#source: miracle workers

[charmingradiobelle]

Adam: any last words?!

Sir Pentious: maybe?

Sir Pentious: you know what, no. I’m good.

[incorrect-supercorp]

Lena: People hate me because I'm rich, but I worked hard to get where I am today. I had to be born, and keep living, and not die. It's exhausting!

[totallyrwbyquotes]

Ruby: If you rearrange the letters in machine you get "I am chained."

Penny: No you don't.

Ruby: Yeah but it's really close.

[itstimeforstarwars]

I do have like an actual full time job and a writing hobby that is basically a second full time job but my actual role in life is the hip younger coworker/relative that stops 40-60year-olds from giving their money to obvious scams on facebook.

[felassan]

Jason Schreier for Bloomberg reports: 'Inside the ‘Dragon Age’ Debacle That Gutted EA’s BioWare Studio'

The latest game in BioWare’s fantasy role-playing series went through ten years of development turmoil. The failure of Dragon Age: The Veilguard, released in October, led EA to gut BioWare

[note: article is below cut after these tweets]

Jason Schreier: "NEW: What went wrong with Dragon Age: The Veilguard? Why was the writing so tonally inconsistent? Why did it feel so shallow? Why were there so few choices? Really, after ten years of turbulence, it was a miracle that anything came out at all. This is the story [link]:" [source]

Jason Schreier: "The fatal flaw for Dragon Age: The Veilguard wasn't just that it pivoted from single-player to multiplayer and back again. It was that after the second pivot, the team was forced to keep going rather than hit the reset button and take the time to create a new plan." [source]

Jason Schreier re: this old tweet from Casey Hudson: "Fun fact: when I first reported at Kotaku in 2018 that Dragon Age 4 was rebooted to become a live-service game, BioWare studio head Casey Hudson wrote this on Twitter. But it was not entirely truthful. In reality, the game was being designed around cooperative multiplayer, replayable missions, etc" [source] Casey Hudson's old tweet from 2018: "Reading lots of feedback regarding Dragon Age, and I think you'll be relieved to see what the team is working on. Story & character focused. Too early to talk details, but when we talk about "live" it just means designing a game for continued storytelling after the main story."

Rest of post/article under cut due to length.

(bold in the text below is mine for emphasis)

"In early November, on the eve of the crucial holiday shopping season, staffers at the video-game studio BioWare were feeling optimistic. After an excruciating development cycle, they had finally released their latest game, Dragon Age: The Veilguard, and the early reception was largely positive. The role-playing game was topping sales charts on Steam, and solid, if not spectacular, reviews were rolling in. But in the weeks that followed, the early buzz cooled as players delved deeper into the fantasy world, and some BioWare employees grew anxious. For months, everyone at the subsidiary of the video-game publisher Electronic Arts Inc. had been under intense pressure. The studio’s previous two games, Mass Effect: Andromeda and Anthem, had flopped, and there were rumors that if Dragon Age underperformed, BioWare might become another of EA’s many casualties. Not long after Christmas, the bad news surfaced. EA announced in January that the new Dragon Age had only reached 1.5 million players, missing the company’s expectations by 50%. The holiday performance of another recently released title, EA Sports FC 2025, was also subpar, compounding the problem."

"As a result of the struggling titles, EA Chief Executive Officer Andrew Wilson explained, the company would be significantly lowering its sales forecast for the fiscal year ahead. EA’s share price promptly plunged 18%. “Dragon Age had a high-quality launch and was well-reviewed by critics and those who played,” Wilson later said on an earnings call. “However, it did not resonate with a broad enough audience in this highly competitive market.” Days after the sales revision, EA laid off a chunk of BioWare’s staff at the studio’s headquarters in Edmonton, Canada, and permanently transferred many of the remaining workers to other divisions. For the storied, 30-year-old game maker, it was a stunning fall that left many fans wondering how things had gone so haywire — and what might come next for the stricken studio. According to interviews with nearly two dozen people who worked on Dragon Age: The Veilguard, there were several reasons behind its failure, including marketing misfires, poor word of mouth and a 10-year gap since the previous title. Above all, sources point to the rebooting of the product from a single-player game to a multiplayer one — and then back again — a switcheroo that muddled development and inflated the title’s budget, they say, ultimately setting the stage for EA’s potentially unrealistic sales expectations. A spokesperson for EA declined to comment."

"The union between BioWare and EA started off with lofty aspirations. In 2007, EA executives announced they were acquiring BioWare and another gaming studio in a deal worth $860 million. The goal was to diversify their slate of games, which was heavy in sports titles, like Madden NFL, and light in the kind of adventure and role-playing games that BioWare was known for. Initially, it looked like a smart move thanks to a string of big hits. In 2014, BioWare released Dragon Age: Inquisition, the third installment in a popular action series dropping players in a semi-open world full of magic, elves and fire-spewing dragons. The fantasy title went on to win the much-coveted Game of the Year Award and sell 12 million copies, according to its executive producer Mark Darrah — a major validation of EA’s diversification strategy. Before long, Darrah and Mike Laidlaw, the creative director, began kicking around ideas for the next Dragon Age installment — code name: Joplin — aiming for a game that would be smaller in scope. But before much could get done, BioWare shifted the studio’s focus to more pressing titles coming down the pike. In 2017, BioWare released Mass Effect: Andromeda, the fourth installment in a big-budget action series set in space. Unlike its critically successful predecessors, the game received mediocre reviews and was widely mocked by fans. A few months after the disappointing release, the head of BioWare stepped down and was soon replaced by Microsoft Inc.’s Casey Hudson, an alumni of BioWare’s early, formative years."

"Like much of the industry, EA executives were growing increasingly enamored of so-called live-service games, such as Destiny and Overwatch, in which players continue to engage with and spend money on a title for months or even years after its initial release. With EA aiming to make a splash in the fast-growing category, BioWare poured resources into Anthem, a live-service shooter game that checked all the right boxes. One day in October 2017, Laidlaw summoned his colleagues into a conference room and pulled out a few pricey bottles of whisky. The next Dragon Age sequel, he told the room, would also be pivoting to an online, live-service game — a decision from above that he disagreed with. He was resigning from the studio. The assembled staff stayed late through the night, drinking and reminiscing about the franchise they loved. “I wish that pivot had never occurred,” Darrah would later recount on YouTube. “EA said, ‘Make this a live service.’ We said, ‘We don’t know how to do that. We should basically start the project over.’” Former art director Matt Goldman replaced Laidlaw as creative director, and with a tiny team began pushing ahead on a new multiplayer version of Dragon Age — code name: Morrison — while everyone else helped to finish Anthem, which was struggling to coalesce. Goldman pushed for a “pulpy,” more lighthearted tone than previous entries, which suited an online game but was a drastic departure from the dark, dynamic stories that fans loved in the fantasy series."

"In February 2019, BioWare released Anthem. Reviews were scathing, calling the game tedious and convoluted. Fans were similarly displeased. On social media, players demanded to know why a studio renowned for beloved stories and characters had made an online shooter with a scattershot narrative. In the wake of BioWare’s second consecutive flop, the multiplayer version of Dragon Age continued to take shape. While the previous games in the franchise had featured tactical combat, this one would be all action. Instead of quests that players would only experience once, it would be full of missions that could be replayed repeatedly with friends and strangers. Important characters couldn’t die because they had to persist for multiple players across never-ending gameplay. As the game evolved over the next two years, the failure of Anthem hovered over the studio. Were they making the same mistakes? Some BioWare employees scoffed that they were simply building “Anthem with dragons.” Throughout 2020, the pandemic disrupted the game’s already fraught development. In December, Hudson, the head of the studio, and Darrah, the head of the franchise, resigned. Shortly thereafter, Gary McKay, BioWare’s new studio head, revealed yet another shift in strategy. Moving forward, the next Dragon Age would no longer be multiplayer."

"“We were thinking, ‘Does this make sense, does this play into our strengths, or is this going to be another challenge we have to face?’” McKay later told Bloomberg News. “No, we need to get back to what we’re really great at.” In theory, the reversion back to Dragon Age’s tried-and-true, single-player format should have been welcome news inside BioWare. But there was a catch. Typically, this kind of pivot would be coupled with a reset and a period of pre-production allowing the designers to formulate a new vision for the game. Instead, the team was asked to change the game’s fundamental structure and recast the entire story on the fly, according to people familiar with the new marching orders. They were given a year and a half to finish and told to aim for as wide a market as possible. This strict deadline became a recurring problem. The development team would make decisions believing that they had less than a year to release the game, which severely limited the stories they could tell and the world they could build. Then the title would inevitably be delayed a few months, at which point they’d be stuck with those old decisions with no chance to stop and reevaluate what was working. At the end of 2022, amid continually dizzying leadership changes, the studio started distributing an “alpha” build of Dragon Age to get feedback internally and from outside playtesters. According to people familiar with the process, the reactions were concerning. The game’s biggest problem, early players agreed, was a lack of satisfying choices and consequences. Previous BioWare titles had presented players with gut-wrenching decisions. Which allies to save? Which factions to spare? Which enemies to slay? Such dilemmas made fans feel like they were shaping the narrative — historically, a big draw for many BioWare games."

"But Dragon Age’s multiplayer roots limited such choices, according to people familiar with the development. BioWare delayed the game’s release again while the team shoehorned in a few major decisions, such as which of two cities to save from a dragon attack. But because most of the parameters were already well established, the designers struggled to pair the newly retrofitted choices for players with meaningful consequences downstream. In 2023, to help finish Dragon Age, BioWare brought in a second, internal team, which was working on the next Mass Effect game. For decades there’d been tension between the two well-established camps, known for their starkly divergent ways of doing things. BioWare developers like to joke that the Dragon Age crew was like a pirate ship, meandering and sometimes traveling off course but eventually reaching the port. In contrast, the Mass Effect group was called the USS Enterprise, after the Star Trek ship, because commands were issued straight down from the top and executed zealously. As the Mass Effect directors took control, they scoffed that the Dragon Age squad had been doing a shoddy job and began excluding their leaders from pivotal meetings, according to people familiar with the internal friction. Over time, the Mass Effect team went on to overhaul parts of the game and design a number of additional scenes, including a rich, emotional finale that players loved. But even changes that appeared to improve the game stoked the simmering rancor inside BioWare, infuriating Dragon Age leaders who had been told they didn’t have the budget for such big, ambitious swings."

"“It always seemed that, when the Mass Effect team made its demands in meetings with EA regarding the resources it needed, it got its way,” said David Gaider, a former lead writer on the Dragon Age franchise who left before development of the new game started. “But Dragon Age always had to fight against headwinds.” Early testers and Mass Effect leads complained about the game’s snarky tone — a style of video-game storytelling, once ascendant, that was quickly falling out of fashion in pop culture but had been part of Goldman’s vision for the multiplayer game. Worried that Dragon Age could face the same outcome as Forspoken — a recent title that had been hammered over its impertinent banter — BioWare leaders ordered a belated rewrite of the game’s dialogue to make it sound more serious. (In the end, the resulting tonal inconsistencies would only add to the game’s poor reception with fans.) A mass layoff at BioWare and a mandate to work overtime depleted morale while a voice actors strike limited the writers’ ability to revise the dialogue and create new scenes. An initial trailer made the next Dragon Age seem more like Fortnite than a dark fantasy role-playing game, triggering concerns that EA didn’t know how to market the game. When Dragon Age: The Veilguard finally premiered on Halloween 2024 after many internal delays, some staff members thought there was a lot to like, including the game’s new combat system. But players were less impressed, and sales sputtered."

"“The reactions of the fan base are mixed, to put it gently,” said Caitie, a popular Dragon Age YouTuber. “Some, like myself, adore it for various reasons. Others feel utterly betrayed by certain design choices.” Following the layoffs and staff reassignments at BioWare earlier in the year, a small team of a few dozen employees is now working on the next Mass Effect. After three high-profile failures in a row, questions linger about EA’s commitment to the studio. In May, the company relabeled its Edmonton headquarters from a BioWare office to a hub for all EA staff in the area. Historically, BioWare has never been the most important studio at EA, which generates more than $7 billion in annual revenue largely from its sports games and shooters. Depending on the timing of its launches, BioWare typically accounts for just 5% of EA’s annual bookings, according to estimates by Colin Sebastian, an analyst with Robert W. Baird & Co. Even so, there may be strategic reasons for EA to keep supporting BioWare. Single-player role-playing games are expensive to make but can lead to huge windfalls when successful, as demonstrated by recent hits like Cyberpunk 2077, Elden Ring and Baldur’s Gate 3. In order to grow, EA needs more than just sports franchises, said TD Cowen analyst Doug Creutz. Trying to fix its fantasy-focused studio may be easier than starting something new. “That said, if they shuttered the doors tomorrow I wouldn’t be totally surprised,” Creutz added. “It has been over a decade since they produced a hit.”"

Article by Jason Schreier. [source]

[dwuerch-blog]

 What Cha’ Got? God Wants It!

Do you remember the story of Jesus feeding 5,000+ people with only five loaves of bread and two fish? And, out of all those people, there was only one who brought a lunch with him. That’s because his mama knew better. “That boy is always hungry. I better pack him a lunch.” One little boy plus one little meal of bread and fish equated to Jesus — not to just feed a lot of people, but also to show…

[forsaken-x-you]

ELLIOT X HEALER READER PLEAASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEAAAASEEEEEE ALso nice to know ur doing ok ^_^ ur phightingxreader blog inspired my roblox one so im happy to know ur fine and well :3c

TYSM!! I'm happy I've inspired you to make your own blog, it's really neat!! ♡

Elliot x Healer! Reader ❤🍕 (Tw: blood/injuries)

Stumbling through the woods, Elliot clung to his arm, wincing. His health was critically low, blood leaking from his wounds.

