#pitting is the love language ><< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[dramatictrajectory]

But what about "kill Lady Qiao to boost morale"?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Just your average male living space.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[pharawee]

Stay here. I'll lure them away.

▷ PIT BABE THE SERIES 2 · Episode 8

[pommiigranate]

Hello to the 6 peerless fans out there can we be friends pls

[glamgoblin]

SPEAK KING 👑

[ghost-bison]

Doctor Who: 1x05 World War Three (2005) / 2x08 The Satan Pit (2006)

"Stuck with you, that's not so bad."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dinner at Jason's pt1

Hail and snow pounded against the windows of the safe house, inside was sparsely decorated, a sofa pointed at the built in fire place, a few fake plants stuffed into the corners and of course, the two bruised and battered Vigilantes sprawled across the twin bed pushed up against the corner of the studio apartment.

They had managed to beat Freeze at the nick of time to save the hostages, but hadn't been able to stop the Rouges plan, and now they are suffering under an Amplified snowstorm.

Jason was laying on his back, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, Damian across his chest and huddled close in the cold of the room, they had had to hunker down in the safe house since the snow was coming down so heavily that neither of them could see a foot ahead of them.

Bruce had put his foot down and told them to wait till the storm rolled over or for the JL go figure out something to help with the ecological disaster.

The bruises and cuts didn't bother Jason one bit...what did was the gnawing hunger in his gut.

Hunger wasn't something he was unfamiliar with, years of poverty and living on the streets meant that such things were like an old friend...bit the kind that sold you out and tossed you aside after.

Damian let out a harsh huff and sat up, glaring at Jason for a moment, "I do not particularly enjoy hearing your body make disgusting rumblings Todd, surely you have something in this wretched place to fill your gullet with?"

Jason glared back, his lips pulling down in a frown, "Don't act all fucking high and mighty shortie, I know you are hungry too."

Damian simply narrowed his eyes at the older vigilante, "The League trained me to withstand such simple base desires." The boy huffed yet again, his stomach making a gurgle a moment later, causing a light blush to come across his features "Tt...though my years with Father have dulled those lessons..."

Rolling his eyes, Jason swung his legs off the bed, stumbling over to the small kitchen attached to the apartment, he kept long term stable food in each of his many safe houses thar dotted the city, and this one was no different.

Mind whirling as to what to make as he stared at the slim pickings, clicking his tongue the man snapped his fingers, "Got it!"

Damian, dressed in one of Jason's T-shirts and a pair of shorts that had to be tied tight at the waist to fit, stood at the other side of the island, his clothing had gotten soaked through by the time they had reached the safe house and sadly Jason only had Jason-Sized clothing at his safe house.

"What infernal beings have placed a foul idea in your mind Todd?" The boy spoke haughtily but seemed intrigued by what the man was doing.

Jason shot Damian a withering glare but sighed a minute later, "Potatoe Tacos. I got all the shit for em and they are vegan or vegetarian or what ever the fuck you chose to go by this week."

Damian sneered at that, but let it slide, eyeing the things that Jason was pulling form bare cabinets "Todd...those things have growths. I...I do not think those are fit for consumption "

"Mehhhh don't worry about that, just means you gotta cut then off and boil em longer." Jason says with a wave of his hand, after rinsing off a cutting board that was very much just a cut thing of plywood and a knife that was clearly meant to cut people rather then veggies, Jason set the bag of growing potatoes down, "First things first, break off the eyes...those are what the stem things are called by the way"

Damian simply raised an eyebrow, "I know." (He did not till just then)

Jason shook his head, chucking the eyes to the side and plopping the now prepped potato on the "cutting" board, taking g the knife, he did a quick dice before scooping the pile up and plopping it the pieces down in a pot of water that was being heated on the rickety old stove.

"These bitches are simple, just carb on carb greasy goodness." Once all the potatoes had been cut, the man dumped them into the now steaming water, "Alfie would say you gotta peel the patats and wait till the water is boiling to put em in, but that's fucking dog shit, just slap those tubers in and wait till it boils, gonna take the fucking same time anyway."

Damian watched with a pained expression, "I was under the assumption that Penmyworth knows what he is doing...and why are you explaining such things to me. I do not see a future where I must cook for myself."

"Ahh yous ain't got the fuckin, 'Robin self reliance' training yet have ya? B and Alfie makes all the poor sucker's go through it, thought it was a yearly thing."

