The Melon Writes

Welcome to my writing blog! If you happen to find this on your own and not from my main, then my main is @thatonebipotato ! I do more stuff there, but don't be afraid to talk to me! :p I write stories for the various fandoms that I'm in. Those change rather frequently.

[meloncholy-words]

Masterlist

Basic Stuff:

Hello! This is my writing blog, where I post the stories that I write. I don't intend to write any original stories and post them here, but I'm unsure if I ever actually will, so I won't call this simply a fanfiction blog. However, you can assume that's what it is.

To start this off simply, I will say now that I do NOT take requests. The only exception is if I very explicitly ask for any. Even if the request may be a very good one, I will simply delete it from my inbox. If you want to brainstorm or propose an idea that is fine, but requests themselves are a no-no.

18+ content is not going to be posted in this blog. I do have a space for that stuff, but it is NOT here, do not ask.

I do not reblog here, except for self-reblogs. My intentions are to keep this blog VERY organized; that is the reason that I had created it in the first place. If someone were to gift me a story, then I likely will reblog that, but I will not reblog fics and other posts otherwise. Again, a very organized and clean blog is my intention.

If a character's age is questionable or has conflicting confirmations, I will not make any stories that include them in a pairing. I simply refuse to because I do not want to cause any potential issues. It is my intention to create a safe space for fiction, so I do not want to cause any problems with my literature. If there is anything that may cause harm, I will tag it and mark it as such im the area before the fic. If I missed something that may cause issues, please inform me, and I will correctly mark it!

If there are any issues that you can find with how I decide to run my blog, there are two very simple words to give: block me. You can bring it up if you would like, I am open to criticism and am willing to change any genuine issues, but if it is simply something that you dislike, I simply do not care. That may seem harsh, but again. I don't care.

Other Places to Find Me:

AO3

TikTok - @thatsonebipotato

Main - @thatonebipotato

[meloncholy-words]

Robin: A Word That Means Run (Chapter 2: Red Hood)

Red Hood died as a Robin, and came back as something else. The name still means something to him.

A/N: Forgot to post this on Friday. Most of this chapter was pulled out of my ass because I don't know how drug dealers or city work works so. Enjoy <3 Again, actual canon does what it wants so I do too. If it's bad I apologize, I rewrote this like 7 times because I kept accidentally writing myself into corners

~~~

Chapter Warnings: Explosions, gun violence, canon typical violence, swearing, drugs and drug dealers, drug dealing to kids(it's only mentioned), past character death(it's Jason), brief descriptions of that night but nothing graphic, weapon inaccuracies probably, descriptions of blood and injury. No death occurs! Let me know if I should add more warnings please.

AO3 | Chapter List

The new bunch of dealers Red Hood was tracking were starting to become an issue. He would have been happy to turn a blind eye for a bit, get a feel for their operation before approaching them with either the offer to be under his control or the threat of being run out. But the kids in the alley talked. Not usually, but to Hood? Always. The kids told Hood that these guys were trying to sell to them, which was a pretty big no-no.

So Hood couldn't let them think they were getting away with this anymore.

Taking down their initial startup was pretty easy. All he needed to do was break a few bones and shoot a few limbs before they were scattering like flies. And that would've been the end of it, if they didn't seem so determined to set up shop.

This time around, the didn't stick to one place. Every time he got a tip as to where they might be, the place always turned up empty. They were in those places, if the scraps left behind were anything to go off of, but they'd gotten annoyingly good at scattering before Hood could appear.

The only good thing that seemed to be coming out of this dance was that not having a consistent place of operation meant selling the drugs was actually pretty hard to do efficiently. These dealers were pissing Hood off by still being around, but at least he could piss them off right back by tanking their sales.

One more bust in trying to track them down, and he was thoroughly frustrated.

There wasn't a lot to find as he stalked through the abandoned warehouse, mostly just scattered trash and a few old chairs likely picked up off the street. No forgotten drugs, no loose files, no dropped receipts, nothing that could be used to hunt them down any further.

A grumble rumbled deep within the mans chest. It had been a few weeks since he'd been trying to get a hold of these guys. He'd been itching to get his hands around their throats, slowly ingrained no-kill rule be damned. But he had other things to worry about, other scumbags, and he didn't want to dwell on these ones any longer than he had to. Which meant that he'd need help, which meant that he couldn't kill them.

Whatever. Dealing with this issue was more important than the disdain he had for dealing with his family, and they'd known he'd been on this for weeks now. They'd be willing to help.

Tapping into the Bat comm line, he was met with a conversation he didn't care for.

"Listen- listen! The cookie part of the Oreo is objectively the best!" Nightwing yelled into his mic.

"How does it feel to be fucking wrong?" Red Robin shot back.

"Well I wouldn't know, because I'm not."

Gods he hates this family.

"Exhilarating debate going on! I'll stop you right there," Hood cut in, ignoring the whisper of Thank fuck from Oracle. "O, can I get some help here? I need you to try getting camera footage from around me. Every time I try I'm too late and footage is missing, but you might be fast enough."

"Yep, on it. Give me a second." If Jason strained, he might be able to hear the clacking of a keyboard and mouse over his dumb siblings arguing over a cookie. Then there was silence; O had switched their channels. Jason would be sure to visit her with pastries more often. "It looks like we're a little late. There's a path of cameras with recently cut footage. So we can't get them on camera, but we might be able to track them down. That good enough for ya?"

"Yes, thank you, Oracle, my beloved eye in the sky."

"Haha, don't flatter me." She sounded like she enjoyed it anyway. "You've been on this for a while, should I send someone over to help you? You might be able to tie this up faster, but I get it if you wanna do this alone."

"Actually, that would be great. Who've you got for me?"

There was more silence. "Ok, Red's the closest to you, but he's only passing by on his way to a potential armed break in. That would take him ten to get over there, and fifteen if it turns out to be a real threat, not including the additional travel time to circle back around to you. Bats is only about seven out though, and he's unoccupied. Everyone else is more than ten. Thoughts?"

Hood audibly groaned at that. Ten minutes wasn't a long time to have to wait, but it may end up being just long enough to be a problem. Red wouldn't ditch his mission, which Hood didn't blame him for, but that would be a twenty minutes wait. Batman was the only logical person to send over. But that meant he'd have to be around Batman, which he wasn't sure was worth it.

Possibly let these guys escape, again, or have to deal with Batman? Escape or Batman, escape or Batman, escape or...

"Fuck it, send the old man over." He hoped he wouldn't regret this.

"Got it. Sending you both directions to that last camera. He should get there a little bit after you."

"Thanks O, you're the best and I love you~!"

The trail led him to a few blocks of old, abandoned buildings. This place had been sectioned off by the city years ago, deemed too unsafe due to the amount of chemicals and pollution that seemed to unnaturally gather around this singular point. Bruce had been trying to put in money for years to get this place cleaned up, but the city didn't seem to notice. Or care.

It was the perfect place to lay low until Hood was off of their trail, and then they could go somewhere actually habitable, because no one would even think about being here for more than ten minutes. Except that Hood already here, and this was ending tonight.

The soft flutter of a cape let him know that the old man was here without him having to turn around. Sure enough, there was a living shadow beside him in seconds.

"So, we split up and try locating them faster?" It was the fastest option, and they could cover double the distance in about the same time.

Batman only grunted in acknowledgment, the bastard, before he faded into the darkness on one side. Hood scoffed, muttering something under his breath as he took to the other side.

The place was a mess. There was glass and graffiti everywhere, bits of door and wall scattered along the roads. An average Crime Alley look, to be sure. Hood scanned the windows and doorways carefully, looking for any sign of life, or even where their potential vehicle might be. Anything to give away the location of these bastards.

His comm crackled in his ear, a deep voice coming out of it.

"Found them." A simple two words, and Hood's grapple was clinging onto a building, pulling him to the direction of the Bat.

By the time he made it over to the building of their choosing, the sounds of an altercation could be heard from above. Jason couldn't help but be a little jealous that they hadn't waited for him. The sounds of metal batarangs clanging against wall and floor was soon overcome by the loud ring of gunfire and Hood tucked and rolled into a window that wasn't broken just yet.

There was blood. Blood and broken bones and grunts of pain and exhaustion in the air. Jason was careful to deal harmful, maybe permanent but not fatal damage. The joints were hard to aim for, but putting a bullet into their limbs was good enough. They had been trying to convince Jason to switch to rubber bullets recently, and as the drug dealers who thought selling drugs to kids was a good idea yelped and screamed and writhed in pain on the floor, he was glad he hadn't been convinced just yet.

Movement caught his eye. Movement that fled out of the door, that thought they could get away. Hood wasn't going to let them. Everything was almost wrapped up here, Bruce would be find on his own while he went to deal with this straggler.

The form weaved between buildings with the grace of a Gothamite who knew when to run and a rabbit who knew it had been caught. It was clunky and frantic, but it knew how to run like hell from danger. Unfortunately for them, Jason could run like a predator.

The person dipped into a building, one at the end of a block. There was nowhere to go after this - not unless they were willing to be out in the open with a marksman chasing after them. And who would want that?

Jason slowed to a walk. More of a stalk, actually. His steps were firm and calculated as he entered the space. There were stairs to one side that led to nothing(the second floor was missing), and a door to the other that likely led into a dining area. Door number one it is.

Slowly, carefully, cautiously, Hood grabbed the doorknob, pushing it open.

On the far wall there was an open window, pushed and left open. Silent in comparison to it breaking instead. And in the middle of that room, a few feet away from the window, was an old, worn out dining table. On the dining table?

Bombs.

Old bombs that had likely been sitting here collecting dust. Likely to be used in the destruction of this place before the city decided it wasn't really worth it and left all their equipment just lying around in one of the most unsafe places in the city. In the center was a timer that was ticked down to 0:02.

Jason had been here before. In front of a timer that ticked down the seconds until he died, in an old abandoned place that no one would ever find him in and no one was coming for him. He hadn't made it out on that day, dying until the smothering, fiery rubble of another building in another country.

But things were different now. He was older, smarter, not tied up and left to rot and die in the cold. He could get out. He could close the door and run, maybe try to use all the weight he'd gained to break down the wall. He could do that. He should do that. He should-

"Robin!"

He knows that name. It used to be his. He used to wear it proudly, happily. He wore it to everything, even his death day. He'd died with that name, taken it to the grave and when he crawled his way back out it wasn't his anymore. He'd grown to resent the person it belonged to, then learned to get over it. There was another Robin now, one that was neither of them. Robin was not longer him - hadn't been his in a long time.

He moved anyways.

There was warmth and tightness around him, pulling him close and away from that bomb that reminded him of his biggest failure. Pulling him into his fathers arms, and suddenly it didn't matter that he was a lot bigger and heavier than that man now. Because it wasn't true.

Here in his arms, shielded from an explosion, he was 12 again, smiling and laughing and bright and happy, because he had never died before, and the name Robin was magic to him.

It took a moment for the world to stop spinning, for his ears to stop ringing. When it did stop, he was still there in those arms. He wasn't 12, though. He was 22, and his dad still held him close.

Stray pieces of wall continued to rain down, lighting pittering and pattering against the bomb-proof material guarding him. There was dust in the air, thick and heavy and gross, but it didn't touch him when he was buried so deep into the darkness. A few seconds passed, and when Jason felt that they were properly in the clear, he shoved Batman away, picking himself up and dusting himself off.

"Do you think that's funny?" he yelled, spinning around. There was a light anger in his voice - not as bad as it was when his eyes glowed a vibrant green, but not as soft as when he mocked his brothers in the kitchen. "Where do you get off, old man, calling me that name again? What's wrong with you?"

Batman stared at him for a moment from where he lay on the floor, then another.

"Well?

A small smirk picked at his lips. "You responded to it."

Jason sputtered for a second, thankful that his helmet covered his face because he may have gone a little red. "Yeah- well- you try betraying three years of instinct next time!"

"Instincts you haven't used in seven years?"

"That- I- I've only been conscious for like three of those years!"

"Of course, Jaylad." The old man was standing now, upright and facing him with a soft smile on his face.

"Pssh, whatever. There's- we still need to get that other guy, we don't have time to sit around and handle sentimental shit."

"Of course."

"Don't say shit to anyone,"Jason called as was already turned around, walking fast in the direction he decided to go. He didn't bother listening for a response, huffing to himself and mumbling something under his breath, too quiet for his helmet's modulator to pick up.

Yeah, he regretted bringing Bruce along. A lot.

Well... maybe only a little bit.

[meloncholy-words]

Robin: A Word That Means Run (Masterlist)

AO3

Robin.

A noun meaning a North American songbird having a rust-red breast and gray and black upper plumage, a small songbird of Eurasia and Africa having olive-brown upper plumage and a conspicuous orange breast and face, and any of various birds resembling a robin.

A proper noun, originally a nickname for the original, but now a mantle for the sidekick of the Batman.

A phrase, used to signal danger, and a command to jump to your Bat for protection(if you want to live).

OR - Bruce yells for Robin whenever he needs to protect them under his cape. Whether or not that's their current name, or if it ever was, is not very important.

Chapters

Chapter 1: Nightwing

Nightwing hasn't been Robin in years. He still remembers what that name means in a situation like this.

Chapter 2: Red Hood

Red Hood died as a Robin, and came back as something else. The name still means something to him.

Still In Progress

Chapter 3: Red Robin

Chapter 4: Spoiler

Chapter 5: Black Bat

Chapter 6: Robin

Chapter 7: Signal

Chapter 8: All

[meloncholy-words]

Robin: A Word That Means Run (Chapter 1: Nightwing)

Nightwing hasn't been Robin in years. He still remembers what that name means in a situation like this.

A/N: I'm not going to apologize for any inaccuracies in lore and characterization. If canon can fuck off and do whatever they please than I can too. I'll try staying as close to what I know as canon as possible but also I do what I want lmao.

