#but even if this is the case it still doesn’t excuse that he hasn’t been mentioned at all in any project after being cap for over 2 years

[bbyboybucket]

I’ve seen a lot of people saying Sam’s not included in What If? bc Mackie is too busy to voice him. So do y’all think that maybe in his contract, it says he’s the only person who’s allowed to play/voice Sam? Bc thats the only logical explanation….or at least the only one I would accept

#unless they’re actually just the biggest assholes on the planet #and I think that the only other people who aren’t voiced by og actors are characters that are dead/gone in the main universe? #idk for sure though so don’t take my word for it #but even if this is the case it still doesn’t excuse that he hasn’t been mentioned at all in any project after being cap for over 2 years #I’m just trying to speculate bc I actually can’t wrap my head around him not appearing except for as a zombie #when tons of other characters even very small side ones have appeared #sam wilson #anthony mackie

[aquaquadrant]

Philophobia

Word Count: 5,271 Warnings: Shipping, inappropriate/crude humor, paranormal activity, suspense/mild horror, descriptive kissing, mild language Summary: For architecture major and paranormal skeptic Grian, his friends’ after-hours ghost hunting group was just an excuse to spend time with his crush, Scar, without having to actually ask him out. But one fateful night, he finds there just might be things in this world that are scarier than emotional vulnerability… even if only by a very slim margin.

A/N: Did someone ask for a Phasmophobia-inspired Scarian au? Oh yeah, my friend @lunarcrown did! Inspired by the art she made here.

So this is kind of a modern-day college au (not set within the fictional universe of Minecraft), howEVER there are some fantasy aspects in that non-human species (like mob hybrids/monsters) still exist cuz they’re fun and I’m not giving anyone a normal modern name cuz that’s too weird. This is only Phasmophobia-inspired in that GIGS have a ghost-hunting group that functions the same way, but rarely find any conclusive evidence, and don’t have unlimited lives cuz they aren’t playing a game. With that out of the way, hope y’all enjoy, please reblog/comment if u do! - Aqua

~*~

Philophobia

~*~

“I think this is gonna be the one, guys,” Impulse says, turning their van into the driveway.

The suspension creaks as they roll over gravel, rattling the frame in a way that hums through Grian’s hollow bones. His arm is cold where it presses against the window; it’s almost sunset and Impulse has yet to get the van’s heater fixed despite his promises. Stupid demon blood keeping him warm while Grian shivers in the stupid custom pleather jumpsuit that Scar insisted they had made, for their stupid ‘brand’ as a stupid ghost-hunting group. Great, his stupid zipper’s come down again- he stubbornly zips it back up because unlike Scar, he doesn’t like constantly having his bare chest out on display.

Of course, he hasn’t got as much to show off as Scar, who must be getting up at 3 am every morning to work out in order to maintain all that muscle. No wonder Scar prefers to keep his zipper down to his belly button, and doesn’t seem to have ever met a shirt that fits him properly.

… Not that Grian’s ever paid much attention to that sort of thing. 

Grian gives an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been saying that about every case we’ve had for three years!”

“No, no, I really mean it!” Impulse insists. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Yeah,” Scar agrees, leaning forward so his shoulder brushes against Grian’s, “you know Impulse bones good!”

The earnest nature of his statement- and the unexpected physical contact- makes Grian flush. “Scar!” he shrieks, swatting Scar’s shoulder.

“What?” Scar defends. “What, he- he’s got big and strong bones, wonderful bones…”

He acts as if he’s got no idea he said something that could be taken the wrong way. And if it weren’t for the upturned corners of his mouth and the barely-restrained laugh in his voice, Grian might actually believe him.

“Dude,” Skizz chuckles from the front seat, “shut up, that’s awesome.”

Impulse sighs. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “the place recently had a change in ownership. Previous owner passed away-”

“From murder?” Scar gasps.

Another sigh. “No, from liver failure.”

Grian snorts. “From all the drinking he did to forget about the ghostly hauntings?” he presses, exchanging a cheeky grin with Scar.

“No,” Impulse says, with the patience of a saint, “just normal old-age organ failure. The guy was ancient, and some kinda recluse. House had been in his family since it was built, but uh, he had no living relatives, no will when he died. So the bank took ownership and it’s been sitting off-market for like, fifteen years, til some hot-shot investor thought he could flip it-”

“Ughh,” Grian groans, tipping his head back against the seat. “Investors are the worst-”

“I know, I know,” Impulse soothes, “but um, he’d barely begun when things started happening. Contractors reported it day one, then the owner experienced an event himself and called us. So it’s basically still untouched.”

They haven’t even reached the end of the driveway yet, passing by seemingly endless rows of tall, gnarled pines. Admittedly, Grian’s curiosity is piqued. When he agreed to join this stupid ghost hunting group three years ago, he didn’t do so in the hopes of actually discovering any real paranormal activity. The whole idea is laughable. Ghost hunting is a pseudoscience, at best. Just a bunch of idiots scaring themselves silly in an empty house- and now they’re the idiots! Even their name is stupid: Ghost Investigation Group Services, or GIGS, embroidered on their ill-fitting pleather jumpsuits.

But despite his outright skepticism and dislike for pulling late nights in his already extremely limited free time, Grian’s got one very good reason for agreeing to join.

And his name is Scar.

Grian spent half a semester pining away at the fellow architecture major from across the lecture halls of their many shared classes. Charismatic and easy on the eyes, it was inevitable that Grian would develop a bit of a crush. But as they spent more time together during class projects and conversations in the hallway, he found out just how kind-hearted and passionate Scar was, and how easy he was to talk to, and how strong his arms looked in long-sleeved shirts…

… Yeah, ‘crush’ perhaps isn’t the right word.

So when Impulse- the engineering major who Grian was partnered with for physics lab- got the brilliant idea to start a ghost-hunting group with his best friend and roommate Skizz, and Scar expressed interest in joining, Grian made a split-second decision in a moment of weakness. He maintained his skepticism, claiming that he wanted to tag along just to prove how silly the whole idea was. Impulse was fine with it, while Scar said Grian had to wear the same uniform as them, and the rest was history.

(To be fair, that was before Grian knew it’d be a pleather jumpsuit.)

So here they are now nearly three years later, rumbling down a long gravel road in the dark and cold, up late on a Saturday night even though he still isn’t finished with his condominium model that’s due at 8 am on Monday and he’s fresh out of popsicle sticks. Moments like these almost make Grian wish he could just ask a guy out like a normal person, so they could spend time together without chasing pretend ghosts around dusty houses all night.

But that’d require him to talk about his feelings. Ugh, he’d rather let the ghosts get him.

“Alright.” Impulse slows the van to a halt. The doors unlock with a heavy clunk. “What do you guys think?”

Grian isn’t expecting much when he glances out the window. But the sight that greets him immediately prompts a hasty exit from the vehicle, scarcely noticing the sudden chill, his jaw dropping open in awe.

It’s a Victorian. Not a house that someone has mistakenly called ‘Victorian’ just because it looks old. A genuine, honest-to-goodness, Queen Anne’s style two-story Victorian manor with an asymmetrical facade and a rounded corner tower and a generous wrap-around porch, silhouetted against the fading light of the evening sky.

Grian reaches for his flashlight. Sweeping over the exterior, his breath catches. Knots of ivy creep up the walls, and there are a few places where the intricate wood trim has been lost to previous repairs and weather damage. A couple of the windows are bricked up. Most of the paint is faded and peeling. But overall? It’s beautiful.

“Oh man,” Grian murmurs, pushing his glasses back up, “look at the shape of it... look at the dormers!”

A second beam of light joins in; Scar’s emerged from the van. “Lots of character,” he says, sounding similarly entranced. “And still in great condition! Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s enough to make a man cry.”

Impulse hops out of the driver’s seat, chuckling. “I knew you two would like it. It’s an ‘85.”

Grian gives an appreciative whistle. “Look, I still don’t think we’re gonna find anythin’,” he says with a sideways look at Scar, “but I gotta tell ya… if- if I were a ghost… I think I’d haunt a proper house like this. Not those builder-grade boxes in the suburbs.”

“Right?” Impulse says, his forked tail flicking through the air. “That’s what I’m sayin’... I uh, I think this place has real potential.”

Skizz, who’s come around the van to stand with them, nods thoughtfully. “Definitely somethin’ special ‘bout it, that’s for true,” he says, exchanging a look with Impulse. Then he claps his hands together. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get movin’!”

Impulse and Skizz turn towards the van, heading to open the back.

Grian stares after them, squinting suspiciously. That wasn’t just any look. That was a Look. A Look that he knows all too well. They had that same Look on their faces at last year’s frat mixer, when they rigged the speakers at the Heta Kappa house to play ‘Margaritaville’ every time someone flushed a toilet.

It means that they’re Up To Something.

… Grian’s sure he’ll find out sooner or later.

“Well, Grian,” Scar says, hands on his hips as he surveys the property, “if it’s any connotation, at least we’ll get to study some real architecture tonight.”

Grian gives him a bemused look. “Consolation?”

Scar blinks. “Cono- what, what’d I say? Con- coronation?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, ey,” Grian chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

~*~

“Check it out, dude,” Skizz calls excitedly, “temp’s dropping in here! Five degrees colder than the rest of the house!”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s an east-facing room and the sun’s only just set, of course it’s colder than the rest of the house,” he says, idly passing his UV glow stick over an armchair. No prints, of course. “I doubt they’ve updated the insulation anytime within the last two decades.”

“And hey, look,” Impulse chimes in from the corner, “I’ve got EMF 1.3!”

Grian doesn’t even look up. “There’s an exposed outlet in here and I’ll bet the wiring’s older than I am. And in any case, it’s still below the recommended threshold.” Ew, okay, now that’s a suspicious UV stain on the floor, but not of the supernatural kind…

“Oh, it’s definitely not up to code,” Impulse agrees. He waves his EMF reader around a bit, making the pitch warble. “But I dunno, I think this must be the ghost’s favorite room. Might not be here right now, but I’m getting some real vibes…”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Sure…” 

Twenty minutes in, and despite the house’s hauntingly elegant construction, it’s been the same old story. The house is empty and quiet, as abandoned houses tend to be. Quite sparse, as most of the furnishings probably went to auction. The furniture that’s left is covered with tarps and every surface is coated with a fine layer of dust. He can smell mold somewhere in the floorboards and there’s apparent water damage in the ceiling.

The only renovation attempted thus far was the removal of some cheap linoleum tiles that were laid in the kitchen at some point- a renovation Grian can heartily agree with, there’s some absolutely gorgeous hardwood underneath- but they didn’t get far. The removed tiles are still sitting about in a haphazard pile, hammer and chisel abandoned on the floor beside them. Frantic footsteps smeared in the dust and powder paint the scene of a terrified contractor fleeing for their life from the reported ‘ghostly hauntings’. 

In any case, they haven’t heard any activity from the spirit box, nothing unusual has stood out on UV, and the salt Impulse laid out is still undisturbed. Surprise, surprise. Grian’s spent most of his time admiring the elaborate wooden trims lining every wall, scuffed as they are. What he wouldn’t give to properly restore this place…

“Hey, Dipple Dop?” Skizz calls suddenly. “Your radio working okay?”

Impulse gives him a curious look. “Huh? What, is there-” He pauses, glancing down at his radio. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, actually, mine’s on the fritz, must be overdue a battery change.”

“Oh?” Grian tilts his head innocently. “You don’t think it’s a ghoooost?”

Impulse purses his lips. “I don’t think everything is a ghost,” he says mildly. He clips the radio onto his belt, turning to the door. “I’ve got extras in the van, hang on…”

“I’ll go, too,” Skizz says quickly, slinging an arm and his wing around Impulse’s shoulders. “Buddy system! You know what, I- I’m tellin’ you, you never split up when hunting ghosts. That’s how they get you, dude.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Grian gives them a warning Look.

They give him a cheeky Look back.

“Yup, yeah, that’s true,” Impulse says with obvious feigned sincerity, steering Skizz out of the room. “So uh, you two keep at it, okay, and we’ll be right back…”

“Oh, okay!” Scar says cheerfully, busy setting up the tripod over in the corner and completely oblivious to their scheme. “Have a great time not getting murdered!”

Grian opens his mouth to protest, but Impulse and Skizz are already gone out the front door. Leaving him and Scar completely alone. Totally by coincidence, surely. Oh, he knew his drunken confession to Impulse at the school’s annual bar crawl fundraiser night would come back to bite him eventually.

It’s almost insulting, in a way. Like they think the only reason Grian hasn’t made a move is because he hasn’t had ample alone time with Scar. Like he needed them to give him an opportunity. But if he’d wanted to confess to Scar, he already would have. He’d have had it well done by now. They could give him a little credit.

See, the thing is, he’s thought about it. Plenty of times, in fact. But the issue he keeps coming back to is that if he tells Scar about his crush on him, then Scar will know about it. There’ll be no going back at that point. And if Scar doesn’t feel the same way- well, Grian can kiss their friendship goodbye. So yeah, no, he doesn’t think he’ll be making any dramatic love confessions tonight, strangely enough.

The risk of an awkward silence developing is astronomical, so Grian clears his throat. “Man… isn’t this place somethin’,” he says, then immediately fights the urge to cringe.

Scar, luckily, gives an emphatic nod. “It is, it truly is amazing.” He straightens up, dusting his hands off as he turns to Grian. “You know who’d really love this place, is Gem?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Grian agrees. He busies himself with the UV, so he’s not just standing around. “We should take some pictures for her.”

“Oh, good idea!” Giving the tripod a final once-over, Scar wanders over to Grian. “So, any fingering goin’ on, yet?”

Grian nearly drops his glow stick. “Sorry- any what?!” he screeches, whirling around on Scar.

“You know, ghost fingers!” Scar says, perfectly innocent. He holds his hands up, wiggling his fingers in demonstration. “On the- on the glowy light?”

Grian takes a deep breath, face burning. “Oh Scar, buddy, you gotta think through your words better before you say them, alright?”

“Whaaat?” Scar pretends like he doesn’t know. “What, I’m just- you’ve got the stick, you know, little glow stick for when the ghost touches, uh-”

“Nevermind,” Grian groans. “Anyways, no, I haven’t found any ghostly handprints and I never will, because ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar folds his arms. “Well, hey, maybe the ghost is just polite! You know, he- maybe he’s just minding his business, not touching anything or- or anyone. Just because we don’t get anything on UV doesn’t mean ghosts aren’t real, I’ll have you know.”

Grian sees the challenge for what it is. “Alright…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his spirit box. Holding the transponder to his lips, he belts out, “Where ahhre yewww?” in his best imitation of an over-exaggerated pop-punk accent. If Impulse and Skizz are eavesdropping through their radios, he hopes he gave them a start.

Scar laughs. “Oh man, been a while since I heard that one! You-”

I’m close.

Grian jumps so badly he nearly drops the box, his wings puffing out involuntarily. “What?! Wha- who said that?” he demands, spinning around.

Scar blinks at him. “What? Did you hear something through the box?”

“I- I dunno?” Grian says uncertainly. The box seems to be working as normal; when he holds the receiver down, there’s a faint hiss of static, and the bulb remains white. No further noises come from the speaker.

After a couple seconds of tense listening, Grian feels silly. Way to play it cool. He switches the box off with an exasperated sigh. “No, of course I didn’t hear anything through the box. Like I said, ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar hums noncommittally. “Oh, Grian... you know, there are some things in the world that can’t be explained.” 

Grian snorts. “Oh, yeah? Well, I- I got a few explanations for ya.” He counts on his fingers. “It could’ve been this old house creaking in the wind, or an electrical surge causing feedback through the transponder, or- or, not to mention, Impulse and Skizz pranking us through the radio?”

Scar snickers. “That does sound like something they’d do, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah.” Grian slips the box back into his pocket. “And y’know, being in a creepy abandoned house, after dark, out in the middle’a nowhere... it’s easy to think you’re hearin’ things.”

Scar rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. “I know, I know, so you’ve told me. But one of these days, mister, you’re gonna eat your words.”

“Right,” Grian drawls. “I’m so scared…”

The front door slams shut.

That makes Grian pause. They always leave the front door open while out on a job. It saves time when they have to go back and forth from the van, and saves battery life on their radios when they can just shout to each other through the open doorway. Obviously this job is a little different, because Impulse and Skizz have clearly got it in their heads to try and get him and Scar together, but he wouldn’t think they’d go so far as to-

The lights suddenly flicker and go out. But in the split-second before they do, Grian sees a shadowy figure silhouetted against the door.

Pure instinct takes over. Grian spins on his heel, grabs Scar by the arm, and absolutely flies down the stairs to the basement. He knows they’ve disturbed one or two piles of salt but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. His wings are bumping against the walls and he’s certainly never tried carrying someone as big as Scar before but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even process the ache of it rattling through his body. He bursts into the basement, feathers flying, and careens towards the back of the room, around a tall shelving unit, and into the corner.

There’s a heap of boxes stacked up in this corner; Grian unceremoniously shoves Scar over top of them, dropping him in the narrow space between the boxes and the wall. He’s wedged in as far as he can himself, laying across the boxes, his double pair of wings preventing him from squeezing in beside Scar. He’s still got the UV light clenched in his fist, he realizes belatedly- he braces his forearms against the wall to try and cover it, fanning his wings out behind him to block it out from the rest of the room. Glancing back over his shoulder, he tries to gauge how much light is getting through when a noise makes him freeze.

Footsteps.

They’re soft and light- certainly not the heavy boots of Impulse or Skizz. No, they sound almost barefoot. And as they gently tap down the stairs, the sound of giggling fills the air. It’s a feminine voice. Young, like a child. Like a little ghostie girl is prancing down the stairs to murder them.

Grian thinks he might pass out. Can ghosts actually kill people? How would they do it if they’re incorporeal? He’s never considered the question before, he never thought he’d have to because it’s ridiculous, ghosts aren’t real, of course they can’t kill people-

The footsteps stop. 

Grian isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. He doesn’t dare move. A chill runs up his spine, making every single feather stand on end. He can almost hear the high-pitched violins that would be playing right now if this were a horror movie; the cheesy, overdrawn kind of horror movies that are always playing at the drive-in that the four of them watch while piled into the back of the van in a tangle of limbs and spilled popcorn and oh god he’s spiraling now because he’s about to be killed by a ghost-

Bye-bye!

The chill recedes. Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he sees the faint glow of light from upstairs return.

It’s over.

Grian’s mind is spinning. What was that? What was that? It seems impossible, it doesn’t even feel real to be in this situation right now but he is, there was a ghost, there was a ghost. It feels insane to even think it. But the residual adrenaline coursing through his body reminds him it was very real, he just encountered a ghost.

A ghost! Oh, after three years of very loudly decrying the entire concept as rubbish. He can’t believe it. He really can’t believe it, this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen tonight. Ghosts are real. Ghosts are really, really, real. He doesn’t know what to do, who would ever believe him? Is this how the others have been feeling this whole time? God, he can’t believe this-

“G...?” Scar’s voice pipes up hesitantly. “What... what are we doing?”

Oh, right. Grian glances down at Scar- and his heart jolts. He’d been so focused on getting away from the ghost, he’d acted without thinking, so only now does he realize the... predicament he’s put them in.

Scar’s slumped against the floor beneath him, head tucked just below Grian’s arms. His long legs are still draped over the box that Grian’s laying across, resting on either side of his waist. And due to the odd posture Grian’s in, his chest has been thrust rather close to Scar’s face, lit by the soft purple glow of the UV.

This is probably the closest Grian has ever been to sitting in Scar’s lap.

Grian’s not proud of the yelp that escapes him. “Sorry, sorry!” His wings flail as he struggles to push himself off of the wall, stumbling back onto his feet. It’s clumsy and uncoordinated and he nearly falls backwards, his heart pounding.

Scar manages a laugh, easing himself up off the floor. “No, no, it’s okay, I- I just... what- why’d you bring us down here?” he asks, dusting off his jumpsuit.

Grian catches his breath. “Wait, you... didn’t hear the creepy ghost on its way to kill us?” he asks, frowning.

Scar‘s eyes widen. “What? There was a ghost?”

No way.

“Are you-!” Grian throws his arms up. “Honestly, I- I know avians have better hearing than most but that’s insane. She was laughing! Laughing and skipping down the blumin’ steps! And you didn’t hear any of it?”

“No…?” Scar shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, okay! I- I don’t know, I was- a lot was happening, you- you’re grabbin’ me, pulling me down the stairs and into this little corner, I didn’t know what was going on! I didn’t know, I- I was all disconbodulated- disco- bobo, bobumated? I was a little distracted, okay. Jeeze, give a man a break…”

“Distracted?” Grian repeats incredulously. “You’re the one who actually believes in ghosts, here, how could you get distracted? What do you…”

He trails off. Scar is very clearly fighting to avoid looking at Grian, but for the briefest moment, his eyes dart down to Grian’s chest. Suddenly confused, Grian follows his gaze, and-

Oh, for goodness sakes. At some point during his frantic flight, the stupid zipper on his stupid jumpsuit came down again, exposing a frankly scandalous amount of skin. Not Scar-level of scandalous, but pretty close.

Grian immediately feels himself turn red. “Oh. Uh- right,” he hastily pulls the zipper back up, “sorry ‘bout that…”

Wait. Wait just a second. 

Scar was distracted from a literal ghost hunt going on... because Grian’s bare chest was showing? Does that... does that mean he liked it? 

Scar’s avoiding his gaze again. His cheeks are tinted pink.

“Scar...?” Grian ventures carefully. “Were you... lookin’ at my chest?”

Scar’s cheeks darken. “Ah, I- I- don’t- I mean, why would you- I didn’t mean to, it’s just...” He fumbles for the words. “What- what am I- hey, your pecs were basically in my face! I wasn’t trying to look, I- I just-”

“Scar,” Grian says, keeping his voice light and teasing, “did ya… did you like what you saw?”

Scar splutters for a moment. “Well, sure, Grian,” he tries to laugh it off, “I mean, anyone- anyone with eyes can see you’re uh, you know, you’re- you’re pretty attractive. I- I’m secure enough to say it, I don’t care, it’s- sure, of course, you’re very muscular! You’re a- you’re a muscular man, it’s just not always obvious with the sweaters you wear. Or- sorry, you call them jumpers in Britain land, right, they’re jumpers-”

“You been checkin’ me out, Scar?” Grian asks, caught somewhere between playfulness and utter disbelief.