Damian had a slight glare on his face, though Jason knew by now it was simply the boys thinking face, "I...do believe that I have seen the others attempt such an endeavor as cooking for themselves, but Father has been busy since my arrival, Richard has been away with his own city, Drake barely comes out from his room outside of being Red Robin, Brown and Thomas I think were deemed 'Acceptable'? I do not know..."

Jason sighed, leaning on the counter himself, "Honestly, it's kinda fun from what I remember, Dickie always made the fucking wackiest shit...tried putting gummy bears in bread, just turned out to taste like fruitloops..."

Jason had a soft smile on his face, and his eyes got s far away look in them, "B thought it was the best thing since sliced bread and Alfie was tearing at his hair thinking about all the scrubbin he would have to do...'some reason people think Dad doesn't know how to cook, he just gets a little stressed with Alfred breathing down his neck, wants to show off and make em proud and all, so he shoots for super complicated shit and just ends up with burnt shit nine times outta ten..."

Jason's smile grew a bit, his eyes drifting down to the counters, Damian stood stock still, he didn't get the chance often to hear about what his father was like, before Todd's death, he couldn't think of his Father getting nervous, making mistakes just to prove himself to Pennyworth...

"But catch Dad on a day where Alfreds sick or out of town? It's just you and him? Makes the best pancakes, somehows always makes em where they have that brown crispy edges, every single one of em...that and some sunny side up eggs? Heh...he always used to pour syrup all over the plate, not caring if the eggs got drenched... said His Pops always did it...said it made em feel closer to the guy..."

Jason's voice slowly faded, a tired sad look of longing in his eyes before they were clenched shut, the man breathing in a shaking breath, "B-But that was a while ago, don't even know why I fucking remember that shit..."

Jason shook his head, pulling away from the counter, clumsily picking up the knife and cutting board before dropping them in the sink, standing there for a moment longer than he needed, staring at the wite void of the snowstorm outside.

Damian stayed silent, letting the older male go through his feeling for as long as he needed, padding around the counter, the boy looked down into the pot (no he did not stand on his toes...lies and slander)

"...Todd are these done?" Damian says finally, looking over to the man, who jumped a bit as the boy spoke, clearly having been lost in his own head "F-Fucks if I know kid, use the spoon over there and stab em, if it goes through with out resistance it's done."

Nodding even though the man wasn't facing him, Damian picked up the black plastic serving spoon and dipped it into the water, swirling the boiling liquid around for a moment before lifting up a piece of potato, stabbing it with a finger, he hissed for a moment at the hot water touching his skin, but pressed on the white vegetable, watching it crumble under slight pressure.

Sticking the burnt finger tip into his mouth, the boy stepped away, letting the spoon fall into the pot, "Tis done Todd, at least the single piece I tested."

Jason seemed to let out a sigh before turning, facing the younger male, his whole body slouched a bit, "M'kay, just gotta drain em and mash em then"

Taking the pots handles in his bare hands, Jason didn't even notice the heat of them in his strangely numb hands, slowly tipping the pot over the sink, the man hummed as more and more water was poured out, since he didn't have a strainer, he did the best he could before putting the pot back down on the stove.

"Alright...now mashing and seasoning..." muttering more to himself than teaching Damian, the man came over to the small upper cupboard, gazing at its inhabitants blankly for a bit.

Pulling out only three bottles he placed them on the counter, "Salt and pepper cus duh. Butyou only really need salt...and cumin that's like...the main flavor for these." Taking the as for mentioned spices, the man sprinkled a liberal amount of them across the water potatoes.

Damian, once more leaned across the counter raises an eyebrow "Why so much? Alfred would not be so careless with...seasoning."

Jason let out an snort, taking a fork from a near by drawer and attack the potatoes to mash them, "As much as I love the old bastard, he is still painfully British, can't handle more than the bare basics with his 'delicate palette'" the last words were spoken in a posh accent, sounding only a little like the esteemed butler.

Damian Tsked, looking to the side as he muttered "This is why the momos nevered tasted right..."

Jason shot the boy a questioning look before shrugging "Couldn't make spicy food to save his life, makes you wonder how Da-...B got used to spice." Damian graciously ignored the way Jason stopped himself, but pressed onword, "Likely by the League and his time abroad, Father confessed one time that he missed the simple bread and stew at the League Barracks...I did not share his nostalgia."

Jasonnlet out a methless laugh, pulling away frommthe pot finally, "Thank God I don't remember that..." his eyes gained the vacant look once more but Damian wasn't going to let his brother remiss on such times.