~~~

Chapter Warnings: Explosions, minor gun violence(no one gets shot but there are guns), canon typical violence(nothing graphic/explicit! it's just there), swearing, Scarecrow's fear toxin (though the effects of it happen off screen), mentions of past violence, mentions of injury(stitches, concussion, etc.). No permanent injury or death occurs! Let me know if I should add more warnings!

AO3 | Chapter List

The case was simple: Scarecrow was shipping out vials of fear toxin to buyers from other cities. There were five buyers; one from New York City, Washington DC, Brooklyn, Metropolis, and Blüdhaven. All that they had to do was intercept the sales, arrest the buyers, and run tests on the toxin to check if it was a new strain. It usually wasn't, but it never hurt to check. If it was, that would mean that Scarecrow was planning something big.

The issue was that all sales were happening on the same night, and all in different parts of Gotham, with not enough vigilantes to handle all of them.

Red Hood was investigating a new business of dealers near his territory, trying to gauge how much of a threat they were so he could take them out. They were experienced, and growing fast; if he didn't nip it as fast as he could, it might grow out of control and start becoming an issue.

Spoiler and Black Bat had had a recent run in with Killer Croc, and were both benched due to injuries. Steph had a sprained ankle, and many stitches all along her arms and back. Cass had a dislocated shoulder and concussion, as well as many stitches along her legs and torso. Both were lucky to have not gotten worse.

Signal, despite insisting that he should go, was out of commission. He'd already worked well into the night shifts the previous three nights due to several kidnapping situations that happened too close together to not be connected, but ended up just being very coincidental. That, plus his need to keep his grades up, had him pretty sleep deprived. While not usually an issue, a fourth night out later than he should've been would've only made it worse, and fear toxin with sleep deprivation was one of their absolutely nots.

That left only Batman, Robin, Red Robin, and Nightwing to deal with busting the sales. Four vigilantes to deal with five sales in five separate locations within the city. No problem, could be done very easily.

Nightwing had gotten the sale in Fashion District. The information that Oracle had been able to dig up lead him to an alley behind a two-story boutique. An unusual meeting place, but better than some abandoned warehouse. That was just becoming cliche at this point.

He was perched on a rooftop above, blending into the dark, clouded sky. It wasn't as efficient as the shadows, but he had been yet to be spotted. A car was already waiting, three guys twiddling their feet as they waited. The buyers, undoubtedly. Nightwing sat studying them from above.

Their car was a black SUV, covered in family stickers. Likely to be more inconspicuous, but could've been from one of their moms. Criminals were just like that sometimes. Two of the men were obviously well built, their frames on the bulky side. The third wasn't quite so built, but he seemed relaxed as they leaned back against the metal frame of the car, so he wasn't just some lackey dragged along. Likely a getaway driver, maybe the leader of this operation.

After around 15 minutes of sitting around, a van pulled up to the entrance of the alley. The driver stayed inside, while the the passenger and a few men from the back hopped out. The gimmicks of their outfits told Nightwing that they were Scarecrow's men. One of them was carrying a briefcase, which he identified as the goods.

The three guys snapped to alert, the leaner man taking charge. That clued into him being the leader. They met each other half way, a conversation springing from hushed voices. Nightwing strained to hear what they were saying, but that wasn't the important thing. What he needed to do was stop the sale from happening.

He monitored the men for a bit longer, listening to them speak. They were haggling, probably. If they sale went through, than he would need to apprehend all of them. If it didn't, he'd only need to deal with Scarecrow's men. The others would be their own cities problem.

"My sale fell through," came Red Robin's voice crackling through the comm in his ear. "Moving in now."

Below him, the leader gestured back toward the car. One of the bulky men moved towards it, opening the back and pulling out a small duffel bag. He handed the bag over, and Nightwing shifted to get a better look at the bag that was being opened.

Yep, that was cash.

"My sale is going through," Nightwing said into his mic, hushed. "Moving in."