By some miracle, he had managed to escape the grasp of 1X1X1X1, though it hadn't been easy. The killer had sliced a massive gash within Elliot's side, weakening the worker.

Resting against a tree, Elliot slid down until he was on his knees, gasping and shivering from his wound. He needed to be treated right away.

"Elliot..?" A soft voice caused the pizza worker to look up, shakily looking for the source of the voice. His eyes softened with relief when he saw it was only you. Immediately, you began tending to his wounds, cleaning the blood and dressing his arm in gauze.

"There, that should do it..." you spoke, gently pulling Elliot up. As soon as he was on his feet, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you firmly. With a small smile, you returned the gesture.

"C'mon, there's only one generator left. We can make it, okay? Just stay with me." You say, clasping his hand. Elliot smiles, you were so optimistic.

A healer for a healer, it's a perfect match!

Outside of rounds, Elliot loves to spend all his time with you! Holding your hand wherever you go and cuddling you at any given moment.

Of course, Elliot heals you, too!

"It's okay, Y/N, just breathe." Two Time murmurs. Escaping from Jason hadn't been easy, he was about to kill you before Two Time intervened. From the distance, footsteps of other survivors could be heard.

It was Chance and Elliot! Two Time signalled towards them, beckoning them over. Elliot's face turned to pale worry when he saw the damage done to you. "Y/N, sweetheart!" He cried out, holding onto you. "Here, have this." Quickly, he handed you a pizza, which you ate appreciatively. As soon as you finished it, Elliot grabbed onto your hands, refusing to let go. "Chance and I just finished the last generator, we just have to survive until the time runs out." He explained. All four of you decided to remain in a group. Chance began explaining his near-death when he encountered Jason to Two Time. You and Elliot, on the other hand, just held onto eachother. Neither of you wanted to let go, finding comfort in eachother's hold.

[bluebirdsfeathers]

Corporate Life

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Relationship: Ceo!Wanda X Butch!Loser!Reader

Summary: The disappointment of not being picked to be Wanda’s intern wasn’t going to stop you from settling into corporate life. Especially since you were assigned to work with her brother, Pietro, and she always found excuses to visit.

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: age gap relationship (R is early 20s, W is like 40), no smut here but we might get there later (no promises tho).

A/N: I have an essay due that is less words than this and yet here we are. I’m going to introduce more marvel character each part. I have no idea how many parts this will end up being, but I know how it will end.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

The subway on a weekday morning was something you knew you’d never get used to. Everyone in a rush to get somewhere yet somehow nobody was moving even remotely fast. It was a miracle you’d gotten on a train and not just swept away by a mudslide of office workers. Heading into work you made you was straight to the elevators and back up to the third floor. Today you would be assigned to a department of the paper, and the anticipation was making you nervous. Unlike yesterday you were slightly early and where shocked to find you were the first one there. Taking a seat inside the conference room you were told to meet at, you pulled out your phone and began scrolling Instagram.

“I’ve never understood the obsession with social media,” A unfamiliar voice broke the silence, and you jumped slightly putting your phone down, “My apologies I thought you heard me come in.” Wanda smirked walking towards the other end of the long table, placing down some files, before walking back towards you. “I thought the paper was branching out into social media content?” Your voice came out a little higher than usual. Wanda stopped behind you placing a hand on your shoulder and giving it a light squeeze “We are… but that has nothing to do with me.” She said with a laugh before leaving the room.

It wasn’t long before the rest of the interns showed up along with Dr Banner, as he told you to call him, who you’d met yesterday. He looked to be around fifty with greying hair and a permanently sad expression. One of the first things he’d done was list his multiple degrees and explain how he’d ended up working here as an environmental science editor. The Westview Paper was one of the oldest most prestigious news sources in the country, maybe even the world. It had been in the Maximoff family since the 1950s, now being run by Wanda since her father’s retirement. Today you would find out what department you would be interning in for the next six months. Dr Banner handed out an envelope to each intern, rambling on about how pointlessly dramatic this all was and how he had other more important things to do than this. Everyone was quick to open their envelopes, the wait was just too much.

Your file read ‘Sports and Fitness’ in bold at the top. You’d been on the women’s basketball team in college and had spoken about it in your interview, you loved sports so this should be a perfect fit, but you couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed, she hadn’t picked you. “Lads look, I’m Wanda’s intern!” You turn to see Theo, who in this moment you decided you hated, holding up his file to the room looking far too smug. “I guess that proves I’m the alpha here.” You didn’t even entertain him with forced laughter like the others, you simply grabbed your bag and file and left to find a quiet spot to read. You discovered you’d be working for Pietro Maximoff, a quick google search told you that was Wanda’s brother and the head of that department. The file told you everything that would be expected of you over the next few months, some big and small goals as well as a weekly schedule that by the look of didn’t have you meeting with Pietro for a few hours.

To kill time, you decided to have a wonder around the building, the tour yesterday had given you a better understanding of the layout, but you still weren’t confident you could get from a to b without getting a little lost. Round every was another impossibly long corridor lined with doors and window into almost identical rooms that occasionally showed signs of life. As you rounded what must have been the fifth corner you saw a now familiar red head seemingly yelling at a room of men in suits. You stopped walking unsure whether to turn back or keep going like you hadn’t seen anything but before you could react the door to the room opened and the men hurried out, their heads held low like children after being told off. Your eyes went back to the room where Wanda stood, eyes closed, taking several slow deep breaths. Deciding it would be best to leave before you stumble upon something else you weren’t meant to see you turned around only to be stopped by Wanda calling your name.

“Y/n, what are you doing here?” It was hard to read her tone, and a pit formed in your stomach worried you’d upset her. “I was just… familiarising myself with the building. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to.” You stumbled all over your words. “I should go I need to meet Pietro soon and I…” Wanda’s eyes lit up and a smile graced her face “Of course you’re his intern, why don’t I walk you?” You tried to politely refuse her offer, not wanting to be a bother, but she out right refused to take no for an answer, especially after you let it slip you didn’t know where his office was. Turns out it wasn’t far, one floor down and across the walkway and you where there.

The sports department was unlike the other places you been shown so far. It was lively with open plan desks, no cubicles or grey walls, instead hanging around the room was a variety of different countries flags and sports team memorabilia. The staff talked freely amongst themselves; you expected the noise to die down when Wanda entered but it didn’t. You watched her talk with them and share a joke or two, a stark contrast to the rage you’d seen her display moments ago. “Now where is he?” She asked the man she’d been talking to.

“Wanda!” You heard an excited voice call from across the room, “Wands! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about this side of the building. We’re still being published right?” Pietro’s smile was the same as Wanda’s, warm with a slight hint of mischief. He was much taller than her, with bleach blonde hair and light stubble. “This must be y/n? Great to finally put a face to the name.” He said giving you a playful tap to the arm. “Look Wands I would love to catch up, but I need to get y/n settled.”

“Actually, there is something I need to talk to you about, but we need to discuss that in private. Can I steel you at some point tomorrow?”

“Yeah sure, you have my schedule so let me know when you are free.”

With that Wanda gave you both a smile and left.

Pietro made fast work of the power point he has prepared, and you were glad to hear business wear wasn’t mandatory in his department. Which was a relief as you only had two formal shirts and you’d already worn both. He sent you home early after reassuring you the missing hours wouldn’t come out of your wages and any disappointment over Wanda not picking you was gone. You were going to really enjoy having him for a boss.

The rest of the week went by quickly, you had so much work to be getting on with and so many people to get to know. Your desk was right by Pietro’s so he could keep an eye on you and help you when you needed it. You looked at the clock, it was quarter to five already, almost time to go home for the weekend. That was something you were excited about. This internship only had you working Monday to Friday, that meant you had the whole weekend to yourself. As you hit save for the last time on what you were working on you heard the door on the far end of the room open and looked up to see Wanda followed closely by Theo.

“Hi, Pietro, this is Theo, Theo this is my brother, Pietro. Y/n, you remember Theo, don’t you?” You nodded and watched as the two men shook hands. Yes, you did remember Theo, how could you forget a man that reminded you of all your high school bullies rolled into one and served with a silver spoon. “What do we owe the pleasure?” Pietro asked playfully.

“Oh, you know, just making the rounds, checking on all the new recruits at the end of the first week.”

“We are? I thought you said you needed to check on something important?” Theo said obliviously and Wanda gave a nervous laugh. “The wellbeing of my employees is important Theo. Now y/n how have you been?” You tried and failed to meet Wanda’s eyes as she gave you her full attention. “Good.” Was all you could squeeze out; you didn’t understand why she still made you so nervous. “He hasn’t been working you too hard has he.” Her voice was light and had the same playful tone as Pietro’s. Finally, you found it in you to look her in face and were surprised to see a slight blush that almost matched your own. “No, he hasn’t.” you said leaving an awkward silence in the air. “Well, we better head off, enjoy your weekend, and I’ll see you Monday.” Without another word Wanda left, Theo once again following closely behind.

It wasn’t long before the excitement and novelty of your new job wore off and all you longed for was the weekend. You’d gotten to know lots more faces around the office, even the lady at the front desk. You learnt her name was Pam and she wasn’t a huge bitch like you initially thought, she was just going through a divorce and her ex-husband, Jerry, was the worst. Somehow, you’d managed to develop a sense of normalcy working in this place. The only thing that kept you on edge were the surprise visits Wanda would do to the department; she was always finding a reason to come down here. Most made sense, like visiting her brother, checking on what stories were being published, but other times it felt like she was going out of her way to poke her head in seemingly just to talk to you, which hadn’t gotten easier yet.

Earlier today, while waiting for a copy of an article she’d tried to start a conversation with you. “I like your t-shirt.” Wanda said as she sat on your desk. “t-thanks, I like your blouse it’s… pink?” You said in return, unsure what to say. “What does it say? Radio head? I didn’t think young people listened to the radio these days.” She said lightly grazing her fingers across your arm. “Oh, Radio Head are a band… like music and stuff.” You shifted awkwardly in your chair, turning back to focus on your work. Pietro returned with the article and Wanda got up and left, giving you a light pat on the back as she walked past you.

The memory of that encounter played on your mind as you got ready to leave work for the day. “Y/n! Hey, I need to head to a meeting, I know you’re about to go home but can you go upstairs to Wanda’s office and drop this off? She needs to approve it before it goes to print.” Pietro handed you the latest copy of the sports news magazine, Wanda was big on seeing the final product physically before it was sent of to print so you agreed to drop it off in her office. She was never there anyway, far too busy to sit down with the election cycle going on. You headed to the lift pressing the very top button to take you all the way to the thirteenth floor, Pietro had given you his ID to get clearance to do so. Once the elevator doors opened, you walked into what looked like a living room, but what was just a very fancy looking wating area. There was a door to the left you assumed to be a bathroom and two large doors straight ahead that must lead to her office. You thought about whether to just leaving the magazine on the coffee table but before you could the large doors swung open.

“I don’t care who his father is! I’ve had enough of him! Who does he think he is anyway selling information to…” Wanda stopped her tirade when she saw you standing there with an expression of shock on your face. “Y/n? What are you doing up here?” She slightly snapped at you.

“Pietro told me to give you this.” You held out the magazine visibly trembling. “I’m sorry Ms Maximoff, I didn’t know you’d be here.” You voice shook slightly as you tried to stay calm while rapidly pressing the elevator button. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m leaving now.” The doors finally opened, and you hurried inside. “Y/n wait I didn’t mean to…” Wanda’s words were cut off by the doors closing as the lift took you back to the second floor. Breathing heavily, you tried to calm yourself down. You should have just dropped of the magazine and gotten out of there. Why must you always get yourself in these types of situations? You hoped it would be a while before you’d next see Wanda, maybe she would have forgotten all about it by then. Realising you were still clutching the magazine; you headed back to the sports department. Placing it on Pietro’s desk, along with his ID, you wrote a post-it note apologising, hoping he wouldn’t be too disappointed with you. All you could think about on your commute home was how angry Wanda looked over whatever it was she was yelling about. It scared you how she can be so warm and friendly one second then completely switch the next. Sometimes you forgot how rich and powerful she really was.

Once inside your apartment you kicked off your shoe’s and sat down on your mattress now being held up by your nice new bedframe. The money you’d earned from this job was improving your life greatly. You’d bought a new pair of trainers without having to wait for your current ones to be falling apart. If this mistake today ended up costing you your job, you’d never forgive yourself. Taking out your phone you decided to take your mind off things by clearing out some work emails you hadn’t gotten around to today but at the top of your inbox was a new message sent only five minutes ago. It was addressed to all the interns and marked urgent.

The subject read: ‘Meeting tomorrow 9am, Floor: 3 Room: 24B’. A new wave of panic washed over you when you saw it was sent by Wanda.

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

inspired by this post by @wandaslittlehorns

[nevadancitizen]

-> ROT IN PUREST GOLD

synopsis: you've been skipping through universes ever since you touched the source of the hexgates. through everything, you've never stopped searching for your viktor -- now, you've found him, and you just want to go home.

word count: 2.7k

ships: viktor/reader

tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff and angst, pre-established relationship

notes: inspired by purest gold by miracle of sound. and this is my first shot at writing viktor.. lmk if i got anything wrong ^_^

related reading: Oh Viktor, My Viktor (What Could’ve Been)

It’s been years since you saw Viktor. Many years – artificial years. Years spent close, away, at a distance but still observing. But they were never your Viktor. 

Viktor with the accented voice and the long face. Viktor with the work ethic of a hive of worker honeybees, tireless and continuous. Viktor with the eyes of pure gold – never pyrite or brass with a yellow twinge. He’s always been made of the purest gold.

