them, you got bolder saying if he takes you on a second date he could meet them on the third which he did. from being scared to being here on your wedding night only two years after meeting him, you knew you’d never let him go.

soonyoung:

his childlike energy. he was your first boyfriend after your last breakup that took you years to move on from. your ex was someone you thought you could see yourself marrying, but it was all a lie. you needed to feel the touch and comfort of another person in your life so you had decided to download a dating app, the thought of having to tell other people especially your family that you met someone online was terrifying, but maybe it could be worth it. you sparked a conversation with a guy that had an oddly similar photo to one on your profile of you holding a stuffed tiger, the same tiger that you got at summer camp as a kid a sign? it must have been, on your first date you found out that two years apart you both attended the same one and you still had your camp mascot cubs sitting on your bed. a symbol of your youth, that what he was to you. from becoming counselors, a natural evolution from being campers,. to reliving your first trip to an amusement park and tasting their salted pretzels and cotton candy, trying to fight the pit in your stomach as the rollercoaster flipped you both around. to organizing a fake prom that was for seniors at a nursing home. at this prom an older woman spoke about how the pair of your reminded her of the relationship she once had with her high school sweetheart, you found yourself in tears listening to the story of her now lost love and had to excuse yourself for fresh air. outside the music still playing the not-so-high school sweetheart you found came by your side, he confessed that being with you made his inner child so happy, soonyoung dropped to his knee and proposed right there, forever with him. you danced your night away in a sparkling dress with your forever by your side.

wonwoo:

his voice. upon first meeting you weren’t sure how well you’d get along, maybe he felt cold or maybe you were shy to look at him because you had a gut feeling something was pulling you to meet. he happened to be your partner in literature class, he offered to do the work separately out of his own shyness, but you insisted on meeting to work together not wanting him to think you’d take advantage of his smartness. he tried to turn you down many times, finally agreeing after you persisted. at some point along the way you both had enough of the awkwardness and got to know each other outside of the confines of the library. the first time you had hung out you vowed not to talk about work so you talked about him, his interests, his family, his friends. the whole time you were entranced by his soft deep tone. after your report was finished you didn’t see him outside of class and your heart felt heavy. you reached out and reached out seeing him passing by, but you were ignored. one night walking back to your dorm you heard that voice yelling your name behind you, you felt it was against your better judgment to ignore him so you turned around. he confessed that he was ignoring you only because he had fallen for you. that sweet voice coming to your ears like a love poem, all for you.

jihoon:

his view. sometimes you were a bit of a pessimist, someone who had their glass half empty. you're not sure what made you that way, but you assumed it had a lot to do with the rejection of your feelings growing up. you had a friend though, who's view wasn't half full or half empty, he just views it as a glass of water, empty if you drank half and full if you didn't fill it to the brim. he always was surprising you by changing how you view the world and your place in it. he doesn't have to say anything, but its almost like you can read his mind. you always viewed things with judgement and not empathy or sat around to think why something could be the way that it presented itself. everything wrong that happened in your life felt like it had an effect to change your brain into thinking your the problem. you had gotten cheated on by a boyfriend, you were going to make it all about you and how maybe you just didn't put enough of yourself into the relationship and denied someones feelings but jihoon wouldn't let you, he changed your mind. he just simply told you sometimes things aren't meant to go the way you had planned them, that maybe this ex partner just wasn't in the cards and that your pain could manifest as realizing every action was a plan leading you onto the next good thing in your life. it was that night you realized life was leading you in his direction. that you needed to be around someone who could change your view from the normal negativity and be the positive influence you needed forever.

seokmin:

his genuine kindness. you met while at a hospital urgent care. nothing serious you just had fallen off your bike and thought you maybe had broken your arm. (which you did) while waiting for the nurse to call your name sitting in the waiting room a boy walked in with his friend, who clearly was under the weather, he sat in an empty chair the one a seat away from you in fact while his friend checked in with the nurse, sitting and waiting anxiously he turned and smiled your way. “are you okay?” to which you just giggled back, still holding onto your right arm trying not to move it too much. “uh, well i am in urgent care, so yes.” it just made him embarrassed, but he comforted you and you never even got his name. the next time you saw him, your arm now in a cast, was at the park, he was walking a dog talking sweetly to the cute fur ball asking if they wanted a treat, he waved your way. “oh wow, hi. so broken?” he pointed at your arm. “broken.” he made a tsk tsk sound your way and took a sharpie out of his side bag, “may i?” And you just nodded as a sign for him to take it away. “i’m seokmin, i wrote my number too, you’re beautiful by the way.” he took your breath away. “i’m a nursing student so if you want any help or anything… or to go on a date text me okay?” obviously you texted him and he nursed you and your arm back to 100%

mingyu:

his shoulders. the shoulders you cried on for many years over people who didn’t deserve you, the shoulders that carried your tipsy body to bed when you had a long day and fell asleep on his couch. he was always there for you if you needed him, he would drop everything for you, but you never knew his true feelings.. well yet. mingyu let himself through the doors of your apartment, clearly out of breath coming to your rescue again after a bad date, food and drinks in hand. you sat shoulder to shoulder on your couch not talking for a moment waiting for you to open up to him. placing your takeout box down on the floor you just looked into his eyes, without words between you he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap. there was always comfort for you in his touch and it made you feel whole. Now sitting on his legs, your eyes looking up at him, you welled with tears. “i’m sorry you have to keep saving me when I’m like this.” his hand came up to stroke your hair telling you he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. after explaining to him why you called, he went silent for a moment, crushing you in his embrace and telling you how much he cared about you which was cut off with the kiss that turned your world around. you knew he’d never make you feel as bad as the other guys you’ve dated, you finally could spend time resting on his shoulders with a smile and not tears.

minghao:

his hands. when you saw a flier posted at a local cafe for art classes you never thought it would bring you to a teacher that inspired you. when you first signed up you just thought it would be a nice destress from your work week and a chance to meet people outside of your circle. the first few classes had been taught by a lovely woman who mentioned her due date for her first child. about five classes in when you arrived she hadn't been the one sitting behind the desk. minghao told everyone she safely had her child the night before and that everyone is healthy so he'd be there filling in while she was on leave. the first thing you noticed about him was the way his hands moved as he swiftly brought the brushes across his canvas. you almost forgot to follow his instructions as you just sat in awe of your new teacher. he had come to your side asking if you needed help which you just nodded his way, his hands cold and stained blue grabbed onto the brush in yours, helping you create lines as smoothy as the veins in the appendage holding yours. something about them mesmerized you every week after that he found a way to get close to your side and praise your progress. excited to see him again you bounced into your class and took your seat only to be met by the new mother instead of the boy you came to be fond of. the class had been less exciting that day without him. when you were finished you grabbed your bag and headed out of the studio, finding those hands you craved feeling on your body holding a coffee for you. he walked you home, holding his warm drink and your free hand in his admitting he liked you from the moment he met you. now those hands are the same ones exploring you all over.

seungkwan:

his wit. from the moment you met him as kids he was always the class clown, making jokes in the middle of class, singing songs to people from the window of his moms car as they walked home from school and he passed. you never forget someone like that. he had the world laughing his way, putting smiles on everyone's faces. It had been years since you saw him, you moved away from home for school and stayed in your new city beyond that. coming home to visit your family for the holidays was special to you, but you needed a day off and decided to take a friend up on going out to a bar for karaoke. sitting under the purple and blue lights with some of your childhood classmates, giggling and enjoying someone gets called up to sing the first song of the night, “hello, paradise bar! we are going to kick things off with a hometown celebrity, the one and only, boo seungkwan.” your table all turned to see the once young jokester climb up the stairs onto the stage as the beat of the song started to blast through the speaker to your right, none of you could believe he was here and singing at karaoke nonetheless. you swore he saw you giggling and singing along. you made your way up to the bar to grab another drink for you and some of your friends when the infamous boy came to your side. “funny seeing you here.” he said, still facing the front waiting for the bartender to make their way over to you. “i could say the same, how have you been?” it was a simple question, but you were genuinely curious. “good, i opened a bar and came back here to take care of my parents.” a sudden realization hit “wait this is YOUR bar?” he confirmed, your drinks presented themselves to you and you wished him a goodbye as you headed back to your friends. waiting outside for a ride in the cold that same familiar face tapped you on the shoulder telling you to come back inside and wait so you don’t get sick the whole time you were here. you were sitting at a table looking out the window at the snow falling down when a warm coffee hit the table. “not coming?” he smiled at you taking the seat across. “i don’t think so, it seems like the roads are bad because of the snow, maybe I should call my mom.” he got back up as quickly as he sat down and ran over to the microphones. “fifth grade talent show, you sang summer loving from grease alone, how do you fare with a partner?” a challenge from the person who could beat you in a singing competition. “you’re on, boo.” you laughed and sang until the sun came up and the roads cleared. driving you back to your childhood home he confessed something to you, that he always wanted to make you smile and laugh at his jokes, then and now. you kissed him from the passenger seat of his car and told him not to be a stranger.

vernon:

his taste. something about him you just missed. he was an ex and an ex you never thought you would've lost. you got accepted into a study abroad program when you had to leave him. it never felt right to you, something was missing without vernon. after years apart you found yourself wishing you could see him just one last time, going to movies together, hearing his song recommendations, watching him attempt to make a new recipe in your tiny apartment kitchen you shared. in your new city you found yourself missing him so much you went to the movie theatre asking the attendant what type of movie to see, the confession worker what candy to buy, and someone leaving the movie you were now seeing what seat would be the best to sit in. you ended up in the theatre with sour patch kids and a spot dead center of the second to last row, everyone else was piling into watch this new release. the seat next to you went down during the previews and as you turned you saw the face of the one who got away, vernon. you couldn't believe your eyes when his smile came into view holding the same pack of sour patch kids and a bucket of popcorn. after told you how much he missed you and moved there in search of finding you again. that invisible string not pulling as hard now, brought him back to you by the fate of his interests and you've never been more grateful.

chan:

his laugh. ever since you were kids you had been friends with him. you remember the first time you made him laugh.. it was when he carried a super soaker into your backyard chasing you around in the plush grass and you yelled “don’t shit!” instead of “don’t shoot.” maybe you were around seven, he’d never heard you swear before and was taboo to the both of you. he’d never forgotten it, sometimes bringing it up all these years later in casual conversation, like when you excuse yourself to go to the restroom or trip on something, it was an inside joke, but the fact he never let it go made you fall in love with you more. when you finally confessed to him again that laugh rang in your ears waiting for him to say it back and he did. you got your wish to hear his laugh forever.

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galaxymagitech · 23 days

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Call This My Funeral

For Dick Grayson Week, Day 1: Dick's Undervalued Competency

@dickgraysonweek

Summary: Sometimes, Dick remembers how it felt to kill the Joker and wishes that monster had stayed dead. After Blockbuster, he knows that his hands are already bloody. He should be brought to justice, and, well, he might as well go out with a bang.

Or: Dick breaks into Arkham to kill the Joker. He won't let anyone stop him—not some measly defense systems, not his baby brother, and not this mercenary who seems to be trying to break the Joker out.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, The Joker

Warnings: Borderline suicidal thoughts, murder, non-consensual drug use, very vague allusions to canon rape

Nightwing is dead.

It’s the truth of it, even if the world has yet to catch up. Nightwing is dead. He died the second that bullet entered Blockbuster’s skull and then he was buried on a rooftop in the rain.

It takes a while to come to terms with it. He thinks about trying to stop Deathstroke, but every time he stares at his Nightwing suit, he just…can’t. He killed a man. He killed a man. And maybe, if he stopped immediately afterwards, maybe he could have put the suit back on. But he had stayed Nightwing. He had fought villains with Tarantula and returned to Gotham and pretended, and then he’d gone undercover with the mob. And somewhere along the line, the illusion broke, snapped, shattered into a million pieces that dug deep into his skin. When it came time to put on his suit, he couldn’t manage it. He stared at it. Ran his hand over the Kevlar. Held it up to the light, but all he could see was blood.

So he pulls out of the operation. It’s a slow process, and he ends up having to plant evidence and set Black Mask up, but he does it. It won’t hold for long, will only put Mask out of the running briefly. But it’s enough that Dick is able to leave without anyone the wiser.

Dick rents an apartment. His lease is for one month. He thinks about signing another lease at the end of the month and he feels sick. Nightwing is dead, and Dick Grayson is empty.

He should be in jail. If he was in jail, if he served his time…at least that would be justice. Even if Dick can’t take it back, at least that would be right. The proper consequences. But Amy wouldn’t allow him his atonement.

Dick runs that series of thoughts in his mind over and over again, as he lies in and stares up at the moldy ceiling, listening to the sound of the rain outside. He wishes he could set things right. He should be in jail. He tried to put himself in jail, and it didn’t work.

He could frame himself. It’s not like it would be difficult. Dick is a murderer already; all he has to do is make sure others see his true face. Find a body someone dumped somewhere, make sure his fingerprints are on a conveniently-placed weapon with a record of his purchase, and then call 911 with a voice modulator describing himself as the attacker fleeing from the scene of the crime. There are more sophisticated methods, of course. Any would do.

But Bruce…Bruce wouldn’t accept it. Bruce would know that Dick wouldn’t just go out and kill someone randomly, even after Blockbuster. Bruce would at least know that Dick wouldn’t be that sloppy, if he did decide to commit murder. He’d find a way to prove Dick’s innocence.

So then how can Dick do it? How can he make the world see him for what he really is? How can he show them once and for all that Dick Grayson is dirty, despicable, poisonous?

Really, it’s a wonder he didn’t notice earlier how everyone in his life seems to suffer. He corrupts everyone around him. Hell, if he hadn’t left, Jason never would have died in his colors and Bruce never would have had to grieve his son. It’s a wonder he hasn’t managed to destroy Tim yet.