Before the trade off could happen, Nightwing slipped off the ledge of the roof quietly. He angled himself slightly, making sure that when he landed it was on the lean man's shoulders, sending him shooting down to the ground under the weight. The man under him grunted as he hit the ground, letting out a wheeze. He wasn't unconscious, but he made no move to get up. Probably due to the pain of being slammed into an alley's concrete floor from roughly 180 pounds from above.

"Gentlemen," he chirped in greeting, electrifying the ends of his escrima sticks before flipping of the man under him towards the other two. The men reached towards their waistbands, likely reaching for a gun, but it mattered little when the electricity pressed hard above their collarbones. They spasmed, muscles stiffening under the shock, before collapsing as he pulled back.

Scarecrow's men gasped, followed by shouts and the sounds of feet scuttling away. Nightwing grabbed the lean man's collar, tossing him towards the other two. He dropped a bead in between them that exploded, wrapping cord around their limbs and tying them together.

"I'll be back for you!~" he called in a sing song voice, spinning around to watch the henchmen loading into the van. He pulled one of his sticks up, letting the hidden grapple inside of it shoot into the side of the building. The van roared to life, and Nightwing used the momentum of his lines tension to propel forward, landing on the roof as the wheels screeched against the road.

"Sale went through, moving in," came Robin, and from the sounds of exertion coating his voice, he was a little late on that callout.

The van wiggled underneath Nightwing's grip, trying to shake him off. Nightwing acquiesced, his hands gripping the edge of the top as he forced his legs down and through the windows of the back doors.

Several more shouts filled the air, and Nightwing was quick to silence them. He was also careful to not shatter the fear toxin that had been dropped on the floor in the struggle. The passenger in the front whipped around, and Nightwing was distantly aware of the glint of metal pointing towards him, but he snapped the wrist pointing the gun at him before he even recognized it as a gun.

The henchmen yelped in pain, and then did it again when his head was slammed into the dashboard. Nightwing hopped over the seats, landing on top of the unconscious body, his feet resting in the lap of the driver. In his hands, a stick came to life with more electricity.

"You gonna pull over?" he asked, smile in his voice as he waved the shocked-up end at the other. The henchmen let out a small whimper, leaning away from the weapon. Nightwing almost felt bad for him as he screeched off to the side, obeying.

When all of the henchmen were tied up, and Nightwing had doubled back to make sure the almost-buyers hadn't managed to escape, he notified the police before sitting back on a roof, basking in his victory.

"All involved are apprehended and waiting for police custody, and the toxin has been secured," Nightwing said, stretching out from where he was sat. The men didn't put up much of a fight, but the few blows the did land would probably bruise in the morning. Probably. This was a surprisingly easy run. "Reports?"

"Scarecrow's men are being tied up now," Red Robin replied, his voice soft after the fight. "Toxin secured"

"All involved apprehended," came Batman, who hadn't given the status earlier, the asshole. "Toxin secured."

"You never notified us you were moving in," Nightwing said helpfully. Not that it mattered too much; he was Batman, he'd be fine. "I'll start moving into the last sale now. Send me the location, O." Then, after a beat, "Robin, status?"

There was a brief stutter of silence. Nightwing hardly noticed it as he crossed from building to building, careful not to break anything. Hardly.

"Robin?"

"All involved apprehended," came the shaky voice of Robin. Uh oh, not good. "Toxin secured, one... one vial broken."

Shit.

"Try staying calm, I'll head your way," Nightwing said, spinning on his heel to where Robin handled his sale in the Narrows. It was on the opposite side of Gotham, but he'd be damned if he didn't do anything to-

"Actually," cut in Oracle's voice, "You should get over to Diamond for that last sale. You're the closest, and if all other sales are finished by now, that one might be close to done, or already finished. Red's the closest to Robin, he can go."

Red gave an affirming hum into his mic. "On my way, hang tight Robin. ETA like... 12 minutes."

Robin didn't respond, which made Dick's heart stop, but he turned back to his original path. His family was reliable, and they'd be fine. Stopping this sale was important, and he wasn't even close enough to object.

"I'll go with Nightwing," Batman said, voice gruff and focused as usual. "If they're wrapping up, and he gets there too late, I can keep speed with the batmobile."

"Acknowledged," Nightwing acknowledged as he soared over the gaps between buildings. "ETA 5 minutes."

Those five minutes were rather silent, only filled with his heavy breathing and grunts and he hopped and rolled around and off the rooftops. The vials in the briefcase he had pressed against his ribs clanked together ominously, but there was not breaking glass yet. He hoped there wouldn't be.

This time, the place of sale was some old, rundown warehouse. Nightwing gently set down the briefcase on the roof, dropping through a shattered skylight and moving like a spider in the rafters. There was arguing below him, loud and... not quite angry. No, it was frustrated, and building up to anger.

"I'm just saying, that seems like a high price to pay for something we don't even know works." The accent suggested Blüdhaven. Good, these were his own criminals then. He could handle that just fine.

Nightwing slipped around the rafters a little more until he had a clear view of everyone. He took a quick headcount. Five of Scarecrow's men, and he thought he saw another van outside, so probably more in total. Seven men stood before them, and Nightwing thought he recognized them from a gang who caused a lot of problems for him. It was hard to tell in the dark. This warehouse was so run down that there wasn't even any lighting in here.

"Twelve counted inside, likely more spotted outside," he said into his mic, his voice kept low and even as the men continued to argue. "The outcome of this is probably gonna be a big fight, so have your rebreather on just in case."

Nightwing slipped his own rebreather over his mouth, fastening it tight behind his head.

"Understood. I'm pulling up now."

The arguing below softened, and Nightwing was struggling to hear what was being said again. He did notice the exchange of bags, though.

"Good, the sale just went through. You're just in time."

Once more, Nightwing dropped from the sky like a missile. This time, he focused on the henchmen, as the gang men had the fear toxin. He had to be careful to not break them open. Even if he had his rebreather on, fear toxin wasn't fun to deal with.

These henchmen put up a bit more of a fight. Not good enough, of course. The metal pipe to the back of his head was, though.

Four of the five of Scarecrow's men were down, and what knocked him off his feet was a metal pipe. Damn. He tucked and rolled with the blow, bouncing up on his hands and knocking the weapon away with a kick. He was back on his feet, escrima sticks in both hands and poised to fight when a shadow descended upon the others.

The fighting only increased with a new player in the ring, but it was easier this time. Batman wrestled the briefcase of vials out of the gang's hands, tossing it on the floor behind him and out of the crossfire. The final henchmen had been forgotten in favor of the others. By the time another four men were down, Nightwing had realized that it was a mistake.

A click of metal made Nightwing whip around, arms raised and ready to either take or deal some serious blows. What he saw, instead, was a grenade mid air, heading fast towards him. It bounced off the ground, nestling against the briefcases handle.

Nightwing's muscles tensed, crouching low and fast, the hold on his weapons loosening. He needed to grab the briefcase. If the toxin blew, everyone without a rebreather would be affected. Dealing with a large number of criminals was hard; dealing with a large number of criminals who were terrified out of their minds and fighting like caged animals was hell.

His eyes flicked over to the grenade, and he hesitated. That wasn't good. You never hesitated on the field like this. But he knew those grenades. Most had plenty of seconds of fuse in them, for optimal range. If a grenade blew up too quickly after it was thrown, you'd get caught in the crossfire. But these ones, the one that had been thrown his way and was nestled against too many vials of fear toxin, was very short fused. The best way to take out a bat was to surprise them. That was very hard to do.

Using a weapon with no guarantee of survivability for the user was a good way to do it.

Nightwing wouldn't have time to move, not anymore. Maybe if he'd jumped at first, he could've gotten far enough away. But he was crouched down low, leaning toward the thing rigged to explode in at most two seconds, one hand reaching forward. His mind processed, vaguely, that he should run. Maybe he could run still, maybe, but would his body catch up to his thought process? Probably not. It hadn't even registered he was in danger yet.

Shit. He was going to die, huh? Or at the very least get badly injured. He was going to maybe die because he was too slow to recognize danger and his body was even slower to respond to his mind's commands and-

"Robin!"

His body moved before his mind caught up this time. He didn't know why. He hadn't been Robin in, what, 8 years? 9? But he new that name. He new that tone. He'd heard them both countless times over the years. And when they were paired together like this, when his veins were full of adrenaline and his stomach felt like a pit of ice, it meant run.

So he did. His legs pushed up, and his hips turned so fast he might've gotten whiplash, and his arms reached out until they found something firm and dark and safe. There was the flutter of a cape, and then there were strong arms around him, grabbing so tightly that the skin and bone underneath them ached.

There was an explosion. He didn't feel it. He could hear the sound of it, the gunpowder igniting and swelling into a cloud of fire. He could hear shouts and shrieks around him, groans and yells and maybe something breaking. He could feel his side grinding against something he recognized as the floor, but it felt distant.

He could feel his face pressed into a chest, coated in a thick material that had repelled knives, bullets, and wandering hands and fingers that traced the bat design on it after he had saved someone that he would gag about later in the back of the batmobile because he was too small to ride shotgun.