“Uh...” Scar rubs the back of his neck. He exhales slowly, clearly debating with himself. “I... maybe? What... what would you say... if that were the case?”

Grian swallows. His heart is absolutely racing now, and he’s broken into a cold sweat that’s definitely not supernatural in origin. The air between them feels fragile; he’s acutely aware that a single word from him could swiftly plunge them back into the realm of safe familiarity, of casual light-hearted teasing between friends. Scar’s always said things that bordered on the flirtatious, and Grian can hide behind the plausible deniability of teasing. This entire interaction doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be easily moved past and forgotten.

And yet, strangely enough… Grian doesn’t want it to. Maybe it’s the post-haunting adrenaline or the fact that he could’ve died tonight, but all of a sudden, he feels like taking a chance. Like he could finally say what he’s wanted to say for the last three years. He managed to hold his own against a blumin’ ghost, for goodness sakes- he should be able to face his own feelings head on.

He takes a breath. “I’d say that’s a relief… ‘cause I’ve been checkin’ you out since day one of first year.”

Scar stares at him for a long moment. His expression is utterly unreadable. The silence draws on long enough that Grian feels a spike of panic, worried that maybe he’s mishandled the situation-

 “... oh my god,” Scar says finally. “Really?”

It sounds like the good kind of surprise. Grian offers a shy smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he admits. “I- Scar, I know I’m real good at playin’ these things close to the vest, but uh, I- I’ve had a massive crush on you since... basically since the day we met.”

“Huh.” Scar blinks. “You’re serious. You- you’re not pranking me right now?”

That startles a laugh out of Grian. “No! Scar, I don’t- we just survived being hunted by a ghost, I’m not pranking you!”

“Well, that’s- that’s amazing!” A grin spreads across Scar’s face- and man, oh man, does he have just the most wonderful smile. “Oh my gosh, G, I don’t- you don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Yeah, me too!” Grian laughs, half-dazed and half-giddy, running a hand through his hair. “I- I even- look, the whole reason I even joined this group was as an excuse to hang out with you!”

Scar’s mouth falls open. “No way! That’s- that’s the whole reason I joined in the first place, too!”

Now it’s Grian’s turn to gawk. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not!” Scar insists, “I swear, I’m not- Impulse said he wanted to start the group and maybe we’d all join and get to hang out and I thought ‘hey, ghosts are cool and Grian is cool’ so I just-”

“Oh, I can’t believe this…” Grian groans, hiding his burning face in his hands. “We really are idiots, we’ve wasted nearly three years…”

Scar’s hands close around Grian’s wrists, lightly pulling them down from his face. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he says smoothly, leaning in.

Corny, but Grian will allow it. He closes the gap, tilting his head up to meet Scar’s lips.

In that moment, everything else fades away. All the nervousness, all the second-guessing, even the bombshell discovery of the existence of ghosts- there could be one standing in front of them right now and Grian wouldn’t care. The way Scar gathers Grian in his arms, hands gently roving through his feathers- it’s bliss. It’s perfect.

Scar kisses him strong and purposefully, with no trace of carelessness or haste. He doesn’t rush. There’s intent written into every single movement, jaw working to deepen the kiss. Grian curls against him, hands splayed across Scar’s chest. He can feel Scar’s heart pounding through his flushed skin, and it’s wildly exciting- to think Scar is just as breathless as he is. 

Growing bold, Grian dares to slip his tongue into Scar’s mouth, and the noise he makes- part surprise, part delight- sends pure electricity fizzling up his spine. His mind is starting to drift away from him, lost in the sensation of weightlessness, of floating, that almost makes him feel like he’s gone completely incorporeal- like his own spirit has become untethered from the mortal coil.

Then Skizz’s voice comes down the stairs.

“G-Sharp! Scarface! You down here? We just saw a freaking ghost on the cams, and- oh my god!”

Grian breaks away from Scar, but not quick enough. He turns to see Skizz and Impulse standing at the bottom of the stairs, expressions shocked. And then, as if they’d rehearsed it, they both break into massive shit-eating grins and spin around to high-five each other.

“Woo!” Impulse cheers. “We got ‘em! Ladies and gentlemen, we finally got them.”

“Yeah, baby!” Skizz pumps his fist in the air. “Oh, I love it!”

“Oh, would you two stop it?” Grian huffs, but he’s not really cross. Hard to be cross when he’s on cloud nine. “The ghost did most of the work, alright?”

“That’s right,” Scar sniffs, winding an arm around Grian’s waist. “You know, I- I’m startin’ to think you all were in cahoots! Cahoots, I say!”

“Dude, if only,” Skizz laughs, walking over to clap them on the shoulders. “Could not have planned it better, that’s amazing. Well done, gentlemen!”

“Yeah, it’s about time!” Impulse adds, crossing his arms. “I was starting to think we’d graduate before either of you fessed up, I- I had to take drastic measures…”

“Impulse,” Grian says warningly, “if you’re about to tell me you started this whole paranormal investigation group just as a way to push me and Scar into confronting our feelings, I swear-”

“No, no,” Impulse assures him, chuckling. “I really do like the ghost-hunting deal, don’t worry. But uh, we did deliberately ditch you guys in the hopes that something would happen.”

Scar waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, things happened, alright.”

“Scar!” Grian swats at him, but he’s laughing and it feels good. It feels right. After all this time spent worrying about worst-case scenarios, about denying his feelings for the sake of maintaining the comfortable mundanity of his comfortable life, it turns out the scariest part was the fear itself.

The irony doesn’t escape his notice. A bit on the nose, if he’s honest.

“But in even bigger news,” Impulse graciously continues, “you saw the ghost? And you believed it? You, Mr. Non-Believer in all things ghostly?”

Grian sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know…”

“This is incredible!” Skizz claps his hands together. “Okay, okay, we gotta go cleanse the area and I wanna hear everything, got it? Don’t leave a single detail out!”

Grian slips his hand into Scar’s as they follow Impulse and Skizz back up the stairs. “Yeah, alright,” he relents. He supposes he’s due for a lot of ‘I told you so’s’. But really, it’s a small price to pay for the life-altering knowledge that ghosts are real… and for finally finding the courage to believe in something extraordinary.

Scar hums. “Wait, details about the ghost or about the kissing?”

“Scar!”

~*~

#hermitcraft #hermitshipping #scarian #my writing #listen i am only a casual phasmo enjoyer and idk anything about architecture school pls don't come for me abt any inaccuracies #just here for a good gay spooky time #wanted to see if i'd be any good at writing commissions (ie. solely based off someone else's idea) and i had FUN #but it's always easy to be inspired by mel <3

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ the most dangerous thing is to love ❞ ─ a darling, in any life blurb

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader. summary: the red thread between two people destined to be together may stretch and tangle, but those ties will never break. or: you almost lose him over the most silly of insecurities. content warnings: i'm thinking none. you can tell me otherwise though. word count: 500+

aaron hasn’t been the same the past week, you knew there was a problem and he wasn’t speaking on it, that couldn’t be good, he was never the type to shy away from saying what bothered him, especially to you. you knew each other too long, from too way back to keep secrets. 

he’s at your couch, sweats, t-shirt, socks. it’s friday night but there’s still files on your coffee table he’s looking over. everything about it is completely ordinary, domestic. but he’s too silent, too absorbed in his own mind. not once did he glance over to you like he usually does, a reassuring smile telling you he enjoyed the quietness. 

you leave the papers you’re grading at the desk, going to him ready to get answers, even if you didn’t enjoy what they could be, you can see the surprise on his face as you kneed in front of him, taking his hands on yours as you searched for his eyes. “hey, what’s wrong?”

he has that look on his face like he’s about to lose something and he’s trying to hold on to it as much as he can and that doesn’t help your nerves in the slightest. aaron pulls you up with ease, getting you to sit on the coffee table filled with papers so you can talk face to face. 

“you’ve managed to avoid meeting jack more than once now and that worries me.” oh. you open your mouth countless times trying to come up with some sort of excuse that didn’t actually exist, eyes blinking so fast you couldn’t hide how nervous and surprised you were. “i—i love you and i want you, us. i want a family for him, for jack. he’s front and center always and—” 

interrupting him with your index finger was your way to show him he didn’t need to make his case on this. that was the first time he told you he loved you and it felt like a goodbye and it was your fault for being… silly.

“i’m too scared he’ll hate me.” your voice is nothing but a whisper, children were never part of your life, you were an only child and then a driven working woman, the friends you had who became moms would soon have conflicting schedules and fall out of touch. if jack hated your guts you and aaron could never work it out. 

the relief he feels is so loud he actually has to sigh before chuckling and pulling you in to his lap, hugging you so tight you can barely breath. “he’s not going to. i promise you, he’s the sweetest kid, really.”

you nod furiously, ready to make things right, "we could go back to your place tomorrow? go to the movies, maybe?"

"anything you want, honey."

"i love you too, by the way." it isn't ideal, and it wasn't the most romantic way to declare it. but in a way you always loved each other and you both always knew it.

"oh good, i was sweating for a minute here."

#lari writes sometimes #jo reminded me blurbs can be small so #aaron x reader #aaron x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch imagine #hotch scenario

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-six of fic NaNoWriMo, obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Kon takes the bag, then peeks inside it with a puzzled little frown. Tim, again, makes a note to buy him more stuff. Kon is gonna expect presents every time he sees him, by the time he’s done with him. Because Kon deserves nice things and also–well–

Well, actually . . . okay, it’s not actually going to be necessary for Tim to get Kon a present every single time he sees him, admittedly, just . . . well. He wants to, he guesses. Wants Kon to feel valued for once in his fucking life, since as far as he can tell no one has ever actually gone to any effort whatsoever to make him feel like that. Like–ever. Not even once. 

If Tim maybe spoils him a little in the process, well–that’s only balancing out the bullshit, isn’t it? 

“Oh,” Kon says, his eyes widening a little in surprise before he frowns in confusion. Tim continues to notice the eyeliner. It’s just a little bit smudged, like maybe Kon’s still learning how to do it right, and it’s also low-key triggering an emotional crisis in Tim’s entire fucking everything, to be honest. “What's . . .?” 

“I mean, it’s a couple of things?” Tim says, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward about his gifting decisions. Choices. Choicisions. “I don’t know if it’s very, uh, romantic, but . . .” 

“‘Romantic’,” Kon repeats in the exact same awkward way he did “flowers”. Tim only doesn’t curl up and die by sheer force of will. 

“Yeah,” he says. Kon stares at him for a long, intent moment, then looks back down into the bag and pulls out the fat little plastic bag of Hawaiian-import gummy candies on top of it. Tim will take any excuse to get calories into him at this point, even if it’s just candy. Chocolates probably would’ve been more date-appropriate, but when he was looking for popular Hawaiian candies, these ones kept coming up. 

“I haven’t seen this brand in months,” Kon says, looking bewildered. “I didn’t even know they sold it on the mainland.” 

“They do not,” Tim says, trying not to look embarrassed. “I ordered it online.”

And also paid for expedited shipping to make sure it’d get here on time. 

“Oh,” Kon says, his cheeks turning just a little pink as he ducks his head and smiles again. Then he glances back down into the bag with a puzzled little frown and tilts his head. “. . . is that a Switch case? What’s that for?” 

“Because there was too much packaging to make you lug around all night but putting a loose Switch in there seemed like a bad idea,” Tim replies reasonably. It’s the Lite, because he still doesn’t know if Kon has either a TV or any real space for one in his room, so Kon can’t possibly worry about it being too expensive like he did with the phones. And even if it weren’t the Lite, it’s still not the OLED, so he thinks he’s doing a great job with the self-restraint, personally. 

“You got me a Switch?” Kon says. Tim continues to not know how to explain how much money he intends to spend on him, so just shrugs.

“Just the Lite. I got you the turquoise, since it doesn't come in green. And an online subscription, so we can play together,” he says. He hasn’t dug his own Switch out in a few months–too much else to do–but he figures if doing that gets Kon to accept the gift and gets him closer to apartment/cul-de-sac territory, it’s not exactly a burden. “I wasn’t sure what kind of games you were into, so I got a few different ones. They’re all in the case, it’s got interior pockets.” 

“I–you–” Kon fumbles a little, then turns red again. “You really wanna play together?” 

Tim wants to throw a lot of people off a lot of roofs. Hard. Just so hard. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Of course I do.” 

Kon gets even redder and shoves the candy back in the bag, looking away. 

“Thanks. That'd be, um–cool,” he says. “Uh–ready to go?” 

“Uh, there's one more thing in there, actually,” Tim admits, a little embarrassed by said thing but also not wanting Kon to miss it and accidentally throw it away later. It's silly, but . . . he doesn't know, he'd just thought it was kind of cute or whatever. 

Maybe “cute” isn't really a Kon thing, but he seemed to like the goat okay, so . . . 

“There is?” Kon peers back into the bag, then digs in through the tissue paper with a curious frown. “What's–oh. Huh.” 

He pulls out the chunky little plastic figure at the bottom of the bag and blinks at it. It's a Superboy toy, not because Tim was deliberately looking for a Superboy toy to give him but because the coincidence when he'd tripped over it had just seemed–fortuitous, he doesn't know. 

“It's a Duplo toy,” Tim supplies. “I mean, it was licensed so I assume you got paid for it at some point, but the set it's from came out while you were off-grid and I don't know how much your manager ever kept you in the loop on those things anyway, plus you said you didn't know what Duplo even was so when I found it I figured you didn't have one. The actual set came with, like, a few different hero characters, but it's sold out and I don't think they've done another run. I just found that little guy being sold solo on eBay.” 

“You got me a toy of myself?” Kon asks, giving him a wry look. 

“Superman's looked stupid,” Tim lies, because he would sooner burn his wallet than buy Superman merch at this point, never mind that he knows the money all goes to either various accredited charities or the Justice League. “Though I guess Supergirl's or Steel's would've been okay. I don't really know how close you are to them, though.” 

“I would say ‘not at all', probably,” Kon says, turning over the toy in his hand and peering more closely at it. “‘Duplo'? So like . . . the kid toys you were talking about at the museum?” 

“Um, yeah,” Tim says. “I mean, you don't really own any childhood stuff, right, so . . . I don't know, I figured why not?” 

“You're a Gothamite, man, you should've gotten me Bat toys,” Kon says, ducking his head with another smile. “Batman wouldn’t approve.” 

“Batman's just an urban legend,” Tim pretends to believe. Kon laughs.

“Please, that's just what you guys say to cops and tourists,” he teases. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement,” Tim says. “Or make any comments on how incredibly inaccurate any nonspecific bat-themed superhero toys that've been commercially produced may or may not be.” 

“Oh yeah?” Kon asks, laughing again. It's that still-unfamiliar bright laugh that Robin's never gotten out of him, and Tim feels some very weird ways about it. Like. Several very weird ways. Many very weird ways. So many. 

Fuck, he's in deep here. But that's not news, so whatever. If Tim had ever once in his life gone to any effort whatsoever to avoid trouble he wouldn't be Robin and Bruce would be an even more vengeful and unhappy asshole who never talked to Dick and probably the Joker would be dead, which would admittedly be a single specific improvement but otherwise would suck. Like, really suck. 

Tim is gonna be a supervillain someday, yeah, but that's a rational decision that he's deliberately making, not a “driven by personal trauma and tragedy” grief response. And Bruce would be absolutely miserable as a supervillain, anyway, plus he'd never be able to convince Dick to go for it and then Dick would have to fight him and it'd be awful and Alfred would never make any of them post-patrol cookies again, which would immediately make this the worst possible timeline. And then someone would have to go trick the Flash into fixing it all and–look, it'd just be very complicated and unnecessary. So being Robin is just a better idea all around, really, and also saves the timeline from any speedsters happening to it. 

Again. 

“I just thought it was cute, I don’t know,” Tim says. “He’s got his little earring and leather jacket and stupid smirk, what can I say, I was endeared.” 

“‘Endeared’, huh?” Kon says with a grin, holding the little figure against his chest. 

“Oh, downright smitten,” Tim deadpans. Kon laughs again. 

“Nerd,” he says in obvious and unexpectedly fond amusement, which reminds Tim of him telling him to kiss him in the department store changing room and gives him a little bit of that whole cliché “butterflies in the stomach” rush. Or possibly batarangs, from how they feel. They might be batarangs. He forces himself to not look weird or sappy and just shrugs. 

“Maybe,” he says. “Anyway. Now I’m ready to go.” 

“Where are we going?” Kon asks curiously, and Tim smiles at him. 

“Somewhere nice, like I promised,” he says. Kon snorts, but doesn’t do anything to hide his own pleased smile. 

“Sure, whatever,” he says as he drops the Duplo figure back into the gift bag, still smiling. “Keep your secrets and lead the way, babe.” 

“I can do that,” Tim says, and then reaches out and catches Kon’s free hand to hold while they walk, lacing their fingers together. Kon turns red again and really smiles at him. His hand still feels too-soft and immeasurably strong, even though Tim knows for a fact that the TTK does more heavy lifting than Kon’s actual muscles do, or even can. No matter how the Kryptonian physiology is or isn’t coming in, the TTK is always gonna be stronger, Tim’s pretty sure. It’s not like it’s not going to get enhanced by the yellow sunlight absorption and the process of Kon’s physical maturation too, after all. 

But anyway, more importantly, he finally came up with a date idea he thinks Kon might like, so . . . 

Well, if Kon doesn’t like it, there’s backup ideas. But–he thinks Kon might like it, at least. It’s kind of weird, but so is Kon and so is he and so are their lives, and also there’ll be a gift shop to buy him stuff at. 

Tim is going to buy out that gift shop if Kon actually likes this date. 

Once Kon's done making fun of him, anyway, which he is definitely gonna do when he realizes what Tim is about to use a fake ID to do. 

. . . maybe he can just pretend to be eighteen, actually. Kon never did read that report he wrote up for him; he doesn't have any way to know how old he actually is. 

Eh, no, that's too weird and also would be annoying to remember without an associated cover. Fuck it, Tim will just live with the teasing, he guesses.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young just us #young justice #rinfic #long post #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

[darkonekrisrewrite]

The Villains (specifically the Lov) Are Right

Especially about the civilians in Bnha

(2 Part Meta Civilians and Lov) (Warning spoilers and long Meta Post) (Permission given to re-blog)

The Lov, specifically the core League of Villains, don’t owe any consideration, atonement or apologies to the civilians in Bnha. Because since long before the Lov had even become villains, even when they were still children, the civilians decided that they don’t owe them anything at all.

Most people I’ve seen in the fandom say something like “I don’t justify or excuse the villain’s actions.”, when it comes to the destructive/murderous parts of the villain’s deeds, which is very nice and moral of them to say.

But as long as we’re talking about the average Bnha civilian, I definitely justify/excuse the Lov’s actions.

Because the “innocent” people in Bnha are awful.

Part 1 The Civilians

That’s not even an opinion really but rather a fact that’s been presented to us clearly, over and over again, in Bnha’s story.

That’s partially why I believe that, even at their worst, the Lov are still worth more than most of the civilians that we’ve been shown so far.

See Past the Labels

“Heroes”, “Villains”, “Innocent People”. All labels that are used frequently over the course of Bnha, but seeing past these, looking beyond what we’re told by the story and instead seeing what we are shown by the story, that’s where the truth is in what these characters are and the effects their actions have on each other.

In Hero stories, saving the innocent/civilians is pretty much a guarantee at any point in time, it’s a prerequisite.

Where in most of those fiction, the civilians (or any large social group of innocents) are shown to definitely be people that should be saved, that it would be a tragedy if even some of them died, no matter the numbers.

But that’s not the case here, because the civilians in bnha aren’t like what you’d normally find in a hero tale, so much so that they’re nearly incomparable to any other series’ “Innocents”.

Looking at them as a whole, they’re more like what you’d find in a horror story.

Starting with one of the largest by the numbers examples:

They’re personifications of the bystander effect/syndrome, taken to the highest degree.

A truth that’s sometimes overlooked is that, while All for One and the Shimura family played a part in making Tenko Shimura the Tomura Shigaraki that he is today, so did all the civilians above. If even a single one of them had tried to help the child that would become the most dangerous villain, no matter how that would have turned out, the person Shigaraki is now would be different, maybe entirely.

Even just one true attempt to aid the scary looking child, instead of leaving it to the heroes who weren’t there, would have made a lasting impact. Just like the civilians choosing not to lift a finger to help left a lasting impact on Shigaraki in the present.

They condemn people for things that aren’t their fault, even when the individual hasn’t done anything wrong:

These are pretty self-explanatory in the point, but these aren’t just examples of ‘bad luck’, they showcase a callous legal system and civilians willing to throw a 16 year old kid under the bus for something that was in no way his ‘stumble’ or fault.

(First Side Point: Twice didn’t turn to a life of villainy because it was his “choice”. There’s been zero evidence of any social help for victims of hero society’s circumstances, so there’s no reason to assume that Twice had any help in supporting himself after his parents died. Twice then getting fired from his low level Job and having a glaring blemish on his record (as shown above ^) was a death sentence for a normal life right then and there, especially considering the setting in hero society (Japanese culture taken to its most socially merciless), it doesn’t really need to be spelled out any more than that why he turned to a life of crime against a society that screwed him over at every level and left him to rot. Between becoming a tragic statistic that the hero state didn’t (and still doesn’t) care about or becoming a villain for the chance at having some kind of life, it’s not really a choice at all. The saying ‘Cool motive still Murder’ comes up sometimes when taking about specific villains in Bnha and my response to that would be: ‘Then Suffer and Die Nobly.’ There is no ‘being better’ because if they were better in their current circumstances, they’d just quickly become a statistic.)

They’d rather someone, even their own children; suffer in silence than be seen as anything but their “normal”:

Toga’s parents might seem like a more ‘personal’ point but they’re actually a prime example of the standard bnha civilian, caring nothing about their own suffering young and only about their own lives and normalcy. Even when Toga was obviously self-harming due to her quirk, something that couldn’t logically have been hidden from them, there was no real attempts to help her with this other than rejection (as evident by the parents stopping taking her height down on the wall when her quirk presumably manifested, clearly meant to be a hint that it was the point that they stopped caring about her) and sending her to “Quirk Counseling”, taking no responsibility in helping their child and taking none after Toga was broken under the weight of what was normal after struggling to hold back for so many years.