"So what next, you said greasy so I assume we fry the potatoes some how?" Damian interrupted the older boys thoughts, watching as Jaosn seemed to come back to himself.

"U-Um...yeah...first erm...gotta heat up the tortillas." Jason said, eyes still a bit glassy as he fumbled with the twist on tie of the plastic bag.

Coming around the counter once more, Damian knocked the man's hands aside, noting how much they were shaking now, "Let me, you do not want to aggravate your injuries further Tham you already have."

They both know the worst that Jason got was a nasty bruise on his shoulder from that last fight, but the older boy nodded simply, letting the younger of the two pull the slightly stale corn tortillas out from the bag.

Jason hovered near by for a moment before getting shooed to the side by Damian, "What next Jason?" The boy spoke quieter than before, his brother was clearly in a delicate state, a Damian from when he first arrived at the Wanyes would have surely seized the moment of weakness and struck, but he was not that person anymore, and his Ahki wasn't some obstacle to over come.

Jason seemed to blink uselessly for a moment, his shaking hands, coming up to rub at his eyes, "Fucking hell...I was doing so good...fuck..." the man muttered to himself, "Fuck...just um...heat them up a bit, pans in the um...Un the oven...should be clean."

Jason leaned against the island heavily, he really had been doing better, but for some reason his mind felt hazy and he couldn't focus, did he get hit in the head? Did he not feel it again?

Sometimes he felt as if his body was still dead, moments came and went when he couldn't feel a damn thing, it was as if his whole body was numb, his nervous system lacking any sensation at all.

His thoughts were pushed away as he heard a snap near by, blinking owlishly, he stared as he saw Damian standing in front of him, hands on his hips and a plate of warmed tortillas on the counter "What next Jason?"

Time had slipped from him...how long was it this time? Blinking quickly, the man cleared his throat, "Um...you just um...gotta fill the tortillas up...y-you do that and I'll...I'll fry them. Don't want yous to burn yourself, Dad would be mad if I did."

Damian wanted to say something, to defend his honor, sure he ahd never fried a single thing a day in his life but damn it if he tired he knew he could get it in a single try.

But he didn't want to fight with his brother, not now, now with the way his brothers eyes had a misty green haze in them, nor with how he seemed to be caught between a day dream and reality.

"Hmph. Fine. Do not burn yourself either." Damian settled on, diging around drawers still he found a normal sized spoon and started to smear the potatoes against the tortillas as he watched Jason fumble with the a pan and with a bottle of oil.

Watching carefully, Damian filled the tacos as Jaosn started to fry them, it really was quite simple Damian decided, he could have done it...bit his brother looked to calm himself as he did the repetitive work.

Once all the tortillas had been filled, Damian stood back as Jason piled the freshly fried food onto a paper plate, sliding it across the counter to him, "Just a little salt and...and we're good...don't got no salsa so ain't authentic...gonna um...take you to Pedro on the corner, h-he makes the best...used to feed me em when I was on the streets, didn't want no nothing in return, no touchin nor asking where my momma was...d-dont think he knows it's the same me though."

Damian cast a side ward glance as Jaosn slurred his words, almost drunkenly picking up a taco and chewing it as he speaks from the corner of his mouth.

Damian did as the older boy did, humming as he chewed, pleasantly surprised that it was not only edible but midly tasty.

He could have done without the potatoes skins, being rough and chewy against the soft fluffiness of the white flesh of the tuber, the spices were simple and basic but held a flavor with the richness if the oil and thr crunch of the fried tortilla.

"S'good with green salsa...fresh kind, super fresh..." Jason said, the man was fading fast, eyes still alight with the pits effects.

Once Jason finished his portion, Damian put the rest in the old fridge, ignoring the old condiments and bottles of liquor inside, before tugging at the larger males arm, pulling him back to the bed in the corner.

Jason laid down with out a fight, throughly caught in a pit induced trip down memories, after the food had been put away, Damian played down next to his brother, ear pressed against the man's chest. Counting the number of beats and how quick it raced.

The apartment was silent now, only occasionally filled with the sounds of Jason's ragged breath.

One things that the League installed in Damian that he had never forgot was the art to sleep anywhere, and so he as was pressed close to his brother, Damian softly whispered, "Baba still does...he pours the syrup all over...though...sometimes he adds only a little and adds more each bite...said You used to do that...he still thinks about you Ahki."

[trekscribbles]

It started after the boxing job.