The floor under him stopped moving, and the screams had cut off. He peaked an eye open, looking up at the roof of the warehouse. There was a face there, with a chiseled jaw and scars that were small enough they could only be seen up close. There was black material that only covered the top half of that face. Above them was a thick substance in the air. Fear toxin, he registered after a few moments.

Slowly, the two bodies pulled apart. A hand was under his arm, guiding him up to stand. A survey of the area showed no deaths. Everyone unprotected had at least been far enough to only have been blown back. No missing limbs, no cuts, no burns. Just a few bruises.

"Are you guys okay?" Oracle asked, a hint of panic in her voice. "Cameras showed a bright light go off inside, and your vitals are off."

"All good, Oracle," said Batman, still surveying the scene. "There was a little explosion. No one seems seriously injured. Everyone else is unconscious, though, and there's toxin in the air." He didn't mention calling for his Robin.

"Good news about that!" Red Robin chimed. "It's not a new strain, which means we have antidotes on standby. Also, Robin's doing alright."

"Hn, good. We'll tie up loose ends here and head out. See you at the cave."

There was a round of sign-offs, and the two in the warehouse began rounding up the unconscious thugs. Toxin seeped out of the skylight above. The henchman that threw the grenade was nowhere to be seen, likely having fled during the chaos.

"I left my case of toxin up on the roof," Nightwing said when everyone had been restrained. He didn't mention the name either.

Batman let out a hum of acknowledgment. "I'll be waiting for you in the batmobile to head back to the cave." The flutter of a cape - one that had protected him - let him know that his dad was gone.

Nightwing climbed his way up to the roof once more, slow and deliberate. His body ached a bit more, now that he'd taken more hits and had been thrown across the floor. Being thrown by an explosion wasn't fun, 0/10, would not do it again.

Despite that, there was a smile plastered on his face.

Dick kinda liked being Robin again.

[meloncholy-words]

Crime Doesn't Wait For Us

Pavitr and Gayatri are having a sleepover, holding each other so lovingly and tenderly. Unfortunately, crime does not care what you may be doing.

A/N: I wrote this story over a few days and every time I picked it up it was past 9PM. As most of my stories are made, of course. So if it isn't super great I blame that, as I usually do. I swear I can't help it, I just don't feel like writing any other time T^T

~~~

Warnings: Mentions of past death and violence, but nothing explicit. Pavitr briefly goes into detail about a fight but it's very brief!

Pairing(s): GoldenClass(Pavitr x Gayatri)

AO3

~~~

Inspector Singh was very protective of his daughter, and disapproved of most boys that she knew. He did his best to make sure that she was nothing but safe and loved, and was overly critical of... Well, everyone. But even so, he did want to her to be happy. And if that meant eventually caving in to accepting her boyfriend, then maybe that's just what he had to do.

When Gayatri had formally introduced him to Pavitr, he couldn't really say that he was surprised. He had seen them, even when they thought that he couldn't. He could see how they leaned into each other, how an accidental brush of the hand usually lasted longer when they didn't realize that he was looking, how their hugs goodbye after school lasted longer than they probably should have.

Sometimes, he could even hear them in her room. Now that one was a bit concerning, as he wasn't really sure how that Prabhakar kid even got in there, but he never really said anything. They seemed happy, and he knew that his daughter was responsible enough to not do anything stupid while they were alone. He didn't know a lot about this kid, but if Gayatri was so happy with him, he didn't want to ruin that by pushing too hard.

When they had finally met, Inspector Singh could say that he, for once, approved. Pavitr himself seemed to be a good person. He was confident and loud, but he was also incredibly polite. He was patient and careful with his words, and he looked at Gayatri as if she was the only thing that he could. Now that was something that Inspector Singh could trust, especially with his daughter.

Despite that, he still set some boundaries for them. He did not mind Pavitr coming over to visit Gayatri, to even spend the night if he wanted. However, he did not approve of her going over to his place. It was easier to know that Gayatri was safe if she stayed home, and Pavitr seemed to understand that entirely.

Which was how they ended up here, having a little sleepover in Gayatri's room. There was music in the background playing from Pavitr's phone, some random song that they weren't paying attention to. They were sitting on the bed, legs crossed and facing each other as Gayatri painted his nails. Pavitr was ranting about his day, talking about school and his... other duties.

"So the robber swung at me, and then I ducked because of course I did - I'm Spider-Man, it's too easy - and so I landed a few hits, and then the robber-"

"Pavitr," Gayatri said, interrupting his speech softly, "you know I love you and everything about you, but please. Stop talking with your hands for just a moment, I am painting them."

"Oh, sorry," he said sheepishly. He hadn't even realized it, but his hands had lost themselves somewhere in the air while he was talking. Delicately, he gave the hand that she was working on back to her.

"It's alright, don't worry," she reassured. Her thumb ran gently over his knuckles, which were still slightly bruised. She brought it up to her lips, kissing them with care. "I know it's your job and all, but you should try to stop getting into so many fights. At least the unnecessary ones."

"You know I can't do that," he whispered, being mindful to not get so excited he waves his hands around again. "Every fight could be a necessary one to join. If I ignore it, something bad could happen. It certainly wouldn't be the first time."

Gayatri's hand stilled, the brush of the polish stilling at the tip of his nail as she felt the mood shift. Her eyes wandered up to his eyes, glossy and rather vacant. His eyebrows were furrowed slightly, almost unnoticeable. But she had known him long enough to be able to pick it out.

"So what happened next?" His eyes become focused at the sound of her voice, meeting her gaze. "After- after you got those hits in. You never finished the story."

Pavitr smiled softly, putting himself back into the moment. He felt infinitely lucky to have a girlfriend who cared for him so much, and who knew him so well.

"Ok, so, after I got in a few hits, the robber pulled out a gun and-"

"I think that's enough of the story."

Pavitr let out a short bark of laughter, curling forward and pressing his forehead to Gayatri's. She continued decorating his nails as he laughed to himself. Her eyes briefly glanced up to his joyous face, taking in the sight of his scrunched nose and wide smile. She was so happy to have someone like him to call hers.

"Alright, now you just need to wait for it to dry," she said as she coated his final nail. "Try not to rub it on anything, and don't use your hands too much until you're sure that they're entirely dry."

"Yes, ma'am!" Pavitr assured, curling his hands into bear claws. He let out a soft, playful growl as he did so, pulling a chuckle out of his girlfriend. "So uhhhh, what should we do now? While we wait for this to dry at least."

Gayatri pondered for a moment, racking her brain for things to do. "Well, I usually just watch a movie, or if I'm up to it just talk to my dad. But we probably shouldn't bug him, so... Movie?"

"Yeah, that sounds good! You can pick one, I don't care too much."

Gayatri and Pavitr settled into her bed comfortably, her laying against his shoulder with his head on hers. Pavitr had his hands interlocked with themselves resting on his chest to ensure they dry properly. Their legs were intertwined, and Gayatri had her laptop resting in her lap as she scrolled through a list of movies.

"Anything catch your eye?" Gayatri asked, continuing to scroll mindlessly through the options. "I've watched most of the good stuff, but I don't know what you've seen or not."

"Eh, not really, and I don't want to make you watch something you've seen before," came his reply as he leaned deeper into her scent. "What if we just watched the worst rated film on here?"

Gayatri paused her scrolling for a moment to contemplate his idea. She quickly opened up another tab, looking up what exactly the worst rated film would be. It was some animated movie, and it looked absolutely atrocious. It was perfect.

The character models were flat, yet somehow chunky. The voice acting was flat, made from people who didn't seem to even want to be involved in the movie. The story itself was all over the place, and neither could really describe it if someone else asked what it was about.

There were many laughs shared, mostly over how absurd the film was. They conversed back and forth about random things, sometimes not even related to what they were watching. Gayatri let out a few yawns, feeling tuckered out as the night progressed, and Pavitr let out many more.

In the final few minutes of the movie, Pavitr was entirely gone. He was snoring softly, face buried deep in Gayatri's hair and hands still locked with each other. Gayatri smiled warmly, deciding to let it at least finish. She had gotten this far, she may as well.

She was quick to back out of the movie once it had finished, opening up one of her shows to continue watching where she had left off. Pavitr was asleep, so she didn't feel too bad. She didn't get half way through the next episode when she had fallen asleep as well.

When the sun peaked through the curtains, Pavitr found his eyes opening slowly. He felt Gayatri's body heat against hers, smelling the perfume that essentially coated the room. There was an itch in the back of his head, alerting him that something was about to come up before it actually did.

Slowly, he wiggled himself out from under his girlfriend, laying her gently against his pillows. He crept over to the other side of her room where his bag was located, slipping his hand to the very bottom and pulling out his Spider-Man suit.

As quietly as he could, he slipped his suit over his muscular skin and fluffed his hair. Silently once more, he tip-toed back to the bed. His hand found its way on the side of Gayatri's face, caressing it softly. He planted a firm kiss onto her forehead, pressing their noses together.