This mentality extends past Toga’s parents to most of bnha’s civilians.

When Dabi revealed himself as Toya and exposed the Todoroki family’s past the world, nobody cared. At least not in any way that could be considered ‘caring’.

Endeavor bought and bred his wife, and it’s very debatable whether or not the later ‘child making’ could be considered consensual.

Rei told endeavor that it was “too much” and “too cruel”, all but saying that she didn’t want to have any more children, and in the anime it’s played even more clearly:

This ^ does not seem like consent.

Also letting his first born son burn himself to his apparent death because he couldn’t be bothered to care enough to prevent it.

Endeavor knew Toya was burning himself and he never got him any psychiatric help, even though Toya was already having extreme signs of mental breaks alongside the burning, he never even thought about it.

Even if this failed in stopping Toya, Endeavor just could have pulled some strings as the number 2 hero and gotten Toya Hero tech/equipment/suits, anything that might have helped.

But all Endeavor did was tell Toya to stop and do “other things” and when that failed he simply ignored him, even though he knew his child was literally burning himself.

(Endeavor could be considered an unreliable narrator, I think other great Meta writers have already called him on that, with him telling Natsuo that he never meant to neglect any of his children, which is evident (by how he treated Toya) as complete Bullshit.)

Now do the civilians know all of this down to a T?

No, but even before the Dabi reveal there was more than enough sketchy events surrounding Endeavor to raise eyebrows on anyone paying attention.

A son burning to death alone on a mountain, another son getting a burn scar on his face and a wife in a Mental Hospital, more than a little suspicious. Nobody ever looked into it.

And after the Dabi reveal, after Endeavor confirmed what Dabi said to everyone, this is the only Civilian backlash he gets:

Nobody cared what happened to the Todoroki family; they only cared about how it affected them. The first half of that anger wasn’t even about the Todoroki drama.

And while the mention of Dabi’s victims and their families might seem like consideration, paired alongside everything else the bnha civilians are/do, I really doubt that the line comes from a genuine place of sympathy.

They have no loyalty to their best Heroes:

After everything Deku did for them, they wouldn’t risk a single thing for him. Most of them don’t even look anxious or afraid, just angry at their lives being disrupted.

Telling the kid who nearly worked himself to death, fighting so that they could have their lives back to piss off, while danger sense was being activated implying that they did mean him very real harm.

 Another big point against the Civilians that’s brought up a lot:

They’re violently racist. (Quirk-ist? Anti-Mutant? Basically against anyone very different in their appearance and/or their quirks.)

Mutants are an obvious Allegory for the racism/minority angle of the story, and it never casts the majority of the civilians in a positive light when it’s touched upon.

(Second Side point: Revisiting the end of ‘Side Point One’ because it pairs perfectly here, Shoji Mezo’s “Answer” to the horrible treatment the Heteromorph/mutants face is the opposite of that, and by that I mean Shoji’s answer is pretty much: Aspects of Uncle Tom’s Cabin Syndrome (an American theory/term but a Universal Theme) mixed with the acceptance of hero martyrdom.

His words to the Heteromorphs are this: “Let’s use that light to change the people who hurt us. So that they’ll feel ashamed to ever raise their fists against us again.”

Very inspiring…or at least it would be, were his words not disproven by his own backstory. 

Shoji got his Scars ^ after he saved the little girl, in fact him saving her life was literally the cause of it.

There is no greater way to Shine or be heroic than doing what Shoji did, saving the life of a small child from drowning to death, and for that act the “Innocent People” gave him the Joker facial treatment.

Seriously if there’s a group of people who “don’t deserve to be saved” in Bnha; it is civilians like this.

Yet Shoji’s answer is still to “Be better than mere Avengers” and if they don’t the Heteromorph’s “Children will become the next Target!” as if they weren’t already??

None of it makes sense when looking at the whole picture and it’s clearly not a great plan, to draw another American based parallel that fits too well not to be noticed despite it being American; Shoji Mezo is basically Sturdy Harris from the Boondocks TV Series (freedom ride or die episode).

Look up the character’s wiki info or watch the episode, the fact that Shoji is willing to use violence in some extreme instances might seem a difference between them but the fact that he urges the other Heteromorphs to “be better than avengers” and “use their light to change the people who hurt us until they feel ashamed”, giving no thought as to whether or not his fellow Heteromorphs could even survive living by that standard like he can, fits the comparison to a T.)

Back to the final few points about the Bnha Civilians:

Are the Civilians in Bnha conditioned to be this way, products of influence and circumstance much like the heroes and villains are?

Kind of but not really.

While it is true that there are mountains of propaganda in hero society, there’s nothing specific enough to point to and say that this is why the Bnha civilians are this level of callous. They’re conditioned to love heroes and fear the violent villains they’re fighting, not to ignore the suffering of children (even their own) completely, and they’re definitely not compelled through propaganda to reject them or scar them, nothing in the series is evident of that.

And even worse, all of these examples of the people’s flaws/incidents (excluding the Ordinary Woman Heteromorph) happened during Allmight’s “Era of Peace”, so there’s no shifting the blame onto the villain’s current actions and even less excuse for things like these to be happening.

Why should the Bnha civilians have peace or justice if they’re like this?

If they show no more empathy or loyalty than the worst, most unsympathetic villains in the series (Like AFO) then maybe their point of view shouldn’t be considered any more than his. (And even AFO had some truth in his points: Failed social framework and the Quirk Singularity.)

To draw one final example for the Civilians with another Manga series that has pretty awful ‘ordinary people’ in it: Naruto.

But even in Naruto, the Author still showed that there were good people among the Civs. Population that weren’t like that and that did deserve to be protected and live peaceful lives, people who were outside of the Ninja system and just genuinely humane.

Before Naruto became a hero who saved the village multiple times, before he was even a ninja, they treated him like the human child he was.

These characters deserve their own Meta, other Naruto fans have probably written them already.

But suffice to say that the people who treated right the abandoned and hated child, host to a demon Fox that could casually level mountains, Teuchi Ramen (Owner and Daughter), are an excellent example of giving narrative motivation to “protect the people”.

There’s not much of anything like that in Bnha’s story, not anyone to point at and say; “They are worth saving/protecting!” and having it actually be true instead of just ‘What the hero is supposed to say’.

 And if anyone disagrees with this, I’ll ask: Can one instance of goodwill be pointed to for the Bnha civilians? Any act of compassion, bravery or selflessness from someone in Bnha who wasn’t in anyway associated with heroes?

And no, the Civilians letting Deku stay at UA does not count.

It wasn’t even framed as selfless or compassionate anyway:

This ^ is a deal more than anything else.

Because the heroes (Deku) swore they’d fix things and the people practically made him swear it before they were let in.

Kota and the Ordinary Woman running to stand by Deku was a sweet and great moment but considering that he saved them first, it seemed more like a ‘returning the Favor’ sentiment. Same with the rogue Civillian group helping Shindo after he fought Muscular, more a give it back than a gift.

 Part 2 The Lov

Even at their worst, the Lov still display humanity and redeeming qualities more than most of the civilians.

And I believe that this is 100% truth because Actions/Dialogue without reason for deception and inner thoughts, imply genuine Truth.

Actions:

This ^ scene is referred back to a lot because it’s a good showing of Compassion/Bonds, one of the first really, in the League of Villains, in Toga saving Twice from ‘coming apart’.

Toga has no real reason to comfort Twice as much as she does in this series, in this first instance and in later ones, because aside from one time (no matter how cool and heartfelt it was) in MVA when Twice saves her and the rest of the League, Twice kind of messed things up more than a few times for the Lov.

Bringing Overhaul to meet the Lov without precaution resulting in the death of Magne (even though she herself rushed in recklessly), Twice’s personal hang-ups limiting his Quirk lessening his value to operations overall (from a purely strategic standpoint), and trusting Hawks (because he felt bad for him) so much he gave out Info that definitely shouldn’t have been given.

Yet despite having one singular success in MVA that Twice really pulled through among many other shortcomings, Toga still cared about him. Enough to try to help him hold himself together during the Overhaul business and then later go on a violent, rage filled assault toward the Heroes during the MLA raid after Twice was killed, giving little thought to her own safety.

Dialogue without reason for deception:

While Shigaraki is definitely an unreliable narrator, as evident by the monologue ^ in the bottom panel clearly contradicting what actually happened during the death of his family, the middle panel where he states that he only wants “Them” (definitely the Lov) to live as they see fit seems like the truth.

Because why would Shigaraki lie here? In this time or place to Redestro, someone he presently had no reason to manipulate, as they were in a life or death fight?

Shigaraki couldn’t have known Redestro would surrender, at this point he was talking to someone he fully intended to kill, further dissipating any suspect of manipulation.

Shigaraki does care about his comrades, their wishes and while he hasn’t really kept the promise he made as of current Bnha, I think that’s a result of All for One scrambling his Brain so much during the Mental Fusion stuff, the true Shigaraki barely seeming to know what’s going on half the time and only able to think about his past.

Twice and Spinner: Basically everything about them.

They might not think things through that much, but there’s no doubt that Twice and Spinner were and still are devoted to who they care about, true loyalty in all its successes and faults.

Inner Thoughts:

Dabi is…kind of a dick most of the time, even to the Lov, just to a much lesser extent than to everyone else.

It makes sense that he’d act that way though, given what he’s been through and the end goal of his plans, it’s understandable why he’d want to push everyone away in some form and not let them get too close.

But even underneath all of that, Dabi much like the rest of the core Lov never blamed Twice for his mistakes, and since this is an inner thought and thus having no reason for manipulation, it does imply that this is his honest truth.

Knowing that Twice would blame himself, although he never said it out loud, maybe he couldn’t with all of his own personal hang-ups, Dabi inside probably did want to reassure Twice that none of this was his fault.

The Core Lov do have empathy towards others abandoned and hurt by Hero Society like themselves, and they do care about each other, that is as much as they’re able to care about each other while being weighed on by their own individual issues.

 The hero kid’s parents

Lastly for this Meta, there are parts of Hero Society that shouldn’t ever be destroyed, but they fall into small groups and come with their own faults.

The Hero Kid’s parents shouldn’t be destroyed just by virtue of being so close to the better/more heroic characters, but even they aren’t that great with possibly one exception.

Inko Midoriya has technically tried to protect Izuku but she never really helped him. She basically apologies for his existence in the childhood flashback, and until Izuku got a Quirk and became a Hero, she was never really shown to encourage him in anything, even to find happiness in other things.

Despite having doubts herself about saying the wrong thing to her son, Inko later tries to keep him from going back to UA for very good reason from a parent’s point of view.

But then she’s pretty easily convinced by a promise from Allmight, that wasn’t in anyway kept. Cut to the Dark Deku stuff later, she never calls Allmight out on this.

It’s the same story with little difference for all the student’s parents, they’ve never been shown to try to protect their children, especially at the UA confrontation with the Civilian Mob.

Inko, Bakugo’s parents, Ochako’s parents, and I’m just assuming the rest of them to cause it makes sense for them to be at the UA shelter, none of them helped.

I know Inko was being held back by Mitsuki because it was dangerous, but couldn’t she have shaken her off?

Kota did and ran to Deku to try to help him, and he was a little kid being held back Pixiebob (a Hero).

That probably wasn’t what Hori was going for or implying but that’s what happened.

Is this an illogical thought process that would be dangerous or harmful for the parents? Definitely.

But that’s the point. The parental instinct that goes beyond self-preservation and logic to protect their children hasn’t been shown for any of them.

Except one.

*Current Spoiler Warning*

 Rei Todoroki in the recent chapter stands apart and above in this aspect, although this depends very much on how it’s framed going forward.

A mother fighting to stop her child from killing himself more than trying to stop a Villain from killing. Both true but one has to take front over the other for it to be meaningful, for Rei to show that she will stop Touya from burning himself this time, unlike how she wouldn’t before.

That’s character development, that’s parental instinct.

*Very current Spoilers*

 Rei is there for Touya  :)  trying to save her son…and also Endeavor maybe?

Close enough (Double Thumbs UP!)

 The children

Another group that definitely should never destroyed is the Young Children of Bnha, Kota, Eri, the work studies Kid group.

I put them into a separate category than the whole of the Civilians but it would take a lot to explain why that is and why they can be viewed as their own separate group, so I’ll put it in the next Meta and expand on how they relate to the existential parts of Bnha.

Also same for the villains/heroes and finally getting to the Quirk Singularity Theory.

To be Continued…

#bnha #bnha meta #mha meta #hero society #league of villains #lov #shigaraki tomura #toga himiko #dabi #jin bubaigawara #spinner #mha

[appocalipse]

UNSPOKEN FEELINGS → steve harrington

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairing: Steve Harrington x reader

Words: 2,473

Warnings: none (?) spoilers for season 4 vol. 1, in case you haven’t watched it, i guess

Summary: The reader is Dustin’s older sister; she most likely wasn’t around for the events of season one and maybe even two, seeing as she used to live with her father out of town. But, once she moved back in and met Steve, they became friends and before she could notice it, she had grown much more complicated feelings for him. And after all the craziness they’ve been through with Vecna, maybe it’s time to find out if he feels the same....or if fate wanted Steve and Nancy together again.

A/N:  this is set after the events of season 4; since vol. 2 hasn’t been released yet, let’s pretend all is well and no one died in it. also, i wrote this at 3 am, so please bear with me lol

if you’d like, listen to this while reading.

---------

Fate didn’t seem to like you very much.

There had been a thousand things happening at once; Vecna, the Upside Down, Joyce and her family moving out...and then there was your feelings towards Steve.

For a while, you thought it was stupid; your younger brother Dustin idolized the guy, and you ended up spending a great deal of time with him and Robin, so it was only natural to have a little crush on Steve Harrington. He was nice, good-looking, funny... But that innocent feeling grew. And grew. And then grew a little more.

And when he was dragged into the Watergate, you almost felt fisical pain thinking about living in a world without Steve. 

There was only one word that could describe that feeling: love. And now it was too late to ignore it.

Now that you were all back at the real world, Hawkins was holding some sort of festival — you were not sure why, but it was a small town kinda thing — and you and your friends were trying to have a normal moment after all the chaos you had just been through. The silly excuse to dress up and go out to dance was greatly appreciated, thank you very much.

During the last fight, your arm ended up broken; reason why you were now wearing a cast, but it didn’t really bother you all that much. It was a small price to pay. Max almost died; your arm would heal. 

But that night, when a smiling Steve asked you to dance, you suspected it was because he didn’t want you to feel left out because of your arm — it would obviously get in the way of a normal dancing stance. But Steve was sweet enough not to mind; he took your right hand in his (you ignored the butterflies in your stomach) and placed his other hand on your waist (ignoring, keep ignoring them,Y/N!), carefully avoiding to touch your left arm as you moved to the rhythm of whatever song was being played.

There was a nice, warm feeling building up inside of you....until he brought up Robin and Eddie's opinions on Nancy's actions. They were certain her feelings for Steve were coming back, judging by the way she wasted no second on risking her life for him, or staring at him whenever she thought no one was looking. Her relationship with Jonathan was also not in its best moment.

Maybe her feelings for Steve never really left. First love is a complicated thing.

“So...what do you think?” Steve asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but you caught a hint of tension in his voice. Of course he would ask for your advice; of course.

What the hell am I supposed to say?

Your brain doesn’t normally function half as well around Steve under normal circumstances, but now that you were literally in his arms...did he really expect some sort of plausible answer? 

“I don’t know...I think-” you began, but just as the words left your mouth, your eyes instinctively fell down on Nancy’s bright smile across the room and you stopped mid-sentence; she was wearing a beautiful blue dress, her hair carefully done up, and while you observed her talking to her brother, Mike, you suddenly realized that you couldn't possibly see a reason why Steve would not love her still. You had only been around her for the last few days and she had already managed to make you like her, care about her... hell, you could consider her a friend after all you had been through together, with Vecna and all that. You had actually come to admire her, no matter how hard you tried to dislike her at first, thanks to your unspoken feelings for Steve.

And of course they were right. Robin and Eddie, they were right. Deep down, you knew that Steve loved her back as well. He always did; he just didn’t know that, or didn’t want to acknowledge the fact out loud. Why else would all those dates of his never work out? Why else would he get so eager to protect her at all times?

Realization hit you in a moment...well, more like a second. And you knew. You knew that no matter the extent of your feelings for Steve, no matter how Dustin claimed there was evidence he liked you back, no matter all the sleepless nights you spent thinking what could happen if you confessed to him...you knew that it wasn't your place to stand between Steve and Nancy.

"I think she really, really cares about you, and you should...." you paused, feeling tears threatening to form as your mouth seemed to fail at getting the words out. Luckily, the music and the voices were more than enough to mask any sign of sadness in your voice. Steve, fortunately, wasn't looking at your face at that point; he didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular. 

You cleared your throat and forced the words out. "She is right over there and this is the perfect opportunity for you to ask her to dance, Steve."

Over Steve's shoulder, you spotted Dustin eyeing you both dancing with hopeful eyes, moving his upper body absentmindedly to the rhythm of the music from his seat, a big smile appearing on his face as he caught you looking back at him, if only for a moment. You slowly shook your head no; his smile was quickly replaced by a confused expression, and you forced a smile of your own in a pathetic attempt to calm him down.

Steve looked at you right this instant, his expression showing something you couldn't quite read — surprise? Shock?

"Go ahead, ask her," you encouraged, keeping the same fake smile on your face and hoping it was enough to reassure him, cause it was most likely the best you could come up with at the moment. "I'll go...to the bathroom."

"But I'm-"

At this point, you both had stopped moving, and you decided to step back. It could have been your imagination, but you got the feeling that his hand seemed hesitant to let yours go until the last moment, when you were out of his reach and turned away.

You walked fast, moving carefully around all the couples on the dance floor; but, contrary to what you told him, your feet didn't get you towards the bathroom. The bathroom would have people in it. Happy people. And you would eventually have to get out of there and risk seeing Steve and Nancy making up and God knows what else on your way out.

No. You walked towards the exit, the doors that led to the hallways and to the back doors of the school, where no one would be.

You sat on the ground, seeing as there was nowhere else to sit, listening to the heavy rain that muffled most sounds coming from inside the building, and tried not to think too much over what you had just done. One could almost forget that there was a party going on at all; the storm was picking up fast, and sometimes a lonely thunder would paint the sky a shade of light blue.

At least the scenery fitted well with your current situation. 

When your face got wet though, the rain was not to blame. You were luckily sheltered from it in your little spot on the ground. But your heart? There was no way to shelter it from those feelings.

A lonely tear slid down your cheek; you looked up at the sky, absentmindedly, trying to justify to yourself why on God's green Earth you where crying over something like that.

You looked down at your own arm. It seemed stupid — petty, even — to be crying over something so little as an unrequited love after all the things you and your friends at Hawkins had been through...but you couldn't stop. And so you allowed yourself to cry, because...

Why should I not? After all I’ve been through, why can’t I have one normal emotion for a person my age, instead of fear, anger, or despair? 

You would eventually get over it.

Steve loved Nancy. Big Deal. You never expected him to love you back. Not really. It was hurting right now because you thought maybe, just maybe, after everything that went on with Vecna and all the pain you all had to endure, you'd be given a period of happiness and peace to make up for all the tragedy — perhaps the universe itself would grant such a blessing. But so be it. Maybe you could go back to living with your father, away from Hawkins for a time...

And that's when the doors slammed open once again, startling you, and through them Steve Harrington stepped out, his gentle brown eyes instantly finding the mess you were at the moment, sitting on the floor.

Boy, did the universe hate you.

You hurriedly wiped away your tears, desperately trying to hide the fact that you've been crying. Somewhere in your mind you registered the shock on his face becoming worry, and you looked straight ahead, thinking of ways this could go better than you making a fool out of yourself in front of him of all people.

Steve didn't say anything at first — he looked out of place, not sure where to put his own hands or where exactly to look at. You pressed your eyes closed, letting your head rest against the cold wall behind you, kinda wishing he would just disappear — maybe he was just your mind playing tricks on you...

"What are you doing on the floor?"

Nope, you couldn’t be that lucky.

"Just go, please," normally, you would have a snarky comeback to his question, but right now you couldn't find it in yourself to answer in that way.

Steve took a deep, audible breath. You still didn't open your eyes.

But you felt it when he sat down next to you, careful not to bump into your broken arm, though it hardly hurt anymore.

"Steve, please."

"You were crying," it was not a question.

How cliche could you be? Although you'd never stopped to think about it, Steve was probably your best friend, you were in love with him, and now there was a hundred percent chance he had put two and two together and figured out why you were crying as well. 

And even so, you blurted out the first lie your tired mind could muster, because that’s how you could keep yourself from panicking completely. "My arm hurts."

What, obviously, didn’t convince him.

"Liar."

"Can we just talk tomorrow?"

"You're really rude, you know that?"

You finally looked at him. His eyes were already on you, and you struggled to think clearly with how close you two where... but then you grasped a new feeling inside you: anger, and you held on to it.

"Excuse me?"

You could stand the thought of being rejected. Everybody was rejected at least once in their life, and you were no stranger to the feeling; you just didn't want anyone to witness the aftermath of it firsthand, let alone the person who rejected you, and yet here he were, making the task of putting your feelings for him behind you incredibly difficult.

"We were dancing and you just stormed off mid-song,” he said, matter-of-factly. 

"I didn't storm off-" you felt exhasperation getting the better of you, messing up each and every thought you tried to put into words. "You asked me about....I told you to go and dance with her, so I got out of your-" 

"I was dancing with you!", great, now the screaming contest was about to begin.

"Yes, but you wanted to be dancing with her!"

"OH, so now you know everything I want?"

"I know the obvious!"

He scoffed, but when he spoke again, his tone was so calm and his voice was so low that you couldn’t tell if Steve was certain he wanted to be heard. "Oh no, you absolutely don't."

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know, for someone really, really smart, sometimes you read it all wrong.”