None of them ever could’ve replaced him. With all these alternate universes you were hopping between, you met plenty of Viktors. Some came close, but none replaced him. It wasn’t their faults; they couldn’t compete with a memory. 

You were a variable, too, so you couldn’t blame them completely. You went by different names, had different stories. Anything to make this depressing, grueling trudge through many lives more tolerable. 

Some things made things less annoying, like cars. (Well, sometimes. Sometimes they were a nuisance.) Cars are one of the things you think your Viktor would’ve liked to study. To take apart, to put back together, to modify and make better. You could see him becoming a real torque dork while listening to Speedfreaks FM. 

Mostly because that’s what he insists on listening to when you drive him to his doctor’s appointments – both of which you’re doing right now. Well, this universe’s version of him insists on Speedfreaks FM, and insists on you not calling him a ‘torque dork.’ Differentiating the Viktors from each other gets really complicated really fast, but giving them numbers feels dehumanizing. (If you did, this Viktor would be V-24. You’ve been keeping track.)

You turn on your blinker and wait for an opening to drive into the parking lot. Beneath the chatter of the radio hosts, you can hear Viktor tap his slender fingers against his forearm crutch in the passenger seat. Another difference you’ve noticed – both his outward fidgeting and his different mobility aids. 

When your turn comes, you turn your car into the parking lot. You slowly let the car drift, your foot hovering above the brake in case someone needs to cross. 

You turn down the radio a few clicks. “You think you’ll need your wheelchair?”

Viktor is silent. You take your eyes off the road for a split second and glance at him. He’s looking out the side window, at the plaza’s tall buildings and a sign that says Pueblito Plaza. 

“Viktor?” You say. “You hearing me?”

You pull into a parking spot and put the car in park. Worry eats through you – you don’t know what’s happening. Why is he acting like this?

He’s turned in his seat, looking through the back window at the buildings. There’s amazement on his face and for a second – a split second – he’s there. He’s your Viktor. 

But he’s not. He’s not. 

Those eyes are not gold. They are topaz and they are citrine. They are the yellow-orange that accompanies the sunrise. Beautiful, yes, but not yours.

“Where… are we?” He asks, his voice soft and wonderful.

“We’re going to your doctor appointment,” you say. “With… what’s her name? The pulmonologist. And then you have a CT chest scan.”

“No – the nation,” Viktor says. “What nation are we in? I have never seen technology like this.”

He runs a hand over the console of the car, then over the glovebox. He opens it, then looks inside. Nothing but napkins from fast food places and a laminated copy of your car insurance. 

“What’re you looking for?” You ask. You turn the key, and the car shuts off. 

“The power source,” Viktor says, looking at the key in your hand. “May I?”

“Viktor, you’re not cleared to drive,” you say, your voice growing sterner and firmer. “The doctors said your legs are… too weak or something – I don’t know.”

You clutch the key (and the carabiner it’s attached to) tighter in your hand. The charms hanging from it jingle and clink together. A small cog and a toy that looks like a spark plug make a metallic click as they collide.

“What is that?” Viktor reaches out, but just barely stops himself from touching the spark plug toy. You pause for a second, then give him the entire carabiner. 

Viktor holds the spark plug toy up to his face, inspecting it closely. He lets the rest of the charms on the carabiner dangle freely. You watch him – watch his eyes. A spark of gold. A fleck of cooler color in a pool of a warmer, yellowish orange. 

He sets the pad of his thumb on the hex of the toy (the hex here is a piece of metal on a spark plug fitted for a wrench – not the hex you were used to, so long ago). He wiggles it back and forth, then spins it. The hex spins with a barely-audible metallic rasp, like a fidget ring.

“It’s very intricate for a toy,” Viktor says. “Who made this?”

“Wh… you did. You gave that to me,” you say softly. “Why don’t you remember that?”

A quiet question nags the back of your mind – is Viktor getting worse?

You silently beg that you’re right. In a twisted, selfish way, you want him to get worse. You’ve taken care of Viktor before. Watched him die in multiple dimensions. In some of them, he even died in your arms, his golden eyes fading and his hand falling from your cheek.

You know what it’s like to watch him get worse. You’ve done it before, seen it before. You know what to do, how to grieve. You don’t know what you’d do if this is… Viktor. Viktor for real. Your Viktor.

“Are you trying to stifle my curiosity?” Viktor asks, a teasing smile on his face, his eyes still on the toy. 

“You gave it to me… I don’t know, six, seven years ago?” You say. You turn so that your shoulder is leaning against the car seat, facing him. “A spark plug. It’s important to the engine. I don’t remember how. And now… I’m failing your test.”

Viktor puts the carabiner down on the console. He laughs, and he’s looking at you like… you don’t know how he’s looking at you. But it’s something familiar. Something long-lost that you’ve been yearning for. 

“How could I test you on something I barely know anything about?” He asks. His smile falters a little.

“Don’t bullshit me,” you say, smiling. (His laughter always manages to make you smile.) “You know everything there is to know about cars, trucks, motorcycles…”

Viktor’s smile turns forced and confused. His eyebrows furrow a little. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about…”

And then he says it. He says your name. Your real name, your true name – the name V-1 called you. The name the real Viktor called you. 

It goes through you like a cold shock. A baptism in electrified ice water. You want to put your hand to his throat and ask, “What the fuck? What the hell did you just call me? Who’re you talking about?” 

You want to… but you can’t. You’re frozen until Viktor places a hand on yours.

You jerk it away, cradling both hands to your chest and scrunch back against the car door. “Don’t touch me.”

And he says your name again. Again, in that tone that invites sympathy, but mostly pity. He’s pitying you. You’ve gone through this too many times, with too many therapists.

“You – Viktor,” you say, his name coming out in a gasp. There’s a lump in your throat and you feel almost nauseous. 

“You’re not… you’re not the real one,” you grind out. “You’re not my Viktor, so stop acting like it. In th– in this universe, you’re just a friend, and that’s it.”

Viktor is silent, his mouth agape. “My love –”

“Don’t! Please,” you say. The words escape you before you can do anything. “Please, just don’t. Who – who told you?”

“Who told me what?” Viktor asks. His voice is still soft and sympathetic and sickly sweet.

“That you’re… you were…” You slump against the car door. Your elbow knocks against the steering wheel.

You look at him again. Your eyes dart between both of his, looking, observing. They’re not gold anymore. Well, they never really were, but now they’re… they’re opaline – pearlescent. A whole kaleidoscope in a drop. This is something different, but, still… it’s almost like you can sense him. This is the true Viktor – your Viktor. 

“I was there, Runeterra, the core of the hexgates, and then… I wasn’t. I’ve lived twenty-three lives before this. My first memory of… here… is of my fifteenth birthday party. I had to grow up all over again. Make new friends, go to a child’s school. I didn’t have anyone. And you –” Your voice catches in your throat, on both anger and sorrow. “You left me here! You left me to do this all alone!”

“I would never.” Viktor’s cold hands meet yours. He cradles them both. “I would never leave you, my love. I’m so, so sorry.”

“But you did!” You grip his hands as tight as you can, trying to savor the feeling. Tears well at the corners of your eyes. “You left me with this… this rot. These gilded Viktors that look like you, act like you. And it hurt. Everything hurts.”

“I know,” Viktor says softly. “You’re hurting me, too.”

You blink, then realise what you’re doing and loosen your grip on his hands. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He breathes out a soft laugh, then brushes his thumbs over your knuckles. “It must’ve been lonely, all by yourself.”

“You have no idea,” you say, your voice breaking a little. You blink hard, and a tear runs down your face. “We went to an arcade, and I spent all my quarters on you. We went to a museum, and I bought you a small paperweight of a statue that was on display there. We went to this weird, exotic place – Great Britain, I think it was called – and we shared tea and scones. And, no matter what I did, it… it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t right. It… he wasn’t you.”

“I’m here now.” Viktor gives your hands a gentle squeeze – much softer than what you gave him. “How long has it been?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you say tearfully. “Time moves differently here. Maybe… sixty years? I’m not sure.”

“Sixty?” Viktor balks. “Oh, my love…”

His hands slowly, carefully, move away from yours. Cold fingers meet your jaw, and your eyes flutter shut on instinct, head tilting down into the touch. Viktor cradles your face, both his thumbs brushing back-and-forth over your cheeks. 

 “I dreamt of you,” you say softly. “Every night. And I thought of you every day. Just… thinking of you, every moment I could spare.”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration,” Viktor says. 

You shake your head and lean further into his touch. “I’ve waited so long… so long. And now you’re here, and I – I don’t know what to do.”

He moves his hands, the tips of his fingers splayed across the sides of your neck and his thumbs gently pressing into your temples. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “This is nice, though. Just… you being here is nice.”

You lean forward, placing your hands over his to ensure they stay in place. “It felt like eternity, waiting for you. Just waiting, and longing. None of them could replace you.”

You open your eyes, just the slightest bit, and take Viktor in. Good god, he’s Viktor. He’s your Viktor. No longer the purest gold, but something new. Something better. Something life-bringing and something with infinite mercy.

“That is flattering, coming from you,” Viktor says. “You could have anyone you want – anyone across twenty-four universes. And you chose me, in every single one? That is the highest praise I could receive.”

You breathe out a laugh as your eyes shut again. “Shut up.”

“Eh… if you continue to act like this, I don’t think I will,” he teases. In a softer, warmer tone, he adds, “Your face is getting warm, too. I can feel it.”

You groan and hide your face in Viktor’s hands further. Even though you act like you hate it, you’ve missed this – you’ve missed this immensely. His teasing, his compliments that make you feel like you hung the sun, the moon, and all the stars by yourself. 

“Maybe you’re just getting warmer in general,” you say softly. “Maybe you’re getting better.”

“I have gotten better,” Viktor says, his voice light. “In our universe… I… I have touched the Arcane. I have been healed, and I am a healer. A herald into a new, better world – not only for the Undercity, but for the whole of Piltover.”

You shift his hands so that they’re resting on your cheeks and open your eyes, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “That sounds nice. I’m… sorry you had to do all that without me.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Viktor asks. “It’s not your fault.”

“I don’t know. I just…” You sigh. “I blamed it all on you, and I was angry. Real angry. But it wasn’t your fault – it wasn’t anyone’s. I was angry and I took it all out on the memory of you.”

“Do you really think I care?” His voice is soft as he swipes a thumb over your cheek. 

“No,” you admit after a moment. “But, still…”

“You are occupying your mind with the past and what-ifs,” Viktor says. He draws a hand over your scalp, his fingernails lightly digging into the skin there. “Focus on the here, the now.”

You shudder and melt into his hands. Your eyes, though still closed, sting with a fresh wave of tears. 

“I missed you,” you choke out. 

“You’ve said that already,” Viktor says. 

“I can’t say it enough,” you say, your voice sticky and wet. “I was your champion in the arena. I was your personal knight. I was the chieftain of your armies. I was your tool, your instrument. And you were my everything.”

“You are my everything,” he says. His tone is so sincere and heartfelt that it makes your throat seize up. “Why would you ever doubt that?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “It–it’s just that, all these memories… I was so many people, and so were you. And some things blur together, and it gets hard to differentiate everything, and…”

You groan and lean into Viktor’s touch. You glance up into his eyes, still opaline. “Everything got so complicated so fast. I just wanted you – the real you.”

“It’s okay, my love.” His hands move to hold your jaw, to draw you closer. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“But I feel like I have to,” you say. “I just… I just want you back. I wanna go back to the Viktor I know. I wanna go home.”

“We can go home,” Viktor says. “I can take you home.”

“Then take me home,” you say, almost too quickly. “Viktor, please.”

“You don’t have to beg,” he says. There is no teasing or hidden malice in his voice. He just wants you home, too. 

Viktor’s hands slide to the back of your head, his palms almost cradling your skull. He presses his fingers down and tilts your head forward, towards his. Your eyes flutter shut as your forehead touches his. 

It’s white. It’s the bright, cleansing light of some sort of heaven. Heaven? Haven? You’re not too sure. You’re not sure you can bring yourself to care, either. Not when you’re here – not when your Viktor is in reach. Not when you can touch him, hold him, talk to the one you love. The one you’ve been pining for, fighting for, losing and winning for. From somewhere between sixty years and eternity, you’ve been wanting him. And now he’s here. Your Viktor is here. 

It’s unbelievable. Your Viktor is here. 

The memories of your past lives, the former realities you’ve lived, meld and blur into distinct feelings. Visual memories blend into base emotions. A warrior’s pride. A traveler’s wanderlust. A teenager’s excitement. A knight’s confidence and courage. A chieftain’s insecurity cloaked as hostility. 

They melt away into contentment. A gentle wave lapping at a quiet shore. Acceptance. 

You are healed. 

You are home. 

[awionetka]

𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞! ♤

3, 2, 1, go! love and deepspace boys become street racers (while possibly romancing you in the process)...

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫: slight angst (?), suggestive (some making out and mentions of oral sex), drabble. street racer!Rafayel x car mechanic!reader. could be treated as a preview for a (possible) longer fic.

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 / 𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 / 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 / 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 / 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛

𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠…

♤ paint the town red; doja cat

♤ perfect; mason, princess superstar

♤ keep up; odetari

The way you ran your car workshop could only be described as eerily similar to the way you’d run the navy.

In the garage, it was either your way or the highway and you would be damned if you ever allowed a man to tell you how to do your own job. And because of that, as well as your love for doing things in spite of those who pissed you off, you weren’t exactly drowning in profits…

Fixing vehicles of all shapes and sizes had been your main source of income for quite some time now; it was a family tradition, no more, no less. However, it rarely covered all of your needs, especially if you included your precious 1967 Chevrolet Impala which your dad deemed an "utter wreck" and advised to give up on. The money for this particular endeavour wouldn’t just make itself though, so you had to step up and dip your toes in something on the farther margins of the societal norms – you became the local mechanical miracle worker to the street racer community in the neighbourhood. Immediately recognised and unchangedly valued for your skill, you managed to obtain quite a set of regular customers, ones that didn’t talk much (which was fine by you) and what they didn’t say, they made up for in funding (which was particularly fine by you).