And Dick had known what he was capable of. He can still feel the sting on his knuckles as he beat the Joker again and again until the laugh was frozen on his face and his heart. Stopped.

Sometimes, Dick wishes that the Joker had stayed dead.

Of course, there’s something he could do about it.

Dick shudders, but he can’t push the thought out of his head. He’s a murderer. His soul is already dirty, his hands are already drenched in blood. Bats don’t kill, but he’s not a Bat, not anymore.

If there’s one last thing Dick does as a nominally free man, it can be this. He can put an end to all the suffering and pain the Joker has caused and bring himself to justice. Dick won’t pretend that it’s right. But he’s already wrong, and he can’t betray what he’s already broken.

Dick watches as his roof cries thick drops of acid rain and decides that the Joker will die.

---

The thing is, Dick knows he could get away with it. He’s been hunting criminals for almost two decades; he knows how to commit the perfect crime. He could hide the evidence, make sure the Joker’s body was never found, frame someone else, anything he wants. Bruce might be suspicious, but Dick thinks he wouldn’t be. And he certainly wouldn’t be able to prove it.

If Dick didn’t want to hide from Bruce, he could set up a situation where killing the Joker would be considered self-defense. Right place, right time, a registered firearm, and no jury in Gotham would convict him. He probably wouldn’t even be charged. He could go back to the Blüdhaven Police Department, draw the Joker there, and kill him in uniform. Amy would give him back his badge, if he tells her that he quit Nightwing—she already tried that with Blockbuster and he hadn’t even quit then. It would be easy enough to draw the Joker to Blüdhaven. Easy enough to find him on a raid. Internal affairs wouldn’t bat an eye.

Hell, if Dick promised to draw the Joker out of Gotham, Deathstroke would take care of him easily. He’d probably be thrilled that Dick is going down this path.

It would be so easy to get away with it.

But he won’t.

Dick Grayson will kill the Joker in cold blood. He will confess and take the first plea deal offered. And then he will go to Blackgate. He’s not stupid enough to think that he’ll survive there, as a former police officer and the former ward of Bruce Wayne. Justice will be served. Dick won’t poison anyone else, and the Joker won’t destroy his family again. A parting gift, if you will.

It takes Dick only a few days to plan the operation. Arkham has improved, but it still remains disturbingly reminiscent of a cardboard box, given how frequently its inmates escape.

Dick feels his stomach turn as he pulls out his suit. He feels like he swallowed something slimy, and it squirms around in his stomach. He doesn’t ever want to see this suit again. Just a little longer, he tells himself. He brings the suit to an abandoned warehouse, treats it with some chemicals, and burns it.

It should feel horrible. Dick created Nightwing. Nightwing is his. It should feel like burning a piece of himself.

Instead, it’s liberating. As Dick watches the flames eat away at Nightwing, all that’s there is relief. Dick hates it, with the blue bird spread across its chest like some sort of symbol. Like he’s worthy. He’s so glad it’s gone. Dick has never been anything close to worthy.

He returns to his apartment. The stairs creak on the way up. He eats his last can of soup cold. Dick drifts off to sleep and awakens with phantom gunfire ringing in his ears.

---

Everything is in order. Nightwing is gone, with no evidence left to trace Dick to the vigilante, and thus nothing to connect Bruce to Batman. Dick hasn’t had contact with Bruce for long enough that he doesn’t think Bruce will have to deal with anything more than a brief police interview. This will be on Dick, and Dick alone.

Dick needs to make sure that the way he breaks in doesn’t imply that he’s Bat-trained. He can get away with a reasonable display of skill, as a former BPD officer and a former world-class acrobat, but nothing that indicates access to other resources.

Dick’s plan is divided into three segments: enter Arkham, reach the Joker, and kill the Joker.

Part One is relatively easy. Gotham city’s government is corrupt enough that it leaks like a colander, and it’s easy enough to find a full map of the sewers. If you know the right places to look, it doesn’t take any more than an SQL injection for login information, a homemade browser plugin, and a couple URL guesses. It’s an unnecessarily complicated method, too clunky for a Bat to ever consider, but Dick isn’t a Bat anymore.

He leaves the public library, resisting the urge to wave at the cameras, and takes the subway to the edge of central Gotham. Dick enters the sewers as close as he can get to Arkham Island. It smells absolutely foul, even with the cheap Wayne Enterprises rebreather he has over the bottom half of his face, but he’s smelled far worse than Gotham City’s waste.

Dick moves as quickly as possible, disabling all of the sensors that were marked in the sewer plans and checking for extras every few feet. It takes an hour, but he eventually reaches his destination. Dick takes the time to slowly disable the alarms on the manhole cover and climbs out under the grey sky.

From here, it gets more difficult. If Dick had his grappling gun, he could scale the building easily. Unfortunately, all he has is a regular gun. That’s why he disabled the alarms; he’s going to need time.

Arkham Asylum is old building, and the wear and tear on its stones is just enough to let Dick inch up its walls in one of the cameras’ few blind spots. It’s slow-going. If he falls, Dick knows that there will be nothing below to catch him, and he can’t die before he finishes this. Hand over hand, he balances on the tiniest of footholds. The wind whips at his hair and the cold bites at his ungloved fingers. He thinks it would have been easier to bribe a guard, but there was no guarantee they wouldn’t have just turned him in for a reward. He isn’t a Rogue. He isn’t frightening. No one knows how poisonous Dick Grayson truly is.

He doesn’t enter through the first window he reaches. Dick knows that he��s no match for bulletproof glass and steel bars. So he keeps climbing. Up, up, up. The grey sky grows darker and darker as night draws near. His fingers are turning numb. He climbs.

When Dick reaches the rooftop, he knows that he’ll register on the cameras. It’s unavoidable. But from here, he doesn’t need much in the way of time. He throws himself onto the roof and clocks the single guard in the face before she even has a chance to react. She falls unconscious and Dick catches her before she hits the rooftop. No need to cause further damage.

He takes her walkie-talkie, and reports that a figure in an orange jumpsuit was seen fleeing towards the bridge. There’s enough turnover at Arkham Asylum that no one questions the difference in voice. No one knows who’s supposed to be where, and that works well enough for Dick.

It’s easy to find the guard’s keycard and the small note tucked into her pocket with the code to the door. There are too many codes at Arkham for most people to memorize, and it’s been a safety consideration that Bruce has been working on. Apparently, he hasn’t found a solution yet.

Taking a deep breath, Dick enters the Asylum. He’s probably going to be noticed soon, even with the distraction, but he’s able to get into the elevator, swipe the keycard, and then override the protections to go straight to the maximum security ward. Dick clenches his fists and waits.

He expects to find guards when he steps out of the elevator. Instead, he finds Robin.

Dick freezes, watching as Tim’s face sets itself in determination. The kid has his bo staff extended, but he isn’t attacking, not yet. Just…ready to.

For the first time, it hits Dick that he’s not just betraying Bruce and Batman. He’s betraying everyone. Alfred. Tim. Even Jason, who had looked up to Dick in life. Is he going to make his little brother fight him?

If he has to. Dick needs to do this. He has known for a long, long time that someone has to kill the Joker, and it couldn’t be a Bat. He’s the only one with the skills and will who is already tainted. This is his duty.

The Joker won’t hurt anyone else. Dick may be betraying Tim, but only to keep him safe.

“Dick. You don’t want to do this,” Tim says slowly, as the two stare at each other.

“I do,” Dick says. Can he convince Tim to back down? Surely Tim, with his brilliant and practical brain, can understand why Dick has to stop the Joker.

“The cameras are off,” Tim pleads. “If you stop now, no one will ever know.”

Dick has avoided justice once. He won’t do it again. “Turn them back on,” he orders.

He watches as Tim’s grip tightens on his bo staff. “Bruce—”

“Don’t,” Dick hisses. “You have no idea what I’ve done. What I am.” He sighs. “I have to do this. Let me past, Tim.”

“I know you turned yourself in for Blockbuster’s murder.”

Dick nods tightly. “Then you know that I’m already a killer. Turn the cameras back on. When I’m done, Tim, you can arrest me yourself.”

“No,” Tim insists. “You didn’t kill Blockbuster. You didn’t shoot him.”

“Are you sure about that?” Dick asks, tilting his head. He draws his gun from inside his coat. The magazine is full. The safety is on, for now. He doesn’t point it at Tim—first rule of gun safety, don’t point the gun anywhere you don’t want to shoot—but it’s a demonstration. Dick is carrying a gun and has carried a gun for months, even if his fellow Bats have tried not to think too hard about it. Tim’s confidence in him is baseless.

“You didn’t kill Blockbuster,” Tim repeats.

Dick sighs, tucking the gun away. “I let him die. That’s close enough. Amy disagreed.”

“I disagree,” Tim says. “Bruce, too. Come on, Dick. Stop this and come home.”

Dick laughs. “I killed a man, Tim. I failed Bruce, do you really think I’d be welcome?” But even then— “Do you really think it matters?” Dick doesn’t want reassurances. Doesn’t want Bruce to accept him, because even if Bruce was willing to put aside his morals, Dick would still know what he is: rotten to his core. “This isn’t the first time I’ve killed someone, Timmy.”

Tim inhales sharply. “What.”

“You watched me,” Dick says. He lets his stance open. “I beat the Joker to death.”

“That doesn’t count,” Tim says, but he sounds uncertain. Dick feels his heart twist in his chest. He hates that he’s hurting his baby brother, but it’s better this way. It’s better that Tim realizes what Dick is before he can get poisoned too.

“I beat the Joker to death, and I was happy about it. Bruce made a mistake when he revived him. I’m just going to correct that mistake.”

Something flashes across Tim’s face. “This isn’t you, Dick.”

“This is me,” Dick says. “I killed the Joker, I killed Blockbuster, and now I’m going to make sure the Joker dies permanently.”

“You’re going to regret this. I can’t let you do something you’ll regret.”

“You don’t have to let me,” Dick says gently.

“You won’t hurt me,” Tim insists. “And I’m not going to let you past.”

It’s true. Dick won’t hurt Tim, not really. But they both know that Dick can incapacitate him without doing any significant damage.

Tim’s face falls. “If you really think that letting Tarantula shoot Blockbuster makes you a murderer, how can you expect me to let you kill the Joker?”

It’s a good question. But the answer is easy. “Because I could have stopped her.” Dick takes a deep breath and forces his hands to unclench. He hadn’t even realized that they’d formed fists. Dick looks up and meets Tim’s eyes through the lenses of Robin’s mask. “But you can’t stop me.”

“I have to try,” Tim says.

Dick watches as his little brother finally moves his bo staff into a fighting position. He could stop here. He could accept Tim’s offer and go back to the Manor and see if Bruce would forgive him.

But he’s a murderer, twice over, and he’d always know that. And he knows that he can never be Nightwing again. There’s only one way left to atone.

“I know,” Dick whispers, and Tim launches forwards.

The fight is far more fierce than a spar, at least on Tim’s part. Tim is willing to do damage, anything to stop Dick from moving forwards. He thinks he’s saving Dick. And Dick, well, he appreciates it, but doesn’t Tim know that it’s already too late? Dick is a murderer. This is nothing new.

Meanwhile, Dick is trying to pull his punches. It’s not a fair fight, not in the slightest. But Dick has almost fifteen years of training on Tim, and while Dick is determined to win, he can tell that Tim’s heart isn’t in it. As much as the kid has the obligation to try and stop him, they both want the Joker dead. After all, if Tim really wanted to beat him, all he’d have to do is turn the cameras on, and Dick wouldn’t be able to plausibly beat Robin. But the cameras stay off.

Dick doesn’t call him out on it. Tim probably just hasn’t let himself think of it, and Dick will never give Tim the guilt of knowing that he could have won.

Dick dodges Tim’s first strike and dances around his second. He redirects the momentum of the third and tries to sweep Tim’s leg. Tim leaps out of the way. Dick ducks a blow to the head. Tim might not truly want to win, but the kid fights viciously.

It’s difficult. Dick doesn’t have the time to just keep dodging, so he throws out a light punch. Tim twists away, but can’t avoid the kick that throws him sideways.

“So you’re serious about this?” Tim asks, panting. Tired, surprised, but not injured. The Robin uniform should’ve caught most of the force.

Dick still feels bad about it.

It’ll be better in the long run. The Joker will die. He will never kill another Robin, never tear another family apart. Tim will be so much safer. It doesn’t matter that he’ll never forgive Dick for this, because the Joker will never be able to hurt Robin again.

Tim throws out another strike with his bo staff. Dick catches it and rips it away, taking the kick to his stomach and letting himself fly backwards. He slams into the wall, and oh, that hurts. But it’s fine. Tim flies at him again, and Dick neatly sidesteps. With an elbow, he’s able to throw Tim off balance and catch him in a chokehold, wrapping his arm around Tim’s throat.

Tim tries to tuck his chin down, kick Dick in the shins, claw at Dick’s arm, but all it takes is a few seconds and he’s out like a light. The utility belts are keyed to their gloves, so Dick snatches one of Tim’s gauntlets and removes the handcuffs from his utility belt. He cuffs Tim, and then uses the zipties he brought for good measure. If Dick was being particularly careful, he would use a tranquilizer from the belt and lock Robin in a cell, but he’s absolutely not going to leave Tim in Arkham, unable to defend himself. This is supposed to keep Tim safe, not put him in more danger.

Dick waits a few more seconds and watches as Tim stirs. He can’t help the relief that washes through him when he knows for sure that Tim is okay, that he didn’t hurt him. Even through the mask, Dick can tell that Tim is glaring.

“You can get out of that,” Dick says quietly. “But I’ll have a head start. If you don’t want to watch me kill him, you should wait a couple minutes. I’ll stick around in the cell so you can arrest me. Now, how do I turn the cameras back on?”