A few seconds passed by without both of you saying anything; you looking at him, him looking down at the ground, mindlessly playing with a dry leaf he must have found nearby on the floor...and then it hit you. What he was implying. What he was trying to make you believe, that is. Was he really too kind to let someone down?

“Oh my God, no,” you let out a bitter chuckle, trying to get up, which proved to be more of an challenge with only one good arm available than you antecipated. “No, no, you're not doing this.”

Steve seemed to panic as he watched you moving to stand up, and he quickly grabbed your wrist  — the one that wasn't on a cast. “Wait, where are you going?”

For a second, you looked down at where he was holding you in place, stunned, then back at his face, catching Steve looking back at you with some sort of conflict passing behind his brown eyes. “Let go.”

And then he too got up, still nowhere near inclined to let go of your arm. 

“I can't.”

"What do you mean, you can't? Of course you can. Just let go of me and I’ll go home, and you can go back inside and we can pretend this never happened-", you tried to yank your wrist free, but Steve didn't let go; instead, he took a step closer...and suddenly you were close enough for a kiss, and all the butterflies came back, and there was this scene playing inside your head where one of you slowly leaned in and...

You stared down at your feet, feeling tears once again welling up in your eyes. "Please don't do this."

"Don't do what?" you weren't looking at his face, but he sounded genuinely confused, maybe even worried.

"Pretend you like me."

"I do like you."

"Not in that way," you took a step back, and this time around he let your arm go. The words began leaving your mouth even before your brain could register it. "Look, whatever it is that Dustin asked you to do, or whatever you feel you owe him, or me, you don't. It's not your fault I lo-"

You froze mid-sentence. And there it was, those words anyone smart dreaded to say to the wrong person, on the tip of your tongue...and the worst part was that you didn’t even knew you were about to say them until it was to late to act like it didnt happen. 

Steve was giving you a stunned look, uncertain, and when he shifted closer, you moved a step back. "Y/N-"

“I’ll just go home.”

A/N: part 2 is now OUT! Read here. ♥

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #stranger things drabble #stranger things oneshot #xreader #oneshot #eddie munson #steve harrington oneshot #steve x reader #steve x nancy #nancy wheeler #st4 #dustin henderson #angst

[v-thinks-on]

Phoenix is nudged into awareness by the feeling of someone stirring underneath him. He’s sprawled across the wine red sheets, with Miles Edgeworth pinned underneath his heavy, sleep-laden limbs, awake and struggling to extricate himself.

Phoenix frantically retreats to his side of the bed. This wasn’t exactly what he imagined for their first morning together - he’s not even sure that it really counts.

Miles recomposes himself after being nearly crushed, but to Phoenix’s surprise, he stays lying in the center of the bed - it is his bed, after all - half-curled toward Phoenix. He won’t meet Phoenix’s eyes, but he hasn’t turned away either. Phoenix is hopeful that Miles’s expression is awkward, not annoyed, but it’s hard to tell.

“Miles…?” Phoenix says cautiously.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Miles doesn’t sound too pleased about it.

“I didn’t give you much of a choice.”

“I-I wasn’t trying to get up… just get comfortable,” Miles mutters so quietly Phoenix isn’t sure he hears it right.

Phoenix can’t tell if the pink tinge on Miles’s cheeks is a reflection from the red sheets or a blush.

“Oh,” Phoenix says.

Before he has a chance to try to figure out where to go from here - what wouldn’t be too much - Miles abruptly brushes his hand across Phoenix’s cheek, only to pull it away just as quickly.

“Ngh. How did you do it so smoothly?” Miles demands.

Phoenix bites back a laugh. “I, uh…”

Instead of trying to come up with an answer, he gently reaches out to cup Miles’s cheek. His skin is warm and soft, and Phoenix is pretty sure that is a blush. Miles’s expression immediately softens as he leans into the touch, probably without even knowing he’s doing it, but there’s still a crease in his brow. Phoenix trails his fingers across Miles’s forehead to brush aside some stray hairs, in soft disarray from the night’s sleep.

“That’s how,” Phoenix concludes with what he admits is probably a smirk, his hand lingering at Miles’s cheek.

With a determined expression, Miles reaches out toward Phoenix’s face and brushes aside the stay hairs on Phoenix’s forehead, and then he runs his fingers fleetingly down Phoenix’s cheek.

On an impulse, Phoenix catches Miles’s hand before he can pull away entirely. Maybe Phoenix shouldn’t be surprised that Miles’s muscles, from his fingers to his palm, are all taut with tension that probably never goes away, though his obvious nerves probably don’t help. Still, Miles lets Phoenix intertwine their fingers, like a subtle embrace. He wonders if it’s Miles’s heart he can feel racing, or just his own.

It takes longer than Phoenix expects before Miles turns away again, flustered. “W-we should probably-”

Phoenix can’t help but be a little disappointed, but he disentangles their hands without complaint. “How about some breakfast?”

“It’s almost noon.”

“What do you mean, almost noon?” Phoenix can only wonder how long Miles has been awake. “Lunch then?”

“I can make us something.”

That’s not exactly what Phoenix had in mind, but he can’t exactly make Miles breakfast - or lunch - in bed, when he’s stuck hobbling around on crutches.

They’re still both a little reluctant to get out of bed, but eventually they can’t excuse delaying any longer, and Miles helps Phoenix up. Phoenix wonders if it’s just his imagination that Miles is a little handsier than usual and his touch lingers a little longer. By the time they’re both dressed and ready, it’s after noon.

Phoenix hobbles after Miles into the kitchen and sits down at the bar. “When my foot’s better, I promise I’ll do all the cooking and cleaning for a month.”

Miles pauses mid-step, and Phoenix belatedly realizes what he just suggested.

“You don’t have to,” Miles says, without looking at him. “I’ll have to help out anyway so you don’t mess up my kitchen.”

“Hold it!” Phoenix says on principle, but he’s not sure it’s actually a no.

“Objection overruled,” Miles says as he crosses the kitchen.

“You’re not the judge!”

“It’s my kitchen.” Miles smirks like he knows he’s won the case.

Phoenix has some impulse to kiss away Miles’s smirk, but he’s all the way on the other side of the room, and things are going so well, Phoenix is hesitant to push his luck.

#v writes #outtake #Ace Attorney #Phoenix Wright #Miles Edgeworth #WrightWorth #NaruMitsu #another scene I ended up dropping from In Defense of the Guilty #there's another scene I'll be posting as its own fic soon (and a few more that have been recycled into another fic also coming soon) #this one doesn't really work on its own but I couldn't leave it to molder in the scrap heap #I'm surprised I didn't post it with the other outtakes #I'm still here and still writing!

[miss-tc-nova]

Safe Space - Azul Ashengrotto x Reader

I actually had a different idea for this, but that's not done yet, so have this kinda cute one.