He was one of them.

Well, not exactly. Much like everything else Apollo had a chance to shine at, the beginning of your reluctant cooperation started in the weirdest way imaginable.

While it is worth noting that he was particularly skilled behind the wheel, this street racer with a codename belonging to a literal ancient god (you were yet to meet a man more self-assured than he was), Apollo had earned himself a reputation of an utmost menace, in its purest of forms.

Brazen, flamboyant and intense, could easily rile up anyone standing against him. Apollo preferred to race one on one, happily offering all of his attention to his unfortunate competitor and was an absolute master of raising the stakes before the race simply by talking.

He didn't look like it, but that was precisely what helped him out. To those not particularly acquainted with him, Apollo could seem rather harmless. Easily using his boyish looks to his advantage, he played everyone just the way he liked. To him, all of this was solely (and strangely, may you add) recreational; Apollo wasn't in it for money or status. And if those two did come eventually… who would he have been to deny them?

And it is precisely that mindset of his that irked his competitors to no end. Just picture this: everything is properly set before the race, bets have been made, cops are nowhere in sight. Then, seemingly out of thin air, the absolute flashiest, most stand offish and peculiar car you’ve ever seen pulls up and he is the one behind its wheel. To Apollo, even the races were an opportunity to perform, so you could be damn sure he was going to be the best dressed person there. Perhaps, if you were to be lucky, you could catch a little glimpse of some eyeliner or glittery eyeshadow too, all that adorning a personality more suited to a rich heir rather than a careless (...?) rulebreaker.

Coincidentally, it was during one of those races the two of you crossed paths for the first time.

The weather was rather gloomy and you were pretty sure it was going to rain cats and dogs in no time. And yet, you showed up, offering your technical skills to those who might've required them; obviously not free of charge. Things were going rather smoothly, you met a couple of your regulars, fixed some minor defects and then he decided to show up.

Before that night, you'd only heard of Apollo and his questionable methods of getting what he wanted. You knew he was a wild card, but you certainly did not expect him to look the part, at least not to such extent. With dark purple hair tousled mischievously and an outfit straight from some high fashion show , he definitely seemed like trouble (especially when you caught him sending you the most obvious, borderline improper wink while passing by).

Maybe it was the weather, or maybe you managed to somehow curse him in the meantime for making your breath hitch so embarrassingly, but his Camaro skidded off course mid race and rammed into the railing, catching fire almost instantly.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you found yourself already halfway there, oblivious to the cars driving by at impossible speed. After dragging his sorry ass out of the car mere seconds before it blew up, you collapsed on the asphalt with him splayed over your body like a starfish. And the moment your eyes met his, indescribable in color and so, so intense, you felt a jolt of electricity race through your veins.

It didn't take long for Apollo to find you again after that. He must've treated the accident as some sort of fated first meeting, because he just simply wouldn't leave you alone. Constantly stopping by your workshop, paying a shit load of money to get you to work on his new Chevrolet, attempting (and failing) to ask you out on a private, two-person and definitely not at all dangerous ride across the city.

And with that display of persistence, you were beginning to warm up to him. You supposed you could have a different view of the man that brought you home cooked lunches when you worked long hours and eagerly acted as your very own, unique podcast host. Apollo wasn't entirely rotten, there still was plenty of charm, intelligence and quick, sharp wit, all of that only amplified by those extravagant outfits and his pretty face.

However, one event changed the way you viewed him entirely, altering the course of your odd friendship forever. You were invited to some house party, one he was apparently at as well. Already tipsy by then, you accepted Apollo's offer to conquer the dancefloor together and immediately got swept up into his arms. And then, well... The two of you sneaked out of the building, disposable cups filled with questionably prepared drinks in hand. You were laughing, laughing in such a way you weren't sure you'd ever experienced before. Leaning against the brick wall, you tried your best to calm down but suddenly he was right there too, staring at you so intensely you were beginning to question your own sanity.

And then, it happened.

It was dark, you could still hear the music even from this far away and your head was buzzing with all the alcohol you drank, but Apollo's hands were roaming over your body and his lips tasted like fresh mint and cherry liquor. He kissed like he drove: tauntingly yet passionately, putting his entire body and soul into that very moment.

You let your fingers sneak past the hem of his shirt, ghosting over the soft skin on his back and he moaned right into your mouth, making your knees buckle.

How come you were missing out on all that? Simply because of your own pretence too. A couple of minutes of his weight pressed up against you and you were already considering asking him out. Apparently you weren't that different from all the other people he'd managed to charm. Oh, well.

If it were to end right here, or rather progress in such direction, perhaps you'd like Apollo a whole lot more. But then, without any warning, in the middle of some cluttered back alley, he sank down to his knees, threw your legs over his shoulders and gave you the absolute meanest head of your entire life.

And here's the thing: after that fateful night, Apollo never bothered you with his presence ever again.

The line up was horrendous. Laughable almost. It would take Rafayel less than a lap and a half to put all of his so called competitors back in their places. And yet, Thomas kept insisting on it.

"That prize could buy you a whole another car, Rafayel," he urged, already exhausted by all the convincing he had to do. "You cannot keep participating in shit that won't get you any revenue whatsoever."

The racer rolled his eyes, returning to the task at hand. "Please, don't make me laugh. It's no fun."

Thomas groaned. "You're unbelievable."

"And my charms don't stop there, right?" he taunted in return, smiling to himself.

"One of the drivers is even backed up by a renowned mechanical crew," Thomas continued, seemingly ignoring Rafayel's quip altogether. "That car of theirs might just be the best one in the game since Onyx and his Challenger..."

Rafayel's ears perked up at that. "Mechanical crew...?"

But his friend didn't even notice the change in his tone, already halfway through the door. "Yeah, the one near the N109 Zone, they made some tweaks in your Camaro once. You better stay on your toes or they just might upstage you."

Making sure Thomas was out of sight, Rafayel dropped down on the nearest armchair, folding his arms behind his head.

It'd been months... Maybe you'd forgotten. You didn't call him, not even once, so maybe you didn't even remember in the first place...? He closed his eyes, reminiscing on the time he saw you last.

Oh, how badly he wanted to do it again.

Raising up from his seat, he briskly followed where his friend had gone off to.

It'd been months and Rafayel was positively parched.

[august-anon]

Brotherly Duties

Hey hey, @rosiesramblings! I cannot tell you how excited I was to be your @squealing-santa this year!! This fic was so fun to write and I love it a lot, so I hope you love it too!

When I saw your 3 prompts, along with your request for ler!Dick and lee!any-of-his-little-brothers, my brain went "Why Not All Three, Though?" So here's your batbrothers fic, featuring all 3 baby brothers and all 3 prompts! I may have gotten a little carried away lol

And also, a huge thank you to @cantsaythetword for hosting this year's @squealing-santa! You are hugely appreciated, Crow! I know hosting this event is no easy feat, especially with tumblr seemingly trying to block all avenues of communication. We all really appreciate you!!

(also obligatory warning to all that my characterizations are still very fanon-based, as I have been too busy to delve much into comics just yet lol)

____________________________

Brotherly Duties

Fandom: Batfamily (no specific source material/continuity)

Ship(s): Gen!!! Platonic!! Familial!! No batcest here

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jason, Damian, and Tim & Ler!Dick

Word Count: 6846 words

Summary: Whether it's to get his siblings to take a break or to stop them from being obnoxious little shits, Dick's patented brother-wrangling techniques are always successful.

[ao3 link]

____________________________

Dick didn’t think he’d ever get used to seeing Jason back in the Manor again.

He was used to forcing brotherly bonding by breaking into one of Jason’s safehouses, or cajoling Jason until he agreed to drop by Bludhaven for a movie night, with or without their other siblings. When Jason started dropping by the Batcave every once in a while, even if it was originally just to steal gear and gadgets from Bruce, Dick thought he might cry. Bruce almost did. And Dick finally did cry the first time he entered the Cave to find Jason giving Tim a few pointers on the sparring mats, because despite all the sarcasm and their argumentative tones, they were bonding.

Alfred, the miracle worker, was the first one to get Jason back upstairs, if only for a brief moment to pick up a care package that Alfred had put together for him. And once Jason had gotten through that first hurdle, it slowly got easier and easier to convince him to head upstairs for a bit, until Alfred had convinced him once more to start joining in on family dinners.

So walking into the den and seeing Jason engaged in a Mario Kart tournament with their baby brothers? Dick had to swallow that swell of emotion damned fast before any of them called him out for tearing up. And then he promptly vaulted over the back of the couch to prove who the real Mario Kart champion is.

Except, after (losing) only a couple more races, Damian was called away by a disappointed Bruce – apparently he had some big test coming up that he was meant to be studying for, but he’d snuck away to play video games with Jason and Tim instead. 

Tim himself only lasted one more (lost) race after that before flitting off himself. Dick knew he was sneaking off to do some work, whether it was for their nighttime cases or something to finish up for W.E., despite the fact that he’d practically been ordered to take a break for the day. Dick also knew he was completely taking advantage of the fact of Jason being here, because Dick hated having to walk away when Jason was right there and willing to spend time with them and was unlikely to follow after and make Tim rest.

But Dick decided to let it slide, just this once. It’s not like he could reach his usual state of overworked before Alfred called them all for family dinner, and Dick could always force him to take a break later. Even if he had to sit on the kid so that he couldn’t reach his laptop. It wouldn’t be the first time.

And then it was just Dick, Jason, and the Nintendo Switch.

“You gonna back out, too?” Dick taunted, raising an eyebrow at Jason.

Jason scoffed, settling more firmly against the arm of the couch, bringing his socked feet up to rest on the cushions. It was a position he took up often when they played video games or watched movies here in the den when Jason was still a short, scrawny kid, all curled up like a cat despite being ready to spring up at any moment. It looked a little silly now, someone as large as Jason tucking his feet up like that, but it made Dick’s heart ache anyway.

“As if,” Jason said. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Dick couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, because you’ve been doing such a good job of that so far. Remind me, Jay, how many races have you won since I got here?”

Jason grumbled something that sounded rather like “shut the fuck up, Dickface,” clutching his controller closer to his chest. “Just pick the next race, already.”

Dick chose a track at random and settled in against his arm of the couch, locking into the race. Though it was a close race, Jason staying on his tail the entire time, Dick still won the race. And the next one. And the one after that. Dick couldn’t help but laugh, even as Jason fumed.

Jason chose the next track without a word, refusing to even look in Dick’s direction. Dick couldn’t wipe the grin off his face if he tried, and broke into even more laughter as Jason’s kart failed the startup boost and burst into a cloud of smoke. His laughter was quickly cut off as a foot jabbed into his arm, jostling him and making his own kart almost fly off the track.

“Hey!”

“What?” Jason said, as if he wasn’t stretched across the couch (curse his stupid Lazarus Pit induced growth spurt), and he shoved at Dick’s arm again.

“Cut it out, Jason!”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

Another light kick, this time to Dick’s hands in an attempt to knock the Joycon out of them. Dick cursed, barely keeping the controller from going flying, and Jason crowed as he pulled into the lead.

“Take that, Dickwing!”

“Jason!”

“What?”

Another kick, Dick just barely managing to evade it as he tried to regain first place. Jason’s second foot came into play then, one continuously jostling the arm nearest to Jason while the other tried to knock the controller from Dick’s hands. Dick couldn’t even fight Jason off, because he’d chosen a track with too many twists and turns to take his hands off the controller for too long. When the foot dedicated to shoving at Dick missed his arm and instead jabbed a toe into his ribs (which Dick totally didn’t flinch at, thank you very much), the solution came to Dick all at once.

He just hoped the Lazarus Pit hadn’t made his baby brother any less ticklish.

“That’s it,” Dick snapped at the next kick as he paused the game, grabbing an ankle in the same motion.

“Shit, wait!” Jason’s voice had gone hilariously high pitched, and he started kicking at Dick for a whole new reason. “Dick!”

“I’m not waiting for shit – you deserve this.”

Dick skittered his fingers against the socked sole in his grip and Jason grunted, sealing his lips shut. Unfortunately, Jason was a lot stronger now than he had been at thirteen, and he was easily able to rip his ankle out of Dick’s grip. He spared a moment to shove Dick into the arm of the couch with both feet before rolling over, trying to crawl over the arm of the couch to escape – as if that was somehow a better plan than just standing up from the couch and leaving.

Either way, it gave Dick the perfect opportunity to launch himself forward and sit across the backs of Jason’s thighs. Jason spat out a curse, kicking and twisting and bucking to try and throw Dick off to no avail.

“Get your fat ass off of me!”

Dick tutted, a habit he had slowly started picking up from Damian without realizing. “You’re gonna owe Alfred so much money in the swear jar by the time I’m done with you.”

Jason gave up on squirming, shooting Dick an absolutely lethal glare over his shoulder. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Mhm,” Dick said, absently, cataloguing Jason’s body language and facial expressions. “Sure.”

As skilled as Jason might have been at burying his thoughts and feelings (they were both trained by the Batman, after all), Dick was better at prying them out. Not only was Jason his first baby brother, as fraught as their relationship has been over the years, but he was the first son of the World’s Greatest Detective. Jason couldn’t hide those reactions from him.