Tim tilts his head to the side. His face shifts from annoyance to confusion. “Do you want to get caught?”

Obviously. Dick shrugs. “I’m breaking the law. I kill the Joker, and then I go to Blackgate. Seems like a fair trade, doesn’t it?”

Tim shakes his head. “Dick, you’re not thinking this through. You can’t be Nightwing from prison.”

It’s obviously a delay tactic while Tim works on the handcuffs and zip ties, but the statement is so out of place that Dick has to respond. Does Tim seriously think that Dick would go back to Nightwing after committing cold-blooded murder? “Tim,” Dick says. “I’m not ever going to be a vigilante again.”

“But you made Nightwing!”

Dick did make Nightwing, and he’ll regret it until the day he dies. “Nightwing is dead,” Dick says harshly.

Tim flinches. “Then what is this? What are you doing, Dick?”

Dick turns around and starts walking down the corridor. He doesn’t want Tim to see the way his face twists. “Call this my funeral.”

---

A minute later, Dick stands outside the Joker’s cell. He’s not going to be able to guess the twelve-digit code, even with a UV light, so he just takes his gun and slams it into the keypad. The thing cracks, but the door doesn’t open. Well, security did at least one thing right.

Dick pries the keypad away from the wall and takes a look at the wires behind it. He fiddles with it for a few minutes, recalling training sessions with Batman standing over him as a timer ticked the seconds by. Dick could do this in his sleep. He refuses to let his hands shake as he crosses the last pair of wires and the cell door slides open.

Dick takes a step in, only to find that someone else beat him there.

The Joker is lying on his cot in a white straightjacket, but standing over him is a figure in a black motorcycle jacket. When the figure turns around, the harsh florescent light reflects painfully off of his bright red helmet.

Dick runs through the list of known Gotham villains in his head before drawing a blank. His knowledge of skilled mercenaries that operate in the United States likewise doesn’t have a match. The only thing he can think of are the whispers he heard while working for Tommy Tevis. Rumors from Gotham occasionally make their way into Blüdhaven, and among them was the Red Hood.

Red Hood. Former alias of the Joker. Possibly a current up-and-coming drug lord, said to be operating out of Crime Alley. Or a really messed-up vigilante. Or a mercenary. Whatever he was, he had “rules” that no one was happy about. And he supposedly delivered a duffel bag of heads to someone, although no one can agree if it was to fellow drug lords, the Gotham Police Department, or Batman himself. Dick personally hadn’t believed that particular rumor.

Red helmet, operating in Gotham, standing in the Joker’s cell…and the clown’s still breathing. This is, without a doubt, the Red Hood. And it’s not easy to guess why the guy is here.

“What the fuck,” the Red Hood says. His voice is mechanical, leading Dick to guess that there’s a modulator hidden in his helmet. Dick can fight a random drug lord, but the Red Hood does not seem to be a random drug lord. And Dick is unequipped, unprepared, and still bruised from his fight with Tim. “What the fuck, what the literal fuck?”

Well, this is awkward. Right about now would be the perfect time to bury several bullets in the Joker’s brain. It is not a good time, on the other hand, to be fighting a Joker fanboy bent on breaking his idol out of Arkham Asylum.

“You here to stop me?” Hood asks.

Well. Dick may not be a vigilante anymore, but he is here to kill the Joker. And he supposes that is mutually exclusive with rescuing him, so…yeah. “Yep,” Dick says.

“Dressed like that?”

“Yes?” Dick’s wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, he doesn’t see why his clothes are a particular issue. The Red Hood presumably thinks he’s an off-duty guard who got called to deal with an alarm.

“Right then,” Hood says, amusement trickling into his tone, and before Dick can react, he leaps forwards.

Dick dodges his punch, just barely, and returns with a kick of his own. It sinks into some kind of body armor, and Dick narrows his eyes. The Red Hood, whoever he is, is well-funded. Another blow. This one strikes Dick in the face and he reels back. Hood’s punches are fast and hard, and it’s all Dick can do to avoid the next one.

The two dance. Dick is well-aware that they’re both on a time limit. If Hood gets caught, he can probably disappear. If Dick gets caught, he won’t have his chance to kill the Joker ever again.

Dick thinks he might be able to win this fight, but he doesn’t have the time. His fist glances off Hood’s helmet, so he changes tactics, launching himself through the air and sending a strong punch straight into Hood’s throat. It’s not what a Bat is supposed to do, it’s dangerous for the target, but right now, Dick can’t bring himself to care.

“Wow, Dickie,” Hood says, breathing ragged. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

Wait. Dick isn’t actually that recognizable, despite Bruce Wayne’s fame. Why the hell does Hood know his name?

Dick doesn’t have time to worry about it, because Hood’s next kick comes out of nowhere and catches him in the stomach. Dick flies across the room, crashing into the wall.

The Joker cackles from his cot. “All this fighting over little old me?”

“Shut up,” Dick says, only to hear Hood’s mechanical voice snap in unison with him. He pulls himself up to a standing position. “Not a Joker fanboy then,” he observes, launching himself at Hood again. Why else would he be in the Joker’s cell, though? “Mercenary?” Dick had thought the crime lord story was more likely, but he supposes a mercenary is plausible. Though obviously not a very smart one, if he was making deals with the Joker.

Hood dodges his blow and throws a punch that glances off Dick’s cheek. Dick’s elbow catches him in the jaw—not that it seems to make a dent on his helmet—and Dick redirects Hood’s next punch and makes several successive blows towards the man’s gut. “He didn’t tell you, did he?” Hood asks. Dick gets the distinct impression that he’s missing some very vital information. “Did he?” Hood repeats. “Bruce didn’t tell you. Hah!”

A punch strikes Dick in the jaw and his head snaps to the side. Copper blood fills his mouth, but Dick’s up before Hood has a chance to press his advantage. He kicks out, catching one of Hood’s arms just as he misses a punch. There’s a distinct crack and Dick grins, blood dripping from his teeth.

“You’re good,” Hood says, launching himself forwards. “But I’m better.” In a single fluid motion, he hits Dick’s shoulder, knocks him off balance, and then presses him against the wall in a chokehold. Unlike the way Dick choked Tim earlier, this is an air choke. Painful. Painful, but slow. The Joker laughs, and this time, no one bothers to cut him off.

Dick slams a knee into Hood’s groin and then uses the wall to launch both feet into his chest, kicking him back. His throat aches. “No, you’re not.” The way Hood moved…Dick’s only seen that from one person before. “You’re League-trained, aren’t you?” If Hood is, then he likely already knows Dick’s identity. And he recognized Dick on sight, asked him if he’s really going to fight dressed like that, mentioned that there was something Bruce hadn’t told him…yeah, he definitely already knows.

“Maybe,” Hood says. He’s slower, now. From the way he’s moving, his arm is definitely at least fractured.

In the background, the Joker continues to laugh, reminding Dick why he’s here. Dick doesn’t need to win this fight. He just needs to complete his objective and render Hood’s null and void.

“You’ve thought of something, haven’t you?” Hood asks.

“Yeah,” Dick says. “I realized I’m going to win.” He flies forwards, pulling himself into a somersault and slamming both feet into Hood’s chest. The man flies backwards and Dick rolls away, pulls out his gun, and flicks the safety off.

“What—”

Dick practiced this in the police academy. He knows how to shoot a gun. He knows how to hit his target.

He forces his eyes to stay open as he aims the gun at the Joker’s forehead and pulls the trigger. A bullet flies through the Joker’s brain and he goes silent, his last laugh ringing in the air.

There are fifteen rounds in Dick’s pistol.

He shoots again and again and again, until every single bullet has buried itself in the Joker’s corpse.

And then he turns to face Hood and smiles.

Dick doesn’t know what happens now. Sooner or later, Tim will burst into the cell to arrest him, or the guards will come to do the same. But Hood—Hood wasn’t part of the plan. And he doesn’t know what the man will do next.

Hood stares at him, unmoving. Dick steps forward and presses two fingers to the Joker’s neck, checking for a pulse. There’s nothing.

The Joker is dead. Dick killed the Joker.

Dick killed the Joker.

The last time he killed someone, he panicked. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything.

This time, he just feels vaguely numb.

Hood pulls off one of his gloves and Dick watches as the man checks for the Joker’s pulse as well, before turning his helmet to face Dick. “He’s dead,” Hood says, shock audible even through the modulator.

Dick swallows. “Yes.”

Last time he killed someone, Tarantula was there. This time, it’s the Red Hood. At least the Red Hood isn’t his ally. At least the man will be more likely to want to kill him for ruining his payday than anything else.

“Yes,” Dick says. “I killed him. I killed the Joker.” He leans against the wall, lets his back slide down until he’s crumpled on the floor, his pistol hanging loosely from his hand.

“He’s dead,” Hood repeats. “What the fuck, Dick? I didn’t think you were even capable of this.”

Dick stares at the ground. “Do not,” he says, voice hard, “presume what I’m capable of.”

“Yeah,” Hood says slowly. “I’m getting that.

Dick looks up tiredly. “You should probably go. Your employer won’t pay you for breaking out a corpse.”

“My employer?” Hood echoes, as Robin bursts into the room.

Dick watches Tim freeze. Watches his face flicker as he takes in the Joker’s bullet-riddled corpse, Dick crumpled against the wall, and the random mercenary standing in the middle of the cell.

“Fuck,” Tim says. Dick thinks it’s the first time he’s heard his baby brother curse.

“Was the Pretender in on this too?” Hood asks.

Pretender? Hood has to be referring to Tim. “No,” Dick says. “No, Robin tried to stop me.” He hopes that will be enough that Hood won’t be upset at Tim for ruining whatever he was here for.

“Did he now?” Hood’s voice sounds dangerous. Tim looks—not scared, but determined in that desperate way Robin always does when facing a fight he knows he’s not going to win. Mouth set into a hard line, tension etched into every line of his body, stance defensive and far too steady.

And Dick may not be a vigilante anymore, he may be looking at a life sentence, but he’s not going to let anyone hurt Robin. “If you touch him,” Dick hisses at Hood, “I will end you.”

“Will you now?” Hood asks.

Dick stands up, bruised and battered but still a protective shield for his little brother. He gestures at the Joker’s corpse. “Yes,” he says resolutely. “I will. I will fight you, and I will win. Robin might be here to stop me from killing again, but I know better ways to make you wish you were never born. Are we clear?”

Hood holds up his hands. “Crystal.”

If Hood does try to get revenge, then Dick will defeat him, but it would be far easier if Hood just leaves now and Tim takes Dick to the nearest police station. The cameras are still off, so there isn’t much evidence, but… “You can take me to Gordan,” Dick tells Tim. “I’ll confess.”

“Fuck,” Tim repeats.

“You know it has to be like this,” Dick coaxes, holding out his wrists. “Just bring me in, and you won’t ever have to see me again. I killed him.”

“You better not,” Hood says. Dick’s not entirely clear on who he’s talking to.

Tim’s hands clench. He’s holding his bo staff aimlessly by his side.

“Robin…” Dick says softly.

Eventually, Tim sighs. “Fine. Put your hands behind—”

“Don’t you dare,” Hood interrupts.

Tim whirls around. “I’d like to hear any better ideas!” He snaps.

“Oh, I have several,” Hood says, voice dark. The underlying threat is clear.

“Trust me on this,” Tim says.

“That’s rich.”

Dick has no idea what’s going on. Robin and the Red Hood keep arguing, though it sounds more like bickering interwoven with some very creative threats. Do the two know each other or something? Is this like a Deathstroke situation?

His eyes keep flickering back to the Joker’s corpse. The blood is pooling over the cot, now, staining the thin sheets scarlet red and dripping onto the white floor.

“He won’t hurt you anymore,” Dick whispers. He doesn’t know who he’s talking to.

Tim’s hand fall on his shoulder and Dick can’t help but flinch. Tim withdraws, as if burnt.

Dick is making this easy for him. Tim doesn’t have to fight, doesn’t have to do anything except drop Dick off at the nearest police station. So why hasn’t he done it yet?

“Agreed,” Hood says roughly, and Dick looks up to where Tim and Hood seem to have reached some sort of consensus.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” Tim shakes his head. He turns to Dick. “I may not have been able to stop you from killing the Joker, but I’m not going to let you get yourself killed over this.”

“Gotham doesn’t have the death penalty,” Dick says, even though that’s not really the point.

“And I’m supposed to trust you’d defend yourself from the other inmates?” Dick doesn’t answer. “Yeah. I thought so.” Tim leans forwards. “And you can hate me all I want, but I’m not sorry.”

“I don’t hate—” Dick feels something pierce his neck, and then cold liquid enters his bloodstream. He twists around to see Hood standing over him. “Tim?” He asks, voice shaking. “What’s—what’s going on?” Whatever he’s been injected with, it’s fast-acting. Dick can already feel himself starting to slip away. “No,” he hisses. “No, Tim, what—”

“It’ll be okay,” Tim says. “This was the fastest way. I’m sorry.”

Dick’s vision goes fuzzy and he stumbles away from Hood. The man lets him, and Dick nearly crashes into Tim. “Wait—” His lips move, but they feel like blubber. Everything is numb. Everything is spinning.

The world fades out.

---

Dick wakes up with a headache. Someone—multiple someones—are shouting with sharp, angry voices that pierce his skull. Dick groans.

What happened?

He remembers—

The wall, Robin, the Joker, Hood, no—

Dick struggles, heart racing as he tries to force his eyes open—

“Dick.” That’s Tim’s voice. Dick can see a very blurry Tim standing there, still dressed as Robin but without his mask, and. And someone else? Whoever they are, they move out of Dick’s vision before he can register them. “Dick, you need to calm down.”