Hardison had wanted Eliot to go in and get his injuries checked, but Eliot declined—he’d already been cleared by the gym’s doctor, and he knew his body well enough to refuse further treatment. He needed rest, not needle pokes. Ice and a few pain killers and 8 hours of sleep, and he’d be fine.

“We’ll give you a few days before we head home,” Nate had said, with an air of compromise that warned against argument. “Get some sleep back at the hotel. Let us know if you need anything.”

Eliot went, mostly because he didn’t want them fussing over him. He gritted his teeth through a shower so he wouldn’t have to lie down covered in sweat, changed into the baggy clothes that had appeared on his bed while he was in the bathroom, and picked up the bottle of water on his nightstand.

“Thanks for this,” he said, his back to the door. “But I don’t need a nurse.”

Sophie’s voice was smooth and unsurprised. “That’s just as well. I’m not sure I have the best bedside manner.”

He took a long drink, giving her time to leave, but he didn’t hear any movement. When he finished half the bottle, he put the cap back and on turned toward her. “I’m fine,” he said. “Really.”

“Oh, I know.” Sophie was leaning against the door frame, her hands tucked in the pockets of her jacket, her hair hanging loose around her face. If she looked down, it would hide her expression—he did the same thing when he needed to look hesitant and vulnerable. She gave him a small smile, as if she knew what he’d noticed, and he opened the bottle again to take another drink.

“Hardison still wants you to go to the hospital,” she said.

“Don’t need one.”

Sophie held his gaze. “Because this is what you do?”

“Because I don’t need one,” Eliot repeated. “I know my limits. If anything changes, I’ll go in. Promise.”

Something in her posture relaxed, though her expression never changed. “Well,” she said. “That just means you won’t get flowers by your bedside.”

Eliot let out a careful laugh. “Think I can live with that.”

“You don’t like flowers?”

“They’re fine,” he said. “I like ‘em better wild. But the arrangements can be nice, if you know what to look for. The combinations and colors. The meanings behind them. I kind of thought—”

He broke off when Sophie’s eyes started sparkling. “I dated a florist,” he growled.

Her smile widened. “Go on.”

He waited, but she waited back, and after a few moments he decided he that the quickest way to get her to leave was to give her an explanation. “It’s nothing,” he hedged. “Just… I think about coltsfoot a lot, lately.”

“Coltsfoot,” she echoed. “That’s a bit uncommon.”

He studied her, searching for any hints of mockery in her stance or tone. “It represents justice. Justice shall be done.”

She smiled. It was soft and knowing and fond, and it made him want to squirm away while doing everything he could to keep it there.

“Get some rest,” she said. “I’ll make sure the others leave you alone.”

For the first time in a long time, Eliot slept through the night, and when he woke the next morning, there was a fresh bottle of water and a vase of coltsfoot on the bedside table.

---

The next time, it was a pot of hydrangeas.

Sophie hadn’t told them why she was leaving. Something about taking time off—time to herself—time to heal. Eliot respected that. He understood the need for space, and he wanted her to find whatever it was she was looking for. They could manage without her for a while. Besides, she left her number for emergencies, though he resolved not to use it so she wouldn’t feel pressured to return before she was ready.

He found the flower pot outside his apartment the day after she left. He hadn’t been home before that, and he hadn't planned on staying long, just long enough to grab a few things before heading back to Nate’s. The flowers made him pause. A mistake, he assumed, until he found his name on a card poking up between tiny blossoms. He recognized Sophie’s handwriting, glanced over his shoulder, and brought them inside.

He had to search to find what hydrangeas represented, and then again to add the meaning of the light blue color Sophie had chosen.

Understanding, deep bonds, gratitude.

He watered them, set them on the kitchen windowsill where they would get plenty of light, and tucked the card into his pocket before returning to the others.

---

A year later, he told them about Moreau.

He’d avoided it as long as possible, but there really wasn’t any way around it after what had happened in the pool. He hadn’t wanted to drag any of them into it, had tried to manage without them finding out, but he’d always known it was only a matter of time. The kinds of things he’d done didn’t stay buried forever. Eventually, he would have to pay the price for his sins.

He fully expected that price to be his new family—that they would cut ties with him once they found out about his past—but they didn’t. Parker didn’t ask. Hardison forgave him. Nate found a way to use him without sending him spiraling back to rock bottom.

Sophie sent him a tree.

It was a small evergreen, trimmed into a thin point that reached up to his hip. He signed for the delivery, brought it inside, and set it on his table, the table where they’d all gathered to eat his cooking, to fill his space with noise and bickering and laughter. He tried not to imagine all the things the tree might represent as he opened the laptop Hardison had insisted on him having and began his search.