Premise: Azul can't find his darling

Words: 507

~~~~~

               “Jade.”

               The tall eel looks back from his work behind the counter. “Yes, Azul?”

               “Have you seen my darling?”

               He thinks for a moment. “Yes, I believe about an hour ago there was quite a lot of shouting and stomping.”

               “Excuse me? What for?”

               “I believe it had to do with an argument with Ace Trappola and perhaps a failed assignment. But worry not, I was on standby through the entire ordeal to prevent any violence.”

               “They were arguing in my lounge?” Azul’s head shakes. “Never mind. Thank you for your assistance.”

               Azul’s been on a manhunt since class let out in search of the prefect he was meant to meet up with. Quite eager for the appointment, Azul ensured he was at the library twenty minutes early. That was two hours ago and neither text nor phone calls have been answered by the first year. He’s searched the entire campus as well as Ramshackle. It was only when he ran into Deuce when he learned that his beloved was last seen heading for the Hall of Mirrors.

               Now that he’s here, walking the halls of Octavinelle, he scolds himself for not remembering that his sweetheart has a key to his room. On the other hand, the thought that his room would become a refuge makes the octo mer somewhat prideful.

               And then nervous. It’s his room. There’s someone in his room without him there, possibly discovering all his embarrassing secrets. Suddenly his feet move a little faster. By the time Azul’s room within reach, the door is nearly slammed open.

               But it’s empty. There’s no one in his room. In fact, it looks just as he left it. Almost. Beside the door are a pair of shoes that definitely aren’t his and on the bench at the end of his bed sits a school bag, also not his. To top it off, both his blanket and pillow are missing.

               “Darling?” His voice is soft but steady, as if he expects a surprise. “Are you here?”

               There’s no answer. Azul steps inside, closing the door as he scratches his head. Ambling around the bed, he opens the closet—just clothes inside. He checks under his desk—no, he’s not crazy, no one’s there. Perhaps someone is under the bed—this is getting silly now.

               Then his eye catches the relic in the corner. It’s both his bane and his comfort. He hasn’t even used it since his first year, but just its presence gives him some semblance of reassurance. Having to explain it always gives him anxiety though. It’s not even common among merfolk, let alone land dwellers and he’s always dreaded having to explain it. Still, something tells him to check it.

               Creeping closer, Azul’s breath catches in his chest. His heart just might stop as he leans over the edge.

               There, using his pillow, wrapped snuggly in his blanket, fast asleep in his octopus pot, is his beloved.

               For a moment, Azul just stares, his nerves melting. First things first, his phone captures the moment for him to fawn over later. With his memento secure, Azul rests his head against his hand, staring down at his beautiful, adorable prefect with a sense of serenity.

               His safe space has been compromised, but in this case, he doesn’t mind sharing.

#gender neutral reader #azul x reader #twst azul #azul ashengrotto

[daisynik7]

I SAW THAT ANGST MINI FIC AND THAT HURT!! OK WHAT ABOUT....

Its Eren who has the unrequited love while reader likes....Jean (?) and plans to move in with him....

cw: angst, unrequited love

Word Count: ~1.7k

Author Notes: Hi anon! Loving these angsty requests! I changed it up a little bit so that the reader is already moved in with Jean, hope that’s okay! And I hope this hurts (in a good way) LOL. 

--------------------

Eren stares out the window, watching the passing buildings as Mikasa drives through the unfamiliar street. He hasn’t spoken since they left, only the radio to occupy the silence. As they approach closer to the apartment complex, Mikasa clears her throat, finally speaking. “Are you okay?” 

He’s not. How can he be? The woman he’s in love with is moving in with her boyfriend. And it’s not him. 

He doesn’t respond right away, fixating on a particular street corner while they’re stopped at a red light. Mikasa knows not to pester him; she only put the question out there in case he wants to talk about it. Recently, he hasn’t been wanting to say much. 

The news about Jean and you moving in together came as a surprise. You announced it a month ago during a big group dinner with friends. Everyone there congratulated you, thrilled about this big step. Eren mustered up the energy to do the same, but deep down, he was hurting. It’s not as if he didn’t see this coming. Maybe at first, he was a little bit in denial. It’s Jean Kirstein, after all. The guy is an idiot. But he’s the idiot that got you to fall in love with him, so clearly, Eren is the even bigger idiot. 

What do you see in Jean that you don’t see in Eren? The question still haunts him. He’ll never get an answer, though. You have no idea that Eren is in love with you. Absolutely no clue. And, at this rate, you never will. It’s a secret he’s willing to take to his grave, especially knowing how goddamn happy you are with Jean. He won’t take that away from you, even if it means sacrificing his own heart. That’s how much he cares for you. 

Mikasa clears her throat, obviously concerned, but doesn’t ask again. Eren keeps looking outside when he finally responds. “I’m okay.”

She doesn’t push it any further, taking that as the final word of the conversation, if they can even call it that. Only she knows about his secret. Sometimes, he likes to use her as a scapegoat, blaming her for introducing you to Jean in the first place. It’s not her fault though; if it wasn’t Jean, it would have been somebody else. Eren has always been too much of a coward to step up to the plate and confess. In the end, he has only himself to blame.  

They park at a curb, right outside the apartment complex. Eren is reluctant to get out, anxious to see their new place for the first time. Eventually, he does, following Mikasa to the front lobby, heading towards the elevator. She’s been here before, a handful of times actually, helping them move and settle in. It’s been an entire month now. Each time Eren has been asked to come over, he made up excuses to get out of it. This time, he couldn’t refuse. Not when you practically begged him to help you assemble furniture. 

The elevator takes them up to the third floor. Mikasa leads them down the hall in front of a door that reads “306”. She knocks twice, a few seconds passing before your bright face greets them. “Hey!”

The flutter in his belly whenever he sees you smile has never wavered. His mood is instantly lifted, and he almost forgets what he’s so grumpy about. Almost. Jean approaches them from the kitchen, snacking on a protein bar, shaker bottle in the other hand. He looks ready to work out. “Hey guys, thanks for coming.”

Mikasa glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “Gym.”

“I thought we’re putting together furniture,” Mikasa says, annoyed. Eren tries to contain his scoff, understanding now that Jean has no intention of participating. 

“You know I’m not handy! That’s why we called you two as reinforcements, right honey?” He wraps his arms around you, tipping his head to give you a loud smooch on the cheek. 

You giggle. “Yeah.” Though you’re smiling, Eren can tell there’s disappointment in your eyes. He’d do anything right now to clock Kirstein in the face. 

With Jean gone, the three of you gather in the living room, staring at the stacks of boxes laid out on the floor. “We bought a couple of items for the living room and our bedroom. Mikasa, maybe you can do the drawer for the bedroom. And then Eren and I can do the TV stand here.”

Mikasa nods, agreeing with the plan and walking into the bedroom on the other side of the apartment. You grin at Eren. “Ready?”

The two of you open the box, removing all the parts and organizing them neatly, instructions in your hands, reading aloud the first couple of lines. It starts smoothly, the directions clear enough to get halfway through, until you laugh, realizing that Eren put one of the pieces on backwards. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, re-doing the screws. 

“Don’t be. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

It’s comments like this that make his chest swell and heart sink at the same time. “Jean really doesn’t like doing this kind of stuff, does he?”

You shake your head, “Not really.” You pause, sounding like you have more to say.

“Are you okay?” 

You let out a deep sigh. “I was hoping this would be a fun bonding experience for us. Putting together our own furniture, I don’t know. I like this kind of stuff and I wish he was more into it.” You avoid Eren’s gaze as you explain this, focusing blankly on the instructions in front of you. 

Now, Eren really wishes he could punch Jean. “I’m sorry.”

You smile at him. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. In fact, you’re always the next best person I want to do this stuff with anyways.”

It’s true. Before Jean, it was always Eren. He was the first person you called when you got a flat tire on the highway, freaking out because you never learned how to fix it. Minutes later, he was there, down on the ground, patiently explaining every step. The next time it happened, Eren was the first to know that you successfully did it, all thanks to him. Whatever concert you wanted to go to, he was there, standing right beside you, screaming along to the music, bopping his head to the beat. Late night drives along the coast, listening to waves crash against the shore. New restaurants you wanted to try because a food influencer you follow recommended it. He was there. And even after Jean, it was still Eren. Midnight phone calls, listening to you cry about a silly argument you and Jean had. Visiting local farmer’s markets together because Jean never understood why you liked them so much. Movie screenings for obscure features that Jean declined to go because the only films he enjoys are action and comedies. Eren is always there for you when Jean isn’t.

In this moment, Eren realizes that it can’t be this way anymore. If you’re going to move on with Jean and he’s going to move on from you, it can no longer be this way. As painful as it is to admit it, Eren can’t have you relying on him anymore. Because the longer you do, the harder it’ll be for him to let you go. 

You both complete the TV stand correctly this time, moving it against the wall. Mikasa comes out to join you, the three of you admiring your handiwork. Keys jingle from outside the door and Jean returns, still sweaty from the gym. Before he retreats into the kitchen, he exclaims, “Looks great, guys!”

You and Mikasa start on another set, this time another drawer for the living room. Eren takes this time to excuse himself, joining Jean in the kitchen. He’s shaking one of his protein concoctions in his bottle, eating a banana. “What’s up man?” 

“Help her with the furniture,” Eren bluntly states.

Jean makes a face, surprised by the demand. “Huh?”

“She wants you to build it with her.”  

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I thought you and Mikasa are helping?”

“It’s not about needing help. She’s perfectly capable of doing it on her own if she really needs to. But she thinks it’s a fun bonding experience. She wants you to do it with her.” He’s a little more aggressive this time, annoyed from Jean’s incompetence.

He opens his mouth, sputtering like a fish before responding, “How was I supposed to know?”

Eren pinches the bridge of his nose, losing patience but maintaining his composure. “When she asks you if you want to do something with her, just say yes. That means she wants to spend time with you, even if it’s for things like this.”

The two men are silent for a moment, Jean contemplating what was just said. Eren lets himself imagine for a split second how it would be if it were him moving in with you, not Jean. This conversation wouldn’t even need to happen. He’d happily build furniture with you every day. He would do anything for you. 

Finally, Jean speaks. “You’re right. I should do better. I will be better.” He pauses, picking his words carefully, adding, “I’m so used to you being there for her instead.” He avoids Eren’s gaze when he says it, embarrassed. 

“I’ll always be there for her. But I’m not her boyfriend. You are.” It’s difficult for him to say out loud. Hearing himself say it makes it official. It makes it final.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll be better. Uh, thanks for telling me.”

Eren looks at him with a serious expression. “I just want her to be happy.”

He returns his gaze knowingly. “Yeah, I know. Me too.”

They stand there for a few more seconds, understanding each other. When they leave the kitchen together, Jean walks over to you, massaging your shoulders. “Hi baby. I’m back now. Let’s build some furniture!”

You face him, beaming. “Really?”

He smiles. “Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

Eren says, “Looks like you’re in good hands now. We’re going to head out.” Mikasa looks at him, confused. He doesn’t say anything else, steering her towards the door, waving farewell. Before it closes, he overhears Jean mention something about going to a farmer’s market. 

In the car, Mikasa asks once more, “Are you okay?”

This time, Eren answers a little more confidently. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

#requests #eren jaeger #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren x reader #eren jaeger imagines #eren aot #eren angst #aot angst #attack on titan angst #eren jaeger angst #attack on titan #eren yeager #snk eren

[onceuponastory]

little favours - biker!bucky x reader

Plot: Since Bucky saved her from her shitty boss, Y/N hasn’t seen him again. For a while, she gets closer and closer to giving up hope. Until he comes back. And this time, he’s asking for her help. Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Mentions of sick kids/kids in hospital in case that’s a trigger. Again, Biker!Bucky likes using doll as his pet name (yes, he’s a warning, hahaha). As always if I miss any triggers, let me know. Notes: This is part two to my first Biker!Bucky fic, Knights in Leather Jackets which you can read here if you haven’t already. I hope you like it. Not beta’d, so any mistakes are my own.

Almost two weeks since she first met Bucky, Y/N is in the ice cream parlour again. Thankfully, it seems like her boss listened to Bucky’s warning, and he hasn’t bothered her since. So, ever since he left, Y/N has essentially been running the parlour herself. And for once, she’s started loving her job again. Shockingly, it turns out that not having her overbearing boss constantly breathing down her neck makes her happier and work better. As she cleans the counter, her eyes flicker to the note Bucky left her, his number still scrawled onto it. Despite how much happier she is now that her boss is gone, she is disappointed that she doesn’t have an excuse to call Bucky and have him down at the coffee shop at a moment’s notice.

“I could just call him, regardless of if I need help or not. I mean, he was obviously flirting.” The grin on Bucky’s face as he spoke to her replays in her mind once more, and already Y/N is grinning like a lovesick idiot.

Although, to be honest, that’s exactly what she is. Ever since he left her store, Bucky has constantly been in her mind. But somehow, even after everything they’ve been through, she just can’t bring herself to call him. Even though he saved her, she’s not sure where, if anywhere, that leaves them now. Of course, she’s under Bucky’s protection now, but whether it’s just his or his entire gang’s (if he has one, that is) is left to be seen. And besides, how long does it last? Is it lifelong or just until everything with her boss blows over? Or maybe her boss has tried to squeal, so Bucky and the others are lying low and not wanting to drag her into this.

“But I am a part of this.” Y/N glances back over at the note again. Bucky’s laughter fills her mind. “Fuck it.” Pulling out her phone, Y/N dials Bucky’s number.

Ring.

Ring.

The longer it goes without an answer, the more Y/N’s stomach twists and her heart sinks. And what little hope she has of seeing Bucky again slowly slips away.

When it hits voicemail, Y/N isn’t even surprised. Maybe she’s right. Maybe he doesn’t want to see her again. Or at least, not anytime soon. “Hey Bucky, it’s me, Y/N. Don’t worry, I’m okay. I was just wondering if I could see you again? …To thank you, I mean. Just come back to the shop. I’ll be here. Bye.” Sighing, she puts the phone down. Hopefully, she does see him again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Do you wanna get that, Buck?” Steve raises a brow, gesturing to Bucky’s ringing phone.

“No, I’ll get it later. It’s alright.” Yet, the phone keeps ringing. 

“Buck….”

“Steve, just finish the meeting. I promise I’ll get it later.” Before Steve can say anything else, Bucky grabs his phone, switching it off and silencing the call. 

“Well, okay. As I was saying, the charity ride and fundraiser for the local hospital went really well, but I think there are still some things we can do.”

“What about a visit?” Sam pipes up. “We’ve done that a few times already, and the kids seem to love it.” Steve nods. Immediately, Y/N enters Bucky’s mind. Although he’s been thinking about her a lot recently. Actually, he’s been thinking about her since he left her. Her smile, her gorgeous face…god. He’d love to go back and see her again, but he’s been so busy recently that he hasn’t had the chance to. But now, he has the perfect excuse.

“Buck? You okay?” Steve frowns, curious about his friends’ silence.

“I have an idea.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next day, Y/N is back in the shop, sorting things through the back. Suddenly, the chimes above the door sound, signifying a customer. A familiar figure leans against the wall, sunglasses perched on his head. As soon as she sees him, she recognises him right away, and her heart begins to pound. “Bucky?”

“Hey doll.”

“You’re back.” Y/N breathes, still a little in shock. Like if someone pinched her, she’d wake up again. If this is a dream, she hopes nobody pinches her. “Do you...want some more raspberry ripple?” She asks, immediately regretting it. Yes, ask the hot biker about ice cream instead of on a date with you. Good idea.

“I’d love some, but not yet. Actually, I have a favour to ask you.” As she nods in agreement, Y/N can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Honestly, she thought Bucky was coming back just to see her, and maybe ask her out. But at least this still gives her a chance to see him, which is better than nothing. And he looks even better than she remembers. He’s sending her heart into a flutter all over again. 

“Sure, what’s up?”

“We’re doing some more fundraising for the kids’ hospital, and planning a visit too.” So the favour is for sick kids. Whilst she was more worried about her and Bucky’s relationship. Great. Now she feels like an asshole. “We were thinking of bringing them a treat, so I thought I’d call up the sweetest woman I know to see if she can lend a hand.” Y/N smiles, already feeling the heat rising in her cheeks. “So.” Bucky trails off. “Can you help?” 

Like she’d ever say no.

“Of course I will.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Thank you for the ice cream.” The young boy smiles up at her, and Y/N has to stop herself from crying. Although she’s enjoying spending this time with Bucky and his friends, it’s been amazing to see the kids and provide them with a little happiness during their hospital stay. Despite everything they’ve been through, both they and their families are all so kind and cheerful. Giving them some ice cream to help them feel better is the least she can do.

“Thanks for doing this, by the way. I was right. You really are an angel.” Bucky tells her as they head towards the next room. Smiling, Y/N shrugs.

“Of course I would. And besides, I’m the angel? This coming from the guy who beat up my asshole boss and is giving ice cream to sick kids. Sounds like you deserve that title more than I do.”

“I told you, doll. It’s what we do. And besides, I only came up with the idea, you’re the one giving it out.” 

“Acting like a regular Prince Charming is a daily occurrence for you? Sure.” Bucky blushes at her words, grinning like the same lovesick fool she knows she is around him.

“Bucky!” A little girl grins from her bed when they enter the next room, waving excitedly.

“Melody! Hey kiddo! Good to see you again.” He perches on the end of her bed, listening to her excited chatter about what she’s been doing since he last saw her. The sight makes Y/N’s heart swell. Despite how big and scary Bucky looks to other people, he’s so kind and loving to everyone. And Y/N’s hopelessly in love with him.

“He does this a lot, you know? They all do. Means the world to her.” Melody’s mother smiles, coming to stand by Y/N. “Melody adores him.” She’s not the only one.

“I have a surprise for you. I asked your mommy and your doctor, and they said you can have some ice cream. And it’s your favourite, strawberry.” Melody’s face lights up as Y/N passes over some for her. 

“Thanks Bucky!” Melody squeals, wrapping her tiny arms around him.

“Hey it’s not just me. My friend Miss Y/N is the one who brought you the ice cream.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/N!” She calls across the room. The sweetness and innocence in her voice makes Y/N smile.

“You’re very welcome Melody. But you can just call me Y/N, alright?”

“She’s pretty.” Melody whispers to Bucky, yet is still just loud enough for Y/N to hear. “She looks like a princess.”

“Yeah.” Bucky chuckles, gazing over at Y/N like she hung the moon. “I know.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later, after Y/N and Bucky have finished visiting the kids, he offers to take her home on his bike. Of course, Y/N accepted right away. “Remember your helmet. Couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.” Y/N puts it on, hoping she’s quick enough to mask how smitten with him she is. This man is going to be the death of her one day. “Hold on tight, okay?” Tentatively, Y/N reaches out, wrapping her arms around Bucky’s waist and scooting closer to him. The scent of patchouli oil, Bucky’s scent, fills her senses again, and she inhales deeply.

“How is it he already smells like home?”

As Bucky drives down the streets and roads of New York, Y/N leans back a little, enjoying the ride. This is what she used to dream about. Sitting on a bike and feeling free. If only she knew it’d come true. And that it’s even better than she dreamt. Although...that’s mainly because of Bucky.

But soon, Bucky pulls up outside her apartment, the ride and her dream over. “Thanks Bucky.”

“Not at all. Thank you for coming today.”

“I told you, I’m glad to help. I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Y/N, wait.” Bucky orders, stopping her. “Can I….” She raises a brow, waiting for his explanation. It’s strange, seeing the intimidating, yet flirty and confident Bucky, now a blushing mess around her. Although, it’s kind of endearing. “Can I take you out? On a date?”

“Yeah.” she gasps, already nodding with excitement. “Of course.” Bucky grins.

“How about I pick you up this Saturday, then? Say…about seven?”

“Okay. See you then.” Suddenly, Bucky leans in, pecking her on the cheek. His beard grazes her cheek, which tingles under its touch. 

“See you then, doll.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Please follow @onceuponastory-library​ and turn notifications on to be notified when I next post!

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #biker!bucky #biker!bucky barnes #biker!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #Bucky Barnes x female reader #bucky x Female Reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #marvel oneshot #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky oneshot #bucky one shot #bucky fic #bucky fanfiction

[tgammsideblog]

Libby and absent parenting

One of the most recent episodes from Season 2 ¨Like Father, Like Libby¨ explored Libby’s relationship with her father, Matias, who hasn’t seen Libby for years because ¨he has been too busy travelling to write his novel¨. Of course, it is easy to realize that this isn’t the case: Matias is an absent father and he isn’t interested in being involved in his daughter’s life. The theme of this episode is exploring Libby’s ilusion to see her father again and wishing to spend time with him, something that eventually is shattered when her expectations don’t meet with reality.

Matias is never mentioned in Season 1 by neither Libby nor Leah, Libby’s mother. When Libby talked about the people that were important to her Bat Mitzvah (Episode-Mazel Tov, Libby!), Libby never mentioned Matias once, only Leah and Molly. This already hinted how absent he was in Libby’s life, to the point he was never brought up to Molly nor Scratch.

At the start of the episode when Libby gets her Bat Mitzvah gift months after the celebration, one can tell that there are some red flags: The gift was sent several months after Libby’s Bat Mitzvah, the price of the gift is only one dollar and the plush isn’t even something a turtle, it is a frog. Molly quickly realizes that something is off from this gift but keeps it to herself since Libby is very happy to learn that Matias wants to meet her in person after years of not seeing her. Molly doesn’t know enough about Libby’s father neither to give a full opinion on him because it is something that she doesn’t ask Libby about. She still brings up to Libby that she can talk about Matias anytime, without pressuring to explain her situation and respecting her privacy.

Libby shows Leah the letter she received from her father. Leah’s very hesitant in doing such a long trip to see Matias. However, she sees that Libby is very excited about the idea of seeing him again, so, Leah decides to support Libby by taking her to the place she is supposed to meet with Matias.

Throughout the episode we see Leah’s struggle between supporting her daughter and trying to be honest with her about how Matias doesn’t really care about her. She doesn’t want to fully break Libby’s illusion since she knows that this is important for her but, at the same time, she warns Libby about not raising her expectations too high and explaining that Matias isn’t that good as she think she is.

Despite of her dislike for Matias, Leah is very considerate in not making Libby hate him. She understands that Libby is entitled to see her father and trying to reconnect with him, even he doesn’t feel the same way about Libby. Lea still warns her a few times, for her to get that maybe things aren’t going to turn out the way she wants and reassures her that she is there for her.

What is so devastating about this episode is how Libby acts very accurately like a kid with absent parent/s would. She makes up excuses why Matias hasn’t seen her all these years- he is too busy writing his novel. She genuinely wants to believe that he cares about her and, that once she meets him again, they are going to spend time together and he is going to be involved in her life. It’s a very sad situation to see, because Libby still doesn’t come to terms with the type of parent that Matias is. She wants to believe that he has changed or that he is only busy. She has a whole song sequence imagining all the things that they are both going to do together. She thinks that her parents are going to get back together.

However... there is a part of her that tells her that Matias doesn’t care about her and he is ¨gone¨. This means that she is partially aware of her father’s behaviour but, like any kid who has neglectful parents, she wants to believe that this isn’t true, that Matias is a ¨good father¨. 

Libby’s abandonment issues and the overall impact of having an absent father being explored in this episode puts some scenes from previous episodes in context. The biggest example of this is ¨Friend-Off¨ where we see Scratch and Libby’s competing over who is Molly’s ¨Best Friend¨. While Libby’s insecurities in ¨Friend-Off¨ could come from her lacking friends before meeting Molly, knowing that she has a negletful father puts her animosity and treatment towards Scratch during the episode in perspective. She is scared of losing Molly as a friend or not being good enough for her. There are moments she thinks that the curse Molly and Scratch shared made their bond closer than her with Molly.

Back to ¨Like Father, Like Libby¨, when Libby finally meets Matias, she is very happy to see him again but it doesn’t take her less than a minute to notice that he isn’t paying attention to her. She shows to him a book she wrote, something that she mentioned in multiple letters she send to him. Matias doesn’t seem to be aware of this, implying he didn’t read those said letters. He only takes a photo with Libby’s book to make himself look like a good father in social media.

Libby talks to him about all the things that they are going to do now that they are together only to be interrupted by Matias telling her that he is going to be ¨too busy¨ writing his book trilogy. This is the moment Libby’s illusion crashes and she is forced to face the fact that her father doesn’t care about her and doesn’t want to spend time with her. She quickly runs and gets into the car, crying by realizing that Matias doesn’t want to stick around.

Leah comforts Libby by telling her that she is her ¨miracle¨ and Libby thanks her mother for always being there for her. The two return home, with Libby knowing that Matias isn’t worth of her attention and she should focus instead in that people that actually care about her. She gains a lot of appreciation for Leah as well, considering how she took her time to drive two states for Libby to see Matias and how caring and supportive she is.

¨Like Father, Like Libby¨ is an episode that showed up a new side of Libby and her family. It gave more dimension to Leah who, as a single mother, had to raise Libby on her own. It also shows a good potrayal of a teen finally realizing what type of person their parent is and them having to deal with that.

#The Ghost And Molly McGee #tgamm #libby stein-torres #leah stein-torres #matias torres tgamm #Like father like libby #tgamm analysis #character analysis

[inezthefish]

My hot outsiders take.

I DONT SHIP JOHNNYBOY (pony and johnny)

not proofread

before you crucify me, wait. hear my logic. Ponyboy has been 14 for a month. Johnny is 16, almost 17. Johnny still thought Pony was 13, or maybe it slipped his mind (the church scene where he calls pony a ‘13 year old kid’). That’s quite the age gap, mentally and physically. Johnny is nearing the end of puberty and Pony is just starting puberty. Hormonal differences would be crazy. A freshman and a junior in my school dated, and let’s just say it ended in almost a damn court case.

Also, it says in the book, and I’m reading and writing this from my of the book.

“I don’t like going [to the DX] on weekends, because usually there’s a bunch of girls down there flirting with Soda. I don’t care much for girls yet. Soda says I’ll grow out of it. He did.”

By this, I’m assuming Ponyboy hasn’t really had the hormonal changes that make you have crushes. I’m no brain surgeon but there’s some sort of chemical reaction. By this logic, he has no romantic interests WHATSOEVER. not for girls, not for boys, not for ANYONE. I think that kinda makes the relationship pretty unimaginable.

Also, the people that use the excuse of “well they were cuddling in the church!” really falls flat as well. My best friend and I cuddle when she comes over, but that does not automatically mean we are romantically interested in each other (she doesn’t even swing that way.)

“The way Pony described Johnny in the book was so gay!” The only time he really goes into depth explaining him was this time:

“Johnny Cade was last and least. If you can picture a little dark puppy who’s been kicked too many times, and is lost in a crowd of strangers, you’d have Johnny. He was the youngest next to me, smaller than the rest with a slight build. He had big black eyes in a dark tanned face; his hair was jet black and heavily greased and combed to the side, but was so long it fell in shaggy bangs across his forehead.”

Now, I’m bi, and i have a great gaydar. that is more straight than a raw spaghetti noodle.

Now, i don’t care if y’all don’t agree but those are my reasons i don’t shop JohnnyBoy.

thanks for coming to my TED talk

#inez the fish #ponyboy curtis #the outsiders #johnny cade #the outsiders 1983 #the outsiders headcanons #johnnyboy #shipping #i don’t ship #I’m sorry but they’re like not a good couple and the age gap is too large to work. #like have none of y’all listened to Logical by Olivia Rodrigo? age gaps (WHEN YOURE YOUNG) end in bad shit. #yolo

[bronx-bomber87]

Evening all :) This is the second to last ep of s2. Unreal. I LOVE this episode. For so many reasons. I think its underrated which tends to be some of my fav moments and eps with them. Love this one for couple reasons. One of them being we’re re-tapping into why Tim is the best T.O. for Lucy. Little more look into Tim’s growing feelings for her. Also their continual growth as friends and their deepening bond. I love them so much. Like I said already this ep is underrated and one of my favs and you’ll see why. Let’s get started on this goodie.

2x19 The Q Word

We start off with Lucy's alarm going off for her shift. She turns it off saying how she doesn’t want to work today. (Me either girl...) We see she has a special guest with her. Heh. It's Emmett. Dude still fine as hell. Guess she finally took him up on his offer. Damn girl proud of you cashing that card in haha Way to come back into the dating world.

He tells her to be few minutes late continues on to say ‘Bradford's chill’ LMFAO Not even a little and definitely not with training Lucy. You'll experience that soon enough and see how wrong you are sir. Lucy tells him she’s in the final stretch of her training. Just 30 more days and she’ll be free. (Like you really wanna be free of Tim…we'll let you believe that though.) She is excited to be free of the mind games, Tim tests and being chewed out in public. I can’t blame her there even though it molded her into who she is now as a cop.

Emmett jumps on the chance about making her late after her probation. Lucy has to basically say down boy LOL It’s honestly really nice to see how happy she is. Like I said in the last ep with Tim. With not being Lucy level happy. In this case not Tim level happy or comfortable but nice to see none the less. She clearly has allowed herself to not let Caleb drag her down as much anymore. That's a massive victory for her. Should be noted and appreciated.

Can truly appreciate the relationships they had prior and what they had to give to them before they’re together. Lucy NEEDED someone like this post-Caleb. Needed a sweet goober. I am thankful for the role Emmett played in that. Helping her start to move past Caleb and the damage he inflicted. Her commitment issues showing themselves hard when she asks him to play it cool if they run into each other. To keep them on the DL. Also I don’t blame her she’s in the home stretch of this. Wants to do a final focused push to complete her training as well.

We get to roll call. Grey announces today is the rookies one year mark in the program. He tells them congratulations on not washing out. Tim can’t help himself and poke the bear. Saying ‘We’ll see’ that shit eating grin of his and heart eyes I can not. How proud he is of her projecting off him.

Excuse me sir you’re doing a work flirt right in front of everyone. Look at the way he’s looking at her when he says it. A blind person could read his intentions. Her reaction is perfection. Like she can’t believe he’s doing their banter unabashedly in front of roll call… for all to see LOL Our marriage scene of the episode please enjoy.

Grey says this is the start of their 30 day push. To remind them they’re not there just yet. That they shouldn’t be celebrating until they cross the finish line. Pretty much a foreshadowing for Lucy in this ep. All of them but mainly Lucy and the SL her and Tim have in this one.

Immediately following roll call we join them in their shop. Lucy mentions it’s weird they haven’t had any calls yet. Tim puts on his T.O. hat and barks ‘Crime doesn’t have a schedule boot.’ Lucy just smiles his T.O. company line having no effect on her. Tim notices it right away and asks ‘What she’s so happy about?’ Lucy plays it off says nothing. Can’t she just smile? Tim doesn’t let it go. (Wonder who he learned that from?)

Tells her she’s been doing it a lot lately is all...Lucy bites back she didn’t know being happy was an impediment to being a good cop. Tim remarks he’s just surprised she hasn’t talked his ear off about whatever it is. Tim Bradford speak for he actually wants her to. Whether he likes it or not he’s come to enjoy her sharing things with him. When she doesn't he gets antsy like in this scene. Questions what's going on with her.

Tim acts like he can’t stand how chatty she is. When really he can’t handle it when she isn’t sharing stuff with him. Doesn’t want to feel left out in her life. Especially since she "granted" him re-access to it in 2x17. (He always had it she just had to remind of that fact) Lucy doesn’t budge on any info. So Tim starts taking shots in the dark. Asking random questions. 'Did she rescue a kitten?' 'Adopt a star?' LMFAO Timothy what? Haha god I love this man.

Lucy tells him what early s1 Tim would’ve been thrilled to hear. That her personal life is none of his business. He smiles and says there’s hope for her yet. Ok Tim I’m sure that’s EXACTLY what you want. Smh. My god these two. Do they even realize how much flirting just went down in that interaction? The banter, the looks, the cute little smiles. Look at them in those last two gifs above. As transparent as glass. These idiots I love them so much.

If you needed to see their chemistry in one glorious shot. This is it. What a beautiful shot of these two. How the sun shines mostly on her is lovely nod to them as characters. They're checking in with one another silently as they hear a ‘shots fired’ call come over the radio. Processing the severity of the call together. The lighting is beautiful, the looks glorious, that silent communication ever present. I adore it.

They can hear how amped up the rookie on the radio is. Tim attaches them to the pursuit. Harper and Nolan attach themselves as well. Jackson hears his friends panicked voice. Tells Angela they we’re in the academy together. He the follows suit of the other two. Such an intense drive to where Chris and his T.O. are in pursuit.

Sadly Chris disobeys his T.O. to stay in cover while backup arrives. This kid has something to prove and leaves cover. His T.O. shouting at him to stay back. Unfortunately he’s shot instantly in the chest multiple times by their assailant. The guy takes off leaving Harper/Nolan to chase him as they arrive on scene. Tim and Lucy show up after all the chaos has ensued. Tim pulls Martinez Chris’s T.O. to the side. Says he’s going to need to talk to him since he was a witness to the shooting. Jackson decides to ride with Chris easing Martinez to go talk with Tim.

Tim then does what he does best. Deescalates the situation. This man is trying to justify himself to Tim. Tells him how he taught Chris better than that. That he’s made mistakes before but not like this. Tim is incredible in this moment. This scene shows us how good Tim is at his job. How important he knows training rookies is to T.O.’s Why Martinez is panicking like he is. Feels like he failed this kid and is spiraling.

Tim uses that common bond to get through to an emotionally heightened officer. He's coming off his rookie being shot. He's not seeing straight and blaming himself. So Tim calms him down using logic and listening to get the statement from him. The empathy and understanding that follow are a skill that was sharpened by a certain rookie of his. (So damn proud) He's trying to relay to him this wasn’t his fault. He doesn't need to defend himself to him.

I love how he relates to Martinez in this moment. All the while he is looking at Lucy. His words carrying extra weight to them. Almost like he's telling himself this as well as his fellow T.O.. This is hitting closer to home for him than he'd like. His look says so very much to anyone who is watching closely. Eric crushing it per usual saying so much with so little. The depth of how much he cares for her at this point. The man was gone for her long before they got together. (He just hasn’t been clued in yet about that fact.)

The way his eyes dart over to her while he’s comforting Martinez. What happened to this man is Tim’s greatest fear on the job. Not preparing Lucy enough and she gets hurt as a result. If he could only realize how much he’s already impacted her. She would not have survived 2x11 if not for his training of her. 'The Cop Eyes' he instilled in her to drop that ring for him.

She had the grit and determination all her own to survive no doubt. That 'No quit' paired with his training is why she made it. If you wanted to see Tim’s PTSD in action it’s this next portion. That deep fear of losing her the way he almost did back in 2x11. This next entire scene is screaming that PTSD from that. This moment a stark reminder for him that he could lose her just as quickly on the job due to a mistake. That it would be his fault. Again.

Some may think Tim is too harsh here. He’s being a dick etc. That’s not what I see here at all. I see a man in emotional panic. A spiral really. Talking to Martinez shook him more than he’s leading on. Watching his biggest fear happen to someone else is triggering his PTSD more than he'd like. We all know even with Lucy’s forgiving him how he’s still haunted by her almost death. Tim is still learning how channel his emotions. Lucy has opened a floodgate of having them and he hasn’t learned to control them just yet.

I can relate so very much. When you’ve repressed feelings for so long, then allow them to the surface they can be overwhelming. The anxiety of drowning in those emotions comes out in one of two ways. Anger or a complete shut down. For Tim anger is an old friend of his. He can’t seem to tamp down how this situation is making him feel.

Nor does he know how to deal with why it is. So he sees a small mistake she makes and lashes out. His current anxiety is manifesting into anger right now. His fear taking a life of it's own. Losing it on her over something he wouldn't necessarily been happy about but not to this current level of anger.

He is panicking because after the final 30 days elapses he won’t be by her side to protect her anymore. Its a harsh reality he isn't handling too well right now. Rios being shot bringing that into sharp focus. That this could happen to her without him there to guide her. So naturally he’s going to be hard on her especially in this moment. His way of controlling it and his emotions. He just watched a rookie get fatally shot and carted off to hospital due to a small error in judgement.

All those emotions and all that panic are coming through in spades in this moment. Tim isn’t handling his emotions about potentially losing her well. It more than shows in this scene. If he was trying to hold his emotional cards close to his chest about Lucy in this scene he failed miserably. It comes out when he asks her if she wants to end up like Rios? Showing his hand so much in this scene emotionally.

Now Emmett making the mistake of trying to intervene bites him in the ass badly. It’s bad for a couple reasons. The road to hell is paved with good intentions as they say. Reason one it was a terrible idea. Don’t get between Tim and his person. Emmett caught an emotionally exposed Tim and ran into an actual buzz saw doing this. Today was the WRONG day to interfere with him. Not gonna lie I do love Tim going all alpha on him. Saying she’s HIS boot. Destroying Emmett completely asking if 'He's got it? Before walking away.

Second reason it was not his best idea. Lucy. I adore her telling Emmett she didn’t need him to save her. Damn right you don’t. She is capable of defending herself especially with Tim. That's one of her super powers really. It was more embarrassing for Lucy he tried to step in to "protect" her. Not only that but mess with her work dynamic with Tim. She asked him to be cool at work and he wasn’t. Lucy makes sure he knows that before she takes off herself. She isn't a damsel in distress and lets him know. Leaving Emmett stunned.

Nolan and Harper get a finger print ID off the ditched car they pursued. They’re gearing up to break into Serj Derain's. Tim knows Lucy is shaken up for multiple reasons. Her friend Chris being shot, Him chewing her out and her mini fight with Emmett. He is always thinking of her first even when he doesn’t even realize he’s doing so. It's second nature at this point. He does this by resetting her mentally before they walk in the door of this man's house.

Saying how they already lost one cop today. She’s not going to be another. He refuses to lose Lucy by her potentially losing focus in this moment. This man just knows her like the back of his hand. It always floors me. Knows innately she needs these words of focus. That her mind is elsewhere and he needs it shifted back to the task at hand. The continuous proof of why he was the perfect T.O. for her. Tim reading her emotional state and directing her emotions. This is his version of taking care of her. By telling Lucy exactly what she needs to hear before they start this.

Her look of understanding after he dispenses his words of wisdom to her is perfection. Complete understanding of what he's saying and doing for her in this moment. ❤️ Everything this man does for her has her best interests at heart and ultimately to protect her. (Just like she does for him) It’s a beautiful thing to watch honestly. The two way support these two have for one another. This is an underrated moment for them. I wanted to expound on it. It shows that bond they have.

That even though they’re closer than they used to be with how she can sass him from time to time when it comes down to it that instant respect she has for Tim and his guidance. It is evident in this scene. His wisdom is guiding her right now emotionally and she knows it. That when he is serious like this she takes notice and listens immediately. She would follow him into hell if he asked her to.

They get inside with no issues. He isn’t home and the house is cleared. They’re searching his home office. Lucy asks Tim what they’re looking for? He tells her anything that can tell them where he is. It’s then Tim runs across some disturbing info. Confidential Police files on the Derian’s. Makes sense why nothing has stuck to them now. Someone’s been leaking info to the Armenian mob. A dirty cop in their midst…

We rejoin them in their shop. Lucy asks if they can talk about earlier? So much has happened today he’s not sure what she means. Lucy says about Emmett. Tim is immediately defensive. Tells her nothing to say about it. He tried to tell him how to do his job. On today of all days. Tim says he doesn’t care if he’s her BF. Lucy instantly cuts him off and corrects him. Says he’s not. (ahhh Lucy your commitment issues are showing again my dear) Tells Tim he’s a little dead to her right now anyway. I’m sure in the back of Tim’s mind that gives him a little peace.

Then comes one of the best parts of the episode for them. In not so many words this scene is Tim revealing something. Showing Lucy he cares about her in the most Tim way possible. He voices in a much kinder way his fears from earlier in the ep. That yes she’s only 30 days from the finish line. What scares him is when she crosses it he won’t be there to keep her from washing out anymore. 'Or worse...' The way she looks at him when he says this *heart clutch* Tim Bradford speak for I don’t want to lose you.

He solidifies it by reinforcing yeah he’s going to be tough on her. That is a straight fact. Then rolls a compliment into it as well. (How far we’ve come. *wipes tear*) Tells Lucy he’s only doing that because he KNOWS she can handle it. No one one knows her better than he does. No one will ever look out for her best interests better than he will. Or will prepare her the way he can. He only has 30 days left with her. Tim is going to make her as sharp as possible. So he can let her go when the time comes. Only way he will have peace of mind is if he does it this way.

Lucy’s reactions says it all. Beaming a little as she explains how sweet it is. She knows how he struggles with his emotions. That he tends to show them through actions rather than words. The fact that he told her this means so much. Tim in a roundabout way, told her he cares so much for her he’s afraid losing her after they're no longer riding together. That he can't protect her anymore after that. So he’s going to do everything in his power to safeguard her from this jobs worst moments and possibilities like today.

She makes sure he knows how 'oddly sweet' she finds his words. Tim is trying to bite back a smile above. That sunshine of hers seeping in just a little bit more. Trying to be a grump and be like 'That's not what I meant' when that's exactly what he meant. Revealing more cracks in that emotional wall of his. God I love it so Much.

Lucy continues on and says he’s not the one she’s mad at right now. That’s she’s used to Tim. Then he does something S1 Tim would be appalled at. Gives her advice on her personal life. Doing it not to please her or get her to stop talking. But because he genuinely cares about her. Giving me all the feels in this one. My shipper heart may implode.

Tells her Emmett is a fireman. So naturally they’re idiots LOL He makes Lucy smile in a way only he can. Tim forges on saying they mean well and Emmett is a 'not bad fireman'. Tells her not to write him off just yet. That he meant well by it. Look at our boy. I’m legit beaming with pride as I write this. How far this man has come in 2 seasons hell just this season alone. Leaps and bounds all due to the the sunshine human to his right.

Lucy being herself can’t help but rib him about this. That the reason he’s giving her this advice is cause they’re friends. Honestly yeah. At this point they are. S1 finale was the start of the friends foundation but they weren't there yet. It was the beginning of that deeper bond of theirs and we’re nearing the end of s2. All that foundation has now been laid. The fruits of it are they are friends now.

Best part of this section Is he doesn’t even deny it really. He scoffs a little af first (denial isn’t just a river in Egypt Tim) but concedes at the end. The light in his eyes and the crooked smile. You know this man is happy to be considered her friend. Her confidant. Once again Eric saying so god damn much with so little. I’ll never be over how good he is with that. Like ever. Could go on for miles and miles but I won’t do that to you all haha That wraps up their scenes together in this one. SO much good content thought. Oh my lord.

Sadly Chris passes away and Jackson is distraught. Lucy being there for Jackson is so sweet. Taking care of her business with Emmett but putting him first. I love their friendship. I do admire he came over to apologize and say he was wrong. Saying she’s the strongest woman he knows. That the last thing she needs is a protector. Well you as her protector yes. sorry Emmett lol That role is not meant to be yours. She has her fierce protector already. Tim is that but her emotional protector first and foremost. I mean he would smash a dude's face in for her LOL but she doesn't need that. That's it for this one. Such a good episode for them I can not.