“Where am I?” Dick asks, pulse thundering away, but it comes out more like “wh’re’m’i.” He knows he’s not in a jail cell, not where he belongs. His hand brushes against what feels like a couch cushion. Not the cot in his apartment. Not a motel bed. He blinks, and his vision clears, somewhat.

“You’re at a safehouse.”

“C’n’t be ‘ere,” Dick mutters. “B’m’n wou’n’t wan’…” Though, he realizes, Tim hadn’t said whose safehouse. If Tim hasn’t taken him to the police, then he probably hasn’t taken Dick to one of Batman’s safehouses either.

Where the hell is he?

“Wh’re ’m I?” His words are separating a little more. Dick blinks again, and Tim sharpens into focus.

“A safehouse,” Tim repeats.

Dick can feel his face scrunch up. He shifts, slowly moving to a seated position. He’s definitely on a couch. The grogginess is clearing rapidly—he must have been given an antidote to the sedative.

Tim kidnapped him. Why?

Wait, there was another voice. Tim and the Red Hood kidnapped him?

“Okay,” Tim says. “So. Hood’s going to come over here, and you need to…not freak out. We’re not dead.”

“We’re not dead,” Dick repeats, a bit lost.

“Yeah,” Tim says.

And then Hood enters his vision and, well, Dick understands why Tim felt the need to clarify that they’re all still alive.

Because that’s Jason.

“Little Wing?” Dick whispers.

Jason winces. “Yeah.”

“How long?” Dick’s eyes desperately scan over him, drinking in every detail. The white streak in his messy hair, the wrinkles in his shirt, the way his fingers tap at his thigh like they always did when he was nervous.

“Bruce has known he’s back for a few weeks, but he’s in denial,” Tim says.

“I had a plan,” Jason says. “I was going to…I was going to kill the Joker. I guess you beat me to it.”

#batman fanfiction #dick grayson #batman #dc comics #dcu #dc #batfamily #batfam #jason todd #tim drake #fanfiction #dick grayson fanfiction #dc fanfiction

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dulltoned · 4 months

Text

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Branch spends the next few days trying his best to enjoy what time he has left. He stomps down the bitter sting every time his brothers get together to talk about the future and tries to bask in the little moments they allow him. Branch makes breakfast for Bruce and tries to wriggle a recipe out of him that he can cherish during the gray days. He spends an evening with Clay talking about novels and getting as many recommendations as he can so he can know what kind of books his brother likes. He even lets John Dory pick at a few of his projects so they can bond over their shared handiness born from their survivalist pasts. Branch has never gotten to know much about his brothers, he was so young when they left he can barely remember any of the little details, so he clings to everything now. Clay's ears flick when he's irritated over something insignificant, like a bent page in his book or the uneven amount of pencils at Branch's workspace. John Dory sleeps with that stupid glove on, and he cleans off his goggles every night because the routine helps him relax. Floyd hums rock songs in the shower even though he doesn't like the lyrics because he loves the melody. Bruce isn't a huge fan of seafood after so many years serving it back in his restaurant on Vacay Island but he loves Country Troll cuisine.

Branch gathers every little detail he can and he tucks it away because he knows that soon enough these few fleeting memories will be all that he has left to hold on to. Soon enough they'll be on their way and he'll be alone with only their ghosts to haunt him. He thought that he was finally done grieving. He thought that maybe he was finally ready to let go of the family that didn't want him. Now he can already feel their absence like a gaping wound even though they're still here sitting in the next room over.

Today is the day. Branch takes a fortifying breath and brushes nonexistent dust off his vest before slipping out of the kitchen to go gather up his brothers from the living space around the corner. He plasters a smile on his face as he steps through the entryway, leaning up against the arching entrance like nothing could possibly be wrong. John Dory has Clay tucked under his arm and is violently ruffling the younger troll's bright green hair. Bruce is cackling, nearly doubled over, and even Floyd is hiding a few loose chuckles behind his paw. Clay's hair admittedly doesn't look any different than it did before but that doesn't stop him from spewing protests.

"Are you guys done yet or should I give you some more time?" Branch teases, raising an unimpressed eyebrow that's betrayed by the amused smile spreading across his face.

John pauses his assault to look over at Branch and his grip seems to have loosened just enough for Clay to make his hasty escape. "I guess we can cut this short," John Dory shrugs, smirking while Clay grumbles and Bruce wipes tears from his eyes. John looks proud, smug in a way that Branch thinks only an oldest brother could be. His heart aches wondering if this is the last time he'll see that expression and he struggles to keep his smile in place.

"I'm sure the balloon is already set up so we better get this over with." Branch pushes off the entryway and tucks his hands deep into his trouser pockets in a hopefully subtle attempt to hide how they've started to shake. Bruce's laugh is still ringing in his ears and he can't help but ask himself if he'll be able to remember it so distinctly a year from now. He swallows thickly, eyes flicking from sibling to sibling and drinking in the easy smiles on their faces. They look so happy right now, joking and laughing and roughhousing like brothers are supposed to. Branch feels so out of place. Do they even care that they're leaving him behind all over again? Have they even noticed that they're ripping his heart to bits and stealing away the tattered pieces so he could never hope to be whole again without them? Do they think he's being childish because he's so heartbroken over something inevitable?

"I guess you're right," John Dory agrees, stretching out and popping his back. John throws Branch an easy smile and motions for the rest of their brothers to gather up so they can head out. Clay rolls his eyes and helps Floyd up from the armchair while Bruce stands from the couch. This is it. This is really it. Branch's heart flutters pathetically beneath his ribs and dread thrums through his veins. He wasn't ready to say goodbye. Not again. This wasn't enough time. He wanted more time. "Lead the way, little brother."

Branch is helpless to do anything else but swallow down the vile, bubbling emotions climbing up his throat and walk them out of the bunker towards the clearing Poppy arranged for their departure.

The pit in Branch's stomach only grows with each step and he listens with mounting irritation as his brothers chatter excitedly behind him. They're all excited to get back to their lives and Branch wishes he could begrudge them that. He wants so badly to be angry but he can't. They deserve to go back to their lives, their homes, their families. He doesn't want them to be miserable, he just wishes that he could be part of their happiness. He's well acquainted with loving others more than he's loved but the hurt never quite fades.

"Hey, Branch, you're quiet up there." Bruce calls and Branch looks over his shoulder curiously. Bruce smiles back teasingly, his eyes shining with bright mirth that Branch doesn't think the situation warrants, "Got something on your mind?"

"Or someone," Floyd joins in with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows that makes Clay cough a poorly concealed laugh.

Branch frowns, eyebrows furrowing, "What?"

"Poppy's going to be there, right?" Bruce asks like it's obvious and the pieces slot into place. They thought he was distracted because Poppy was going to be there to see them off?

"Oh. Not really," Branch shrugs. He turns back around when he sees their expressions shift, smiles dropping while they share confused glances. Branch figured it would be obvious why he was so quiet but maybe that was a bit presumptuous of him. He's been eagerly spending as much time with them as he could these past few weeks despite how obvious they were about their plans to exclude him. He guesses his silence now could be seen as a little odd, all things considered.

They don't say anything else for the rest of the trip. At least not to Branch. He hears them muttering but he doesn't try to listen in or even turn his head to look back again. He does his best to keep his eyes straight ahead and tune them out. Before he knows it he can see the large burgundy body of the hot air balloon growing steadily larger in the distance and the dread burrowed in his gut spikes. This is it.

John Dory lets out an impressed whistle, "It's bigger than I expected," he admits but he sounds excited about it. It hadn't even occurred to Branch that his brothers wouldn't really be familiar with traditional Pop Troll transportation anymore. Branch offers a noncommittal hum and scans the area around the balloon's basket for a splash of pink. He spots her quickly and some of the hurt in his chest dissipates. He can breathe a little easier knowing that she's here.

It's only a few moments before Poppy notices them, Viva a bundle of energy at her side. Pink eyes find them from across the clearing and a smile breaks out across Poppy's face like the sun after a rainstorm. She bounces on the balls of her feet and waves excitedly, calling a loud hello instead of waiting the thirty seconds it would take for them to reach her. Branch can't help but chuckle, shaking his fondly with a roll of his eyes while John and Bruce yell back their own greetings. Viva rushes over at top speed, twirling around Clay before falling into step beside him like it was second nature. She's rambling excitedly about something that Branch doesn't have the energy to try and follow but Clay is smiling brightly and nodding along.

"Hey," Poppy greets him softly, sliding up to him and gently grasping the front of his vest so she could pull him in for a swift kiss. Her eyes scan over his face and a frown tugs at her lips, "Are you okay?" She whispers, ducking in close for some semblance of privacy.

Branch tries to offer a reassuring smile but it feels bittersweet and tired, "As good as I can be," he sighs, lifting a hand to rest it softly over hers, "Better with you here." He confesses and bumps their foreheads together. She smiles, though the worried furrow between her brows remains. Branch wants nothing more than to smooth out the creases, chase away the concern she's wasting on him, but he knows that there's nothing he can do to convince her that he's fine. She wouldn't believe him even if there was.

She presses another quick kiss to his cheek before pulling away to properly greet his brothers, sharing a few warm hellos, "So, is everyone all set?" She looks between them, hands on her hips, like she expects them to have luggage despite the fact that they arrived empty-handed. She doesn't wait for a response before she turns on her heel and gestures to the small grassy hill next to the balloon that would give them easy access, "You guys should have plenty of room and there's a bunch of blankets if it gets cold, I also packed a lot of snacks just in case you got hungry. Oh! And there are some games--" "Okay, okay, sounds great Poppyseed," John interrupts, eyes wide when he realizes that Poppy had no intention of stopping her ramblings. He raises his hands in an attempt to slow her down, "What about a manual?" He presses curiously, the shock bleeding away to a fond amusement that made Branch's heart pang.

"Here," Branch reaches up into his hair and pulls out the pilot's manual. He refused to give it back after Poppy'd thrown it out just a few months ago. It's been haunting him these past few days but he hadn't dared to forget it on the way out of the bunker. He steps forward and passes the thick volume to John Dory, trying not to look at his brother's grateful smile, "It's pretty extensive but you only really need to read the first and the fifth chapter for a quick trip." He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to keep up a lighthearted attitude

"I'll take that," Clay reaches over and plucks the book from John Dory's hands with ease, grinning as he completely ignores John's protests. Viva giggles by Clay's side and even leans in to get a better look at the manual while Clay flips through it to see the table of contents. Branch watches the two self-proclaimed Putt Putt Trolls and hopes that maybe Clay will come along when Viva inevitably decides to visit. Branch has come to really enjoy having another level-headed, fact-oriented troll around and one brother would be better than none. If he's lucky, which he can admit isn't likely, maybe Clay will even keep him updated on their other siblings.

"So this thing is all ready to go?" Bruce looks up at the large balloon, admiring the structure with muted curiosity. He doesn't look too interested but rather intrigued by something unfamiliar.

"Yep!" Poppy chirps, bouncing over to stand back and look with Bruce despite being well-acquainted with Pop Troll travel methods. She's already flown out to visit each of the other Kingdoms at least once since the end of the Rockapocalypse. "All the prep work was finished last night so all you need to do now is climb aboard." She explains with a curt nod, clearly proud of herself and her work.

"Well!" John Dory claps his hands together drawing everyone's attention back to him, "Sounds like that's that then, let's get this show on the road, huh?"

"We shouldn't drag this out any longer," Floyd agrees with a sad smile and a small nod. John moves first, stepping forward to ruffle Branch's hair before walking over to climb up the incline. He vaults over the lip of the basket easily and quickly begins looking around. Floyd follows after him, shuffling forward with a clear exhaustion weighing down his limbs. He walks right past Branch without even glancing back, hiking up the hill and accepting John Dory's help into the basket with whispered thanks. Branch swallows convulsively, trying to push down the lump growing in his throat. Did Floyd not even want to say goodbye?

A hand lands lightly on his shoulder and Branch turns around only to be wrapped up in Bruce's arms. Instinctively Branch hugs back, squeezing tightly and nuzzling into Bruce's comforting hold. Bruce's arms envelop him in a warm, secure embrace and Branch mourns the fact that he'll likely never get to feel safe in his brother's arms again. "It was really nice seeing you again," Bruce murmurs into Branch's hair with a soft sniffle.

Branch's own eyes burn but he forces out a small laugh, "Yeah, you too, man." He doesn't think he'll ever forget the joy he felt when Bruce first told them that he was a father. He was terrified and elated at the idea of being an uncle. Bruce pulls back and wipes his eyes, a bright and happy smile on his face before he, too, leaves. It's getting harder and harder for Branch to keep his expression neutral and he finds himself desperately wishing for Clay and Viva to make their leave before he starts to break again.

Clay, thankfully, steps in and pulls Branch into a side hug with the manual tucked neatly under his other arm. Viva detaches to go say her own farewells to Poppy and Branch is pitifully grateful for the modicum of privacy. Clay presses their temples together with a lop-sided grin, "Take care of yourself, okay?" He extracts himself quickly but also reaches out to ruffle Branch's hair like John Dory had and Branch doesn't even try to push him away.

"Yeah, you too." Branch tries to smile back but his world is starting to feel dark and desaturated again. He wonders if Poppy would notice. She insists that she can see his hues shift with his mood even when Branch himself couldn't tell. He wonders if she can see the color draining out of him the way it feels like it should be. Watching Clay turn away and stride confidently over to the balloon stirs something deep and anguished in Branch's chest and he stomps down the urge to reach out and ask them to come back. It was too familiar watching them leave and being powerless to make them stay.

Viva and Poppy wrap up their own muted conversation and share a tight hug before Viva rushes off after Clay. They climb into the basket together, talking excitedly about something or another, and it makes Branch's stomach churn seeing them all so content while his world crashes down around him again. He realizes with sudden and startling clarity that he has to say goodbye. He can't let them leave this time without saying something.