Arbor vitae, a fast-growing member of the cypress family.

Often planted by homeowners as a privacy hedge.

Hardy in cold climates. Durable. Adaptable.

He looked up their meaning on the website he had saved from his last search, swallowed, and closed the computer. The words tumbled through his mind as he picked up the pot, took a moment to breathe in the earthy scent wafting up from the branches, and made his way out to his garden to plant it.

Unchanging friendship.

---

The next flowers were from Eliot.

White roses, delivered to the bar with Parker’s Venus flytrap. “I take it all back,” Sophie said, wrapping one arm around Nate and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Every word. You are romantic!”

She opened the box while Hardison and Nate exchanged confused looks, oohing over the flowers and holding them out for Nate to smell. Hardison gave him a questioning nod. Eliot winked.

He stood up and walked away, smiling to himself as Parker and Sophie continued to exclaim about the gifts. He wondered if Sophie would pick up on the symbolism of security that white roses represented in a committed relationship. He knew she would never know the rest: the meanings in the context of their friendship, the loyalty and trust, the gratitude and love. Those messages would go undelivered as long as she thought the flowers were from Nate, but that was all right with him.

She was happy. That was all he wanted.

---

There were daffodils in the vases on each table of the brewpub.

Eliot hadn’t fully embraced the idea of running a restaurant, especially not with Hardison’s first attempts at brewing still fresh on his palate, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who had reservations about their new setup. Sophie had been all sighs and longing looks cast toward the eastern horizon since she’d arrived. Eliot did his best to focus on the job, letting the problem of the move and Sophie’s uncertainty and the brewpub menu work themselves out in the back of his mind while he worked. He did enjoy creating new dishes. Pairing them with drinks would be challenging, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before. Actually, he’d been doing it for the team for years now. Maybe he could start with the flavor profiles he’d already developed for them and work up from there.

Besides, it was good to be together again. Parker and Hardison had finally figured out whatever was going on between them, and Nate and Sophie seemed to have settled into themselves. If she could find something else to anchor her to Portland, she might even enjoy it.

At first, the daffodils hadn’t registered as anything special. But then Sophie told them all about her new acting students, and Eliot found his way to the nearest bookstore and bought a book on floriography.

Daffodils, one of the first flowers to bloom in spring, represented new beginnings and fresh starts. They were symbols of comfort and security, of cheerful acceptance.

Of home.

---

The call came 7 years later.

They knew it was coming. Nate’s health had been declining, and Eliot, Parker, and Hardison had found excuses to stay close for the last few months. It wasn’t a surprise when the phone rang and there was no sound on the other end.

Eliot didn’t cry. He’d been preparing for this, and he was no stranger to compartmentalizing his emotions, setting them aside for the benefit of others. He was solid for Parker and Hardison, for Leverage International.

For Sophie.

She didn’t want them around, afterwards. She made excuses for why they shouldn’t come over, things she needed to do, errands she had to run. She was fine, she said. There was no need to worry. She stopped answering their calls.

So Eliot called the nearest garden center and scheduled a delivery.

He did his research. Something to represent life and hope, resilience and strength, faith in the promise of future blessings and trust in life after death. He decided on the tamarisk tree, which could live for over a century, the perfect embodiment of an enduring legacy.

But the real reason he chose the small tree with its feathery, trailing leaves, with branches that drooped like a weeping willow tipped with tiny white flowers, was the meaning he couldn’t verify. He’d found it on a single website about the “secret Victorian language of flowers”, and nowhere else, despite weeks of searching. In the end, he decided it didn’t matter. One reference was enough for him, and he trusted that Sophie would find it, too. She would read it for what it was: a testament to everything connecting their past, and a promise for everything in their future.

Tamarisk. Salt-resistant with long, deep roots. 

Its long history makes several symbolic understandings possible. The most common representations are:

Endurance.

Hope.

Crime.

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

( @quibble-auk A quick blurb, for Lyre Comet's youngest son in the Horns and Razors au. He is no longer a bean in this, I had an idea for his name. Names are the key to a pretender, their faces mean nothing. Give a name as a gift for another it would be an honor and a stretch of love, of gratitude.

I wonder where he learned old Kaonite..and who he could possibly be a gift to.... HMMMMMMMMM... )

-----

“Your name then? What is it boy?”

The young mech lowered himself in a deep bow, graceful and lithe. His blue armor rippled softly along his back like that of a serpent as his rich soft voice answered

“Lyre, honorable one.”