"I have to go my love," he whispered. "I'm sure I'll be back before you awake, but I tell you now in case I don't"

The itch in his head began to grow, ringing through his ears in a steady and heavy thrum. He pushed the window open, attaching himself to the wall and making his way onto the roof. He perched himself on the ledge, patient and focused as he listened for any danger.

A scream to his left caught his attention quick, and soon enough he was jumping over the streets. Sometimes he wished that he could just sleep in, but that wasn't really how it worked.

Crime didn't wait, and neither could he. At least he would have something interesting to tell her when he came back.

[meloncholy-words]

I Think I Have A Crush On You

Pavitr had a crush, and needed to let her know.

A/N: I wrote this rather late at night so if it's not the best, I blame that. My motivation mostly only comes to me late at night, for some reason lol.

~~~

Warnings: None

Pairing(s): GoldenClass(Pavitr x Gayatri)

AO3

~~~

A crush was a simple thing to have, and usually considered quite childish. But considering Pavitr wasn’t exactly an adult yet, he gave himself a pass mentally. Besides, even if he was an adult, who cares? Sometimes, you need to be a little childish. Sometimes, no matter how old you may be, you’ll simply have a crush on someone. Like he did now.

He’d never had problems with making friends, and especially close ones. Sure, he could never let them get too close for rather obvious reasons, but still, he had many friends! Ones that, under different circumstances, he may have found himself falling in love with. He wasn’t entirely sure what those circumstances may be, but he was sure that those were possibilities in at least some lifetime. But when it came to one woman in this one, there was something… different.

Gayatri was rather special, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he thought that because he loved her, or because it was true. She was a model at a rather young age, and even if she wasn’t, she was stunningly beautiful. Her voice was sweet like sap, and she held herself in a confidence that felt almost contagious. She was kind to everyone, and was incredibly smart. When thinking of Gayatri, the word classy may come to mind.

And Pavitr was sure that he had a crush on her. Every time he thought of her, he felt nervous. He could picture her beautiful eyes in exquisite detail, could almost hear the giggle hidden in the back of her voice, could feel the butterflies that fluttered deep within his entire being. When he got to meet her face-to-face, it was almost worse. He could keep himself rather composed, but his hands would get clammy, and he would be mostly lost for words.

There was just something so addictive about her, and Pavitr could never cleanse his mind of her. Honestly, he didn’t really want to, which was why Pavitr decided that he should confess his feelings. Today, on the rooftops of Mumbattan, he would tell her how he truly felt.

It was like any other day when the two had met up. They’d greeted each other warmly and softly, making their way up to the highest point they could reach, hand in hand. The air was warm, filled with the scents of a bakery below. Gayatri was sitting down, her legs curled up under her with Pavitr resting his head upon her lap. Pavitr was fidgeting with his hands, staring up in admiration as Gayatri talked about everything on her mind.

“Gayatri?” Pavitr said once he’d found the perfect break in her words to speak up. “I think I have something to tell you.”

Gayatri let out a soft hum of acknowledgment and curiosity, glancing down to meet his gaze. Her hand slowed to a stop, buried somewhere in his hair. Her face was calm, beautiful features softened as she waited patiently for him to speak.

“I… I think I have a crush on you.”

Gayatri’s eyes widened for a moment before her eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. After a brief moment, her face scrunched up as a smile split her face. The air, which still smelled of baked goods, was soon filled with laughter as well. It was gentle and full of love, and it made Pavitr’s heart flutter at speeds he didn’t think possible.

“Well, I certainly hope so,” Gayatri finally managed through her laughter. “I mean, we are dating.”

“Well, yeah,” Pavitr said, a pout crossing his face, “and? Can I not express my feelings here?” He let out a dramatic huff, a smile passing onto his own face. “And I thought you loved me.” He rolled himself to face away from her, his head now resting on her knee. Above him, Gayatri let out a playful scoff.

“Nuh-uh, come here.” Her hands firmly grasped his shoulders, pulling him up and laying him back over her lap. Pavitr needed to place his hands down to stabilize himself, and she took this chance to grasp the sides of his face, pulling it closer to hers. Once she felt he was close enough, she began to gently pepper his beaming face with kisses. “You don’t get to deny my love,” she said between kisses.

Pavitr found himself dissolving into giggles fast, his face tightening into a wide smile. He leaned his body into hers, a hand moving to grab at her wrist softly. However, he made no move to stop her. He was sure that her lipstick was smudging against his skin, but he knew just how to get it off easily. This was not the first time she has kissed him, after all.

Once Gayatri felt that his face was adequately seasoned, she planted one long, final kiss onto his forehead. She pulled back, brushing the hair out of his eyes and smiling softly. Her thumbs gently massaged his cheeks, and they sat there like that for a few moments. When their gaze met, Pavitr felt overwhelmed by the beauty that he saw, melting into her touch without any hesitation.

“I love you,” Pavitr said softly, meaning it entirely.

Gayatri smiled back at him, pressing their foreheads together. This was her silent way of saying those words back, and Pavitr soaked up her touch graciously.

“So… can I get another kiss?” he asked sheepishly.

Gayatri let out a bark of surprised laughter, pushing him away playfully. “Goodness, what am I going to do with you?”

“You could… kiss me?”

A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and they were quick to meet his. Yes, Pavitr Prabahkar had a crush on Gayatri Singh, and he was ecstatic to know that she had one on him too.

[meloncholy-words]

Your Body Heat Melts Me

Cuddling your loved one should be a nice, fun experience. Having a vigilante partner who comes to you for affection after a battle is not so much, but Gayatri doesn't mind too much. She loves him, after all.

A/N: If I seemed to have missed anything in my warnings, please please PLEASE let me know. There is nothing super duper graphic in here, and there is not explicit violence, but I so sincerely do not wish to catch anyone off guard with this. Actually, I never do. That's kinda mean.

~~~

Warnings: Blood, Depictions of injuries(cuts, bruises, broken bones, etc.), Descriptions of Anxiety, Non-Explicit Violence

Pairing(s): GoldenClass (Pavitr x Gayatri)

AO3

~~~

There was something pleasing about being able to cuddle with your significant other. It was comfortable, and so, so peaceful. You could smell their scent, feel their breathing, their skin and warmth. You could fall asleep or lie awake in their delicate hold, so safe between their arms. Or, you could be the one holding the other, and that held a different sort of comfort.

But things are a little different when your partner is a vigilante. Sometimes, you never know if you’ll be able to hold them again. And when you do, you don’t know how long it will last, or if it would be the last. It was a gamble, a simple roll of the dice, and if the dice rolled wrong, you could end up alone.

That was Gayatri’s fear. She was terrified that her boyfriend, Pavitr, wouldn’t return home to her. Well, not really home to her, they didn’t exactly live together. They were still in highschool, and still both lived in different houses. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that Pavitr had a very dangerous job, and therefore a rather dangerous life. Though he likely wouldn’t return to her home, she worried that he may not return anywhere.

But Pavitr never seemed to care. In fact, he was ecstatic to do what he did. When they were alone, he would babble on and on about his duties: the people he had fought, the ones he had saved, the praise he got. He would rant about his opponents, both villain and civilian, but he never did so with malice. Sure, they hurt him sometimes, but he still loved them.

That was something Gayatri could never understand. The way that, despite all the bruises and the cuts that littered his body, despite all of his own blood that would be shed almost daily, despite all of the pain, he still held these people in some sort of light. Sometimes, they would make him cry. But still, he never spoke genuinely ill of any of them. Gayatri was sometimes worried that the way he viewed them would get him killed one day.

But still, he was Spider-Man. That wasn’t exactly something that he could quit, and they both knew it. But still, sometimes she wondered what their relationship would be like if he wasn’t Spider-Man. Perhaps then, they’d have more time to cuddle. And perhaps then, he wouldn’t come to cuddle her when he was all battered, like he was doing now.

It was rather late at night, and she and her father were watching the news. It was nothing special, just the average story of Mumbattan’s local spider fighting one of his recurring villains. And just like always, he seemed to be winning. There was damage, there was always damage, but with the way he moved, you would never know whether or not he was injured. Even Gayatri couldn’t tell, as she watched him fight his way to victory through the screen.

After several minutes, finally it was over. The villain was webbed up, dangling in the air and therefore rendered helpless. Pavitr did a few flips onto the ground, where he bowed deeply to the crowd that had gathered, as if this were a performance. He gave a few waves, blew a few kisses, and then he was out of view, propelling through the air by his webs.

Gaytri let out a silent sigh of relief, unclenching the hands that gripped her own thighs tightly. Slowly, the knuckles of her hand turned back to their beautiful tan, instead of such a piercing white. Despite that, there was still a deep, tight knot settled into her chest.

“Well, good for him,” she said softly, carefully, to make sure that her voice wouldn’t crack. “I think I’m going to go to bed now, Papa.” Slowly, she stood up, walking over to her father and giving him a soft kiss on the forehead. “Good night.”