~~~~

Side notes-Non Chenford

Longer than normal cause the entire episode is so good. The Chenford would’ve been enough but the ep being so good on top of it I’m happy.

Angela seeing Smitty’s cam footage LOL he’s such an idiot and we all love him haha sadly how she finds out Erin Cole is a dirty cop though. Or one of them…

The whole SL with Chris, Derians and Armstrong it’s so solid and stressful to watch baha his SL was shocking when I watched it the first time. Watching this squeaky clean cop fall from grace and become a dirty cop. Tragic af but compelling as hell.

Rewatching it through the eyes of knowing you can see how much he was giving away in his scenes. So sad the ending for Cole. Debt erasure is a huge motivator for most it’s truly so sad.

Watching John and Grace continue to fall apart sucks. I truly liked them more so than him and Bailey TBH. Their chemistry was evident.

Harper thanking John for all his help in getting her kid back. That she wouldn’t be here if not for him. The impact he had. Such growth for her. Since day one she has marched toward growth and where she is now. I adore her arc and how far she has come in this moment. Such an overall amazing episode. Hell of an ep before the finale.

Thank you all for the continued support through likes/comment and reblogs. Means more than I can ever say. Our next ep is the finale. Woo. I’ll see you all then :)

#Caitlin Rewatches The Rookie #chenford #chenford hiatus #waiting on s6 #summer rewatch #s2 #2x19 The Q Word #the rookie 2x19 #otp: doing my job #otp: you know me so well. too well #otp: some things matter more #tim x lucy #lucy x tim #tim bradford #lucy chen #the rookie #eric winter #melissa o'neil #tim bradford x lucy chen

[shrinkthisviolet]

Alternatively an AU where Eowells 'raises' Barry alongside Morgan and they get to grow up as brother and sister (with the world's shittiest dad)

OOOH I LOVE THIS!

Making the case is easy enough for Eowells—Joe assisted in Henry’s prosecution, he shouldn’t get to adopt his son. And Eowells recently lost his wife and has his daughter, baby Morgan. He could use another child to fill the desolate quiet…and he’s more than happy to take in a child whose pain he might somewhat understand. (And ofc he’s a rich white man—that helps too)

Barry is ofc an angry kid at 11. Made angrier by the fact that he couldn’t even be adopted by someone he knows (Joe) but by Eowells. But…baby Morgan is adorable, and Barry finds himself at least coming to adore her, if not her father. Because yeah—Eowells is “Morgan’s father” to him. Barry won’t change his name, won’t call him Dad. But he’ll softly call himself Morgan’s brother, and hold her close like she’s the most important person in the world. Iris (he’s not allowed to interact with her outside of school, but ofc they find their ways) notices and teasingly remarks on it, saying he makes a wonderful big brother

Barry is parentified by the time…well, maybe by the time Morgan is 5. He was a little bit before, but this is when it really starts. He’s 15, old enough to stay at home by himself, so often he and Morgan have the house to themselves. He soothes her nightmares, sings her to sleep…when he turns 16, he’s the one taking her to and from school. It’s tough balancing this and his own life, he’s not cut out for all this by himself…and Tina notices. She asks after Eowells, but he makes excuses (because yeah, by this point, he considers Eowells his dad and even cares about him, even if that love is mixed with resentment for his late hours working). Still, Tina insists, and Barry reluctantly accepts, letting her shoulder some of Morgan’s childrearing. They become a sort of team…and Tina even helps him out from time to time

In this AU, Morgan is much more attached to Barry than to Eowells. She doesn’t think of him as her dad exactly, but…he’s not far off either, and in a lot of ways, he’s at least more parental to her than Eowells. The first time she got scared of thunderstorms, it was Barry who cuddled with her, sang her to sleep, and told her a funny story about thunder and lightning being “show-offs” that made her giggle. It’s Barry who comes to all her choir concerts and karate belt tests with (or without, on occasion—Tina’s still a busy woman) Tina, being the embarrassing big brother who says “that’s my sister!!” and insists on taking a million pictures and teases her just enough to make her roll her eyes but smile anyway (and she, ofc, gives as good as she gets)

It means that she’s also much less conflicted about Eowells. Sure, she loves him, but if it’s Barry’s life on the line? He’s always been there, Eowells hasn’t. It’s an easy choice to make. She’ll always choose her brother. She even changes her surname to his—although she’s now Tina’s legal child, she’s always been Barry’s baby sister before anything else.

Admittedly, parts of this AU overlap with what I have planned for the Childhood Friends AU (you’ll notice there are some chunks I didn’t address in these headcanons, and that’s because they’d be spoilers for some CF AU plot points 😅), which is…really the only reason I’d hesitate to write it. And yet…👀👀

Also, to anyone else reading this, @fezwearingjellybananas (the wonderful sender of this ask) did sorta write this premise in their amazing Speedster Siblings series (with the addition of Wally, and it’s Jesse rather than Morgan so she’s a speedster). I highly recommend it!

send me an au and i’ll share 5+ headcanons about it!

Taglist (send an ask or DM to be added or removed):

@arrthurpendragon @ocappreciationtag @raith-way @vexic929 @ironverseocs @thechaoticfanartist @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @negative-speedforce @starstruckpurpledragon @angst-is-love-angst-is-life

#no lavi you do NOT need more wips #daddy issues au #au headcanon ask game #brotp: i know my hero #oc: morgan wells #barry allen #morgan wells au what-ifs #the flash

[galaxymagitech]

Graveyard

Written for Dick Grayson Anniversary Week: Day 4 Prompt: Batman's Most Trusted

@dickgraysonweek

Summary: No one comes to save a mourning Bruce from himself. Until, months after Tim would have stepped in, Dick notices Bruce's recklessness on a League Mission. He returns to Bruce's side to help him back into the light, but ends up following him into the darkness instead.

Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne, Jason the Narrative Ghost

Warnings: Referenced death of a family member, dissociation, discussions of suicidal thoughts in a non-POV character, brief mentions of rape (specifically, Felipe Garzonas’s crimes, not of any main characters). Mild gore? I don't think it's that bad, but it's slightly present.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Bruce had made it clear that he didn’t want to see Dick again, not after their confrontation over Jason’s death. But there was an emergency, and the Justice League had called for all available heroes to come and help beat back the robotic alien army. And Dick, well, of course he came. Normally he’d be leading his own team during a situation like this, but he was on break from the Titans and he didn’t want to mess with their leadership structure. Indecision in battle is dangerous, and if the Titans weren’t sure who to listen to…it wouldn’t be good. Clark had asked Dick if he was sure he wanted to join the main Leaguers—he knew that Dick and Bruce aren’t on best terms right now, even though he likely doesn’t know the details. But Bruce is professional and Dick should be able to keep his head in the game.

Should being the keyword. And yet he can’t stop watching as Bruce faces off against twelve robots, because something…something is wrong. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest as an energy beam misses Batman by an inch. Bruce should’ve dodged that. Easily. The man doesn’t try to split up his opponents, lead a group of them off to dispatch separately. No, he fights all of them at once. When a blow from one of their four arms strikes him in the stomach, Bruce doubles over. He grins, even as blood drips between his teeth, dribbling down his chin and into the snow.

Focus, Dick orders himself as he dodges an energy beam and rolls between one of the robot’s eight legs, scoring its underside with a batarang.

Batman spins, his cape a whirlwind as he pulls two more robots into the fight.

Dick watches an energy beam scorch Bruce’s arm, and suddenly it clicks. Bruce isn’t trying to keep himself safe.

This is all wrong.

---

Dick may have given his keys to Alfred—or, tossed them away in the Batcave where Alfred would find them, at least—but his Batcave access hasn’t been revoked. He had thought it might be, after the way he left, but he had other plans for if this didn’t work.

It’s 4 PM. Bruce should be upstairs in the Manor, but he’ll come down eventually. In the meantime, Dick has a case that he picked up in New York with potential ties to the League of Assassins. He needs to analyze a sample of poison, and the Batcomputer will be useful for that. Dick could probably call up Clark and get access to some Justice League equipment, but…the Batcomputer is probably best for the job.

It's a convenient excuse. Dick might not be allowed in the Manor, but Batman wouldn’t deny Nightwing access to the Batcave’s equipment, not when it could save lives.

This is going to be awkward as hell, if it doesn’t devolve into Round Two. But Dick can’t just stand by while Bruce gets himself killed.

Fuck. That’s what’s happening, isn’t it? He knows—he knows that Jason’s death hit all of them hard. Dick and Alfred, hell, the entire superhero community…but especially Bruce. He knows. But Dick never would’ve expected this. Not of Bruce.

When Dick climbs off his bike, he finds that the Batcave is not empty. In fact, Bruce is hunched over the Batcomputer, cowl off but uniform still on, the same burn marks from the fight still present. Bruce turns around at the sound of Dick’s footsteps, and Dick sees a bruise on the man’s jaw that wasn’t there before. He went on patrol, didn’t he? That reckless idiot. No patrol after League missions unless absolutely necessary, and Dick’s kept an eye on the news—it wasn’t necessary at all.

“Dick?” Bruce asks, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. His voice is hoarse from exhaustion and his eyes are glazed. Dick doesn’t think Bruce has slept in days.

Dick pulls the poison sample out from his pocket and holds it up. Instead of the nod of acknowledgement Dick was expecting, Bruce’s shoulders slump.

“You need access to the Batcomputer?”

“Yeah,” Dick says softly. “Have you slept in the last forty-eight hours?” Bruce grunts in the negative. Yeah, Dick thought so. “Seventy-two?” Another grunt. Dick steps closer. He can see the bags under his father’s eyes, the exhaustion evident in his normally military posture. “I’m worried about you, Bruce,” he admits.

Surprise flickers across Bruce’s face. “I’m…relatively uninjured.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Dick says. Bruce looks off to the side. Dick walks over to stand by the second chair by the Batcomputer, the one normally reserved for Robin, and hovers there, uncertain.

“You should…you should sit,” Bruce says gruffly. Dick sits. He thinks they both know that this means something. “What is the sample? Do you need help with it?”

This is definitely a distraction tactic, but the sample is important too, so Dick takes the vial out of the plastic bag he was keeping it in and places it in one of the machines attached to the Batcomputer. The two vigilantes fall into a practiced rhythm, cycling through tests and databases until Dick’s fairly certain that the poison is a paralytic that comes from a region close to a League base in the Amazon. He wants to keep working, find something else that they haven’t considered yet, just to keep this comfortable companionship with Bruce. He misses it so much. But he came here for a reason. “If you keep this up,” Dick says as he turns back from the hazardous waste chute, “you’re going to get yourself killed. And I’m worried that you don’t seem to care.”

“I’ve always been devoted to my work,” Bruce argues, even as he doesn’t outright deny the accusation.

“Not like this,” Dick says. He looks around the cave, the mess of files cluttering the medical cots, the dust on the giant penny, the number of windows open on the Batcomputer. “Not like this,” he repeats. “Bruce, you need to slow down and…and think. How many of those blows could you have dodged during that battle? How many of your injuries could you have healed if you stayed in the League infirmary for even an hour?”

“That’s not your concern, Nightwing.”

“It is! Bruce, I…” Dick feels his heart clench. “You’re going to get yourself killed. It’s…it’s terrifying. I know after…” He trails off. “I know after everything, it’s hard. I get it, okay? But this? You can’t do this.”

Bruce’s fists clench. “I’m taking all normal precautions. You don’t need to worry.”

“I think I do, Bruce. You’ve never been reckless like this before. I mean, what does Alfred think?”

“Alfred left,” Bruce says shortly.

What? “He’s coming back, right?”

“…I don’t know,” Bruce admits. He shifts uncomfortable. “Alfred…he said he couldn’t stay and watch this. So I asked him to take a vacation.”

“And he left? Just like that?” Alfred has dealt with a stubborn Bruce for far too long to just leave when commanded. There’s something that Bruce isn’t saying. And Bruce is perfectly capable of hiding things, so either this is something so bad that Bruce can’t hide it or, deep down, Bruce doesn’t want to hide it.

“There was a fight with Two-Face. It went badly. Alfred…had the same opinion that you do now.”

“Holy shit,” Dick says. “And you think you’re just fine and dandy?”

“I think,” Bruce says slowly, “that how I fight is my business.”

“Not if…not when you’re like this.”

“I’m fine.”

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?” Dick takes a deep breath and accesses the post-patrol reports, running a quick script. The list of injuries—far, far more extensive than it should be—prints out before his eyes. Dick’s stomach turns.

“You shouldn’t be looking at that,” Bruce says, almost apologetically.

“Then you shouldn’t get hurt,” Dick hisses. “What the hell, B? This isn’t…this isn’t recklessness.” He can’t bring himself to say the proper words. “This is deliberate.”

The air sits heavy in the Batcave. “I think you should go,” Bruce says.

“No.” Dick takes a deep breath. After seeing this…his breath catches as he stares at the list, and he forces himself to look away and face Bruce. Dick can’t leave. “I’m not leaving you alone. I shouldn’t have left you alone while you were grieving, but…I can’t. I can’t leave and come back to realize you’re dead. Don’t do this to me, Bruce.”

“I’m not—”

“Bruce, please.”

“Dick, you’re making—”

Yeah, Dick doesn’t want to hear how that sentence ends. “You clearly don’t care if you live or die.” Dick stands up. “Well, guess what, asshole? I care! I’m staying here where I can keep an eye on you and make sure I don’t wake up one day to the news of your corpse. And if you don’t want me to stay, then I’ll just live in the Batcave! And—and if you kick me out of here too, then I’ll follow you on patrol and fucking tranq you and take you to Clark. So what’ll it be?”

“Dick—”

Dick can feel the tears welling up in his eyes. He rarely cries anymore, but all he can think of is losing Bruce, so soon after he lost Jason. Dick can’t do that. He can’t lose another father, another family member. Not like this. “Jason wouldn’t want you to die, Jason would want you to live. And I need you to live. So I’m going to make damn well sure you do, no matter what you say!”

“Chum, I—”

Fuck, the tears are falling now. Dick wipes his eyes with his sleeve. “I don’t care if it’s selfish, you are not going to die. I won’t let you.”

Suddenly, Dick feels Bruce’s arms around him, pulling him close. Dick sinks into Bruce’s chest and slings his arms around Bruce’s waist. Bruce is alive. Dick will make sure he stays that way. He won’t lose him.

“If you’re willing to stay, I would…I would greatly appreciate it,” Bruce says. He doesn’t pull away. Dick clings close, afraid to let go.

---

On patrol, Nightwing sticks close to Batman’s side. It should be suffocating, but it’s better than the fear that freezes his lungs whenever the two vigilantes get separated. Dick leaps into fight after fight, brandishing escrima sticks and cracking jokes like it’s the only thing that’ll keep him afloat. Dick is painfully aware that if he can’t keep a light heart, then no one will. There is no Robin around to light the way. Nightwing will have to be enough.

It's hard, though, when Dick sees Jason on every rooftop and the Joker laughing in every shadow. It’s hard, when Dick realizes he hasn’t contacted his friends for two weeks—and none of them have contacted him. It’s hard, when Dick and Bruce trade nights of nightmares.

The first time Dick hears Bruce screaming at night, he throws himself out of bed, terrified that the Manor is under attack. But when he reaches Bruce’s door, he can hear the man crying and sobbing inside. This is wrong. Batman doesn’t have nightmares, Batman doesn’t cry out in his sleep. Dick hovers outside the door, uncertain, unwilling to cross that boundary.

Should he go in? When Dick was a child, he was always welcome after one of his own nightmares. But Dick is no longer a child, and Bruce having nightmares is completely uncharted territory.

Dick should leave. This isn’t his place. But he can’t bring himself to go back to sleep when he knows Bruce is suffering.

Slowly, he rests against the wall to Bruce’s room and slides down to the floor. He leans his head back, closes his eyes, and listens as every cry stabs at his heart. Eventually, it stops, and Dick drifts off until morning.

The next night, Dick dreams that he is sitting with Barbara in a small, quaint coffee shop. Outside the window, every adult is dressed as Batman and every child as Robin, but inside, Dick is just Dick and Barbara is just Barbara. “Don’t look at them,” Barbara says. “It doesn’t matter.”

And then she’s choking, doubled over with the Joker standing behind her, his bloody red lips twisted into a smile. His hand is buried in her back.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Joker grins. “I can just twist, and—oops!”

Barbara falls to the ground. “Dick, help me! Dick, please, I can’t move.”

Outside, all the children drop dead. The coffee shop is on fire.

“Why?” Dick asks the Joker.

The monster laughs and laughs and laughs, and with every second his face loses its pallor and his grin shifts into a grimace, until Dick finds himself staring at Bruce.