Laughter answered him, the mechs roaring and the warlord grinning,  “HA Liar? Well that speaks of the fortitude of your character!”

Without a hint of tension, the male rose from his bow with the grace of a prince, not a boy in the belly of a fortress seeking word on a friend.

“Nar,” Laughter halted at the old kaonian negative, a word that would silence and strike a room aflame with questions like a match.

“My name was a gift my lord, to a friend of my father’s.”

The warlord leaned forward, interest peaked by the lean polite mech, who spoke in tied tongues. “A gift? What type of name is Liar as a gift?”

The boy smiled, a slow gentle smile, “Lyre my friend, not Liar. The instrument in which music can be strummed, the heart's thoughts whispered with tunes if you will.”

Amused by the child's soft tones, and flowery poetic rambles, the warlord nodded. “A gift then young buck?”

“Yes, a gift for the friend, a connection so that I know I am never alone. A string between us, his love for music was the beat of his spark my lord. I am honored to have such a name.”

Grinning a harsh grin the war lord gestured for his table, “Well then, Gift to friend, sit and we shall talk of who you seek.” The blue male moved with the grace and danger of a panther as he sat beside the large sharp mech.

Those among the tabled huffed and searched for glimpses of the blue and gold boy, a dark mech in particular clenching his jaw at the naivety and foolishness of his godson. 

Eating with a warlord.

[re-discover-communication]

The confetti jar

[littlemyinvadeshighbury]

How do I tell my professors I love learning I hate doing 40p of reading per class to only talk about the first paragraph quickest route no freeways

[hoeofthestars]

let’s get trampled in a mosh pit together 😍

[jumanaal-qawasmi]

please help petra Lees my friend to donate to his campaign to improve his health

[squipa]

baby, i want some of your love

aka how you healed him

———

jason todd wears glasses now.

jason never really took care of himself after dying. his body was so hopelessly out of rhythm, everything slightly wrong and out of place. his bones creak underneath his skin, his muscles, which had nearly rotted and decayed, could never quite figure out how to relax. sometimes he’d forget to breathe, or blink, the actions no longer involuntary, and before you? he didn’t have it in himself to care. his health had fallen to the least of his worries.

but you were always so worried about him. you noticed things about himself he hadn’t even realized, how he winced when he chewed with the left side of his mouth, how he squinted at street signs whenever you went on walks, how his muscles were always tense until you massaged them into relaxation. you pointed them out, pouting whenever he’d shrug it off. to him, it was nothing, he was used to the pain, the inconvenience; he didn’t consider his own wellbeing important enough to pay any mind to.

to you, it was torture. watching the man you loved so dearly treat himself with so little care had you ruined. all you wanted for him was happiness and safety, for him to have what he had given you so freely, what he guarded himself from so intensely. he didn’t realize how much you cared until he noticed how much you finally pushed him to treat himself better.

“i scheduled you a dentist appointment.” you said, matter-of-factly setting down a few documents in front of him begging his patient history. he looked up to you, eyebrow raised, entirely confused. you answered his question before he could even think to ask it. “you wince when you chew.”

he wouldn’t say no to you. despite his disdain regarding the idea of a check up, he went. you came with him, fiercly speaking a language of medicine he didn’t understand. when he left the dentist, you gave him a lollipop. “i’m not five.” he ate it anyways, savoring the taste between strawberry-stained lips as you drove him home.

he stopped noticing when you made him appointments to get shots, or when you subtly slipped the card of a dermatologist behind the picture of you he kept in his wallet. he started actually caring about what he did to his body— gut health and all that. yes, he was jacked, his body had been built like a machine ever since it had patched itself back together in the lazarus pit, but he couldn’t remember the last time he ate a piece of fruit.

he didn’t realize how much better he felt until dick pointed it out for him. “you got glasses?” he asked, pointing to the thick black frames that sat on the bridge of his nose.

he nodded. he does wear glasses. he has silver caps on two of his teeth. he has a nice layer of body fat covering his muscles because he eats three well-balanced meals a day. he has a standing appointment with a chiropractor every other wednesday at two, and another with a therapist on mondays at one. he gets a checkup every six months and goes to the dentist every four, he’s been to the dermatologist three times in two years, he has all of his shots up to date, he takes vitamins in the morning and he sleeps at least five hours every night.

he cares about himself. he puts effort into making sure he stays healthy— and at first it was for you. only for you, to ease your constant worry about him. but now it’s second nature, your guiding hand has healed him, made him want to stay alive and healthy and whole, not for just you, but for himself.

the moment the realization washes over him of just how much you’ve given him, he rushes home and tells you in no less than a thousand ways just how grateful he is to have your love.