The laughably awful escape plan, the lack of tension in Jason’s eyebrows, the twitching at the corners of Jason’s mouth. His nose wasn’t even scrunched up in anticipation of a snarl, which always happened when Jason was starting to get pissed off. Plus, while Dick could certainly take Jason in a fight (he’d been in the vigilante business a lot longer, after all), it’s not like he was extending a lot of effort into their little play tussle. If Jason had really wanted to throw Dick off earlier, he would have.

Jason was having fun.

And who was he to deny his little brother some silly goofing off? God knows Jason needed it.

And so Dick didn’t hesitate a second longer, reaching out to vibrate his fingers into the middle of Jason’s ribcage. Jason didn’t bother clamping his lips shut this time, instead burying his face into the couch as he let out a giggly yelp. His legs kicked out behind Dick, drumming against the couch cushions, and he tried to squeeze his arms against his sides for protection despite how awkward his position made it.

“Aww, Little Wing!” Dick couldn’t help but tease. “I think you’re even more ticklish now than when you were a kid.”

Jason peeled his face up from the cushion just long enough to shout a wobbly “Shut the fuck up!” before planting his face back in the fabric.

Dick laughed, squeezing sporadically up and down Jason’s sides just to watch him wiggle around like a frantic little worm. When they were younger, he used to curl up like a little pill bug whenever Dick or Bruce would tickle him, knees up to his chest and arms wrapped around his torso like it could ever save him from their wiggling fingers. It had never worked, of course – and was even less help to him when they realized just how ticklish Jason’s back was.

Speaking of…

Dick pulled his hands back, giving Jason a half-second of a breather, before delivering a series of sporadic, nibbling pinches traveling up Jason’s back. This time Jason shrieked, his legs scrabbling even harder at the cushions since they couldn’t curl up, and he reached back to try and slap at Dick’s hands. Being all bulky muscle now, he couldn’t quite contort that far anymore, so instead he settled for slapping at Dick’s knee.

“You dick!”

“Well, that is my name, Jay. Don’t wear it out.”

“You’re so fucking stupid!”

“I hope you know I’m keeping track so I can tell Alfred later. You’re up to at least six dollars, and that’s not even counting before I started tickling. You’re gonna get the disappointed grandpa look.”

Jason picked his head up to retort, but Dick chose that moment to start poking just below his shoulderblades, following along the edges of them. Instead of cursing Dick out again, he tumbled into bubbly giggles and shimmied his shoulders to try and throw off the attack. Dick laughed again, switching to prodding at the edges of Jason’s armpits.

“What’s-a-matter, Little Wing? Does that tickle? You regret messing with me yet?”

Jason’s laughter spiked, but it had nothing to do with the tickling. “You kidding me?” He warbled through his laughter. “I died, I’m not gonna break for a little tickling, Dickhead.”

Dick frowned at the death joke (he didn’t think he’d ever feel comfortable with Jason joking about it), but narrowed his eyes as the rest of the sentence hit him. He paused his fingers, but even though his panting giggles, Jason still kept trying to (very obviously half-heartedly) wiggle his way out.

“Oh, yeah?”

Something about his tone made Jason freeze in place. Jason slowly turned to look over his shoulder, making eye contact with Dick (bright, smiling eyes, and so full of life).

“Dick.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Jason.”

“Come on, man.”

Dick’s other eyebrow jumped up. “You wanna be tickled that bad?”

Jason’s eyes went wide and he started wiggling again. “Wait– no!”

Dick chuckled and wormed his fingers under Jason’s body, settling his fingertips into the divots beside Jason’s hip bones.

“Any last words?”

“Um. Sorry?”

“Hmm. I don’t think you are, though.”

And Dick dug his fingers in, squeezing at Jason’s hips mercilessly. The noise Jason let out was almost a scream before he fell into hysterical, hiccuping cackles. His body went limp under Dick, giving up on fighting or even trying to pill-bug for protection as he laughed himself hoarse.

“Are you sorry now, you little shit?”

Jason managed a mangled “swear jar” through his guffaws.

Dick grumbled, but couldn’t help but grin. It had been so long since he’d gotten to goof off with Jason like this. It felt like something inside him was finally clicking back into place, the final piece left to settle his soul ever since getting Jason back.

“Okay!” Jason wheezed, knocking Dick out of his thoughts. “Okay, I’m sorry!”

Dick chuckled, but stopped immediately. He swung a leg over Jason so he was no longer straddling him, but sitting against the back of the couch with his legs tossed over the backs of Jason’s legs. Jason panted and giggled and finally curled up like the little pill bug he was. Dick reached out and rubbed a hand up and down his back to help him calm down.

Jason’s eyes had drifted shut as he recovered, but Dick caught a shadow lurking out of the corner of his eye. Glancing up, he saw Bruce hovering in the doorway to the den, eyebrows drawn in worry. Dick inwardly winced, recalling the frantic scream Jason had let out only a few minutes before. He couldn’t exactly blame Bruce for coming running at the noise – and clearly just back from the office too, based on his attire.

 But Dick just grinned at Bruce, winking and wiggling the fingers of his free hand in explanation. Bruce’s face cleared, his mouth twitching up briefly in amusement (what would likely be a chuckle on anyone normal) as his eyes melted in that fond way they tended to whenever Dick or his siblings did something Bruce found particularly endearing. Dick had to look away, always feeling oddly vulnerable under that gaze, and after a few more moments of staring, Dick saw Bruce’s shadow retreat. The warmth his smile had left in Dick’s chest had not.

“You know, Dickie,” Jason said, having finally caught his breath, “one of these days, one of us is gonna get you back.”

Dick laughed, briefly clawing up Jason’s back just to hear him squeal again before going back to rubbing it soothingly. “Keep telling yourself that, Little Wing.”

Jason scoffed. “You better watch your back. I’m bigger than you now, and I remember all your tickle spots too.”

The warmth still sitting in Dick’s chest turned into a swarm of butterflies. Fuck Bruce, actually, for tickling him in front of Jason often enough for that information to stick.

*    *    *    *    *

Apparently, being benched meant you couldn’t even run comms these days. Dick had to shove down the wave of frustration as Alfred shooed him away from the Batcomputer, as if a shoulder injury somehow meant he couldn’t operate a keyboard and talk into a microphone. He wasn’t an invalid, thank you very much. But Dick knew better than to argue with Alfred, and his tone brokered no room to do so as he told Dick to “go check on your brother.”

Because Dick wasn’t the only vigilante benched that night. 

And as Dick picked his way through the Cave, Alfred kicking him off comms suddenly made a lot more sense. He could hear heavy breathing coming from the training mats, the sound of grunts and fists meeting vinyl. Dick sighed and changed course, heading for the training area instead of the stairs. Of course Damian was frustrated with being benched. He wasn’t even hurt.

Dick watched Damian train for a few minutes. His face was creased with irritation, sweat dripping from his jaw and hairline. Dick could see where the exhaustion pulled at Damian’s limbs, making his form sloppy and imprecise (at least, sloppy and imprecise for a former assassin and a current Bat). He had his fists wrapped properly in tape, but Dick could see his boxing gloves abandoned at the edge of one of the training mats. The velcro strap on one of them was broken, but whether it was from overuse or Damian’s frustration was unclear.

“Shouldn’t baby bats be in bed this time of night?” Dick called out eventually, kicking off his slides to step onto the training mats.

“I should be out on the streets with Batman,” Damian ground out, throwing a particularly vicious punch at the bag.

Dick sighed again, making his way behind the punching bag to brace it for Damian. “You know the rules, kiddo. No patrol before school tests, not even a reduced one. You need your rest.”

“It is a waste of time! My classmates are imbeciles, I could take the exam high on fear toxin and still get the highest grade of them all.”

Dick bit back a reprimand, seeing as Damian would certainly not be receptive to it at the moment. He’d been doing better with his peers recently, anyway – he had even joined the art club and started making a few friends. It was more than likely his anger talking than any real malice.

“I know how smart you are, Dami, we all do. But Robin still has rules, and they’re there to look out for you.”

At least, most of the time. Dick could still easily recall just how stifling a number of Bruce’s rules could get, and Damian wasn’t the only Robin to ever feel held back by them.

But Damian just heaved out a large sigh, briefly resting his forehead against the punching bag. “I know.” He just as quickly pulled back, fixing the scowl back onto his face. “But that does not mean I should neglect my training. Just because I am forced to stay in for the night does not mean there aren't ways to improve myself.”

Dick pursed his lips and glanced at a nearby clock (analog – all the digital clocks had been removed from the cave shortly after Jason started re-integrating. Dick still didn’t know who was responsible). It wasn’t too late yet, and Dick was all too familiar with how vigilantism could screw up one’s sleep schedule. If he tried to force Damian into bed now, he’d just lie there awake for the next couple of hours. 

“Alright, Dami, we can train for a bit. But only for another 45 minutes, then it’s bedtime for baby bats.”

Damian scoffed and looked away, crossing his arms. “Tt. I do not need your assistance with my training. You’re still recovering.”

Dick rolled his eyes, then rolled his injured shoulder. It twinged a bit, but nothing like the pain when he had fumbled his grapple and almost wrenched it from its socket. “I’m fine – almost good as new! I can help you run through some drills, or work on your gymnastics.”

After some more prodding, Damian agreed to let Dick guide him through some new gymnastic and acrobatic moves, provided that Dick did not do anything to strain his arm and only stepped in when Damian needed it. They worked through a few flips and various ways to incorporate such moves into fighting. As always, Damian was a quick study.

And as always, Damian was far too stubborn and far too focused to quit when their time ran out.

“Dami, come on.” Dick rubbed at his eyes, feeling oddly tired himself despite the hours he usually kept. The injury must have taken more out of him than he realized, even as healed as it was. Maybe Bruce and Alfred were right to keep him benched for this long. “Time’s up, we can come back to it tomorrow when we’re fresh.”

Damian let out a frustrated growl. “I almost had it!”

“I know, buddy. And I bet you’ll get it even faster tomorrow, when you’re fresh and well-rested.”

Damian didn’t listen, continuing to try and execute the flip and only succeeding in flopping himself to the plush mats over and over.

“Damian.”

Damian did not budge. He flipped again, his body once again not reaching the rotation it needed to successfully execute the move. Except this time, Dick could track the trajectory – Damian would try to land on his feet, but at that angle… well, he would probably wind up benched for a lot longer than one school night.

Dick launched himself forward, managing to catch Damian around the middle to stop his momentum and halt the bad landing, but wrenched his injured shoulder in the process. He hissed a breath in through his teeth, hoping it was quiet enough that Damian didn’t hear, and lowered them both to the ground.

“I had it, Grayson!”

“No, you didn’t!” Dick snapped, then paused and took a couple deep breaths. Damian stayed quiet while he composed himself. “We’ll talk about what went wrong and how to prevent it tomorrow. Are you tuckered out yet?”

Damian crossed his arms. “If you’re so tired, then you go upstairs to bed. I’m fine to continue on my own.”

“Alright.” Dick took another slow breath to calm himself. “That’s it.”

Dick dug his fingertips into Damian’s sides, squeezing and wiggling away. Damian, clearly not expecting the sudden attack, had no hope for defense or hiding his reactions. He burst into boyish giggles instantly, slapping and shoving at Dick’s hands as he tried to wriggle away.

Dick grinned, the laughter of one of his baby brothers melting away his frustration faster than anything else ever could. “Maybe this’ll finally tire you out, huh?”

“Richard! Wait!”

Dick chuckled. “Why do you guys always tell me to wait? Wait for what, kiddo?” His hands converged on Damian’s belly, laughing along when his giggles got even squeakier. “It’s not like anyone’s gonna come to your rescue.”

Damian grumbled through his laughter, finally managing to wiggle out of Dick’s hold. “I don’t need a rescue, I can take care of myself!”

Dick let Damian retreat a few steps before hauling himself to his feet. He put on a show about it, stumbling around a bit and bringing one hand up to his head. “Uh oh, Baby Bat – better look out. I think I’m being taken over… by the Tickle Monster!”

Damian tried to scowl at him even as a goofy smile tugged at the edges of his lips. He clicked his tongue, watching Dick’s movements carefully. “Tt, the Tickle Monster isn’t real, Richard. I am too old for such childish games.”

Dick stumbled forward a few steps, reaching a jerking hand out to Damian. “Oh, save me, Dami! There’s only one thing that can help me now!”

Damian’s retreat faltered, one eyebrow raising in curiosity. “Which is?”

Dick grinned. Gotcha. “Your giggles!”

“I do not– Richard!!”

Dick laughed as he tackled Damian down to the mats, careful to twist them so he didn’t land on top of the boy or on his injured shoulder. He rolled so his own back was against the mats with Damian’s back flush against his chest, and made sure Damian was secure in one of his patented Octopus Grip hugs before resuming his attack. Damian burst back into silly giggles as one of Dick’s hands attacked his stomach, the other climbing up and down his sides and ribs sporadically. Every few seconds he would switch hands, and Damian squeaked each time without fail.

“What was that about not giggling, Baby Bat? What’s that I hear right now?”

“Shut up!”

Dick laughed, but laid off the teasing. The kid could only take so much playful embarrassment before he got genuinely upset, and Dick didn’t want to push it when he was already having such a frustrating night. He kept his tickling light, silly, and jumping, not wanting to overwhelm Damian on top of everything, but despite his squirming and protestations, there was no strain to his laughter or genuine undercurrent of anger in his threats.

Yeah, maybe Damian needed these giggles just as much as Dick did.

“Tuckered out now, kiddo? Tickle Monster’s happy to stick around if you’ve still got some energy to spend.”

“You’re ridiculous!”

“Well, in that case…”

Dick heaved them both up to a sitting position, barely giving Damian a moment of reprieve before reaching down to squeeze at the muscles just above his knees. Damian shrieked, laughter growing from giggles to guffaws. Though he kicked out to try and dislodge Dick’s hands, tugging at Dick’s fingers with his own, Damian still easily melted back into Dick’s chest as he laughed. Dick couldn’t help the fond smile that rose to his lips as he tapered the tickling off, pressing a kiss to the top of Damian’s sweaty head.