“No,” he tries to say, but it doesn’t come out. He stumbles, only to find his back pressed into a wall. “No, wait—”

Bruce plunges his hand into Dick’s chest. Dick can feel it close around his heart. “Jason is dead.”

All the dead Robins outside sit up and twist their heads at unnatural angles. Their Batmen pick them up and hold them, like an army of despair.

“Jason is dead,” Bruce repeats, and Dick knows it’s an accusation, but—

“It’s not my fault,” he insists.

“These are your colors,” Bruce says. Dick looks down. He’s wearing a yellow shirt and green tights, and Bruce’s hand is still clenched around his heart. “Yellow. And green. It’s only missing the red.” And then Bruce pulls.

Dick watches, frozen, as his father holds a bloody, pulsating heart in his hands.

“I would give this to Jason if I could,” Bruce says. “But it’s not enough.” His grimace twists even further. “You’re useless to me.” He tosses the heart to the side. Around them, the flames burn brighter and brighter.

Dick wakes up screaming, with Bruce at his side.

Immediately, he pushes himself up into a seated position, flicking on his lamp and breathing heavily as he tries to force the dream from his mind.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says. “I had to check. I heard you screaming. I had to check.”

And three years ago, Dick would’ve been angry. Would’ve ranted about invasions of privacy and paranoia. Instead, he slides off the edge of the bed, wraps his arms around Bruce, and lets his father hold him close. “I’m fine,” Dick says, wishing he believed it. “I’m fine. You’re fine. Everyone’s—” He chokes on the word. Jason.

“You’re alive,” Bruce whispers, as Dick buries his face in Bruce’s chest.

---

“Where were you?” Bruce asks as Dick pokes at his mac and cheese. They’ve been eating the most basic meals possible. Too much takeout and the papers will start to speculate. “I needed to consult with you on the Michaelson case.”

Dick sighs. This is why he moved out. Bruce does not need to know where he is at all times.

And yet, Dick gets it. Bruce didn’t keep track of Jason.

“I was looking for a job.”

Bruce’s brows furrow. “A job? Why?”

Dick rolls his eyes. Seriously? “A job. To earn money. You know, that thing that buys food?”

“I have plenty of money,” Bruce says, like he doesn’t see the problem there.

“I’m not mooching off of you,” Dick insists.

“It’s not…mooching. I’m happy to support you.”

Rich people. Seriously. “You don’t get it, B. I’ve got to get a job. Save up. Be independent.”

“You don’t need a job, Dick. Besides, you’re twenty-one. If you were in college, I would still be paying for everything.”

“Bruce.”

“Dick.”

“You don’t get it,” Dick says. He can feel his frustration rising. “I’m not going to be living with you or the Titans forever. You get that, right? This is temporary.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Bruce says, looking down at his plate.

Dick stands up. “Seriously, B?” He moved back into the Manor to help Bruce out of the funk he’s in, not to staypermanently. But Bruce doesn’t seem to have caught onto that.

“You can stay as long as you want.”

Dick is already sacrificing everything he built by staying here. And he’s willing to do it, he is, but Bruce doesn’t seem to realize just what Dick has lost. “I don’t want to stay forever. I have a life. I have friends. I don’t exist solely for your stupid fucking mission!”

Bruce stands up too. “Richard John Grayson!”

“Oh, the full name, huh?” Dick scoffs. “You’re not my father, Bruce. And if you want me to give a fuck about language, then get Alfred back. Oh, wait—you drove him away!”

“At least I know where Alfred is! When you run off, you don’t tell me where. And when Jason ran off, he got himself killed!”

“I’m not Jason!” Dick screams. “And I’m a grown adult, I don’t have to tell you anything! You don’t own me and you don’t own my life!”

“Then you don’t have any right to dictate how I live mine!”

“I have the right to make sure you fucking live!”

They’re both heaving for air, fists clenched as they stand over the dinner table. Suddenly, the guilt hits, filling Dick’s lungs. It all just ran away from him, the whole fight spiraling and spiraling and spiraling. Dick didn’t mean for it to go like this. And instead of storming out, like he normally does after a fight with Bruce, he just slumps over and stands there, head hung.

“I don’t want to fight,” Dick says, eventually.

“I…I don’t want to fight either, Dick.” Bruce looks so very tired.

“I didn’t mean it,” Dick whispers.

“I know,” Bruce says.

“I just want to help.”

Bruce pulls him close. “I know.”

---

“Bet you can’t keep up, B!” Dick shouts, diving off a skyscraper. He shoots his grappling hook before he jumps. Bruce does not.

The two race through the rooftops, Dick adding in unnecessary acrobatics and Bruce replicating them, though not quite as elegantly. In theory, they’re patrolling. In practice, it’s the closest they get to a game.

The last time Bruce and Dick raced across Gotham’s rooftops, Dick was fourteen. The next time Dick thought Batman was looking down and tried to start the chase, Bruce growled at him to focus. Dick didn’t stop trying for another year.

Dick tries to push the dismal thoughts from his head. What matters is the here and now. The thrill of the wind blowing through his hair, the swooping in his stomach as he falls, the laughter that spills past his lips. This is how Batman and Robin used to be.

Did Jason do this with Bruce too?

Dick mistimes his landing and stumbles, forcing himself into a sloppy roll. When he lands on his feet, his shoulder is aching. That’s going to bruise, and bad.

Bruce, in the middle of copying one of Dick’s flips, doesn’t notice. Dick forces a grin onto his face and rushes forwards.

As he somersaults over the gap between the next two buildings, he notices a man threatening a scrawny teenager with a knife in the alley below. “You go on ahead, B!” Dick shouts. “You could use the head start!”

He makes short work of the mugger and ties him up for the police.

“Wait,” the kid calls out as Dick turns to leave. Dick pauses. “Can I…can I report something?”

Dick shifts his body language, trying to make himself appear open. “Sure!” He says cheerily—but not overly cheerily, just enough to be encouraging.

“There’s this tunnel,” the kid explains. “Some of us—I mean, some of my friends—go there to paint. I mean, I don’t. But some guys I know do.” Their shoulders hunch defensively. Dick’s not buying it for a second, but Batman and Nightwing don’t hunt down graffiti artists. “These guys came along one day, wearing these weird masks, and said we all had to get out. So I—I mean, my friends left. But some people were like, ‘screw it,’ and stayed, and no one’s seen them in days.”

That certainly sounds concerning. “What sort of masks?”

“Like, clowns. Hey, do you think it’s the Joker?”

“Maybe,” Dick says. Probably. But the Joker’s still in Arkham right now, so what’s he playing at? “What else can you tell me?”

By the time he’s got all the information the kid has, Dick knows Bruce is far ahead of him. He races along the patrol route, not bothering to do any fancy acrobatics. A few minutes later, Dick hears the sound of grunts from yet another alleyway and sighs, dropping down to join the fray.

Except, it isn’t much of a fray at all. There are two men lying on the ground, unconscious, one of them bleeding, a tiny kid cowering a few feet away against a building, and Batman straddling a third man, pummeling him in the face.

Dick freezes, taking the scene in. One of the unconscious men has half his limbs bent at artificial angles. The other appears to be bleeding from the temple and has a batarang pinned through his hand (batarangs aren’t supposed to be that sharp). And the kid, the kid is shivering, his arms wrapped around his knees as he pushes himself into the corner between the building’s wall and a dumpster. He’s wearing a ragged red hoodie and his face is far too gaunt to be healthy. Homeless, probably.

Another grunt pulls Dick’s gaze toward the third man, who Bruce is taking an unusually long time to subdue. Or—that can’t be right, because he already seems to be unconscious, not even moving as Bruce strikes him again and again. “Batman?” Dick asks hesitantly, stepping forward. Bruce doesn’t respond. He aims another strike at the criminal’s face and Dick hears a distinct crack. “B, I think you got him,” Dick says, his voice shaking ever-so-slightly. Another grunt. Another strike. This is wrong. The man is already unconscious. They’re supposed to tie him up and leave, why is Bruce still attacking him? “B!” Dick orders. “That’s enough!”

But nothing seems to be getting through. Bruce grabs the man’s shirt collar and slams him against the ground. His head bounces off the pavement, and all Dick can think of is that Bruce is going to kill this man, if he’s not already dead. Dick rushes forward and shoves Bruce in the shoulder as hard as he can. Bruce reacts instinctively, throwing a wild fist that Dick easily ducks, but now Batman’s standing up, and he’s not hitting the man anymore, so it’s—it’s okay.

Bruce freezes. “Dick—”

No names in the field. No names in the field. That’s all Dick can think of. Bruce is the stickler for that rule, but even Dick only ever breaks it when on rooftops, far away from the action. But here, in an alleyway in the middle of Gotham, with a witness…

Bruce is compromised. Dick knew it already, but not like this. He pictures Bruce’s fists pummeling the criminal again and again and feels…sick.

“What the hell was that?” Dick accuses.

“I didn’t mean—I didn’t see you. I didn’t know it was you.”

Dick laughs harshly. That’s what Bruce is focusing on? “Forget about me, what about him?”

Bruce tilts his head to look at the criminal lying on the ground. He swallows.

Dick kneels down and checks for a pulse. He finds one, thank god. Faint, but present. “He’s alive,” Dick reports. “But you could have killed him.”

Bruce just stares. Dick takes out the encrypted burner phone all of them carry and dials 911. Bruce watches silently as Dick says that an ambulance is needed. Dick throws a disgusted look at Bruce. Clearly he’s not going to be any help, and there’s still a terrified street kid to deal with. Thankfully, the kid looks too out of it to have heard Dick’s name, but if he’s still there when the ambulance arrives, he’ll get taken by CPP. And Dick knows that kids in Gotham often have a very good reason to avoid social workers.

“Hey,” Dick says softly, kneeling down a few feet away from the kid. The boy just shakes even harder. “I’m Nightwing.” Normally, he tells kids in Gotham that he works with Batman. But with what the kid just saw…Dick doesn’t even know if that’ll help him right now. “I fight the bad guys,” he says instead. The kid shifts, but looks at him with blank, blue eyes. Black hair, blue eyes, red hoodie…around ten to twelve years old…he looks like Jason, in his early days at Wayne Manor. “Can you tell me your name?”

The sound of sirens fills the air and suddenly, like a marionette, the kid jumps to his feet and takes off running. Dick doesn’t follow him. If the kid had the presence of mind to run, he probably has somewhere to go.

“Cave,” Dick says, voice hard. “Now.”

---

In the cave, Dick paces. Motion has always helped him think. But here, it doesn’t seem to be enough. What can Dick possibly say? Bruce was always the one who held him back, until Dick accepted the no-kill rule as part of his identity. But if Dick hadn’t gotten there in time…

A sick feeling churns in his gut. Batman wasn’t stopping. Batman would’ve killed that man.

If Dick wasn’t here, Bruce would be a murderer.

Dick gags and just barely holds down his light dinner. This is wrong. It isn’t supposed to be like this. This isn’t who Bruce is.

But maybe, this is who Bruce is now.

“You almost killed someone,” Dick says quietly, stopping to face Bruce, who stands over by Jason’s display case with his cowl off. Dick hates that damn thing. A GOOD SOLDIER. Like Jason was a soldier who died in a war. Like he made a choice to serve. Like he wasn’t a child in over his head who should have been protected by his family.

“You stopped me in time.”

“What if I wasn’t there?” Dick asks. Dick was trying to help, but…Bruce seemed to be improving. Just an hour ago, they were racing through Gotham. Dick thought he heard Bruce chuckle. How did everything change so fast? Will Dick ever be able to trust that Bruce is improving?

“But you were,” Bruce says, his voice filled with some emotion that Dick is too tired to name.

Dick was there, but he can’t always be, can he? Not all the time. He was willing to save Bruce from himself. He didn’t know he’d have to save Gotham from Bruce.

Dick steps forward and raises a hand to the glass display case. He looks at the costume, so similar to his own old circus leotard. These aren’t the clothes Jason died in. They aren’t burnt and tattered and stained with blood. It seems wrong, to remember Jason like this. With shining glass and a clean costume and a plaque.

But Dick can’t say he knew Jason well enough to decide on the right way to remember him.

“The kid looked like Jason.” Dick says it like a question, even though it isn’t one. “That’s why you were so…” Violent? That’s the understatement of the century. Batman’s always been violent, but he’s also always been kind, and that kindness was nowhere to be found in that alleyway.

“Yes,” Bruce says, and his voice shakes. Dick wants to pull him close and hug him, but he doesn’t think it would be appreciated right now. Dick’s not even sure if he could stomach it. This is Bruce, his mentor, his second father in every way that matters, but…but he just almost beat a man to death. His gauntlets are still bloody. “They were going to…”

“I know,” Dick interrupts before Bruce can continue. He places a hesitant hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Bruce, Jason wouldn’t…Jason wouldn’t want this.”

Bruce goes stiff and takes a step back, forcing Dick’s hand away. “Don’t talk about what Jason would want,” he says, voice cold.

“He wouldn’t,” Dick says. He knows…he knows that this is a surefire way to start a fight, but he needs to get through to Bruce. He needs the real Bruce back. “Jason believed in Robin, believed in Batman. He would want you to be the man he…the man he believed in.”

Bruce shakes his head. “You have no idea.”

Dick steps forward. “Then tell me.”

“Jason killed Felipe Garzonas.” What? Dick cycles through cases in his head, but he wasn’t particularly involved in Gotham during Jason’s time as Robin. He doesn’t know who that is. “He said the man slipped. I wasn’t sure at the time. I wanted to believe him. But he didn’t even try to make the story convincing.”

Dick closes his eyes. “Jason,” he whispers.

“Garzonas had diplomatic immunity. Much like the Joker did shortly after Jason’s death. He...he was a rapist. He tormented a woman until she hung herself. And Jason went after him alone. I arrived to see Garzonas hit the ground, after falling from the top of a building with a railing.”

“He said he didn’t,” Dick protests weakly. “Jason wouldn’t.”

“Don’t pretend to know what Jason would or wouldn’t do.”

That’s fair, Dick supposes. He still…he still struggles to wrap his head around the idea of Jason killing, Jason who proclaimed Robin to be magic. And Bruce doesn’t know for sure. But whether Jason pushed Garzonas or not, that doesn’t change what Dick saw in that alleyway. “You almost killed someone, Bruce. What would have happened if he hadn’t had a pulse?”

Bruce’s every muscle stills. “What would you have me do?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Bruce turns to face Dick, meeting his eyes. “If I had killed him, what would you say I do next?”

Why is Bruce asking Dick of all people? Batman doesn’t kill. (Neither does Robin.) It’s just how it is. Batman doesn’t. “Batman doesn’t kill,” Dick says. But that’s not an answer, is it? Bruce looks at him, like he’s waiting for more. This isn’t a situation Dick’s ever considered. He’s thought about what would happen if he failed. As Robin, he always figured Bruce would disown him, kick him out permanently and leave him to fend for himself. As Nightwing, he figured Bruce would put him to Arkham. “Batman doesn’t kill,” Dick repeats. “I don’t…what do you want me to say, Bruce?”

“Would you place me in Arkham?” Bruce asks. “I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t stop you.”

“No,” Dick says, before he can even think about it. Immediately, he wants to take it back. Of course he should put Batman in Arkham. If someone kills in Gotham, they’re a criminal, and if they wear a mask, they’re a Rogue. Bruce should berate him, tell him that Batman is no different, that if he kills, it’s Dick’s duty to stop him. But Bruce just watches Dick closely. Not like this is a test…like he genuinely wants to hear Dick’s answer. “I’d. I’d. I don’t know.” Maybe Bruce could throw Dick in Arkham. Probably could. But Dick doesn’t think he could do that to Bruce. “Batman doesn’t kill,” Dick repeats for a third time, clinging to it like a lifeline. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes. He turns around so that Bruce won’t see. “We don’t kill. It’s the first rule you taught me.”

“I know,” Bruce says quietly. “We don’t kill,” he agrees.

“I don’t think you should patrol right now.”

“Gotham needs me,” Bruce protests.

Dick turns around. “One week. I can handle Gotham for one week, and then you’ll be back out in the field. Okay?”

There’s a long silence, before Bruce eventually nods.

“Okay,” Dick says. “Pull yourself together, Grayson,” he mutters under his breath. It doesn’t help.

---

Fifty-six hours later, Dick wakes up from his third nightmare of the night. All he can see is Bruce’s body burnt and disfigured, bones clattering like a skeleton as he cries out again and again, “Why didn’t you save me?”Dick stumbles through the hallway, reaches Bruce’s door and, against his better instincts, opens it.

It doesn’t bring relief, though. All Dick can see are blankets, and that’s not enough. He shuffles over to the bed, wincing as the floorboards creak. And he can see Bruce, but his mind whispers insidiously. What if it’s an illusion? What if he’s not there? What if he’s dead? Tentatively, Dick raises a hand to touch Bruce’s face.

“Dick?” Bruce asks blearily, and Dick jumps back.

“I had to check,” Dick justifies.

“I’m here,” Bruce says. He raises a hand, slightly, letting it slip outside his blankets. Dick grabs the hand and holds it tight, fingers twisting around to feel Bruce’s heartbeat.

“You’re here,” Dick echoes.

---

On day four of Bruce’s forced break, the Joker, Killer Croc, and the Riddler break out of Arkham. Dick reluctantly admits that he needs help and tells Bruce that he’s back to being Batman.

“Are you sure, Dick?” Bruce asks quietly.

“I trust you,” Dick says. He doesn’t know if that’s a lie or not. Either way, it’s impossible to miss the flash of guilt on Bruce’s face. “We’ll stick together. No splitting off.”

Bruce nods. “Thank you, Dick.”

“Nothing to thank me for.”

Dick watches Bruce like a hawk. Although he hits perhaps a bit too hard, it’s nothing like the excessive violence Dick saw in that alleyway. Bruce is more reluctant to get hurt when Dick is watching, and Dick is sure to block the strikes that Bruce doesn’t avoid.

They finish patrol at 5:31 AM, battered and sore and exhausted, but Killer Croc has been returned to Arkham, and they have a lead on the Joker. That tunnel the graffiti kid mentioned may look clear now, but sooner or later, the Joker is liable to show up.

After one too many nightmares, they give up on boundaries. Dick humors Bruce’s first idea, which is to put cameras in their rooms to check on each other at night, but neither of them is satisfied that someone isn’t just looping the feed. When Dick finds himself checking on Bruce at four in the morning, Bruce mutters deliriously, “just stay, Dick.”

So Dick crawls next to him and falls asleep to the sound of Bruce’s heartbeat. He doesn’t have any more nightmares that night.

---

Donna calls. The Titans have been on another off-planet mission. She asks if Dick is coming back soon.

“I don’t know,” Dick says. “Bruce is…Bruce isn’t doing well.”

Dick can practically hear her purse her lips over the phone. Dick and Donna tell each other everything. “You’re living with him again?”

“Yeah,” Dick says. “Yeah, I…I am. Look, it’s really bad, Donna. I had to do something.”

“You don’t owe him anything.”

“I wanted to help him,” Dick says.

“Yeah,” Donna says. She sounds resigned. “Just…be careful, Dick. Please.”

“Always am.”

That’s a lie. They both know it.

---

The Joker returns to the tunnel that his henchmen set up. Along with him goes the Riddler.

Dick knows that with two villains, they’ll probably get split up. So when Bruce says that he’ll take the Joker and Dick will rescue the hostages playing one of the Riddler’s games, Dick holds out an escrima stick to stop him in his tracks.

“What?” Bruce growls.

“You get the hostages, B. I’ll deal with the Joker.”

“I don’t want you facing him alone.”

“Tough luck,” Dick says. Bruce may not be beating street-level thugs to near-death right now, but Dick doesn’t trust him against the Joker. Hell, Dick doesn’t even fully trust himself. “I can take care of myself.”

“Fine,” Bruce agrees reluctantly. Dick can see how difficult it is for the man, allowing Dick to face the Joker, and he’s grateful that Bruce manages to agree.

They split ways. Dick follows the tunnel, disarming booby traps until he finds the Joker perched atop a throne. Dick sighs.

“This ends here,” Dick says. “Whatever fucked-up scheme you concocted now, it’s over. I’d recommend you come quietly.” He bares his teeth. “Wouldn’t want to give me an excuse.”

The Joker doesn’t respond. Dick steps closer, wary of traps. Another step. Another step. Something’s off about the Joker. Something’s really off.

Another step. The Joker’s face has a waxy sheen.

Another step. That’s not just some bad makeup. That’s…

Dick spots the bomb strapped to the wax figure’s back.

“Fuck.”

His first instinct is to run, but a cave-in here could be disastrous. He tries to estimate the distance he travelled, and he guesses he’s right underneath the Narrows right now. And Dick does not trust Gotham tunnel inspectors.

Dick rushes forward. Two minutes on the clock. Only one bomb, as far as he can tell.

He makes quick work of it. A minute in, and the bomb’s disabled. Dick looks around. He must be missing something. A trap’s never just a trap, with the Joker. It’s never this easy.

Fear shoots through Dick. Of course. It’s not a trap for him. It’s a trap for Batman.

Dick takes off in the direction of the Riddler’s game, where he assumes the Joker will also be.

He arrives just in time to see the bullet hit.

Brain matter splatters all over his face, and Dick can’t breathe.

---

“Dick.”

Dick isn’t here. He isn’t. He isn’t here. Not here.

This is a nightmare.

Dick has had this nightmare before. He picks up a gun and shoots the Joker, and it feels good. Bruce picks up a gun and shoots himself. Bruce picks up a gun and shoots Jason. Bruce shoots the Joker. Bruce shoots the Joker. Bruce shoots the Joker.

“Batman doesn’t kill,” Dick whispers, but it’s a lie. It’s a fucking lie. Batman doesn’t kill, but Dick watched him shoot the Joker and he doesn’t even know how it happened. Just that the Joker’s head exploded and Bruce stared at him and then said, quietly, “I’m sorry, Dick,” and then everything went sort of fuzzy and—

His lips feel disconnected from his body. He wants to talk, to scream, to beg. To ask why. Why did Bruce do this? Bruce, who hates guns with his whole soul. Who sees the good in everyone. Who could never kill.