———

[dabihaul666]

Went to the reddit n ppl r stupid n toxic n say so much shit and thats dumb and that makes me want to take up the pen even further

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Serious Arranged Marriage

AKA "Damian al Ghul and the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead are married because of some ritual Ra's al Ghul did when Damian was a baby. The Batfam only find out because Damian casually mentions his husband and they're like?? WHAT???" prompt idea!!

Loosely inspired by this post where Billy Batson & Danny Fenton accidentally get married and Billy spills the beans in front of the JL.

I love the idea of Ra's al Ghul knows Danny because of the Lazarus Pit; maybe Ghost King!Danny came to Ra's and was like, "You know unsanctioned resurrection is forbidden, right? You have to submit an Undead Appeal form in the afterlife. I'm gonna have to confiscate your Goop." But Ra's is a master manipulator and gets Danny to agree to a truce... a marriage with his grandson in exchange for continued use of the Lazarus Pit. Don't ask me how it happened; Ra's "wins" either way because his grandson gets married to a High King and he gets to keep his Goop.

(Because Danny's young, okay? Logistically speaking, he's not going to outsmart an immortal cult leader. Maybe sometime down the road Danny gets tired of Ra's talking circles around him and just, like, punches him in the face or something. Makes "Redemption Arc" Dan take care of it. Who knows?)

But for now, Danny is now married to a literal baby. He's confused as hell how this happened. He's like, omg, am I a groomer now?? Am I one of those creepy ancient kings that get married to 12 year old girls?? What the fuckkkk!!! So, he runs to the Ghost Zone. Goes off-world, maybe he gets swept up in Ghost King duties and totally forgets about it. The thing about the Ghost Zone is that the time dilation is different: a couple of days/weeks/months in the Ghost Zone is actual years on Earth. That's why Danny is still so young despite depictions of him going centuries back (time is even messier because he can actually time travel, too, so there may be paintings of him during the Aztec civilization but only because he was there for maybe a week or two.)

This leads to everybody on Earth thinking he's an Ancient Being. Ra's is elated that his grandson, the heir of the League of Assassins, is married to the equivalent of a God (he doesn't know that 99 percent of the time, Danny's lounging on Sam's couch in sweats and eating cheese puffs, watching melodramatic reality TV with Tucker).

And Damian grows up hearing about this legendary marriage, how this Great Ancient Being is his husband, and is... maybe scared? A little angry, resentful? He's had the choice taken from him from before he could even conceptualize it. He was a kid growing up thinking this All Powerful Being was watching his every move, judging him for not being the best like his Grandfather says, and waiting. He trains harder, learns more, maturing faster than anyone his age. And he's still waiting. Because the High King doesn't show up. Not when Damian's four, six, ten, twelve, fourteen. Damian thinks maybe he's not good enough yet despite vastly outdoing even the most seasoned senior assassins in the League.

Danny comes back to Earth and is like, oh, shit, I need to check on my baby!!! Except when he drops in on the League of Assassins, he's met with an angry, resentful, offended Damian al Ghul who's the same age as him. And Damian's met with.... some guy?? What the hell?? This can't be the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead, Ancient Being, etc. He's heard so many stories of his husband, spanning centuries of different culture and in varying dead languages.

Needless to say, their introduction doesn't go great. But Danny wants to explain himself and make amends, and Damian's just baffled enough to listen. ("What do you mean, the Undead Siege of The Great Wall wasn't you???" "Yeah, that was the previous Ghost King. I've never risen an army of the dead before.") But as they talk, Damian begrudgingly accepts that his husband is... actually pretty cool (despite the god-awful sweatpants). Danny's recounting his various tales, usurping the previous Ghost King, and Damian even starts to respect Danny.

So, they keep talking. Keep meeting, learning about each other, becoming friends, and eventually becoming more. Damian originally thought Danny was too stupid for words, but quickly realizes that he's a great strategist, knowledgeable about a vast amount of stuff, and is incredibly loyal. Danny thinks Damian's deadpan bluntness is hilarious, understands Damian's pathological need to be the best (courtesy of the Demon Head's traumatic teaching during childhood), and is almost single-mindedly, unconditionally loyal. He's also incredibly petty, which is also hilarious.