Through the ringing in her ears, she couldn’t hear how he wished her a good night back. She could only focus on the heavy, almost mechanical movements of her limbs that led her up the stairs and into her room. Once her door was shut, she leaned against it for a few moments, breathing hard as her mind caught up to her body. Then, she quickly threw herself onto her bed and removed her phone from her pocket. With shaky hands, she opened her messages, finding the contact that she needed at the moment.

You: I saw on the TV, are you ok? (8:00 PM)

You: Please tell me you’re okay when you can. (8:00 PM)

You: Please. (8:00 PM)

You: You know I worry. I just… Please. (8:01 PM)

Gayatri let herself roll onto her back, laying her phone on her chest. Her eyes were pointed at the ceiling, but they were unfocused. They roamed the imperfections of her ceiling, trying to focus on something so that she wasn’t stuck worrying, but it seemed a bit useless. Instead of continuing to try distracting herself, she picked her phone back up again.

You: Sorry. (8:06 PM)

She put her phone back on her chest, throwing her arms down to her side. Her nerves were on fire, waiting patiently for the buzz of her phone to indicate that he had texted back. She was very aware of her breath and her heartbeat, of the individual muscles that twitched as she waited. She didn’t want to keep checking the time, to keep checking her phone. She knew then that it would only be worse the longer that she had to wait if she stared at that screen, but she didn’t know if she could help it.

She forced herself to keep calm and still on her bed regardless.

Then, there was a soft tap that pulled her back into focus. Her eyes narrowed onto one point in the ceiling, the ringing in her ears falling silent and her muscles tensing. She wasn’t sure if she had actually heard what she did, and she needed to be sure that she did before she acted. Gayatri breathed in slowly and steadily as she waited. After a few moments, there was more tapping, this time in succession. And this time, she was aware that it was coming from her window.

She brushed her phone onto her bed, sliding onto the floor and pushing herself towards the window. Quickly, she moved the curtains out of the way. Outside, Pavitr hung rather loosely on the window frame, one hand holding his ribs tightly. Though his mask covered his face, she could tell by the way his large white eyes were squinted that he was in pain.

She snapped the lock of her window in the opposite direction, unlocking it, before sliding it up. Hesitantly, Pavitr ducked down to fit into the opening. Once his feet were on the floor, he just about collapsed. Luckily, Gayatri was able to catch him and hold him up. Unluckily, her father had heard the sound.

“Gayatri?” he called out. It sounded like he was still down the stairs, but that still wasn’t very good. “Are you alright? Do I need to come up there?”

“No, Papa!” she yelled back, dragging Pavitr to her bed. “Sorry, I just tripped over my blanket, I’m fine!”

“Alright. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

“I will Papa, thank you!”

Slowly and carefully, she laid her boyfriend down on her bed. He rolled over onto his back, pulling off his mask and taking in deep breaths. His nose was bloody, and a bruise was forming on his cheek. Though his eyes were closed, she was somewhat sure that there were tears in them. His bottom lip seemed a little swollen, but she hadn’t turned on the light, so she wasn’t sure in the dim lighting. His beautiful hair was dirty and a little matted, rubble and potentially blood caught in his soft waves.

Gayatri sat down on the edge of the bed, one leg over the side and the other curled under her thigh. She was relieved that Pavitr was alright, or at least not dead. Slowly and so, so softly, she laid her hand on top of his. His fingers slightly twitched at the feeling, and his eyes hazily met hers as his mind continued to process where exactly he was. After a few seconds, he let out a soft whine, rolling onto his side and extending out his arms.

She smiled down softly at him, scooting herself down the bed and onto her back. Then, she scooted herself between his arms. Loosely, his arms wrapped around her body, and he pulled her in close. His head found paradise in her neck, burying itself deep into her skin. His hair brushed against her skin gently, a soft tickly feeling.

She stayed silent, listening to and feeling him as he held her. His breathing was heavy and labored, and she could swear that she could hear his bones shifting. In fact, she was even sure that she could feel them shifting. His hands were shaky, and though he held her with love, they still trembled about. She could smell sweat and blood, and she worried where exactly it came from.

As her senses focused on her lover, her eyes began to sting, and her lip quivered. She hated when he would get like this, when he would get so hurt. In the end, he would be fine. He was a bubbly guy, and he had a superhuman healing factor, literally, and so she knew he would be fine. But the knowledge that he got hurt, so often and so much, it pained her.

Soon enough, he was asleep, curled up tightly around her, as though he were protecting her. Maybe he thought he had to, maybe he just wanted to be like this tonight. Regardless, she didn’t dare to move, out of fear of waking him. Her hands grasped his forearms softly, and she let herself cry. She was careful to not be too loud, to not shake too much, in order to make sure he stayed sleeping.

Sometimes she wished that he could quit being Spider-Man, that he could choose to have a normal life. But even if he could, she knew he wouldn’t. He could never abandon people that needed him, not when he’d made himself someone that they could rely on. And then, she wasn’t sure if it would be good for him to want to stop being Spider-Man. If he were someone who did that, who abandoned people he desired and promised to protect, she wasn’t sure what kind of person he would be then.

So for now, she would bite back her feelings. She loved who he was, and she loved that he loved himself too. If he had to change anything, he wouldn’t be himself anymore, and then things would be very different. But no, for now, things were how they were. And she liked it that way. So, instead of fussing about it too much, she wiped her tears, and snuggled back into his chest.

The next morning, she would wake up without him. Her blanket would be pulled over her, her room would be a little tidier, her curtains would be shut again, and she would be without him. But she knew that he would be back, eventually.

She only hoped he wasn’t hurt when he came next time.

[meloncholy-words]

Masterlist

The post containing the links to my stories. Some will lead directly to AO3 because they were posted before I had made this blog, so it is a lot easier to send you there than to try locating those in the archives of my main account.

Last Updated: 6/2/24

Total Works: 8

Sanders Sides

Discarded Memories(Abandoned Story)

Pills

Snake's Skin

Snake's Skin Bonus Chapter

~~~

Cookie Run

We Shall

Eyes That Burn, Please, Look Away

~~~

Spider-Verse

Oh My God, They Made Him Emo

Your Body Heat Melts Me

I Think I Have A Crush On You

~~~

Batman

Robin: A Word That Means Run

[meloncholy-words]

Oh My God, They Made Him Emo

Miles, Gwen, and Hobie were crashing in Pavitr’s dimension for some simple teen fun. Pavitr leaves them with his girlfriend for only a moment, and they have learned something that he never hoped they would.

A/N: This isn't set at a specific canon time, it just. Happens. Also I wrote this at almost midnight so apologies if its actually a little shitty, I didn't even like reread it lolz. But anyways, enjoy. There's no specific information that I think I could have messed up here, so uhhhh if you notice anything PLEASE point it out, I will love you for it. here's what Emo Pav is based off of, and here's what this specific fic is based off of.