He scrambles forward before Poppy can make her way back to his side and looks up into the basket with wild eyes. Floyd spots him first and his merry expression drops immediately but Branch speaks before Floyd gets a chance to question him. "I know it probably doesn't mean much," Branch starts hesitantly and has to take a calming breath when his brothers' attention shifts unwaveringly to him. "But I'm going to miss you guys." John shares a confused look with Bruce and Clay while Floyd's frown only becomes more pronounced. Floyd moves back towards the edge of the basket with a shake of his head.

"What do you mean? Of course it means something," Floyd assures softly, leaning over the rim to better meet Branch's eyes. Floyd's scanning him over and it makes Branch feel exposed.

Branch tries to laugh it off, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "I guess I wanted to make sure that you knew this time." He cringes the second the words leave his mouth, "That came out wrong--" He immediately tries to backtrack before he ruins any chance he has at ever seeing any of his brothers ever again.

"Back up," John Dory cuts in, appearing at Floyd's side, "Why is this starting to sound like goodbye?"

Branch freezes, dumbfounded, and blinks up at them. His anxiety is drowned out quickly by his confusion, "..isn't it?" He asks only to be met with two startled faces. Branch cranes his neck to look at Bruce and Clay so he can see if they're as confused as he is but they look just as upset as John and Floyd do.

"Hey, Viv, maybe we should give them a second." Poppy chimes in from somewhere behind him and he watches distractedly as Viva climbs back out of the balloon and walks off somewhere with her sister. He's sure he'll be grateful to Poppy for this later but right now he's just trying to get his thoughts sorted. Why were they so shocked? Did his brothers really think that he was that oblivious? He wasn't blind, it was easy to see that they were keeping him away from their important conversations.

John Dory hops over the rim of the basket and lands neatly in front of Branch, "Why in the world would this be goodbye?" He asks urgently. There's something desperate in his eyes that Branch can't quite discern but he doesn't understand why they're the ones making such a fuss about this. He was the one who had a right to be upset but he was trying to let them go.

Branch tilts his head and scoffs, sparing a glance at the hill where Bruce is carefully helping Floyd back out of the balloon before turning his attention back to John, "Aren't you guys leaving?" He raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms to keep himself from fidgeting with the hem of his vest. John Dory gestures to him frantically, making an exaggerated noise of disbelief before turning to the others like they could possibly help him.

"Yeah, for now," Clay looks at Branch like he's grown a second head and it was really starting to piss him off. What right did they have to be so flabbergasted? They were the ones who made plans to ditch him, not the other way around. This wasn't his plan.

"Where in the world did you get the idea that we weren't coming back?" Bruce adds on, asking the question that was apparently on all of their minds as he lowers himself down from the edge of the hill to drop down beside John.

"It's not like you've been subtle," Branch snarls, taking a sick pleasure in how his brothers jump away from the sudden tone shift. Good. If they wanted to play dumb they deserve to face the consequences. "You've been here for almost two weeks and every time I happen to walk into the room the conversation dies. A few days ago you were talking about just how much room Vacay Island and the Golf Course have for everyone without even a single mention of Pop Village. Are you kidding me! Why the hell would I think you were staying?" Recognition is blooming across Floyd's face and he can see the realization dawning for Clay like it was happening in slow motion. The green-haired troll's eyes widen just a fraction and his mouth drops open into a soft oh and it'd be funny if it wasn't because Branch had known all along that they were planning to abandon him again. He was so tired of being thrown away like he was nothing and they had the audacity to think he was too stupid to catch on? Maybe Poppy was right and he should just cut his losses and accept that they didn't want him in their lives. He was better off without them anyway.

"You got it all wrong!" John reaches out and places his gloved hand firmly on Branch's shoulder but Branch jerks back with a growl. There wasn't any guilt on their faces but instead a soft, bitter understanding that was starting to make Branch feel cornered. He was getting real sick of being left out of the loop.

"Branch, please, just let us explain," Floyd implores. Branch huffs, glaring, but some of the tension falls away at his brother's plea. Floyd looks at him with desperate lilac eyes that are starting to fill with rising guilt and Branch loathes to see his kind-hearted sibling so hurt. He doesn't want to cave, he wants them to deal with how they've hurt him and feel the weight of their actions, but it's Floyd who's asking and that's enough to break his resolve. Branch waves a hand with a sharp exhale, silently urging them to continue before he changes his mind.

His brothers sag with visible relief and John Dory quickly scrambles to take the reigns once more. "We thought you were uncomfortable," he tries to explain and his face his twisted apologetically with such genuine regret that Branch wants to believe him. "Whenever we started talking about our plans for after we went home you'd start to get all fidgety or you'd just kind of…"

"Leave," Bruce finishes off. John Dory's eyes flick back to Bruce before nodding.

"We thought that you didn't want to talk about it, which feels really stupid in hindsight." Clay admits with a disappointed sigh. Like he's realizing he should have known better but he'd been so caught up in the moment that it hadn't even occurred to him.

Branch can only stare at them in disbelief, waiting for one of them to laugh and tell him this was some sort of stupid joke. "Are you serious?" He seethes, paws closing into tight fists that shake at his sides. "The first few days you guys only talked about how eager you were to go home," Branch had been a bit flighty at first and, in the beginning, his heart would jump into his throat every time they started talking about how excited they were to go back to their lives. He was scared. Scared to lose them, scared that despite everything they just went through for each other it still wasn't enough to hold them together, and he didn't want to ruin their happiness with his own catastrophizing. "You laughed in my face when you thought I wanted us to be in each other's lives and you think I'm jumping to conclusions thinking that this is the last time I'm going to see you?"

Floyd looks horrified. Branch realizes that there's a decent chance that Floyd didn't know about that part. "Branch, I'm moving to Pop Village." Floyd says in lieu of any empty comforts he could've offered. What's done is done, they couldn't take it back.

"What?" Branch breathes, hesitant joy bubbling up and peeking through the anger still burning bright in his stomach.

Floyd smiles and it's bright and contagious, drawing similar expressions from their brothers, "I wanted it to be a surprise but after everything I really don't want to go back to Mount Rageous. I still need to talk the details over with Poppy but I wanted to move here to be closer to other trolls again. To be closer to you." Floyd looks like he wants to close the distance between them and Branch is glad that he doesn't. There's a tentative trust being built but Branch is still wired from the roller coaster this conversation has become and he's sure that one wrong move will send him tumbling.

"I'm coming back with him to pick up Rhonda but I plan to stop by often now that I know where this place is," John Dory gestures back the way they came towards Pop Village. It's plausible, it's all plausible, but Branch is still hesitant to believe them. He doesn't know what he'd do if all these reassurances were empty and meaningless.

Bruce steps forward slowly, raising his hands in surrender when Branch takes a hasty step back. His face is soft and open when he speaks, "I'm sorry we weren't really thinking, Branch. And we never should have implied that we didn't want to be a family again. We were frustrated and angry and tensions were high but adding everything up it's not too hard to see how you came to these conclusions," Branch wonders if this is what a dad voice is. He never met his father and he never really had the kind of friends that would introduce him to their parents. He imagines that this is what Bruce sounds like when he soothes his kids and tells them that everything is going to be alright and that makes something small and broken buried under his ribs yearn. "We want you to visit too, B. I want you to come to Vacay Island and meet your nephews and niece." "And I'd love to show you around the Golf Course!" Clay chimes in brightly, eyes shining with unshed tears that contrast with the fond smile on his face.

"Have you seen your bunker? You'd be amazing at camping." John Dory agrees warmly.

"We just got you back," Floyd murmurs but it's loud in their close proximity. "I don't think any of us want to say goodbye."

Branch feels the last of his protective anger drain out of him and sucks in a shaky breath. He smiles, uncertain and thin, but it seems to be enough to reassure his brothers. "Okay."

"We're really sorry, Branch," Clay insists, blinking away the wetness in his eyes and staring over at his youngest brother with blatant worry, "We really just weren't thinking, man. We never wanted to exclude you or make you feel like this was it."

"It's okay, really, I have a bad habit of overthinking this kind of thing," Branch sniffs, trying to be casual despite how his heart was still racing. He was already upset that he'd accidentally made a big deal out of nothing but it was admittedly nice to be reassured so sincerely. It soothed his frayed nerves in a way that was strange but welcome.

"It's not," Floyd disagrees quickly and Branch startles, "It's not, not really, but we'll have time to make up for it, okay?" And isn't that everything that Branch ever wanted? He'd wanted more time and miraculously they're giving it to him. Maybe this isn't the end, maybe it wasn't time for goodbyes after all. His heart starts to calm and a fragile hope begins to bloom where the anxiety was nestled under his sternum.

"Yeah," Branch nods, his smile shifting into something lighter, "I'd like that."

John reaches forward and snags Branch by the wrist, tugging him forward before Branch could even think to ask what was going on. John Dory's arms wrap around him in a bone-crushing hug, "I'll be back, got it?" He says firmly into Branch's hair. Branch nods into John Dory's shoulder, arms raised with shocked uncertainty. He gives in after a few beats and hugs his brother back as tightly as he can.

Branch lets the hug linger, grasping tightly to the leather of John Dory's vest until the contact starts to make his skin itch. He detaches himself stiffly, shaking out his arms with an awkward chuckle, "You guys really should get going, though. You're burning daylight." It still hurts to see them go but it feels different than it had before.

"That's probably for the best, huh?" Floyd agrees, reaching out a hand to Clay in a silent request for help that the older troll quickly jumps to oblige.

Branch uses the time it takes his brothers to hoist themselves back into the basket to compose himself. These past few weeks have been incredibly jarring and he thinks that he's seen enough of his emotions for the next few months but… it's also been surprisingly rewarding. He turns to scan the treeline hoping to spot a flash of pink but he doesn't even have to go looking before Poppy and Viva pop into view already making their way back over. They had to of been watching from a distance but Branch is confident that Poppy would have dragged them far enough away that they couldn't have overhead anything so he's not worried.

Viva bounds back over to the balloon and practically tackles Clay in her dash over to him. They immediately start talking quietly and this time Branch can admire their dynamic without any clouds of resentment hanging over him.

"You got this thing figured out?" Branch asks. "Totally. No need to worry," Clay assures, raising the manual and wiggling it for emphasis. Branch is glad that there's someone on that thing who'll actually read the instructions.

"I'll see you around, then, I guess." Branch smiles.

"Soon," Bruce promises.

With that they cut the ropes holding the balloon down and start the ascent into the open air. Branch and Poppy wave with vastly different levels of energy and their siblings wave back. There's no pit in Branch's stomach as he watches them get further and further away and no crushing sorrow when they say their goodbyes. It's not goodbye this time, not really, it's see you later. That makes him feel lighter than he has in days.

"You're looking blue," Poppy admires at his side, slotting her paw into his like it's meant to be there. You're looking happy, she means.

"I am." He admits quietly and is surprised to find that he means it.

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onehundredandeleventropicalfish · 1 year

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every so often i see people complaining that the rules that govern the endless are unfair and shouldn't exist, and it's always just kinda funny, bc im here like oh you do NOT want to get rid of the rules, trust me

is it unfair that desire gets away with so much bc they're the only one willing to break the rules? yeah, probably. but the solution to that is more rules, not less, because we're dealing with 7 immortal siblings who've been around since the dawn of time and have the maturity levels of teenagers

and in that context all of the rules make so much sense

like there's probably more rules than we know about, but let's focus on the main three - no loving mortals, no interfering in each others' affairs, no spilling family blood

1) endless can't love mortals. the one rule we know was instated later than the rest, almost entirely because of dream. for two reasons. the more obvious is that dream and desire are never gonna stop fighting, and when you put a mortal in the way of that, they are almost definitely gonna get murdered or worse. but also, there's lifespans to consider. not every dead mortal can end up in the dreaming, and not all of them want to. dream dating someone mortal means at some point, he is going to outlive them, that's not in question. and dream... doesn't take loss well. he stood outside in the rain without moving for three weeks when thessaly left, and they'd only been dating a few months. and then we have lucien's word on what happened after nada...

if the dreaming entirely comes to a halt for weeks or years or centuries after a girlfriend leaves him, dream grieving an actual death of a partner is actively dangerous. you can't stop dream from dating, and from those relationships going poorly, but at least it has a much higher chance of being a mutual breakup if death has been taken out of the equation

(and, you know, might as well make it a universal rule, both just in case, and so dream isn't constantly aware that this one was made because of him)

2) no interfering in the affairs of other endless. think, for a second, about the sibling rivalries in this family. and that's just the ones that exist now, when several of them have had a chance to grow up - it's said they were all a lot more immature and prideful, even death, back in the day (she grew into the older sister position).

i saw someone say once that everything in the dcu makes sense when you consider that the universe is being run by seven warring siblings, and honestly i'm inclined to agree! they're all a mess

but at least they're messes that mostly leave each other alone. which means their domains are at least protected by the fact that they all individually care about what they were created to do - there's only one person making decisions and that person generally wants the best for those that enter their domain

death in the show talks about how when she was young, she had a hard time seeing her purpose, because everyone seemed to hate her and she didn't know what to do about it. what she says in the comics is that she did stop. once it really started to get to her, she refused to collect souls. no one and nothing died. and it was only through realising how much more that was hurting the world that she started to learn how to be okay with it

when any of them stop or get distracted or kept away from their jobs, it's the mortals who suffer. and even if they all meant well, which they often don't, have you ever tried running important projects with seven people leading? at best, it slows you down, at worst it can ruin the project entirely. given how much they try to tell each other how to live their lives already, if they were allowed to get up in each others' business, you might as well be jamming up the cogs of the universe