“Hit the showers, bud, then the hay. Got it?”

Damian huffed out a large sigh, clearly swallowing back residual giggles as he leaned even further back into Dick for a few moments. “Yes, Richard.” He hauled himself to his feet before holding out a hand to help Dick up. “Get an ice pack for your shoulder, and perhaps locate some anti-inflammatories before you head to bed as well.”

“I told you buddy, I’m fine–”

Damian shot him an unimpressed look. “I heard you when you saved me from injury, I know you aggravated it. I will tell Pennyworth if you don’t take care of it.”

Dick sighed, pulling Damian into a side hug with a gentle smile. “Always looking out for me, aren’t you, bud?”

Damian rolled his eyes, as if it was a stupid thing to take note of. “Of course. Just because you’re not Batman anymore doesn’t mean that stops.”

Dick pulled him in for a full hug at that. “You’ll always be my Robin, Damian.”

Damian hummed and gave him a quick squeeze before detangling himself from Dick’s limbs. “I’m serious,” he called over his shoulder on his way to the shower. “I’ll tell Alfred if you don’t take care of it.”

Dick grumbled under his breath, but obediently turned to head toward the medbay. If he wanted to help Damian perfect that flip tomorrow, then he needed to make sure his shoulder was as good as he could get it.

*    *    *    *    *

By the time Dick finished up his patrol and returned to the Batcave, Tim was already planted in the Batcomputer’s chair, hard at work despite the cast that now swallowed his left calf. Red Robin had taken a nasty hit on patrol, thrown full-force through an already-crumbling wall by an irate Killer Croc. Dick was just grateful that he hadn’t gotten hurt worse, walking away from that fight with only a broken leg was a near-miracle. Clearly Tim didn’t feel the same way, if his scowl was anything to go by.

Dick sighed and eyed the several Zesti cans littering the desk. Tim hadn’t even been back in the Cave for two hours. “Bruce is going to kill you. You know his rules about food and drink near the Batcomputer.”

Tim shrugged one shoulder, not bothering to turn around. “What B doesn’t know won’t hurt him. I needed the caffeine.”

“You should be resting, kiddo – Croc’s back in custody, it’s okay to take a break.”

“No time.” Tim waved him off. “Jason asked for my help tracking down some murders in Crime Alley, whoever it is is good. And Two-Face escaped last week and we’re no closer to finding him. Ivy’s seemed jittery lately, despite how well she and Harley had been doing, so I need to keep an eye on both of them. And I’ve got this case for the Teen Titans –”

“Whoa, Timmy – take a breath. Not all of that has to get done tonight.”

Tim took a deep breath in, then suddenly finally turned to look at Dick. His face was twisted in disgust, wrinkled button nose and all. 

“You smell like shit.”

“Gee, I wonder why. Who could we possibly know that frequents sewers around here?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Go take a shower, I can’t focus with you stinking up the place.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll just stay right here, then. Drive you out with the smell so you can finally get some sleep.”

“I’m fine – I’m not even tired.”

“Tim, your eyebags have eyebags – just looking at you is making me tired.”

“Then maybe you should go to bed.”

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. Getting Tim to take a break was nearly impossible, and he didn’t know if he had the energy or patience for it tonight after dealing with Croc. He was glad that Batman and Robin were handling things with the GCPD, letting Nightwing head back first.

“Look,” Dick said, keeping his voice light and level. “You have until I’m in civvies to clean up the desk and finish up, and then we’re both heading up to bed – even if I have to carry you up there.”

“Mhm, yeah, Dick. Sure.”

Dick narrowed his eyes at the back of Tim’s head. “I will sit on you.”

“Good luck with that.”

Dick held in another sigh and made for the locker rooms, snatching up some solvent for his mask along the way. He took his time in the shower for once, forcefully scrubbing the sewer stench off his body while letting the hot water ease the aches and pains from getting thrown around like a ragdoll. When he was finished and dried, he pulled on a soft, warm pair of sweatpants and broke into Jason’s locker to steal an oversized sweatshirt (it wasn’t like Jason used the Cave’s locker room often enough to miss his clothes – Alfred always washed and replaced them before Jason even noticed). 

Smelling fresh and feeling cozy, Dick emerged from the steaming locker room and back into the chill of the Batcave. Tim hadn’t moved an inch in the time he was gone, still hunched over the Batcomputer. In fact, Dick could swear there were even more cans of Zesti than when he had left. Where was he even hiding it all? There was no way Alfred allowed that much soda into the Manor, let alone the Batcave.

“Come on,” Dick said, jostling Tim’s chair as he approached. “Let’s take care of these cans and catch some Z’s.”

Tim didn’t dignify him with a response, only throwing him a bloodshot glare. Dick took a careful breath and switched tactics. Flippant sometimes worked with Tim, depending on his mood, but it was more the tactic to use on Jason. Tim, attention-starved little gremlin that he was growing up, historically responded a lot better to affection – so long as it didn’t feel like coddling.

So Dick carefully leaned up against the back of his chair, reaching down to squeeze gently at Tim’s shoulders to try and get him to release some of the tension there. “Alright, bud. Anything I can help with?”

Tim shot him a hesitant look. “Not really. I’m mostly just combing through security footage for Jason, right now.”

Dick hummed, turning his squeezing into more of a shoulder massage. “Two sets of eyes are better than one, right? Let me help – you’ll get it done faster, which means you’ll get some rest sooner.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Never too tired for you, Baby Bird.”

Some of the tension bled out of Tim and he blinked heavily before turning back to his screens. Instead of pulling up one of the spare office chairs they had tucked away exactly for this purpose, Dick continued to lean up against the back of Tim’s. It left him with easy access to Tim’s neck, shoulders, and upper back – all places he carried immense amounts of tension from hunching over computers and laptops just like this. He kept up the gentle massage as they reviewed Crime Alley’s limited CCTV, and despite Tim’s evident frustration with their lack of progress, his shoulders stayed relaxed under Dick’s ministrations.

After a while, Dick switched up tactics. One of his hands travelled down to rub at the gooseflesh along Tim’s arms, thanks to him only wearing an oversized t-shirt in a literal cave (though, notably, it was one of Dick’s soft old t-shirts, clearly stolen from his locker just like Dick stole from Jason’s, and something about that made his heart melt). The other hand travelled up, combing through Tim’s hair and scratching gently at his scalp. After a few passes, Dick could feel Tim fighting off the urge to go completely boneless. A careful peek over the chair and Tim’s shoulder showed his eyelids fluttering as well, valiantly trying not to close completely.

“I know what you’re doing,” Tim grumbled.

“Oh?” Dick’s voice was low and quiet, as soothing as he could make it. “Do you, now?”

“Yes. And it’s not gonna work.”

Dick hummed. “Seems like it’s working to me.”

Tim frowned, bracing himself for a moment, and pulled away from Dick’s hands, rolling the chair closer to the desk to try and create some space between them. Dick’s blunt fingernails caught on the nape of Tim’s neck as he rolled away, earning him a rather adorable little squeak and a brief turtling of his shoulders.

Well, there was an idea.

Maybe a different method of brother-wrangling was in order.

“Well it’s not,” Tim said, clearing his throat and shaking his head immediately after, clearly trying to wake himself up.

Dick sighed, long and dramatic. “Then I’m afraid you’ve brought this upon yourself, Timmy.”

Tim whipped around to look at him, eyes wide. “Wait– what?”

Dick’s only answer was a mischievous smirk as he rolled the desk chair even further forward, until Tim’s chest was flush with the desk. No squirming away on his watch. He leaned up against the back of the chair (careful not to put too much pressure, lest he crush his baby brother) to prevent Tim from pushing back and set to work, skittering his fingers around Tim’s neck and ears. Tim, tired as he was, immediately burst into bubbly giggles, unable to bury them like usual. His shoulders hunched up as he chased after Dick’s hands with his own.

“Dick! Wait, no!”

“No more waiting, Baby Bird! I tried to be nice, but it looks like now you’re just gonna have to giggle yourself out. Let me know when you’re ready to take a break from working, yeah?”

Tim squealed again, thrashing in his seat as Dick dragged all his nails up the length of his neck, bursting back into giggles as Dick went back to spidering all over the delicate skin.

“That’s not fair!”

“‘Course it’s fair, Timmy! It’s practically Big Brother Law that I tickle you a certain amount per week. I’ve been slacking lately – gotta make up for lost time.”

Finally, Tim managed to latch onto Dick’s wrists, and Dick let him pull them away, if only for a moment. He panted and tried to pout up at Dick, but the expression was rather ineffective when he couldn’t quite wipe the smile off his face.

“Come on, just let me finish? Just thirty more minutes, I swear.”

Dick titled his head, pretending to consider the offer. “Mmmmm-nope!”

At a speed even the Flash would be impressed by, Dick twisted his hands out of Tim’s grip and shot them down between Tim’s body and the armrests of the chair. Expecting the worst, Tim shrieked before Dick had even touched him, plastering his arms down against his ribs.

No matter, Dick could easily come back for those later if Tim kept being stubborn. Dick instead targeted Tim’s hips, readjusting so he was attacking from either side of the chair rather than from above. Tim snorted, which made Dick laugh, which made Tim’s hands shoot up to cover his nose and mouth.

“You’re such an asshole!”

“Sorry, what was that? I couldn’t hear you over all this laughter.” Dick vibrated his hands into Tim’s stomach, making Tim burst out into full-bellied laughter. “Man, it’s so loud in here, huh? That echo really carries.”

“Dick!”

“Hey, could you keep it down? I’m trying to focus on this CCTV here and you’re really distracting me right now.”

“Fuck you!”

Dick laughed again. “Jason would be proud.”

Tim’s hands latched back onto Dick’s wrists. Success. Dick grinned down at the rats nest that was Tim’s hair and put his plan into action, slowly crawling up Tim’s sides. 

The thing was, having not been tickled much growing up, neither by the neglectful Drakes nor his friends, Tim was a bit inexperienced in how to defend himself. Despite Dick’s countless tickle attacks from the moment he named Tim his baby brother (long before the adoption papers came along), Tim had never really grown out of that.

For someone who was always thinking twelve steps ahead and had at least six contingencies for every possible outcome, Tim was on a rather one-track mind when he was tickled. Usually, that one track was simply Oh God, Stop Dick’s Hands. It was a sound line of logic – after all, if Dick’s hands stopped, so did the tickling. However, Tim rarely took into account how laughter weakened even the hardest-earned muscles and leached the coordination from even the most well-trained gymnasts. Dick knew from experience – he flopped around like a fish out of water when he got tickled. All this to say, Tim tended to forget that in trying to capture or push away Dick’s tickling fingers, he left open weak spots that were all-too-easy for Dick to exploit.

Like now, with Dick’s fingers slowly crawling onto his now-exposed lower ribs. Tim cackled and, based on the thumping coming from below the desk, was kicking his legs fiercely. He didn’t seem to realize that the higher Dick tickled, the higher his own arms went too, exposing all his worst tickle spots.

“Last chance, Baby Bird. Taking a break?”

“N-no! I have to finish–!”

Dick let out a fake sigh. “Then you leave me no choice, kiddo.”

Dick latched onto Tim’s upper ribs and Tim’s arms finally crashed back down, trying to launch a defense all too late. Tim wheezed before bursting into the loudest, most hysterical laughter Dick had ever heard anyone make (outside of Harley and the Joker, that was, but they were outliers and should not be counted). He tossed his head back against the chair and shook it, scrubbing his already messy hair into one big knot against the leather.

Even with Tim’s cheeks going an endearing tomato-red from the laughter, Dick didn’t stop. He knew Tim’s bull-headedness all too well for that. He poked and prodded, scribbled and scratched, searching around for those hidden little hyper-ticklish spots across Tim’s upper ribs and armpits with relative ease, despite the arms pressed against them.

“Okay!” Tim eventually shrieked. “Okay, okay!”

Dick didn’t stop his attack, but he did slow his fingers slightly. “‘Okay’ what?”

“I’ll – I’ll take a break!”

Dick blew a stream of air against Tim’s ear and neck, just to hear the squeaky snort he let out, his head jolting sideways for protection. “Hmm, I dunno if I believe that.”

“I promise! Dick, please!”

“Alright, alright.” 

Dick chuckled and pulled back, wheeling the chair away from the desk and turning Tim to face him. His face was flushed, his eyes were teary, and Dick wasn’t even sure if his hair was salvageable at that point or if Alfred would wind up having to cut some mats out. Still, the dopey smile remained plastered to Tim’s lips as he went completely boneless in the chair.

“You, Baby Bird, are sleeping all day tomorrow. Even if I have to sit on you.”

Tim blinked blearily at him. “Don’t you drive back to Blud tomorrow?”

Dick shrugged. “The city can survive another day without Nightwing. Not sure my baby brother can go on another day without Dick Grayson.”

Tim rolled his eyes, but didn’t correct him. Dick fought off a frown. Maybe he needed to make the drive from Bludhaven more often, if Tim was missing him enough to not give him shit. Or maybe Tim was just that tired.

Either way, Dick pushed the thought away for the night. Deciding the cans were a lost cause for the night (which, Tim was totally getting grounded from the Batcomputer for those), he leaned down and swept Tim into his arms, tossing Tim over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Tim squawked in protest.

“What are you doing?!”

“Cashing in on that break you promised – we are having a movie night, all curled up in your bed–”

“It’s covered in W.E. documents.”

“– all curled up in my bed with warm blankets and Alfred’s famous hot cocoa–”

“You’re just trying to get me to fall asleep.”