~~~

Warnings: None

Pairing(s): Pavitr/Gayatri

AO3

~~~

The day was slow for Miles. There were no active villains, no school today, and his parents were out on a date. Usually, he would love this. What better way to spend a day than alone and drawing the whole time? But for some reason, today was not an average day. He itched to be with someone else, but there wasn’t really anyone else that he could be with. At least, not in his dimension.

The solution? Bug the Spiders of the other ones, of course.

Gwen wasn’t busy at the moment, having fought a battle earlier on and having no one to occupy her time now. Hobie had just wrapped up something too, so he was currently quite free. Pavitr however, was quite busy with his girlfriend.

The new solution? Bug him .

It was a rather unanimous decision from the other three, and reluctantly Pavitr admitted that Gayatri did not mind their arrival. They were only hanging out, nothing super special, so she was more than welcome to have some of Pavitr’s Spider-Friends over. Though Pav minded a little bit, he knew they likely would come over anyways, so he made the choice to simply give them the go-ahead.

Despite his initial hesitation, the moment he saw the other Spiders, he was immediately ecstatic, welcoming them warmly. Gayatri was right behind him, smiling and welcoming them warmly.  The other three lightly teased Pavitr about his girlfriend, and Gayatri half-heartedly defended him; half-heartedly as in joining in the teasing while pretending to defend him.

The group gathered in Pavitr’s home, sitting in a rough circle around his living room. The conversation was mostly Spider-Person talk, conversing lightly about battles and stories and various other responsibilities. Though Gayatri could not quite join in on these bits, she seemed just as engaged in the conversation as everyone else, jumping in when she could about other topics.

“Sometimes people are just so … you know?” Gwen babbled, picking at the pins and patches on Hobie’s vest. “Like, ‘Hello, there’s something going down here, you should move. ’”

“So true,” Miles said. He was draped rather casually across the couch, his legs resting on Hobie and Gwen’s laps, his torso taking up the rest of the space. “Civilians need to just be… better sometimes.”

“It’s not always that easy.” This turned the eyes of the room onto Gayatri, the present civilian. “Maybe you guys should be better, then we could escape easier.”

This caused Pavitr to let out a brisk laugh, pulling her in closer from where they were cuddling on the armchair. “If only it worked like that.”

The conversation carried on, everyone poking some fun at each other however they could. The air was full of a sort of childish fun, something relaxing to all the Spider-People who were usually so tense and on guard. And somehow, Miles had ended up on the floor. Hobie took up his previous space on the couch, and Miles simply accepted his fate on the floor.

“Hey, I’m going to go get something to drink, I’ll be right back,” Pavitr quickly cut in, patting Gayatri’s shoulder softly as he removed himself from the room. There was a soft murmur of acknowledgments, eyes briefly glancing towards the Indian boy as he disappeared into the hall.

A few moments after he was out of sight, Gayatri pulled out her phone, opening it and scrolling through something before leaning into the circle. There was a cheeky smile on her face, and she held the phone as though she was about to show them something so incredibly important.

“Do you guys want to see Pavi’s emo phase?”

This caught everyone's attention instantly, and they all sat up. Amongst the verbal agreements and nods, down the hall could be heard a very loud, “ WHAT?!” . That was then followed by a frantic, “ Nonononono- ”, accompanied with quick, heavy footsteps coming back down the hall

Before Pavitr could pop back into the room, Gayatri revealed the images on her phone to the group. The date on the photos showed them to be a few years old, when Pavitr would have been in middle school. And it was certainly a sight, with the Pavitr of today nowhere to be seen.

Instead of wearing bright and pale colors like he usually would, he was instead wearing dark jeans and a black tee-shirt. In most images, he was wearing some earbuds and looking blankly into space. His beautiful, perfect hair was still long, beautiful, and perfect, though it was now styled to hide half of his face. The only pictures that he seemed to show any emotion in were the ones that included Gayatri. In those, he would look at her with nervous eyes and a light blush across his face. How adorable.

Behind Gayatri, Pavitr slid across the floor and back into the room, almost knocking into the wall in his urgentness. Equally as urgent, he almost threw himself over the back of the chair to try to snatch the phone away before any more damage could be done. Hobie was able to grab it first, continuing to look through all of the Emo Pav photos. Pavitr slumped down over his girlfriend’s shoulder in defeat, burying his face into her neck.

“ Augh , whyyyy,” he whined, wrapping his arms around her softly.

“Aw, come on, it’s not that bad,” she said softly, a giggle in her voice as she kissed his cheek gently. “I think it’s cute.”

There were some light snickers, as well as some aw’s from the trio around the floor, and Pavitr groaned again. He wasn’t mad, only mildly embarrassed.

“Now this ,” Hobie chimed, “is some good information to have.”

Pavitr threw himself over the back of the chair, landing into Gayatri’s lap and curling up close to her. “I’m ruined,” he said, throwing his hand over his forehead dramatically, “this is the ultimate betrayal.”

Gayatri smiled softly, holding him close. The others continued to scroll through the old images, chuckling and lightly teasing Pavitr for that phase in his lifetime, but he didn’t really care.

Pavitr never got his drink, but that was quite forgotten at this point. This new information was quite important, and who needed a drink anyways?

[meloncholy-words]

Eyes That Burn, Please, Look Away

Madeleine Cookie had picked up a hobby. He decided he wanted to expand on his skills, and painting seemed to interest him enough. He has set a goal today, and he was doing great, until a certain obstacle decided to rear its head.

//disclaimer, I’m a digital and alcohol marker/just pencil artist, I don’t work with paints and am bullshitting my way through most of this. also this whole story is like, entirely inspired by his April Fool’s sprite haha. also this is set before Madeleine goes traveling and stuff. it wasn't initially but it ended up being that way lol.

~~~

Warnings: Descriptions of facial dysmorphia(probably? I'm not quite sure if that's what it is but I'm not sure what else to call it), talk of self-doubt, I think that's it?

AO3

~~~

  Madeleine would say that his newest painting looked good so far. Great, even. He’d taken to painting as a way to expand his skill set, and maybe possibly also a way to cool down every now and then. And he was fairly good at it.

  He’d been taught to paint when he was younger, having the most expensive and studious tutors brought to him, but had abandoned it to be a warrior. As missions became a little less frequent, he decided to brush the rust from his hands and pick it up once more. 

  He’d started off simple, refamiliarizing himself with the tools and techniques, before diving into some bigger pieces. Madeleine found himself to be great at landscapes, able to fill large canvases with delicate hues of pinks and greens and blues, shaping a world that existed only in the deep of his imagination. He could layer the colors on each other with ease, and seemed to barely make a mistake, and if he did, it would only ever help to bring the piece together.

  And now, the harder part: people. Should he attempt to add someone he was familiar with into his scapes, they would become blotches of color amongst the trees, the colors blending in such a horribly crude way; should he attempt to make someone up from scratch, he would fall into an empty space.

  So, obviously, the only thing he could do was a self portrait! If he could not cast the visions of others through the instruments in his hands, then he would simply do himself. Who else could he be more familiar with?

  He started simple, laying a nice, deep blue to start, delicately crafting a soft gradient to a lighter blue in the center. So far, so good. With a white leaded pencil, he sketched out a rough base. A mirror sat just to his left, and he sketched as he saw, touching the pencil to the dried paint so gently you’d think if he pressed any harder it would shatter like glass.

  The sketch was nothing extraordinary, just a silhouette with faint lines etched across to imply where everything inside existed. Ok, he could work with this!

  He squeezed his paint out into his pallet, mixing them to create the tones of his being. He started with his hair, laying down the darkest parts first to create the soft shape of his golden locks. Once that paint was half-dried, he laid down lighter tones, using the wet of the paint to blend the colors together.

  He gathered some more bottles into his arms, and began mixing once more, attempting to make a good enough skin tone. Making sure the first few colors were dry, he began laying down the deepest colors, followed by the lighter colors and some blending. He glanced over his features once more, before deciding to add reddish hues into the colors of his cheeks and the tip of his nose. A soft pink was used to shape the lips, and he felt somewhat satisfied… until he looked upwards.

  A void of fleshy tones stared at him, as best it could without eyes. But that… that was okay! It was a small detail he could focus on later. The paint was still wet, and if he mixed the pale blues with the warm browns and pinks, surely, it wouldn’t look good! Yeah, yeah, that was it.

Once more, he repeated his process, with deep grays for his shirt and layering on softer grays and off whites, being sure to keep the outline of his muscles prominent, but not too much. He was humble, of course. With a final, sweeping stroke, his painting was finished. The brilliant blue of the background made the warm colors of his person really pop. His brilliant blonde locks were a beautiful tangle on his painted head, framing his face so perfectly, with his chiseled jaw and sculpted nose, lips so delicate and prime. And his eyes, oh, his eyes… were absent.

Yes, of course they were… he’d had reason to skip that part, but touching his soft fingertips to the void of flesh left no sticky residue, indicating it had dried already. There was truly no avoiding it. But surely this was no big obstacle! Everyone had praised his eyes, so vibrant and true, and he’d made paintings with such passion in them before. For one such as Madeleine Cookie, this was a simple feat!

But then again, he had never shared the sentiments others had about his eyes. Though he encouraged and basked in the praise, whenever he would meet his own gaze in a reflection, something was always… off. Just like now, as he stared into the mirror beside him. Beautiful, they called them. So charming, so entrancing. All he could think was that they were just wrong.

He couldn’t tell why, but they were. They pierced through his skin like a needle through fabric, setting his blood to a boil and digging a pit through his stomach. He felt sick, like who he was watching in the mirror wasn’t himself. Looking anywhere else, he was fine, but when his eyes met themselves, he was riddled with fear. It didn’t look like him, didn’t feel like him.

With possibly too much effort than was needed, he pried his gaze away, fixed to the empty space he needed to fill. Sweat had built up on his pale skin, his breathing becoming labored and heavy. And he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why.

It’s alright, Madeleine thought, I can fix it. I can fix this. I can fix me.

But truthfully, he couldn’t. The whites of his eyes had gone down easy, but the iris was never right. Too dark, then too bright, then just too harsh of a gaze. Then he began to notice that the shape was wrong, and the layer of paint began to build up in his attempt to fix it. Madeleine began to think that maybe it was the lack of eyelashes, not framing his eyes right. But nothing seemed to be perfect. Nothing seemed to be him.

By the time he had given up, his upper face had become nothing but smears of blue and streaks of white he tried to fix it with. With hands shaking, paint threatened to collapse from his grip. His eyes stung in frustration, but tears refused to spill. He refused to let them. His throat felt dry, caught and twisted in itself. His chest felt sore, and his fingers gripped the handle to the brush until his knuckles were a bright red and his palms were bleeding.

Madeleine ran the brush through the pallet, picking up mostly white, before spreading it over the top of his face. His body felt numb as he did this, not fully aware of anything. After a few strokes he let out a frustrated yell, throwing everything down and storming out. He made his way to his bedroom, unable to stop the tears which now flowed freely. He threw himself into his sheets, soft and warm, burying his face as deep as he could. He already felt like he couldn’t breathe, and this was certainly not helping, but he didn’t care in the moment.

Why couldn’t he seem to get anything right..?

===

“Oh, Madeleine dearest, why did you hide this? It’s beautiful!”

The residents of House Madeleine were enjoying dinner when Madeleine’s second aunt came into the dining hall, his abandoned painting held softly in her arms. There was a sense of pride as it rested there neatly, almost masking the shame of the dreadful painting. And yet, no matter how much he has despised it, his family felt quite different. A running theme, it seems.

The rest of his aunts leapt from their spots, flocking to the product of their beloved Madeleine. Praise flew from their lips the moment they saw it, melding a cloud of what seemed to be simply gibberish. Despite hardly understanding what they were saying, he felt his cheeks gain a warm glow. He was used to compliments, but it always felt different from his family.

“Oh, what is with this?” his first aunt began, running her hand along the white paint that blurred his embarrassment.

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s beautiful anyways,” replied his second.

“Perhaps he couldn’t quite capture his own beauty?” piped in his third, “It is quite much, after all.”

“Maddy?” There were eyes on him, he could feel, but he did not meet them. Gently, he pushed around his food, trying to think of something to say.

“I- I think it captures me quite well,” he began loudly, putting on a face of pride, “blindingly beautiful and so heavenly graceful!”

There was a moment of silence. A moment where Madeleine had thought his composure had cracked just enough they could tell he was lying to them. Enough they could see through him and straight to the problem. But instead the moment remained brief, with his aunties giggling to themselves, making little affirmative noises. They had believed him.

There was a grip in his grip, twisting in the rest of his organs. He felt bad lying to them, but knew he couldn’t really explain what was wrong without sounding crazy. But then again, he has always thought they were lying about the beauty his eyes held, so perhaps this made them even.

His second aunt made a comment about hanging it in the hall, and before he could think to make any noise of protest, they were off. That was probably the best outcome in all fairness. He didn’t know what he could possibly say to change their minds, and didn’t feel like explaining himself anyways.

Anxiety filled his stomach as he sat in the silence. He’d have to see it as he walked the halls now. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could just ignore it. Block it out. He certainly couldn’t remove it. With the fork in his hand, he returned to pushing around the meat and veggies sitting on the plate before him as an idea struck him.

Maybe he didn’t have to see it. Traveling Earthbread and spreading hope, joy, and justice had always been an idea in the family. He’d dropped painting before to be the valiant warrior he is today, maybe he could do it again.

The thought was now cemented in his brain, much like the gaze he couldn’t stand to look at. Swiftly, he moved from his chair and made his way back into his chambers. He would bring up the idea later. For now, he has lost his appetite.

[meloncholy-words]

Eyes That Burn, Please, Look Away

Madeleine Cookie had picked up a hobby. He decided he wanted to expand on his skills, and painting seemed to interest him enough. He has set a goal today, and he was doing great, until a certain obstacle decided to rear its head.

//disclaimer, I’m a digital and alcohol marker/just pencil artist, I don’t work with paints and am bullshitting my way through most of this. also this whole story is like, entirely inspired by his April Fool’s sprite haha. also this is set before Madeleine goes traveling and stuff. it wasn't initially but it ended up being that way lol.