Maybe years pass and they're now lovers, Danny sticking around Earth because he's scared if he goes into the Ghost Zone, he'll unintendedly come back when Damian's 90 or something. So, Danny's there when Talia takes Damian aside and says, "Bruce Wayne is your father. I'd like you to train under him before you become the new Demon Head."

Damian goes and Danny follows. When he worries about Tim usurping the title of Heir, Danny's there to say, "You don't make friends by attacking them, Dami! He's your family, not your enemy." The whole "Damian trying to kill Tim" thing doesn't happen. When he worries about disappointing his Father, Danny's saying, "He's your dad. He missed your childhood so he wants to get to know you - just be yourself." Damian doesn't act violently, aggressively, or is offensively provocative; he's still petty, painfully blunt, and exasperatingly self-confident, but he's also honest and thoughtful.

Damian transitions into the Batfam easier with Danny beside him (invisible, only showing himself while in Damian's room or when they're alone). Because Danny wants his husband to feel accepted, appreciated, and get the unconditional love that he never received while living with the LoA.

Let's imagine several months go by and the Batfam are totally comfortable with Damian. He's truly like their annoying younger brother. So, they're at family dinner, maybe Dick is discussing his relationship with Barbara and Steph makes a comment about when are you going to propose already?? Tim and Jason are ribbing him about commitment issues (Bruce is suspiciously silent, likely knowing that if he says something, his kids are going to verbally tear him apart for his Situationship with Selina).

And Damian says, "Many feel apprehensive to marry. I was not, of course, but my husband was very trepidatious."

The whole Batfam are like... what?? What do you mean the youngest kid of the Wayne household is the first to be married?? (Aside from Alfred, who's since divorced.) Is this even legal???

But Damian just continues on, "Perhaps discussing the progression of your relationship with Miss Gordon would be beneficial. Marriage should be consensual." (Damian learned that from Danny, who had offered to null their marriage in the early days. It was a heated conversation, Danny feeling guilty because he'd trapped Damian into this relationship and Damian feeling betrayed because what do you mean you're leaving me? This is unacceptable! They shared their first kiss after realizing neither one wants to end the marriage.)

And the Batfam, as comfortable as they are with Damian, knows he's a little like a feral animal. He doesn't share things about himself often. They don't want to scare him off by prying, even if Bruce is gripping the table cloth, sweating, and is looking pale. Because his child is literally married and God, please don't let it be to one of those old assassins in the League, please. So, Dick just says, "Uh, yeah. That's - thanks, kiddo, that's... a good idea."

Damian continues to make occasional comments about his husband, but nobody knows who it is. He doesn't use Danny's name. And Danny has to leave to do Ghost Stuff (despite being terrified of losing track of time, but Damian's now living with a loving family so he's kind of okay with being dragged off for his Kingly Duties). So, nobody's ever actually seen Danny.

Until the Joker decides to make his mark on the newest addition of the Batfam. He's already killed one Robin, traumatized the hell out of another, and paralyzed Batgirl. He's eager to add another of the Batfam to his roster.

Joker nor the Batfam anticipate the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead to straight up portal Joker's ass into Frostbite's territory (aside from Damian because he absolutely knew what was going to go down the second he saw a glowing green aura illuminate the warehouse). One minute Joker is threatening a civilian Damian, whos' still dressed in his Gotham Academy uniform, and the next he's being violently yanked into a massive swirling void of green.

And who steps out? Ghost King Danny, in full kingly attire, including a wreathy crown of white-hot, broadsword hung on his hip, and a skull mask over his face. The Batfam are scrambling to get Damian's chains unlocked and haul him away from whatever-the-fuck that is. They get Damian unlocked, but he just snaps for them to desist your hysteria, Richard, 'that' is my husband.

(Cue the very tense family dinner afterward. Danny's in Damian's sweater and ripped jeans but the Batfam are just squinting at him like, how is this the same as that Thing from the warehouse?? Danny's totally oblivious, holding Damian's hand and saying, "Mr. Wayne, I love your home! The painted ceiling in that one from on the second floor is amazing, the constellations are actually super accurate!" He forgot that the Batfam had no idea he's visited Damian literally hundreds of times since he moved into Wayne Manor. Bruce looks like he's gained several greys in the last hour.)

(Bonus points if at some point Damian can be seen lovingly feeding Cheetos to Eldritch Monster Danny and the Batfam are just like that's... definitely not pants-shittingly terrifying... Bruce tells himself he's just glad his son isn't married to an LoA member.)