“You’ll keep beating sleep off with a stick if I leave you alone. If I can get you to rest with some hot cocoa, brother cuddles, and hair pets, then I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

“Oh no,” Tim snarked. “Dick Grayson being forced to cuddle, what ever will he do?”

Dick grinned and bit back a laugh, tweaking the back of Tim’s knee to make him yelp. “Watch it. Timmy. We can still go for round two.”

Tim grumbled under his breath, something about stupid big brothers and revenge, but Dick decided that could wait for another day. He had a baby brother to tuck into bed, and hopefully his own sleep to catch soon after.

[blumoontf2]

TF2 Merc Headcanons

Moving onto Defence Class!

Defence class my beloved… Have you guys ever noticed that defence class is just family men? Father figures dare I say? Anyway, read more under the cut :3

Heavy

Hubba hubba baby 😍 Sorry who said that- that’s… that’s strange…

I AM A NIGHT AT THE INVENTORY TRUTHER, I STAND BY THIS

Poker man! Quite good at poker! Except you can only be good at maths or literature and he has a PHD in Russian literature so he’s not the BEST at poker

Takes Medic with him sometimes but he makes his own fun sourcing materials from the black market to use

He’s a family man! I LOVE A FAMILY MAN!

He’s very resourceful. Knows how to hunt for obvious reasons. He WOULD hunt with Sniper but their styles of doing so… clash…

Sniper is ‘you are calm… like the wind… you are still like the wind…’ Heavy is ‘PROBE THE BEAR FIGHT THE BEAR EAT THE BEAR!!!!’

Like Soldier, I can see him fishing. Properly this time. Knew how to fish through ice, has the absolute patience of a saint.

Probably takes Scout fishing to varying levels of success

Closest with (shocker) Medic!! Engie and Spy too I’d say

Part of a book club between engie medic spy and himself.

Said book club is a LOT less peaceful than it sounds!

Heated debates over plot and character relationships/interpretations. Heavy usually wins said debates.

Contrary to popular belief, probably the best most normal one to go to for advice!!

He’s like… fifty? C’mon now he’s been through life

he’s been through the gulags for lords sake!! He knows his way around people, knows his way around life

probably has more connections than he lets on. Kind of like a respectable ex-gangster

He’s a very sensitive man. Very in tune with his feelings. Puts on a stronger front due to Russian Male expectations and also for his family

I really want to say he’s a good baker but basing on where he lives in the comics would he typically have the ingredients to practice baking at home…? In the 1900’s…? I’m not a history nerd i’m sorry 😞

Probably a miracle worker in the kitchen. Give him three ingredients and you’ll have three meals a day for a week.

Probably prefers Coldfront over any other map for nostalgia. Is the one to help prepare most dinners when they work in Coldfront

He’s a gossip. Would love to say your secrets safe but… well, it would depend on the secret.

His family is super close knit so I imagine he wasn’t really in an environment where there was much reason nor way of keeping a secret.

Demoman

HE IS 28 YOUR HONOUR! 26 AT MINIMUM! 28 AT MAXIMUM AND I WILL STAND BY THIS STATEMENT

He’s a family man!! Wants children, wants his own family at some point

The type to meddle in other people business either for entertainment or for genuinely wanting to help in his own, background kind of way

His meddling wouldn’t be super obvious, but it’d be the catalyst for a lot of things.

As much as he loves being in on the drama DO NOT TREAT HIM LIKE YOUR THERAPIST.

He likes drama! NOT THE MENTAL ISSUES THAT RUN WITH IT!!!

Do not cry to him about your dad leaving you, he does not know how to respond nor how to comfort you.

He’s drunk half the time for lords sake, crying to him about something sobers him up instantly and I don’t think he wants that

HE CARES! He does!! Depending on the person he’ll either care more or less…

But dude he just wants to have a good time 😭 He wants to live a stress free life.

Kind of like Pyro in that sense except Pyro would want to try and comfort you if you were venting to them.

I like to think he functions better WITH alcohol in his system! Remember guys, this is in a world where New Zealand FUCKING DIES. Yeah, alcoholics irl are not good!! But this is FICTION let me cook.

Works better with alcohol in his system. Canonically gets double vision that makes up for the lack of an eye (again guys, this is fiction) so alcohol kind of just levels him out in a way.

I’d say he’s never always *drunk*. Always TIPSY yes! Always DRUNK no!

He just needs a slight bit in his system to function.

Kidney failure who?

one chance Demo one chance that’s all i’m asking please Demo pleaaaase

Sorry he’s handsome and I have a crush.

Like I said, he’s one of the youngest from the nine. Pyro at the bottom, Scout and Sniper, Demo, then Soldier

Literally friends with everyone. On great terms with EVERYONE! Floater friend in a sense. Goes to Soldier the most, if not more inclined to hang out with Sniper when he’s not drunk-drunk and just wants to chill.

Handmakes gifts over buying them. Thinks it’s more thoughtful to make than buy. Craft buddies with Sniper because of this

Please Demoman one chance… I am hopelessly in love with this man…

MASTER BAKER MASTER COOK CHANGE MY MIND.

Type of guy to play with the gas taps in the chemistry lab at school… Probably was the nicest popular boy. Just wants to have fun man

Engineer

My favourite God-complex haver

His smile kind of scares me i’m not gonna lie

I like to think he’d be far more irritable than what he lets on.

Everyone says he has the patience of a saint

nah he’s just got a good poker face

Speaking of, plays low stakes poker with Heavy. Texas hold’em!

He only acts like sweet grandpa to Pyro I think

To everyone else it’s slightly-nice but still strict mentor

I may have this view because all the nice Engie headcanons I would give to BluEngie… I like to think they’re separate people.

If you wanna go clone route maybe BluEngie killed RedEngie and took his place in the comics idk dude

Contrary to popular belief, if you come to him with an issue he can’t PRACTICALLY FIX… yeah, you’re getting kicked out of his workshop.

I love father-figure Engie as much as the next person, but I feel like he would be less likely to hear you vent if there isn’t a clear solution to it.

Example: finds out Spy is Scouts dad. Tells Spy he’ll tell Scout if he doesn’t do it on his own (problem for all parties solved - ignoring the fact that this would momentarily make more problems)

Never does because Spy would blackmail him 😞

Grew up a farm boy (this is not a shocker) but in doing so only socialised through connagher engineering events (where I like to think DadConnagher took him to meet the Administrator)

Went to university as we all know. Blossomed socially through it

He’s a man with years under his belt, he definitely wasn’t the baby faced, kind, soft hearted Engineer we know now during his childhood

He would’ve been something of a social recluse at uni

If he went to school in a traditional sense he probably thought he was above all the other kids and therefore didn’t associate with them. Learnt quickly that a ‘holier than thou’ attitude deterred people from talking to him. Didn’t care so much until DadConnagher intervened.

Can’t work with people around him. Recluse boy. He grew up an only son (unless Blu/Red brothers 👀), is used to working without people watching him

The exception is being on the battlefield which is a completely different situation to tinkering in your workshop okay?

He has teleporters and turrets memorised: he can build them in his sleep.

When he’s tinkering something new in his workshop? Everyone out! It has to be perfect on the first try and he can’t have anyone witness his failure!!

Feels the pressure of inheriting the Connagher name

There’s a lot of expectation to come with it. He has to be smarter than the last Connagher, he has to more innovative than the last Connagher

Which is why he doesn’t like Team Red seeing his weaknesses and failures when experimenting

Closest to Pyro, Medic, Scout (as mentor)

Is part of the Book Club but he doesn’t read Fiction as much as he does Non-fiction. He usually brings engineering books to the club and reads that whilst everyone else argues over plots and loopholes and fiction book stuff.

If he does read fiction it would be science fiction to magpie semi-decent and replicable ideas

Clashes heads with Spy a lot and probably has a fair share of squabbles with Soldier

Would he be THE Eldest? In his fifties… probably…

One chance Engi- no, sorry, I’m loyal to Demo. I see the appeal though.

Third eldest mayhaps…? I think I’ll do age order headcanons as a separate post…

[itsbensart]

Unspoken Doubts

Pairing: Fiyero Tigelaar x Male Reader | Part 3

Summary: Y/N’s success in the semester, thanks to Fiyero’s support, leads to an invitation to the Ozdust Ball. As they share a dance, Y/N’s internal doubts cause him to pull away from Fiyero without explanation, leaving both of them heartbroken and uncertain of where they stand.

Warnings: Emotional distress, Unspoken love, Self-doubt and insecurity, Sudden emotional withdrawal, Vulnerability in moments of intimacy, Themes of rejection, Angst, and Heartbreak.

Word Count: 2,000 words (approximately)

Y/N couldn’t recall the last time someone had made studying feel less like a chore and more like an adventure. Fiyero had that uncanny ability, infusing even the driest topics with his playful charm and relentless optimism. Between the teasing remarks about Y/N’s obsessive highlighting and exaggerated groans during all-nighters, Fiyero had somehow turned their late-night grind into a source of laughter.

“You know,” Fiyero mused one evening, sprawled out on Y/N’s couch with a textbook resting precariously on his chest, “I don’t think this semester would’ve been half as fun without me.”

Y/N snorted, looking up from his notes. “You mean ‘half as distracting.’ You’ve got more commentary than this entire book.”

“Hey, I’m a multitasker,” Fiyero replied, smirking. “I can distract and inspire at the same time.”

Y/N rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. For all his antics, Fiyero had been a lifeline, keeping him afloat during moments of doubt and burnout.

But their dynamic wasn’t one-sided. When Fiyero’s own struggles surfaced, Y/N was there, unwavering.

Fiyero, for all his confidence and charm, had his academic Achilles’ heels—anything involving numbers, formulas, or rigid logic was enough to make his head spin. One night, as he sat hunched over a mock exam for his math class, his normally easygoing demeanor faltered.

“Y/N,” he groaned, dragging his hands through his hair, “I swear this stuff is designed to break my spirit.”

“Math isn’t out to get you,” Y/N teased, pulling up a chair beside him. “You just need to look at it differently.”

Fiyero sighed dramatically. “Unless you’ve got magic powers, I don’t think that’s happening tonight.”

“Not magic,” Y/N said, leaning over to point at his paper. “Just patience. See here? You’re overthinking it. The equation isn’t as complicated as it looks—try breaking it into smaller parts.”

Under Y/N’s guidance, Fiyero’s furrowed brow slowly relaxed. His frustration gave way to cautious understanding, and after solving a particularly tricky problem, he beamed.

“Holy Oz, I actually did it,” he said, turning to Y/N with a mix of disbelief and gratitude. “You’re a miracle worker.”

“Hardly,” Y/N replied, smirking. “You just needed someone to explain it in a way that didn’t make your brain short-circuit.”

Fiyero leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning, though this time with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You know, if you keep being this amazing, I might have to...... reward you.”

Y/N froze, blinking. “R- Reward me?”

Fiyero leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, his tone dropping into something dangerously teasing. “Mm-hmm. Something special. Something... unforgettable.”

The heat rushed to Y/N’s face, his voice faltering. “I-I don’t need a reward!”

Fiyero laughed, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Don’t be so modest, Y/N. You’ve earned it. I mean, it’s not every day someone teaches me math and keeps their sanity intact.”

“I’m fine with just... knowing you passed,” Y/N mumbled, his cheeks burning. He buried his head in his notes, wishing the couch would swallow him whole.

The truth was, for all of Fiyero’s teasing, Y/N didn’t mind the attention. It left his heart racing, even if his mind screamed at him to brush it off.

Their late-night study sessions became a two-way street. Fiyero would lift Y/N’s spirits during moments of exhaustion, and Y/N would ground Fiyero when the weight of his challenges threatened to pull him under. It was an unspoken exchange of support, a rhythm they fell into naturally.

And somewhere in the midst of equations, essays, endless plates, and scaled models, Y/N began to notice the moments in between. The way Fiyero’s face lit up when he finally grasped a difficult concept. The way he’d absentmindedly drum his fingers on the table whenever he was deep in thought. The way his laughter filled the room, warm and contagious.

It wasn’t just admiration. It was a spark—quiet at first but growing steadily, warming parts of Y/N he hadn’t realized were cold.

What is this? Y/N thought, his pulse quickening as the realization began to settle. It’s nothing. Just... he’s just a good friend. He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung stubbornly, refusing to be dismissed.

He tried to ignore it. He told himself it was nothing, just gratitude for Fiyero’s friendship. He’s just being nice. That’s what Fiyero does—he’s charming with everyone. This isn’t special. It doesn’t mean anything.

But every time their hands brushed, his breath hitched, and the warmth of Fiyero’s touch lingered far longer than it should. Stop it. You’re overthinking. It’s just an accident.

Every time Fiyero shot him a mischievous grin, Y/N’s heart betrayed him, skipping a beat before thudding painfully in his chest. Why does he have to smile like that? Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

And every time Fiyero leaned in a little too close to explain something, his voice low and his presence all-consuming, Y/N found himself unable to focus, his thoughts spiraling. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Just... focus. Please.

The spark flared, undeniable and terrifying, no matter how much he tried to extinguish it. This can’t happen. I can’t feel this way.

Not about him.

.....

By the end of the semester, they had both overcome their struggles—Y/N had passed his classes, and Fiyero had conquered his math demons. It should’ve been a moment of pure relief, but for Y/N, it was anything but simple.

Sitting together on the campus, in their usual resting place in an oak tree, the evening sun casting a golden glow over them, Fiyero turned to him with a smile that made Y/N’s heart race.

“You did it,” Fiyero said, nudging him lightly. “And you know what that means?”

Y/N raised a brow, pretending not to know. “Let me guess. You want a thank-you speech?”