Was Dick just lying to himself this whole time? Pretending like he could help Bruce, like he was what Bruce needed, like he could stand in for the magic of Robin?

Cold water hits Dick’s face. It’s a decontamination shower. Why is he in a decontamination shower?

Blood runs out of his hair, flowing off his suit and swirling around the drain. Oh. That’s why.

The Joker is dead. Dick knows that, because Bruce checked for a pulse, face stony. Bruce killed the Joker. And Dick didn’t stop him.

Because Dick could have jumped in front of that bullet. There was a split-second, where he saw Bruce’s finger tense on the trigger. Where he knew what was going to happen. And he watched. He watched it happen.

The water turns off. Someone presses a towel into Dick’s hands. He just stares at it blankly, before sliding down to sit on the stone floor. He should change out of the Nightwing suit, probably. But it’s so difficult to even twitch one of his fingers. Bruce sits down a few feet away from him.

“You killed him,” Dick says eventually.

“Yes,” Bruce agrees. “I did.”

“Why?”

“He had a detonator. He was going to kill the hostages. And I didn’t know where you were—he might have. He might have killed you too.” Bruce wraps an arm around Dick’s shoulders. Dick feels empty inside. He should—he should feel revolted, shouldn’t he? This is a—this is a killer.

(But this is his father. This is Bruce.)

“You always find another way,” Dick says.

“I didn’t want to.” Bruce inhales deeply. “I’m sorry, Dick. I’m sorry that this happened. But I’m not sorry for what I did.”

Dick closes his eyes. He can smell blood, thick and metallic. Can practically taste it. But he also smells Bruce, and the unique scent of the Batcave, and—

How did it end up like this? Dick was supposed to help.

“I’m sorry,” he ends up whispering. “I failed you, Bruce. I’m so sorry.”

Bruce pulls him close. Dick can feel himself start to cry. He doesn’t deserve to cry. He’s just as responsible for this as Bruce. “You didn’t fail me,” Bruce promises.

“I did,” Dick mumbles. “I did, I failed you. I failed you.”

“Don’t say that,” Bruce tries to order, but Dick’s never been good at following orders. “You did not.”

Dick swallows. “You were always there to catch me and I…I let you fall.”

A hand runs through his hair. Dick lets himself rest against Bruce. They’re murderers, the both of them. Dick doesn’t want to pull away and find out what comes next. “Dick, look at me. Please.” Reluctantly, Dick opens his eyes to look up. “This is not your fault. This was my decision alone, and you couldn’t have…you couldn’t have stopped me.”

But Bruce doesn’t get it. It was his decision, but it was a decision Dick let him make. Dick knew Bruce shouldn’t be out in the field. He knew he shouldn’t split from Bruce when hunting down the Joker. He knew that Batman was violent and dangerous and unpredictable, but he couldn’t see past Bruce.

Dick still can’t see past Bruce. Because he should be fighting him and throwing him in containment, but he’s not, he’s not. He’s just letting Bruce hold him, comfort him, lie to him.

Suddenly, a horrible thought strikes Dick. It takes root in his stomach, and grows and grows and grows until he can’t ignore it. It makes too much sense. “This isn’t the first time,” Dick whispers, “is it?”

Bruce lowers his head. “No, Dick, it isn’t.”

Dick pushes himself away from Bruce and stands up. Bruce stays seated. “When?” He demands.

“Before you got here. I stopped caring. I only…I only realized he was dead after I left the scene. I went back, and there wasn’t any pulse. I didn’t mean to,” Bruce says, like that matters.

Dick doesn’t know what to say to that. “That’s why Alfred left, isn’t it?” Bruce nods. Dick tries to wipe the tears from his eyes. “I should take you to Arkham.”

“Okay,” Bruce says, resignation filling his voice.

“I need to stop you,” Dick says. “I—you’ve gone too far. You’ve broken all your own rules. I need to.”

Bruce just closes his eyes.

“Say something!” Dick shouts.

Bruce looks straight up at Dick. “I accept your judgement.”

“You’re supposed to fight me,” Dick screams. “You’re supposed to say you’re right, you’re supposed to tell me I’m wrong, you’re supposed to put me in a cell until I agree, you’re not supposed to just come quietly!”

“I’m not going to fight you.” Bruce swallows. “You’ve always been better than me, Dick.”

Dick laughs. “That’s why you let me come to the Manor, isn’t it? It’s not because you wanted me back. It’s because you wanted me to judge you! I was a fool for thinking I was welcome, wasn’t I?”

“No,” Bruce says. It’s finally something other than the quiet acceptance of before. Arguing feels right. “No, Dick. I…I wanted you to stay. It was selfish. I let you stay against my better judgement. I didn’t want you involved at all, to know about this. I wanted to spare you this burden. And I’m sorry that I couldn’t.”

Dick kneels down next to Bruce. “I don’t think I can put you in Arkham.” It’s true, and Dick hates himself for it.

“That’s okay, Dick,” Bruce says. “Should I turn myself in?”

Dick closes his eyes. “Don’t put this on me, Bruce. Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t make this my responsibility.”

“There’s always room for you in the League,” Bruce says softly. “You have Clark and Diana’s respect. And, of course, there’s Titans. If you can’t stay, if you can’t have any part in this, I understand.”

Dick shakes his head and settles so he’s leaning against the wall only inches away from Bruce. Bruce doesn’t reach out to him again. “I already have a part in this.”

“You don’t, Dick. I swear you don’t.”

“I should have been there,” Dick whispers. “I left you. I left you to grieve alone after Jason’s death. I knew I should’ve pushed. I knew I shouldn’t have left. I—”

“No,” Bruce says harshly. “No. I made you leave. You made the right decision. No one would blame you for leaving after that. The fact that—the fact that you came back at all is a miracle.”

And Dick can’t help himself. He reaches for Bruce’s wrist and twists his fingers around to feel the pulse. And it’s there, it’s there, strong. Alive.

“I understand, Dick, if you can’t follow me down this road. I understand if you need to stop me.”

“I can’t stop you,” Dick admits.

“That’s okay, Chum.”

Dick leans his head against Bruce’s shoulder. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Okay.”

“I know I should,” Dick says. Bruce doesn’t deny it. “I want to stay. I want you to live.”

“You will always be welcome here. Even if you decide you can’t be here anymore.”

“What would Jason think of us now?” Dick asks.

“I don’t know,” Bruce whispers.

Did Jason push Garzonas? Or did the rapist slip? Would Jason have approved of Bruce killing the Joker? Or would he see it as a betrayal?

Neither of them can ask him. Neither of them can turn back time, and neither of them can speak to the dead.

“What happens next?” Dick asks.

Bruce’s hand cards through Dick’s hair once more, slow and soothing. “We go on.”

#dick grayson #fanfiction #batman #batman fanfiction #dc fanfiction #dick grayson fanfiction #batfamily #batfam #dc comics #dc #dcu #fanfic

[owmylasagna-blog]

Ed is Thicker Than Mud

Warning: Character development arc may take a couple years to take full effect.

Some random musings on post-BPS Eddy growing pains.

You can also read it over on AO3.

Each mechanical tick of the outdated relic of a wall clock reverberating through the office makes his skin crawl. Wriggling uncomfortably, the naugahyde of the chair releases a series of unnatural whines of protest beneath the restless teen. Don’t they know precious moments of his youth are slipping away with every infuriatingly useless second spent shedding dead skin cells in this room? It doesn’t help that his jeans are still damp. He’s pretty sure his new sneakers are wrecked too.

If being detained wasn't bad enough, they’re probably on the phone with his mom right now, and he isn’t exactly looking forward to his folks tearing him a new one over tonight's chicken francaise. Just as he imagines the yelling match his mom and pop are gonna inevitably start the loose doorknob rattles behind him.

“Here we go,” Eddy grumbles into the collar of his long sleeve polo. He slumps down into the armchair.

The door groans on its hinges, open and then shut. Footsteps click in time as the middle aged man slowly makes his way around the office furniture and sits. All the while Eddy keeps his eyes planted on the linoleum tiles between the desk and his feet. He feigns disinterest as a manila folder and a few slips of paper are shuffled.

“So. Edward McGee…”

Eddy squints, not exactly appreciative of the pause for dramatic effect, nor the emphasis put on his last name.

“Would you care to explain why you're in my office, young man?”

“No.”

“No ‘you don’t care’? Or no ‘you can’t explain’?”

In response, Eddy crosses his arms and slouches even further into the depths of the worn leatherette, the heels of his sneakers squeaking as they skid forward. The principal sighs.

“The silent treatment won't get you very far-”

“You know what I did.”

Boy was this interrogation a bunch of bologna.

“Yes, I certainly do. I’m well aware of the damage to school property you’ve caused, not to mention the cost required to repair it. What I want to know is why.”

“Principal Howard, I didn’t-”

“We’ve already heard your excuses. This is your last chance to plead your case as to why you felt it necessary to tamper with-”

“I didn’t tamper nothin’!”

Eddy shoots to his feet, looking the principal in the face for the first time. His heart thrashes against his ribcage.

“I find that hard to believe.”

Yep. Totally pointless.

The teen and the man exchange steely glares before the elder shifts his gaze behind the younger.

“Please sit, Edward.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddy parks his keister back down, resuming his previous slouch. He watches as Principal Howard leafs through the papers on his desk. Most are a familiar shade of detention slip blue, some more faded than others. It’s a suspiciously sizable stack considering he’s only been in high school for three months. Sure, his track record hasn’t been… great. He’s never been the morning type. Missing homeroom three out of five days in a week will do that. As does skipping out on a detention here and there. Compared to junior high, though, Eddy considers himself a freakin’ angel so far. Barring today of course… just his luck.

But the slips have Eddy curious enough to raise a brow at, sitting up a bit straighter in an attempt to sneak a peek. He’s caught off guard when the name written on the top edge isn’t his own. Well, not entirely. Eddy’s muscles flex with immediate recognition, flashing a fierce look up to find the intent gaze of the older man peering down his sizable nose through his glasses.

No ‘effin way.

“You remind me of your brother.”

Eddy sputters, feeling the air rush out of his lungs. It makes it hard to speak. His brain fills with static. It makes it hard to think.

“Wha- you- you can’t-”

How’s he allowed to say that?

“Before I became principal I taught at this school for many years. Don’t think I could forget a kid like that so easily. Bright, creative, one might say underchallenged, but misguided, difficult, trouble prone. Unfortunate really. I didn’t have much control of the situation then nor the authority. But things have changed, except for the fact that I’m tasked with ensuring another McGee boy doesn’t slip through the cracks.”

“Cool headed” is an accolade foreign to Eddy. It takes every fiber of his being to bite his tongue, stopping himself from spewing expletives that will land him right back in the hot seat for the umpteenth time. More than anything he holds back to prove that he isn’t anything at all like…

“Which is why I’m requiring that you join an extracurricular student activity effective immediately.”

“WHAT!? WHY?!” Eddy finally blows his top. It’s a relief to scream.

“You need discipline, structure, responsibility, teamwork - whatever it takes to preoccupy your idle hours.”

“Believe me, Teach, the mathletes don’t need me screwin’ up their squared roots or whatever.”

“Then choose something else that interests you. D’you like sports?”

Eddy shrugs. Lately, nothing really interests him. Let alone anything school related. Not even marathons of The Ed Sullivan Show or wearing out the grooves in A-tom-ic Jones can seem to pull him out of this slump. And he sure wasn’t jumping at the opportunity to get towel-whipped by the meatheads, that's for sure. The thought of the foot smell that wafts from the locker room like a thick miasma alone makes him shudder.

Eighth grade graduation, the start of high school, and the abysmal summer between them had been a strange fog. Beyond his two best friends, Eddy avoided the other cul-de-sac kids like a plague. Oh yeah, this was cruel ironing as Double Dee put it. All that time vying to get their attention? Ever since they got front row seats to his bro’s assholery on full display, they’d been acting real nice. Too nice.

The remainder of seventh grade, after the groundings ended, was filled with an unprecedented number of invitations to movie nights, birthday parties, and sleepovers. Even though he’d sworn off the scams it somehow felt like he still needed to perform every time he made an appearance. Suddenly, everybody wanted to get to know him more. And that scared Eddy: what if there wasn’t more? He felt he hardly knew himself these days.

“You have until the end of the week to decide, so start asking around. And when you do find a team or club, I will personally speak to the coach or teacher running it to ensure that you are immediately enrolled and actively participating. Do you understand?”

The principal receives a noncommittal grunt as a response. He’s more stern the second time.

“Do you understand, Edward?”

Eddy finally gives a reluctant reply, hoping that this is the end of the conversation and he’ll be off the hook.

“Yeah. Capeech.”

“Good. Because this sort rebellious behavior will not be to-”

“And it’s Eddy.”

The balding man blinks a few times, brows twitching.

“Well, Eddy, another stunt like today and I bring your parents in. Capeech?”

Having his own phrasing thrown back at him makes Eddy feel even more patronized than he already is. Which is saying something, considering this whole freakin’ ordeal feels like it was designed by the universe or some malevolent god to humiliate him to no end.

“Yeah…”

Double doors fly open when the compact teen barrels through. He’s moving fast, on a mission, so focused on getting as much distance between himself and this stupid school that he hardly notices the two figures sitting side by side on the stone stairs anxiously awaiting his release. The leaner of the two jumps to his feet, calling out through the bothersome crack his voice has acquired thanks to puberty.

“Eddy!”

He whips around, jabbing a finger square between Double Dee’s eyes. The taller boy flinches back at the accusatory appendage.

“I aint talkin’ to you, snitch! Let’s go, Ed.”

The eldest of the bunch complies to the command, joining Eddy by his side. Edd huffs, shaking his fists, and with an indignant stomp of his sneakered foot is hot on the trail of his two friends. Seeing as there is a nasty storm cloud over Eddy’s head Ed opts to not ask too many questions. Instead he shares the exciting news:

“Double Dee and me saw two squirrels fighting over a nut while you were gone.”

“Sad story,” replies Eddy, inflection flat as a sheet of paper.

Meanwhile, the speed walking boy approaching from the rear isn’t so quick to change the subject.

“Come now! You can’t seriously think my intention was to smear your academic reputation!”

Eddy keeps stomping the pavement, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, and rolls his eyes in disbelief. The balls on this guy…

“Eddy, please,” Edd pleads, finally gaining, “The entire first floor was flooded. Given my proximity I responded in a manner that anyone in their right mind would. Honestly, are you suggesting I had a plethora of options?”

“Bull! Ya coulda kept your big. Mouth. Shut.” Eddy snarls through gritted teeth, shoulders tensing up to his ears.

“And be a complicit bystander? I think not,” replies Edd with a pout.

“Why do you make it out like I wanted that to happen!?” Eddy spits back, keeping his sights focused on the cracked cement.

“Who says I’m blaming you? It’s causality. You flushed an entire cafeteria tray and its contents down the toilet.”

“Ain’t my fault the lunch sucked mega balls! And why’s the school got plumbing from the Dark Ages? You saw that casserole.” He throws up two skeptical air quotes, “Would have been better off eatin’ rubber cement.”

“I think I saw it move,” Ed adds excitedly, grinning ear to ear.

Ed had eaten his serving of casserole with much relish, though, not before dunking it into his trusty thermos o’ gravy. It’s too bad that Eddy turned down the offer. The mental image of the subpar cafeteria slop alone makes both Edd and Eddy’s stomachs churn, let alone the gusto with which Ed manages to devour it.

“Yes. Well. I must say I was glad to have packed a garbanzo salad sandwich today based on the looks of things,” the teen in the beanie admits, punctuated with a nervous chuckle.

Eddy can’t help but look his friend in the face despite the stubborn front he’s working so hard to put up. Edd’s got a small smile but otherwise he looks ill at the recollection of the foul lunch offerings, his tongue peeking out through the gap as it presses against the back of his teeth. The husky boy cracks his own smile and stifles snort at his pal’s pathetic expression.

“Food so bad, even the crapper couldn’t stomach it,” Eddy throws in just for a kick.

It works - at least he and Ed chuckle over that and Edd shakes his head incredulously - burning off some of the uncomfortable tension that has been growing since the afternoon. The trio continue walking a few yards in the direction of home, lulling their arguing for just a moment to the sound of gravely footsteps, rustling leaves, and the jingle of Eddy’s wallet chain thumping against his thigh.

Sidewalks aren’t exactly wide enough to walk together in a line so it's unavoidable that every now and then, if they don’t split off into a triangle formation, that they bump shoulders. Eddy feels his shoulder nudge into Double Dee’s arm, then awkwardly clears his throat and sniffles against the chill fall air.

“I thought you weren’t talking to me,” heckles Double Dee with a pretentious sideways smirk.

Before he knows it, Eddy feels the back of his neck burning. For that alone he gives the wiry and historically uncoordinated teen a solid shove, causing him to stumble over his own two feet and step squarely into a soggy pile of street gutter leaves. The feeling of cold damp permeating through his shoe upper and soaking into his sock makes the boy yelp and shudder in disgust, a shiver running up his spine.

“Wet!” Edd wails. He shakes his sodden sneaker like a cat that's stepped in water and skips to catch up.

Of course Eddy laughs at Edd’s theatrics, very openly, which just sets Ed off to join him. Reveling in his buddy’s harmless misfortune, Ed throws an arm over Eddy’s shoulder which the shorter teen roughly shrugs off.

“Very good. I’ve received my comeuppance.” Edd sighs, wincing as his sock squelches with every other step.

A few tsks of disapproval are made by Ed seemingly out of the blue. Edd and Eddy are surprised to see their happy-go-lucky Lump looking uncharacteristically forlorn.

“How sad it must be to be a squirrel without a nut. What cruel, hostile world we must live in where there are not enough nuts to go around.” Ed punctuates the thought with a heavy sigh.

“I’m lookin’ at a nut right now.”

“Oh yeah?” Ed perks up, head whipping violently in search of it as though he can rectify the injustice he’d witnessed.

“Yeah, TWO of ‘em!“

Just as he says it, Eddy’s fist finds its way to the tall redhead’s vulnerable groin with an empty punch.

“DOH!”

Edd puts a bit of space between himself and Eddy.

“Fear not, Ed. Every squirrel has their day.”

“Good for them,” Eddy growls, his earlier gloating soured by envying, of all things, a fuzzy rat.

Seeing as his vapid positivity hasn’t exactly resonated with Eddy, Edd decides to take a more direct approach.

“So, what punishment has befallen you? Another detention.”

Eddy’s brows drop down over his eyes with a snarl. He sees a pebble a few steps ahead and when he reaches it gives it a good solid kick. It skitters wildly into the street.

“No.”

“Suspension.”

“No.”

“Disintegration?” Ed chimes in.

“I wish.”

“You’d make a fine puddle, you would.”

“Thanks, Ed,” Eddy rolls his eyes, shoving his chin down into the collar of his jacket.

He nearly jumps at the shriek-like sound of Edd’s gasp. It looks as though he’s doing a decent impression of that weird painting of the screaming guy.

“Good lord, please don’t tell me you’ve been… expelled!?” Edd can hardly say the word.

“No! Worse! I gotta join some bogus extracaricature.”

Double Dee’s hand flies, grabbing Eddy’s bicep. The sudden physical contact makes Eddy reflexively flinch.

“What a relief! You had me worried for a second.” An offended look on Eddy’s face does worry Edd and he realizes it’s because of the grasp he has on his arm. He swiftly releases it, putting his hand in his jacket pocket.

“Ah- A generously lenient outcome considering the extent of property damage. Participation in a peer activity? Hmm… Why, you could always join me on the junior debate team. What you lack in research skills you certainly make up for with your argumentative temperament.”

“Kill me already.”

Eddy sags under the weight of such a nerdy proposition.

“Oh, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Craning his neck, Ed peers down curiously.

“Join me! We could always use a uh-” Ed pauses, counting on his fingers, “a third member on the team. You could even go by Mr. AV-Eddy.”

With a rough tug, Ed’s head snaps down to match his short-statured friend’s eye level, Eddy’s fist full of the pilling and frayed green jacket collar.

“Call me that at school and I’ll shove an 8 millimeter where the sun don’t shine.”

“Norway?”

“NO way. Don’t even try it.” Eddy threatens before letting go of Ed.

“You got it, Mr. Cool Guy I’d Never Ever Call AV-Eddy, uh, sir!”

To show his deference, Ed removes his monobrow and swears it over his heart.

They keep walking. It’s about a half hour trudge back to the cul-de-sac, but it sure beats the torment of the public school buses. Bottom of the food chain means getting the crappiest seats, or worse even, becoming completely separated. Much better to brave the biting wind for now: Eddy’s ears and nose are already ruddy. Come winter they might reassess.

It’s hard not to think he might be cursed: born with the dark mark. Maybe somewhere down his family line there was some cardinal sin committed that’s the root to all this. If he has to place bets it was probably those damn pilgrims that sold Peach Creek to the Kankers, the lot of inbred nitwits. Eddy sorta gets why his brother is the way he is. He knows deep down his parents treated him different from the jump. That he’s had it better, at least in some ways. Despite his bad luck he’s technically the lucky one. But there is still so much he doesn’t know. Stuff that when he brings it up mom just starts blubbering. He won’t even bring it up with dad. So teachers thought he was smart?

Over the last year, Double Dee has fretted over Eddy’s drawn out silences. Just like the one now. He can’t help but read far too deeply into whatever might preoccupy Eddy’s mind so much to leave him speechless. A more contemplative and reflective streak could be good for Eddy. Except Double Dee knows from personal experience how quickly things can go south inside the echo chamber of one’s own thoughts. He chews his lip as the worry gnaws away at him.

“Eddy? Was there… anything else you wanted to talk about?”

Eddy sniffs his running nose again, scowling. He shrugs.

“S’nothing. Everyone at this school’s got it out for me.”

The feeling of a gentle hand between his shoulder blades makes the back of his eyes burn. Dammit. He blinks hard, sniffing even harder.

“Not everyone.” Double Dee earnestly assures. Ed wraps another arm around him in a lax half hug and this time Eddy doesn’t shrug him off. Instead, he leans in.

“Okay, okay. Fine. Almost everyone.”

And that’s good enough for him.

#eene #ed edd n eddy #lasagnawords