3) can't spill family blood. so, it's easy to look at that and see orpheus, and rose walker, and all the traps that dream almost or did fall into. but as far as i'm aware, other than orpheus and unity's descendants, we don't know of any other kids of the endless, and those were all pretty recent, on a universal scale. honestly, given how dream is the only hopeless romantic of the family, i'd be willing to bet orpheus was the first. so it's extremely unlikely when this rule was put into place that children were on anyone's mind. time and night are on such a cosmic scale of power i don't think even all of the endless combined could kill one of them. which means this rule is about each other

and given everything we just said about interfering with each other, can you imagine if they were allowed to kill each other? because endless reincarnate, death amongst their family would lose all meaning. you could kill one of your siblings for annoying you and get back a potentially less annoying version of them almost immediately. but every time you did that, you'd be disrupting the functions of the universe. and with siblings like dream and desire, who don't see the other's domain as important at all, they wouldn't care. if they'd been doing it since the start, it's possible none of them would see that as a bad thing

you'd have the universe falling apart before it could even really begin. and they might not even notice

#sandman comic spoilers #dream of the endless #death of the endless #desire of the endless #delirium of the endless #destiny of the endless #despair of the endless #destruction of the endless #mine #meta

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pinayelf · 9 months

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miguel isn't an inherently angry and aggressive man nor is he evil

he's grieving in astv and he's desperately grabbing onto his last modicum of control (what he believes will stop ppl from making the same mistake he did with gabriella's universe)

miguel has been bottling all of this in, possibly pushing all of this to the side by putting all his focus on controlling anomalies and finding people crashing through different universes because he seems like the type to find something to distract himself or find a way to "fix" a tragedy rather than sit down and process it

miles refusing to let his dad die made him snap because it threatens the one thing he's so obsessively preventing to happen again. he's projecting onto miles because he doesn't want what happened to him to happen to miles

he wasn't right in the way he went about it, he should not have put a kid through that at all. I'm not defending him at all - I'm just explaining why he went so crazy

and when he went insane its clear from how everyone reacts, Jess (his most trusted right hand woman), and Peter (a close friend who openly trusts him with his very young child) is shocked. they've clearly never seen him that way

in the deleted scene, when he's on a more typical call with the other spiderpeople he's snarky and sarcastic. there's banter. I can even argue that there's a bit of that in the beginning when him, Jess and gwen were trying to stop vulture

so no, I don't think he has anger issues. I don't think he's typically the kind of person to go and hurt children. he isn't incapable of love and he isn't evil. I don't think that is him at all

he's a traumatized guy who made a lot of bad choices and went about trying to fix things the wrong way

#miguel o'hara #i just really really dislike that characterization of him #or that hes this dude thats just ready to SNAP at any given moment when its not true #he needs to grovel for miles' forgiveness but he isnt evil #astv #posting my character takes again and i am getting lol nervous abt it...anywho #its been on my mind for a while