Fiyero laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Nope. I want to celebrate. You’re coming to the Ozdust Ball with me tonight.”

Y/N froze, his pulse quickening. “The Ozdust Ball?”

“Yes, the Ozdust Ball,” Fiyero repeated, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “You’ve worked yourself off all semester. You deserve a night to let loose. And who better to drag you out of your comfort zone than me?”

Despite his reservations, Y/N found himself agreeing. He didn’t know if it was Fiyero’s infectious enthusiasm or the way his eyes seemed to light up at the prospect of them spending the evening together.

What he did know was that being around Fiyero felt…different. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once, like standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to leap or retreat."

.....

The Ozdust Ball was an extravagant affair, yes, but it was no ordinary celebration. The grand ballroom, tucked away in the heart of Oz’s hidden district, pulsed with energy, its walls vibrating with a sound that was more jazz than waltz—more raw and rebellious than refined. Lanterns floated lazily through the ceiling of the underground landscape, casting soft glows over the guests, their faces lit by a dangerous mix of wonder and defiance. The instruments played, laced with dissonance, stirring something wild in the air. It was a place where nothing seemed quite real, yet everything felt more alive than ever—a place where the rules didn’t just bend; they broke.

Y/N stood at the edge of the ballroom, feeling more like an outsider than ever. The dancers twirled around him, their movements free, unrestrained. They were all part of something illicit—something forbidden, yet utterly intoxicating. His heart raced, not just from the unfamiliarity of the scene but because of Fiyero, whose presence beside him seemed to throw him off balance. There was admiration, yes, but also something deeper—something more overwhelming. Fiyero’s gaze lingered on him with an intensity that felt like a silent challenge, a daring invitation into a world Y/N wasn’t sure he was ready for.

Fiyero’s smile was mischievous, almost daring as he extended his hand. "Dance with me?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of a promise—dangerous and sweet.

Y/N hesitated, the words swirling in his mind like the chaotic energy around him. But something pulled at him—something magnetic. He placed his hand in Fiyero’s, feeling the spark of contact, and together, they stepped onto the dance floor. The music swirled around them, and the rhythm was infectious. Fiyero led him effortlessly, his hand on Y/N’s waist firm, yet his touch made everything feel electric.

“You’ve worked so hard for this moment,” Fiyero murmured, his voice warm, but there was an edge to it—an undercurrent of something more, something like rebellion. “I’m proud of you, Y/N, and tonight, you deserve to celebrate everything you’ve become.”

But Y/N couldn’t focus on Fiyero’s words. His thoughts were a tangled mess of uncertainty, the constant tug of conflicting emotions—his doubts, his fears, and the intense, overwhelming pull toward Fiyero.

What if this isn’t right? The question gnawed at him. What if I’m not enough for him?

The tension between them grew as the music slowed, the movement becoming less structured, more intimate. Fiyero pulled him closer, the space between them closing until all Y/N could feel was the heat of Fiyero’s body and the pulse of the music beneath his skin.

Fiyero’s voice dropped lower, a whisper now, but filled with urgency. “Y/N, I need to say this before I lose the chance.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath catching.

Fiyero pulled Y/N slightly closer, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with emotion. “You mean so much to me. More than I can even say. I don’t just want this dance. I want all of them. Every single one, for the rest of my life. I want to tease you, to make you blush, to see you smile like this forever. I want it all—with you.”

Y/N’s chest tightened as the weight of Fiyero’s words settled over him like a heavy fog. The moment felt surreal, his mind spinning. He wasn’t ready for this. How can I give him what he wants when I don’t even understand myself?

The doubts clung to him like a thick, suffocating cloud. What if I hurt him? What if I don’t know how to love him?

The music continued, but it sounded distant now, drowned out by the racing of his heart. He felt the pull of Fiyero’s gaze, but all he could do was shut himself off further.

What if I ruin this?

The air around him seemed to shift, the dreamlike atmosphere of the ball turning dark, suffocating, as his pulse quickened. Without warning, he pulled away, his voice breaking as he muttered, “I… I can’t.”

Fiyero’s brow furrowed, concern etched across his face. “Y/N?”

But Y/N couldn’t stay. He turned abruptly, the sound of his footsteps echoing across the polished floor as he fled the ballroom. The celebration, which had seemed so magical, now felt hollow and distant, fading into the background as Y/N’s heart pounded louder in his ears.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The chaos inside him was louder than anything else—louder than the music, louder than Fiyero’s hurt.

Back in his room, Y/N sank to the floor, his chest tight. I don’t know what I’m doing, he thought, the weight of the moment heavy on him. I don’t know how to love him.

Meanwhile, Fiyero stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, the noise of the celebration surrounding him, but all he could hear was the silence left in Y/N’s wake. The moment had been stolen, leaving him alone and empty. The intensity of what had just transpired felt like an unanswered question hanging in the air.

Was it me? he wondered. Did I push him too far? But the answers were nowhere to be found.

The ball, with all its illicit allure and hidden promises, had lost its magic. Fiyero was left standing there, consumed by the ache of unanswered questions and the pain of rejection, unsure if Y/N would ever come back—or if he had just lost him forever.

To be Continued

[anakinstwinklebunny]

CHRISTMAS WITH STEVIE FOR BUNNYCEMBER PLEEEEAAAAASSSSSSSSEEEEEEE 🥹

Author's note: FOR YOU ANYTHING 🙏🏻🙏🏻

Cinnamon, pine and faint smell of chocolate - that's how you'd describe your holiday this year. Christmas playlist playing on the old radio by the windowsill while STEPHEN GLASS stood in the tiny kitchen, furiously shaking a can of whipped cream while sneaking glances at you as you fiddled with the Christmas tree lights nearby.

“You know,” he called out and you could already pick up his teasing tone “if you keep squinting at them like that, they’re not magically going to untangle themselves.”

You turned to him, holding up the tangled mess of lights like some kind of unwanted trophy. “Oh, really? Because I thought glaring at them harder would make them behave.”

He laughed softly “Okay, okay,” he set down the whipped cream and walking over to you, rolling up his sleeves dramatically. “Let the Christmas miracle worker handle this.”

“Miracle worker?” you teased, stepping back to let him take over.

He crouched down, squinting at the wires. “That’s right. If I can handle five sources contradicting each other on the same story, I can definitely handle a couple of Christmas lights. Watch and learn, sweetheart.”

It only took five minutes for him to get just as tangled in the lights as they were. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter when you saw him wrapped up in the string, blinking bulbs tangled in his hair.

“This was the plan all along,” he insisted, grinning up at you. “I’m just trying to embody the holiday spirit, you know? Light me up and call me Rudolph.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You knelt beside him to help untangle the mess, but his hands caught yours mid-reach.

“Wait,” he said, tone suddenly softer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Look at me.”

And so you did - the colored lights reflected in his wide, earnest eyes, and the grin turned into something tender. “I’m really glad you’re here. Christmas doesn’t feel like Christmas unless it’s with you.”

“Damn!” Stephen scrambled up, nearly tripping over the lights as he rushed back to the stove. He managed to save the cocoa just in time, or rather save the entire kitchen, before pouring it into two mismatched mugs with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

“Hot cocoa averted,” he carried the mugs over to the couch. He handed you one with an extra flourish, showing off the mountain of whipped cream and the tiny marshmallows balanced precariously on top. “Only the finest for my favorite person.”

You took it, snuggling into his side as you both sat beneath the glowing tree, now fully lit thanks to your earlier teamwork. He pulled a plate of cinnamon rolls from the coffee table and offered you one, his voice dipping into something playful as he said, “Made with my own two hands… and by that, I mean I picked them up from the bakery this morning. But it’s the thought that counts, right?”

“Absolutely,” you grinned, taking a bite of the sugary goodness.

Stephen watched you, his expression soft as snow. “Merry first day of Christmas, babe” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne

[604to647]

Holidays in the 604

Hope everyone has been having a good holidays so far, however that looks for you or best suits your sensibilities 🥹🥰🫂🎄🎄

I started to write write some HCs for what the holidays might look like for the couples in a few of my series (Safest with You, The Rockford Portfolio, etc.) but for reasons below the cut, haven't had much energy or motivation to write (no need to read, it's a bit of a downer and kind of rambly!) - I'm hoping that I can find a little bit of both in the next few days and maybe get some thoughts down to still post.

For those same reasons, I haven't been on here much, to my detriment if I'm being honest - this place is a source of escapism for me and not being able to come on here for more than a few minutes a day has felt a bit offputting. I feel like I've missed a lot of amazing holiday stories that would have likely boosted my spirits a bit - I'll try to go back and find them but if you have or read any that you wish to recommend/share, please do let me know!

Similarly, thank you to everyone for your tags/mentions/asks - I want to get to them and maybe still participate in a few tag games if it's not too late when I muster up some energy. Thank you for thinking of me!! I truly wish that you all continue to have a lovely holiday season and look forward to ringing in the new year! You're all such a welcomed presence in my life and I'm grateful to each and every one of you for being here! Hope to see you soon 🥹 KISS KISS 😘😘

Ok, now as to why Emily has a bit of the holiday blues this year:

I didn't grow up with a lot of hard set Christmas traditions, celebrations around the end of the year didn't go much beyond the commercial and the holiday season was mainly appreciated for being time off (from school, work), a time to rest and relax. There was cheer and joy, but as the kids say these days, it wasn't that deep. I've since married into a family that puts A LOT of pressure on Christmas - with an emphasis on physical togetherness and adhering to traditions/customs, that (to me anyways) can feel at times more performative than enjoyable; I totally understand the comfort in doing things the way they've always been done, but a lot of times it feels like people are just checking things off a list rather than genuinely enjoying (for example) baking the Christmas cookies, you know what I mean? Couple that with my priorities for my kiddos' Christmas, the way we spend Christmas now can feel a lot like a season of obligation. Depending on what the particular plan is for that year, it can also be incredibly hard, draining, and not all that jolly for me.

This was one of those years.

I hosted the big Christmas dinner at my house and also had those from out of town staying with us for a week. I'm a Virgo who thinks of her home as her sanctuary, am a bit fastidious about her things, and sees value in being forthright. It's a lot for me to have people taking over my house, making messes, and pushing/crossing boundaries that I've tried to set due to previous visits, all while maintaining a certain level of holiday cheer and slapping on a facade of "it's fine" when I definitely don't feel that way. I'll admit I wasn't always successful this past week.

Mr. 604 is very supportive and knows his family can be a lot, but at the end of the day a) he's just a man 😂 (and not a miracle worker) and b) they are his family and he himself has had to "grin and bear" a great many things over the course of his life, so he has more practice at it but doesn't necessarily have any advice to impart on how to better cope with the chaos.

It makes me feel like a curmudgeon for not being able to suck it up more and pretend for the sake of the kids, or even to help maintain this performance of "family togetherness" that seems to be the whole point of whatever the heck everyone was doing. So this holiday season has thus far been exhausting, filled with guilt, and left me feeling a bit empty.

I am okay and recovering now, it will just take a few days I think. If you read this far - thank you! I just needed to rant a little bit - I don't feel much like myself these days and that in itself can be depressing, especially at a time when I'm supposed to be experiencing the opposite. Here's to some rest, some quiet, some peace in the last few days of 2024 for myself, Mr. 604, and anyone else who needs it! 🤞🏻🥰

[magical-girl-trucy]

SO who's ready for my completely out there "okay but hear me out—" AU I've been brainstorming and have already written over 1000 words for?

Franziska von Karma adopts Athena after Metis' death.

(ID under read more)

HEAR ME OUT I PROMISE THERE'S A REASON.

Basically this world's version of events has Franziska on behalf of Interpol looking into the HAT-1 Miracle due to suspicious of international sabotage. Because Franziska von Karma is thorough and does not leave any stone unturned, she looks a little into UR-1, as it had happened a mere few days before and there may be a connection. What she finds from the actual case files is frustrating from how little care went into the trial...So screw it, she'll go directly to the source the trial had ignored: the little girl who had witnessed the crime.

While trying to glean any information that she can out of her, Franziska is reminded of how DL-6 similarly had effected her family and how her little brother was still struggling with it. And Athena's current legal guardian (Aura) in this mess is pissing her off so much in the amount of sheer hatred Aura exhibits and Franziska is definitely not projecting how dare you accuse her of that she has exactly 0 problems.

So one thing leads to another and now this child is now under Franziska's care.

Athena likes Franziska because Franziska doesn't talk down to her and while Fran isn't nice she is genuine and listens to her

[Image ID: A bunch of miscellaneous digital doodles. The top shows messy bust shots of child Athena and Franziska von Karma, followed by Athena sitting with her knees up against her chest. She's saying "You…believe me?" Next is two small doodles of Athena, one of her holding up a drawing of Franziska, the other her mumbling "Sorry, I have a hard time talking sometimes."

The next doodle, which takes up most of the page, is two drawings of Franziska and Aura Blackquill. Blackquill is saying "The fuck are you, a social worker?" before she turns around saying "Whatever, I don't care. I already have the paperwork ready. Do whatever you want with the princess." Franziska gets an angry expression and thinks to herself "The next time I see you, I'm going to whip you senseless."

The next doodle is of Franziska clenching her fist and saying to herself, "That foolish Phoenix Wright thinks he can make a fool out of me? How dare he! I shall prove my superiority by being the perfect guardian to this child."

The bottom of the page has two more doodles. The left one is Franziska guiding Athena while they walk somewhere. The right, and final, doodle is Edgeworth with a hand in his hand with a baffled and confused expression. Kay is next to him, completely shocked. Edgeworth says, "First Wright, then Franziska?!" Kay says, "SHE GOT A KID?! Damn, who's next on the adoption list?!" Underneath them is additional text in parenthesis that says "Kay is next." End ID]