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corvus--rex · 8 months

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This got a pretty "meh" response on the bird app. Let's see how it does here. This is parts 1 & 2 as of right now

~~~

pt 1

Ever think that the tight clothes, gloves, tiny jacket that does absolutely nothing are because Keith believes he doesn't deserve care, comfort, softness? Lance hadn't, until he really noticed Keith's body language for the first time after the Blade trials. The tightly crossed arms, how he kept himself separated from everyone else even when in the same room, how he always looked ready to bolt at the slightest whisper. He kept everyone at arm's length, reinforcing that distance with sharp-tongued jabs and insults.

It got so much worse after Shiro disappeared. Keith's normally prickly at best exterior had been dipped in venom and no one could stop him from disappearing for hours in Red, scouring space for any sign of his missing brother. Lance couldn't even begin to articulate the relief he felt when it came time to have Black pick a new paladin. He didn't want Keith to be forced into a role he was in no fit state to be in and had already decided that he wanted it to be himself instead. Keith may be an asshole, but Lance cared about that asshole.

Lance reluctantly sat in the pilot's seat, running reverent fingertips over the controls. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, the silence of the cockpit holding the weight of a tomb until he finally let out a shaky breath.

"Hey, Black. I-I know you probably don't want me, but it's only me and Keith left, and I know what Shiro said about him leading the team if anything happened, but…I don't think he can do it, and I know I'm not the best option, but I'd rather it be me than him. He needs time to come back from this. He needs to be taken care of for once, and if this is only way I can do that, if it means I have to lead the team, I'll do it. I know I'm not as smart as Pidge or Hunk, but I'm stubborn as fuck and I'll get there. Just, please, let me take this on so he doesn't have to."

If the silence had been heavy before, now it was oppressive. Slowly, the weight became pressure, a focused pressure in the back of his mind, silence growing into a whisper. A soft purr rolled through the cockpit as the controls flared to life, filling the space with an ultraviolet glow.

Lance released the breath he'd been holding all at once. "Thanks. I'll give it my best."

He tried to get up, but Black's mental presence pushed him back down, the projected image feeling more real than illusory. He recognized the mechanical angelic wings from when Shiro had last flown the lion, but then the image shifted, a fully formed Voltron taking up his field of vision with similar but much larger wings. The feeling he got from Black was one of reassurance and a hint of things to come. With another soft rumble, the mental pressure dissipated, and Lance stood, Blacks head lowering as he walked down the ramp to the collective shouts and cheers from the team.

Lance couldn't help but notice one voice missing. Keith stood leaning against the wall but instead of the closed-off posture he almost always adopted, his arms hung limply at his sides, the shock on his face overshadowed by the tears of pure relief threatening to spill over. Lance shot him a small smile, one that said 'it's ok, I got you'. Keith understood, shooting one back in thanks as he wiped the tears away and slipped out without anyone else noticing. Lance watched him go, a realization just as startling as Black accepting him as his paladin hitting with the force of that very lion.

'Oh,'

Lance thought,

'Oh shit.'

He could barely hear the rest of the team over his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

'I think I'm falling in love with him.'

-~-

pt 2

Lance tried to make the adjustment period as smooth as possible, but they were all dealing with Shiro's loss, all grieving in their own way, although none quite like Keith. He tried to accommodate him as much as possible - Lance knew too well the pain of losing family - but he still needed to run the team through drills, both on the training deck and in space, forming Voltron again and again until he was confident they could do it in the heat of battle, especially with Allura flying Blue.

Outside of training, Lance was having a harder time keeping his newly realized feelings in check. Keith was more closed off than he'd been in a while, so Lance kept an eye on him as best he could, inviting Keith to game and movie nights in the lounge, including him in more conversations during mealtimes, but never pushing, and always respecting the answers he got.

Keith had actually started to relax a bit, accepting invitations when he was up to it sitting alongside the team but not always participating in whatever they were doing that night, letting himself get drawn into conversations even if he wasn't actively adding anything, just listening. Lance was starting to think they were making progress, both as a team and with their healing process, until Thayserix.

They'd lost Lotor in the gas giant, and Lance had to watch as Red took off beyond the shortened range of Black's sensors. He knew Keith couldn't possibly hope to track Lotor through the gas, and landed on a nearby mineral structure to wait.

He couldn't contact the team, and there was nothing to see within visual range, so he was left with only his own thoughts. Lance thought about how he was handling leading the team - he was honestly a little surprised they'd accepted him as Black Paladin, but when Lance brought it up just after training one day Allura had said that Black chose him for a reason, just as all the lions had chosen their Paladins. Both Hunk and Pidge told him that they had been friends for a while, far longer than they'd been in space, he'd been their pilot back when they were a flight crew at the Garrison, and while he may have been a little unhinged, they trusted him then and they still did. Coran echoed all of their sentiments, adding that he understood how hard it was to push forward while so far from home and that he was genuinely proud of Lance for continuing on in spite of everything. Lance nearly broke down in front of the whole team, instead accepting one of Coran's patented Dad Hugs™.

What Keith had said surprised him. He'd gotten pulled into what became the group hug with Coran on Lance's other side, and when they broke apart, he'd said quietly, for Lance only, "Shiro trusted you. He'd be happy it was you to fly Black. I trust you too. Black picked you and I'm happy he did. You're a better leader than I could be."

The soft, /shy/ look on Keith's face made Lance's brain short-circuit. He scrambled to come up with something, anything, even remotely coherent as he watched Keith walk out with the rest of the team.

The only thought that came to mind was 'How dare he be that cute?' Lance froze. 'Oh I am so fucked.'

#my writing #threadfic import #keith kogane #lance mcclain #keith x lance #klance #preklance #Black Paladin Lance #s.2+ rewrite?? I guess??#idfk #vld #voltron #voltron legendary defender

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 7 months

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I recently mentioned that I had a fic idea about Helnik and I had a teeny bit of interest in it, so I was thinking about sharing it with you guys. However, I have never written fanfiction before and this isn’t a project that I’ve already done it’s just something I’ve been thinking about so I want to test the water and see if you guys would enjoy it if I properly planned something out and shared it on here. So basically I’ve written a little sample to see what you guys think, and if this post does well then I’ll start looking into getting something properly together! Hope you enjoy :)

@real-fragments7

Concept: Post-Crooked Kingdom Nina has returned to Ravka before moving on to Fjerda. Her powers are causing her to have frequent, uncontrollable visual and auditory hallucinations of Matthias and because of this combined with her general grieving state, Genya and Zoya don’t think is safe to let her go to Fjerda.

Sample:

Someone had left the blinds open. Sunlight was leaking through the panes, dancing impatiently across Nina’s eyelids as they slowly forced her awake. She groaned, still heavy from her dream, and threw an arm over her face to hide from the light.

On the other side of the bed, someone laughed softly.

“This might be the earliest I’ve seen you wake up,”

“Well if you’re awake already then can you close the damn curtains? At least one of us should sleep to a reasonable hour,”

“And you call yourself a soldier,”

Nina groaned again, rolling away from Matthias to bury her face in her pillow.

She had to admit, it was a good feeling to wake up with him - even if it was at dawn and she’d rather still be sleeping. She’d been having a strange dream, mind, but she couldn’t quite remember what it was. Yet she knew she wanted to fall back to sleep with a very different dream.

“What time is it?” she mumbled into the cushions.

“A little after seven bells,”

“Saints, how disgusting,”

Nina sighed, in a mixture of content and tiredness. The luxury of the Little Palace was a mostly welcome change from crawling in next to Matthias in the tomb at Black Veil - or even of the hotel room at the Geldrenner. They’d shared a sofa, so close to each other; limbs entangled, his chest against her back so she could feel his heart beating. A steady rhythm, no matter what he was feeling. The big bed here was more comfortable, but the closeness felt like an aching absence, as though the few feet between them spanned for miles. She reached out behind her and found something soft that she decided was his arm.

“Come closer,” she whispered, and she imagined the way he’d smile.

He would press her fingers to his lips and she would roll over to face him. She’d reach out and touch his cheek, and he would catch her hands in his.

“Witch,”

“Barbarian,”

“Little red bird,” he would say, just before his lips met hers.

The sunlight would be warm and soft on their skin as they moved closer, as she felt his heart beating beneath her fingers.

But he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t come closer, or kissed her fingers, or touched his brushed his lips against hers. He had not gently pushed her hand down towards his wrist so their fingers could entwine.

“Matthias?”

Nina made the mistake of rolling over, and began to scream.

Nina scrambled backwards and tumbled off the edge of the empty bed, feeling the tears sting. She didn’t remember when she’d started to cry. The sunlight pierced her like daggers protruding from her skin, glinting amongst the sheets and mocking her with their blank folds. Matthias was, of course, not there. The memory of Nina’s dream hit her with full force.

It had not, of course, been a dream. And yet this was still a nightmare.

“Genya!” she screamed, because she could not be alone, she refused to be alone, the room could not remain empty, “Genya it happened again!”

She could not stop. She could not stop the winds that felt like touch, the sounds that felt like a voice, the distortion that felt like sight. She could not control when they came or when they went, and she could not control the mess she seemed to become in their absence. In his absence.

She was numbly aware of Genya’s hands on her arms, brushing her hair from her face, coaxing her off the floor. At some point she realised she was no longer in her room, but in someone’s office. Zoya’s office. Still in her night things.

Nina, that is, not Zoya. Zoya looked to have long been awake, her immaculate oil black hair and flawless skin existing to outshine Nina’s bed hair and unwashed face. The general stood in front of her desk, talking to Genya in hushed and harried tones. Nina did not know why they bothered to whisper; she hardly understood a word they said.

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rubydubydoo122 · 19 days

Text

Jason gets de-aged because I've seen fics of Tim or Dick being de-aged, and Bruce losing his memory, but no one has realized the potential for angst if you de-age Jason.

Turns out, Bruce was taking the day off work, but that just made it that much harder for Jason to sneak into the batcave, with both him and Alfred watching him. They were doing that thing where they were hovering while still giving him space.

Jason just felt so stupid . You would think with all the random memories popping up, one of them would’ve warned him that his mom was dead— oh wait . One of them did. So really, it was just Jason being dumb. He just really thought he could have a mom again.

Despite how long it had been since his mami died, he still missed her. Maybe it was because with going from foster home to homeless, to crime house, he never really had time to really grieve her. And with Papi, it kinda felt like he wasn’t allowed to grieve him because Jason had already been living with Bruce for some time. And his Papi was a criminal, but his Dad was Batman.

Jason barely even knew Sheila Haywood. According to Bruce and Alfred, Jason had only known her for a day. So why did he feel so hurt about this? Why did this grief feel so much deeper than anything else?

Cass somehow practically appeared out of nowhere and handed him a book, “My English is not the best. Can you read to me?”

Jason looked at the cover, “ Pride and Prejudice . This is one of my favorites.”

Cass smiled knowingly, so she probably picked it for that reason. Maybe she didn’t even need him to read to her. Maybe she was doing this for him. Which was honestly really sweet.

Cass leaned against the arm of the couch, and Jason went to sit on the other side when she opened an arm, “Cuddles too.”

“You make a lot of demands Ma’am.” Though he did lean into her. “Do we do this a lot? Cuddle and read?”

She shook her head, “Not like this. When I’m hurt and come for help, we read.”

“But not smushed up together like this?”

“No. You’re too big.”

Right. He was as big as Bruce. That was kind of weird to think about.

So Jason opened the book and started reading out loud.

It was the copy he read out of the most. The spine was worn, not too much, but that perfect amount where you could easily flip the pages. It was a hardback, and there were post-it notes on the pages that his favorite scenes or lines were on.

Cass would occasionally ask a question about why a character would be doing something, or what a line or phrase meant, and Jason would happily explain.

Seven chapters in, Jason’s pace of reading was starting to slow down, and his voice was getting hoarse from talking for so long without a pause.

Jason was tired. He had been tired since this morning, because of his nightmare, and the information he had gathered this morning didn’t make him feel any better.

Sometime, while he was reading, Bruce had come in and sat on the other end of the couch. Jason did object when Bruce had gently taken the book from him, and started from chapter eight.

Jason also didn’t object when Cass started carding her hands through his hair. It felt nice. It reminded him of nights when mami’s eyes were clear of influence, and she’d take care of him for the night instead of the other way around.

Jason let his eyes close, and after a couple minutes Bruce stopped reading.

“I’m not sleeping, Old man, just resting my eyes.”

He was definitely just resting his eyes

Cass could feel Jason fully relax and hear his breath deepen. “He’s sleeping now.”

Bruce had a gaze lingered on Jason. His expression was fond. Reminiscing. Though there was pain too.

“You did good this morning.” Cass made sure to keep her voice quiet. Jason was a light sleeper. He always heard her when she would come into his apartment after patrol.

“How do you know?” It was one question that asked two.

“I know you did good because you spoke what you needed to say. From your heart. You don’t do that often.” Bruce did not know about the blackmail group chat, and he wasn’t allowed to know so Cass wouldn’t tell him about the video Tim had sent of this morning.

“I was trying not to make him upset, but I ended up making things worse.” Guilt .

Guilt was always on Bruce’s face whenever he talked about Jason. Guilt, hurt, and grief.

“If you did not tell him about his mom he would be angry. He would go looking for answers. Answers he shouldn’t know. Not like this.” Cass swirled one of Jason’s curls in her fingers, “We have to keep him…” Not happy, because no one could be happy all the time, “We have to protect his light. And you did that. You told him what happened, then you comforted him. It is what he needs. Comfort. So you did well.”

Bruce looked away from Cass, “Jason is probably going to be so angry at me when he’s back to normal. He’s going to hate me for taking advantage of his young state and–”

“No. Not angry. Hurt . He thinks you don’t care about him anymore. When he’s big again, tell him you do. Even though you’re bad at it.” Cass smirked, “Add it to the mission.”

Bruce groaned, “Of course you know about that.” He got up, “I’m going to go back to looking for the sorcerer. If you or Jason need anything…”

Cass smiled, “I know. We’ll come.”

And Bruce gave her a tiny smile back. A smile that said, Thank you. A smile that said I love you.

Tim had, honest to god, thought Bruce would try his hardest to avoid Jason, so imagine the whiplash he faced when Bruce actually gave Jason a very genuine sounding heart to heart. And a hug . But should he really be surprised? It was Jason.

He knew that when Jason went back to normal it would just cause Bruce even more grief. And that grief would just cause Jason to lash out at Bruce because Jason’s not dead anymore.

He doesn’t want to deal with the fallout. He couldn’t do that again. Not when he had spent his entire time as Robin dealing with it. He was just so tired of the same cycles over and over again. It’s infuriating.

Jason needs to step aside from the mantle of angry ex-Robin because Tim could feel himself slowly stepping into that role. Maybe that’s why all of the future versions of himself turned evil. Because he was just done with Batman’s bullshit.

Tim was going to go back to his apartment after work, but because he had fallen asleep at the batcomputer last night, he still had some work to finish.

Tim doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he wasn’t expecting to come home to find Cass on the sofa in the living room with Jason napping in her arms.

He obviously took a picture and sent it in the group chat. All eight of them were in it, so even though they said it was for blackmail purposes, it ended up being something more… sentimental. None of them would admit it though. In their line of work, it’s hard to hang onto the happier things especially with how dark things could get. They've all had near death (or just death) experiences at least once. The pictures made it easier to remember the good times. It made them remember to savor it.

Jason never responded in the chat, but Tim knew he read through everything . Tim knew he saved every picture posted.

Maybe Jason wouldn’t like seeing his younger self so close with the rest of them, maybe Jason would see it as emotional manipulation. Tim was pretty sure he was the closest to Jason, and they only talked when their cases overlapped. Though, he hoped that Jason would see it as the rest of them wanting him in their lives. (He wouldn’t, but Tim could hope)

Cass looked at him with a look that clearly asked what’s up?

Tim’s response look asked how long have you two been here?

Cass lifted up four fingers. So four hours. Or minutes, but four minutes seemed too short of time for Jason to be out like a light.

Tim debated something. The times Jason has physically dragged him around his apartment, or literally thrown him. Tim has tried to drag Jason off his couch before but it’s never worked, but now… Tim wouldn’t get the chance to do this any other time.

Cass gave him a look that asked what are you doing?

Tim shrugged, and grabbed Jason’s ankles and yanked him to the other side of the couch.

Jason yelped, and Tim barely had time to dodge a kick, “What gives?!”

“Please, Jason, this is light compared to the things you have done to me.” Tim took Jason’s now vacated spot and curled up next to Cass, “and it’s my turn now.”

Tim could feel Cass smirk.

Tim was also pretty sure he was about to experience a fist to face, but it never came. There was a light pat on his head, “I’m only allowing this because you’re my baby brother, and I’m hungry, and I want food. Do you guys want anything?”

Tim blinked, “I’m not a baby– I’m not that much younger than you– I’m older than you right now!”

Jason took a blanket out of the shelf and laid it across both him and Cass, “Nope, doesn’t count. Boop!”

Jason booped his nose.

Tim officially stopped working.

“I’m in the mood for…mm…churros, but Alfred’s probably gonna tell me to eat food first. So what’re you guys in the mood for?”

“Noodles.” Cass answered almost immediately. Was Tim the only one hung up on the fact that Jason booped his nose?

“Like… spaghetti and meatballs or..”

“Stir-fry. You make it spicy. Good.” she lowered her voice, “Better than Alfred.”

Jason laughed, “I don’t think that’s possible, but I’ll try. What time is it? Should I make some for Duke and Damian too? Is anyone allergic to anything?”

“2:43. Yes. No, Damian is vegetarian.”

“Got it!” And Jason skipped off to the kitchen.

Tim looked down at the blanket wrapped around him, and then touched his nose. Ok, it wasn’t out of character for Jason to take care of him. He’s definitely, on more than one occasion, taken care of Tim. It’s just usually, Jason’s really aggressive about it. Grumbling while making food for him, yanking his computer away from him, physically throwing him into his bed after he’s pulled multiple all-nighters.

It was just weird how gentle Jason was being. Not weird. Different.

He brought up the security footage from the living room and sent it into the group chat.

Stephanie replied to a video: NOT THE NOSE BOOP >u<

Duke replied to a video: You really let the intrusive thoughts win when you yanked him by the ankles

Babs replied to a video: AWWWW

Babs: Sunshine Jason making an appearance was not anywhere on my 2023 bats bingo board

Tim: sunshine jason is scaring me

Tim: this is too ooc

Dick replied to a video: This is 2 precious

Dick replied to a photo: This is going 2 b my new lockscreen

Stephanie replied to ~Sunshine Jason is scaring…~: Don’t say that about my homie

Tim: jason would say ‘I’m not your Homie’

Stephanie: but sunshine jason wouldn;t

Duke: Steph

Duke: i’m sorry

Duke: but I don’t think sunshine jason likes you because of the picture you took of him tripping in his RedHood uniform

Stephanie: dwdw I’ll change that

Duke replied to ~This is going to be…~: I thought you just changed it to Damian

Dick: I’ll make a collage

Tim replied to ~This is going to be…~: cass said her and jason were reading before he fell asleep.

Tim: hold up

Tim scrolled back through the footage, but stopped when he realized Bruce was there. Reading to Jason . And Cass, but still. Tim scrolled back a bit farther, and realized that Jason didn’t even have to drag Bruce into doing it. He just did .

Jason’s back to how he was before he died and Bruce pulls out the love and affection that he apparently just had in his back pocket? That’s not fair .

No.

It’s not fair for Tim to think like that. Bruce is probably just acting to make sure Jason doesn’t realize he died. Yeah. That's probably it.

Tim scrolled back further and sent the clip of Cass and Jason reading together, and then stood up. “Ok, I know Jason’s a really good cook, but I feel like we should go watch him considering he’s barely five foot.”

Jason was grabbing some already chopped vegetables out of the fridge. Hopefully Alfred doesn't have plans to use them later. He already had the noodles in the boiling water, but he was going to wait until they were halfway cooked to start cooking the vegetables.

So he started heating up the water, sugar and oil for the churros.

Jason's pretty sure only Alfred knew this, but Churros are one of his main comfort foods. Especially when he missed his mom. Sure he loved chili-dogs, but those only taste the best from a vendor. And Neapolitan Ice Cream was more like his go-to ice cream flavor. Why choose one when you could have all three?

Churros reminded him of cold winter days when the heating wouldn’t work properly, and he and Mami would make them to warm up. Mami would always add a little bit of cinnamon and vanilla into the dough. The first time he had made churros with Alfred, Jason had forgotten about that, and they didn’t taste the same. Jason hasn’t forgotten the cinnamon and vanilla since then.

Cass and Tim walked into the kitchen and sat at the counter.

Jason got out a wok and tossed the oil, chilis, garlic and onions in. None of them were saying anything, but it didn’t feel like an uncomfortable silence. Maybe they’d been doing this for years. Sitting in silence, while Jason cooked. The thought made his chest feel warm.

“When did Bruce take you guys in?”

Tim and Cass had a silent mind conversation. “I started hanging around the manor when I was 13. And then Bruce adopted me when I was 15. Bruce adopted Cass around the same time.”

Cass nodded, “I was 17.” She looked up to think about it, “you were 17 too, 18 when Tim came.”

Jason stirred the vegetables around before adding the noodles, “What about Duke. And Damian, I guess.”

“Talia kinda just dropped Damian off on a random Tuesday. That was also close to two years ago. Dukes the newest. He’s only been here for a couple months.”

Jason nodded. “Got it.” He turned off the stove with the wok. Then he walked over to the fryer with the churro dough before pausing. “Am I allowed to use the fryer?”

Tim shrugged, “You’re literally the only one allowed to use the kitchen.”

Even though Jason knows how to use it, it’s the one thing he has to have supervision while using. Because hot oil does not feel good on skin. But technically, he was being supervised. By Cass and Tim. And technically , Jason was an adult. And if Alfred got mad, he could offer him a churro and puppy eyes.

He turned on the fryer, and once the oil was all heated up he started piping the dough in.

He had almost finished when the garage door opened, followed by the sound of footsteps.

“Master Jason, you know you are not allowed to use the fryer without supervision.” Alfred was standing at the door with his hands on his hips and his I’m disappointed in you ™ face.

Duke and Damian were also walking in, but tentatively.

“But I’m 20…”

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose, but Jason could tell it was just to hide a smile. “You are physically and mentally 15. The rules from then apply now. You need supervision while working with oil.”

“Cass and Tim were here.”

Damian crossed his arms,“Tt, Drake hardly counts as proper supervision.”

“Cass was here, but I won’t do it again. Sorry Alfred.”

Alfred took the piping bag from Jason, “Well, since the house is still standing, and you are not injured in any way, I suppose I will allow it.” Alfred placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder, “Go eat in the dining room with your siblings, I can finish up here.”

So there they all sat, slurping noodles.

“Jason, this is really good.” Duke leaned closer to him and whispered, “I’ve been missing spice.”

Jason grinned, “Thank you.” And yes, Alfred’s cooking was good, but after some time you start craving some spice.

Tim sniffled and wiped his nose. His cheeks were pink, and–

“Drake, are you crying?” Damian took the bottle of chili flakes and shook it on top of his noodles, “I knew you were weak, but I didn’t think you were this pathetic.”

“I’m not crying, I just don’t have a super spice tolerance like the rest of you.”

Jason laughed, “If it makes you feel better, Bruce is worse. I once made Nachos for a movie night, and since he’s a white man, I left out the jalapenos and I only put, like, three chili in the salsa. This man ate two chips, and was guzzling milk.”

“Seriously?” Duke looked surprised.

Jason nodded, “Dick should have it on video somewhere.”

“I’m asking him for this right now,” Tim took out his phone, blinked a couple times and then put it away, “Duke, you do it, my eyes are too watery.”

Duke smirked and started typing away.

Cass patted Tim on the shoulder, “Not your fault for crying. You’re just white.”

That earned a laugh from everyone. Except for Tim. He just turned redder if that was possible.

Duke glanced at his phone, “Dick said, ‘I hv a whole folder. We can hv a viewing when I get home.’ Then Steph said ‘Batman’s Kryptonite are nachos’ and then Dick said ‘+ most of the things Jason has made bc he 4got that Bruce was yt man’ Jesus Christ, it’s like deciphering an anagram trying to read Dick’s messages.”

Tim sighed, “Millennials.”

Jason smirked, Dick’s typing has always been so dumb. Some things never change.

He starts to picture this sight, but it’s his older self. He thinks he can picture his older self. He thinks he can picture his older self maybe playing a supporting role in the Fall play or Spring musical. He thinks he can picture what he would’ve written his college essay about– losing a family, only to gain an even bigger one. He can picture himself with Bruce in his office opening up acceptance letters to Princeton, or NYU, but he’d ultimately choose to go to Gotham University. Actually, maybe he was wrong about that. Damian did seem shocked this morning to see Jason in the kitchen. Maybe Jason goes far enough away to Dorm, but still close enough to patrol when there’s an emergency. Yeah. He can see Bruce and Alfred helping him move into his dorm. He can see himself coming back on some weekends. Maybe he and Dick have become closer as time passed, because He can see Dick stopping by his dorm to pick him up to head to the manor. Maybe Damian’s in the car with them, or Tim, or Cass, or Duke. He can picture Alfred waiting by the door to greet him. He can see Bruce pulling him into a hug and asking him how his classes have been going. He can see them all sitting at the table, Damian and Tim bickering, Stephanie egging them on. Duke and Cass trading food, and Babs and Dick holding hands under the table. He can feel Bruce’s fond, but barely there, smile. Jason could feel the longing in his chest for all of that.

Though it felt like something was holding back that longing. Like there was something physically blocking Jason from all of that. “Are… are we close?” There was a beat of silence, and then Jason put a hand to his heart, “because I think I feel… I feel calm– at peace when I’m with you Cass.” He looked to Tim, Duke, and Damian, “And you guys are my little brothers. I feel like… I would do anything for you guys.”

“Jason–”

“But I also feel…guilty?” Jason thought about it for a moment, “No. Ashamed. I don’t know why, but I think I��m ashamed of myself and–”

“Jason, stop.”

Jason snapped his mouth shut.

Tim set down his fork and had a silent conversation with Cass and Damian. It didn’t seem like Duke was part of their mind conversation, but most of the guilt and shame bubbled up more around Damian and Tim. The guilt and shame felt like it was going to overflow around Tim.

Tim looked Jason firmly in the eye, “A lot was changing all at once during that time. None of us blame you for the way you reacted.”

Jason carefully inspected Tim’s face. He was doing the weird double mask thing he was doing earlier in the bathroom, “But you got the worst of it.”

“...Dick is so much better at this.” he looked back at Cass and She nodded, “Did you remember anything specific?”

Jason closed his eyes and tried to trace the guilt and shame, but ultimately drew a blank. “..No. It’s more like I’ve been feeling it.”

Tim nodded, “What were you feeling before the guilt.”

“Longing.” He was sitting on a rooftop, red helmet next to him, watching five figures leap across buildings in the distance. “I think I felt… Alone.”

A sad smile briefly appeared on Tim’s face, “A lot was changing during that time. And Bruce and Dick didn’t make sure you felt like you still had a place. You probably were all alone, and I don’t blame you for feeling like that. I didn’t understand until something similar happened to me.”

“Tt, and what happened doesn’t matter anyways, because for all we fight, at the end of the day, you have our backs, Akhi. You would take a bullet for each one of us.”

“And Jason?”

“Yeah?” “Stop being such a sap. You’re ruining your own street cred.”

#jason todd #batman #batfam #dc comics #dick grayson #tim drake #bruce wayne #damian wayne #duke thomas #cassandra cain #robin jason todd

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respectthepetty · 8 months

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The only one whose intentions I can't entirely understand is Nick. Like Boston is pretty harmless, he is just a hoe and a shitty friend. Mew is straight-laced and could be devilish, but pretends to be a kind of a saint to get away with things. Top is just a red flag, all around. Ray is broken in a way he himself doesn't understand and (falsely) projects loving Mew will resolve all his hurt. Sand is a walking green flag, at least so far. But Nick, I don't know, I can't tell if he's just starting out as a Machiavellian villain that'll do a double kill on both Boston and Top, or he is just obsessed with Boston to hurt him but keep Boston on a leash.

Anon, I'm gonna skip over you writing that "Boston is pretty harmless" so I can get to your ask - Nick.

In this series, Raymond is my #1, but Nicolas is my strong #2, and it's partially because they remind me of a good ass country song.

Think Brokeback Mountain's Jack Twist screaming his legendary line "I wish I knew how to quit you" because that shit is a good ass country song delivered in one line.

*switching into my west Texas accent*

Yes, I wrote "country song" in a post about Thai gays.

See, I love music. I have a large collection of vinyl records and CDs. I like going to music festivals and concerts. I love rap for its wordplay. I love ranchera for the dramatics ("El Rey" anyone?). And I love country for its storytelling.

So the second Nick called Top instead of Mew, I heard Dolly Parton's iconic "Jolene"

In case you are not familiar with the legend who is "Jolene," the song deals with a woman begging another woman to not take her man. This woman knows she cannot compete with Jolene. She knows she is not as beautiful or alluring, so she begs Jolene to let her man go, in hopes that he'll come back to her.

Hopefully, I won't be hearing Dolly Parton's other masterpiece "I Will Always Love You" (yes, the one that Whitney Houston covered for The Bodyguard).

And I always hear the incredible Patsy Cline's "Crazy" whenever Nick looks at Boston.

Crazy for thinking that my love could hold you I'm crazy for trying and crazy for crying And I'm crazy for loving you

Because even though Nick is matching Boston's "No Boundaries" energy, he isn't malicious, not yet anyway. No.

Nick is in love, with a guy who doesn't love him back.

And he knows that.

But knowing doesn't help when it comes to matters of the heart.

Other genres have songs that capture the feeling of losing your mind over someone who doesn't love you and being incapable of stopping, but a good ass country song just really hits at the core of that kind of toxic love.

Like Dan + Shay's "How Not To" which tells the story of a man who knows that his lover is no good, but doesn't know how not to love them.

So I read Nick as a boy in desperate love with the wrong man. He is Rascal Flatts "What Hurts the Most" when the lead singers croons that the worst part of his love was "not seeing that love in you."

And that type of love makes you do crazy shit.

Boston was honest in the beginning that he didn't want anything serious, and even though he has changed his tune when needed, everyone else has warned Nick as well about Boston.

Nick knew who walked into his store the second he looked into Boston's eyes.

Yet he couldn't stop himself from falling in love.

If Oh No! Here Comes Trouble taught me anything, it's that love can be an obsession mostly when grieving love, and Nick has to be grieving the love he knows he will never get from Boston while still loving him.

So this is why Nicolas is my #2. He is a good ass country song about a man who hopes that his love will make his lover stay, only to realize that his love isn't enough and probably never will be.

And before any of you ask, Ray is the drinking side of good country songs, but he and Sand in particular are "Tennessee Whiskey"

I've looked for love in all the same old places Found the bottom of a bottle's always dry But when you poured out your heart, I didn't waste it 'Cause there's nothing like your love to get me high You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey You're as sweet as strawberry wine You're as warm as a glass of brandy

So raise your bottle to Nick's pain.

And slow dance under some hicktown's bar lights.

Because like my girl Bonnie Raitt sang " I will give up this fight 'cause I can't make you love me, if you don't" (yeah, that famous song George Michael covered).

#only friends #nick is a good ass country song #I love country music and Nick #I want the best for him #the best is either getting toxic Boston #or losing the guy he loves #he can't win #and he knows that

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messenger-of-stupidity · 9 months

Text

Busy Hands

Well... I finally posted one of the GBA fics in my drafts. :D

CW: Grief, cursing, gendered listener

(Ik. So unusual for me O.O But I need to reintroduce gender into my writing for project reasons)

GBA Masterlist

Summary: Just Faithful struggling through the grieving process and trying to raise a kid.

Faithful’s hands haven’t stopped being busy. Not since that day. Sometimes she still wakes up at night, the smell of the collapsing temple stuck in her nostrils. It takes racing to the bathroom and dry heaving while praying she doesn’t accidentally wake the young girl sleeping in the next room over. Even in those moments her hands are still occupied.

Either with holding back her hair or gripping the toilet bowl as she empties nothing. Eating was difficult those first few weeks. Because despite everything, she lost three people that day. She hadn’t ever really liked her brother, not with the way he constantly let her know she was useless. But the guilt of being glad he was gone had started to dig like a knife into her gut. Devlin had just... left them. Was she silly for believing he would stay? Silly for hoping?

And then there was... Albus. Thinking about him really did feel like she was being crushed right beside him. Her ribcage locked and it got difficult to even breathe. He told her to continue with her life and not regret. But how could she not? If she had just been faster, or not been so weak maybe she could have found a way to save him. She hadn’t been able to keep her mind from wandering there when she was idle.

It’s why she had to stay busy. She just... had to.

Currently, her hands were busy kneading bread. Kerano was running around outside playing some game that her imagination made up and then expanded. Faithful pressed the heel of her palm hard against the dough. They had been inside this safehouse for a little over a couple months if she was counting the passing days correctly. Although with her sleep schedule so tattered and torn she couldn’t rely on that. Plus upon arrival she hadn’t bothered counting the days.

More often than not she rounded a corner and expected to see Albus leaning against a wall with his patronizing greeting of “Well hey there Faithful.” It took her a while to get used to the silence when Kerano wasn’t in earshot or was staying quiet. At least she didn’t wake up and think she was still on the ship for a few hours.

She grabbed a knife and cut the dough into three equal parts.

Faithful had once told Albus that she used to bake bread for the children that would run around the temple grounds. It was nothing special and she had tried to downplay it. Albus had let her for a few minutes before telling her that she was a far better person than he was. Devlin had returned from the bridge before she could ask what he had meant.

She pinched the end of the three strands of dough together before beginning to braid them.

She was pathetic. She had a child to care for now, and yet she seemed incapable of quieting her thoughts of a dead man. It would have been easier of Devlin had stayed. She thought he would, but he had left her alone. Even after promising Albus that he would care for her. Sure, he helped her get Kerano to a safer place but she couldn’t do this by herself. It was why she had enlisted help in the first gods damn place!

She glared down at the braided dough, jaw clenched and floured hands balled into fists at her side.

Faithful wasn’t heartless, right? Devlin needed to grieve just as much as she did. Maybe even more so. Her mind still reeled with the secrets of both men that she carried. They might have ended up sharing the secrets to each other after they had all gotten drunk that one night. She doubted Devlin remembered. Albus did and he had told her to forget. A small part of her wondered if she should tell Devlin what Albus had told her. It didn’t matter now anyways?

Even if she wanted to without a doubt, she couldn’t. She didn’t even know where the Artificer was. The former priestess could feel that kernel of worry start to form under her sternum. Busy. She had to stay busy. She watched as her hands methodically painted the egg wash across the curves and crannies of the braid.

Kerano’s laughter filtered through the open window. The sound had quickly introduced itself as bittersweet. She loved knowing that Kerano was happy and safe from her brother. Truly, she did. But she envied the little girl’s ability to laugh. It made sense of course. Kerano had never had the pleasure of meeting the warrior - he had stopped being known simply as a bastard in her mind - so why would she grieve? Faithful had made sure to explain who Albus was, if only so the young girl would understand why she felt somber. She hadn’t explained what death was, wanting to preserve what innocence she could, so Kerano simply believed that Albus had gone somewhere far away to help fight the evil monsters of the world.

That was another reason why she needed Devlin here. She needed to have someone to talk to. Someone who understood. But instead she was left in this safe-house with the expectation she’ll have her shit together enough to help raise a child.

I can’t do any worse than Joshua.

It’s a dry thought, and not one that offers comfort in any sense of the word. But it’s true nonetheless. As long as she avoids believing the laughing child to be the god killer and decide to sacrifice the young girl, she’s doing better than Kerano has faced thus far.

Faithful places the bread in the oven and slides down to sit on the floor. If she closes her eyes, she can pretend Albus is right next to her.

“You do know I’m not actually here right, Faithful?” His voice is in her ear. It used to irritate her. Then it flustered her. Now it comforts her. Time does such funny things to perspectives. She nods her head. “Bullshit.” He calls her bluff. Like usual.

“There’s nothing wrong in indulging in a fantasy.” She murmurs quietly, wishing she could convince herself that there isn’t just empty space to her left. Albus always stayed on her left. She didn’t know why and she wished she asked. If only to know more about the warrior who covered up so much truth about himself.

“’M pretty sure that’s a sin.” He says. Ignorant to the actual seven deadly sins. Or at least just pretending to be. She’s pretty sure it’s the latter now, he was always smarter than he gave himself credit for. Or anyone else gave him credit for, her included. She can feel her face grow hot with shame.

“Only when it becomes gluttony. I’ve resisted this fantasy for a while.” She mumbles. It’s a weak excuse, but she’s weak. She always has been.

“Damn. Faithful’s fantasizing about me. Have I finally corrupted the holy sister?” It’s the expected response. The one that would have had her heatedly denying it and throwing an insult at his face that he would just laugh at. But instead she stays quiet, staring at the glass surface cover of the oven and the bread baking inside. “I’m dead, Faithful. You can’t linger on a bastard like me.” He adds. She shakes her head and grips the skirt of her dress.

“I know you’re dead. I’ll do what I damn well please.” She spits back at him, trying to ignore the burning in her eyes. She wants to cry. She hasn’t actually let herself cry since that day, even as she wakes up on a pillow wet from tears. She’s never felt more isolated. Before, she had a goal. Then she had companions. Even with Kerano here, she feels so empty. “I can’t do this, Albus. I’m useless. I can’t fucking do this.” She whispers into the empty air. She wants to feel his calloused hand on her shoulder, his fingers tipping her chin up to look at him. She wants to hear his voice soften as he comforts her and draws her away from the darker recesses of her mind. “I didn’t pay you yet. You can’t just leave me alone. You promised.” She adds. Her imagination isn’t strong enough to come up with a response from her imaginary warrior. Her champion.

The bread is done.

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