~~~

Warnings: Descriptions of facial dysmorphia(probably? I'm not quite sure if that's what it is but I'm not sure what else to call it), talk of self-doubt, I think that's it?

AO3

~~~

  Madeleine would say that his newest painting looked good so far. Great, even. He’d taken to painting as a way to expand his skill set, and maybe possibly also a way to cool down every now and then. And he was fairly good at it.

  He’d been taught to paint when he was younger, having the most expensive and studious tutors brought to him, but had abandoned it to be a warrior. As missions became a little less frequent, he decided to brush the rust from his hands and pick it up once more. 

  He’d started off simple, refamiliarizing himself with the tools and techniques, before diving into some bigger pieces. Madeleine found himself to be great at landscapes, able to fill large canvases with delicate hues of pinks and greens and blues, shaping a world that existed only in the deep of his imagination. He could layer the colors on each other with ease, and seemed to barely make a mistake, and if he did, it would only ever help to bring the piece together.

  And now, the harder part: people. Should he attempt to add someone he was familiar with into his scapes, they would become blotches of color amongst the trees, the colors blending in such a horribly crude way; should he attempt to make someone up from scratch, he would fall into an empty space.

  So, obviously, the only thing he could do was a self portrait! If he could not cast the visions of others through the instruments in his hands, then he would simply do himself. Who else could he be more familiar with?

  He started simple, laying a nice, deep blue to start, delicately crafting a soft gradient to a lighter blue in the center. So far, so good. With a white leaded pencil, he sketched out a rough base. A mirror sat just to his left, and he sketched as he saw, touching the pencil to the dried paint so gently you’d think if he pressed any harder it would shatter like glass.

  The sketch was nothing extraordinary, just a silhouette with faint lines etched across to imply where everything inside existed. Ok, he could work with this!

  He squeezed his paint out into his pallet, mixing them to create the tones of his being. He started with his hair, laying down the darkest parts first to create the soft shape of his golden locks. Once that paint was half-dried, he laid down lighter tones, using the wet of the paint to blend the colors together.

  He gathered some more bottles into his arms, and began mixing once more, attempting to make a good enough skin tone. Making sure the first few colors were dry, he began laying down the deepest colors, followed by the lighter colors and some blending. He glanced over his features once more, before deciding to add reddish hues into the colors of his cheeks and the tip of his nose. A soft pink was used to shape the lips, and he felt somewhat satisfied… until he looked upwards.

  A void of fleshy tones stared at him, as best it could without eyes. But that… that was okay! It was a small detail he could focus on later. The paint was still wet, and if he mixed the pale blues with the warm browns and pinks, surely, it wouldn’t look good! Yeah, yeah, that was it.

Once more, he repeated his process, with deep grays for his shirt and layering on softer grays and off whites, being sure to keep the outline of his muscles prominent, but not too much. He was humble, of course. With a final, sweeping stroke, his painting was finished. The brilliant blue of the background made the warm colors of his person really pop. His brilliant blonde locks were a beautiful tangle on his painted head, framing his face so perfectly, with his chiseled jaw and sculpted nose, lips so delicate and prime. And his eyes, oh, his eyes… were absent.

Yes, of course they were… he’d had reason to skip that part, but touching his soft fingertips to the void of flesh left no sticky residue, indicating it had dried already. There was truly no avoiding it. But surely this was no big obstacle! Everyone had praised his eyes, so vibrant and true, and he’d made paintings with such passion in them before. For one such as Madeleine Cookie, this was a simple feat!

But then again, he had never shared the sentiments others had about his eyes. Though he encouraged and basked in the praise, whenever he would meet his own gaze in a reflection, something was always… off. Just like now, as he stared into the mirror beside him. Beautiful, they called them. So charming, so entrancing. All he could think was that they were just wrong.

He couldn’t tell why, but they were. They pierced through his skin like a needle through fabric, setting his blood to a boil and digging a pit through his stomach. He felt sick, like who he was watching in the mirror wasn’t himself. Looking anywhere else, he was fine, but when his eyes met themselves, he was riddled with fear. It didn’t look like him, didn’t feel like him.

With possibly too much effort than was needed, he pried his gaze away, fixed to the empty space he needed to fill. Sweat had built up on his pale skin, his breathing becoming labored and heavy. And he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why.

It’s alright, Madeleine thought, I can fix it. I can fix this. I can fix me.

But truthfully, he couldn’t. The whites of his eyes had gone down easy, but the iris was never right. Too dark, then too bright, then just too harsh of a gaze. Then he began to notice that the shape was wrong, and the layer of paint began to build up in his attempt to fix it. Madeleine began to think that maybe it was the lack of eyelashes, not framing his eyes right. But nothing seemed to be perfect. Nothing seemed to be him.

By the time he had given up, his upper face had become nothing but smears of blue and streaks of white he tried to fix it with. With hands shaking, paint threatened to collapse from his grip. His eyes stung in frustration, but tears refused to spill. He refused to let them. His throat felt dry, caught and twisted in itself. His chest felt sore, and his fingers gripped the handle to the brush until his knuckles were a bright red and his palms were bleeding.

Madeleine ran the brush through the pallet, picking up mostly white, before spreading it over the top of his face. His body felt numb as he did this, not fully aware of anything. After a few strokes he let out a frustrated yell, throwing everything down and storming out. He made his way to his bedroom, unable to stop the tears which now flowed freely. He threw himself into his sheets, soft and warm, burying his face as deep as he could. He already felt like he couldn’t breathe, and this was certainly not helping, but he didn’t care in the moment.

Why couldn’t he seem to get anything right..?

===

“Oh, Madeleine dearest, why did you hide this? It’s beautiful!”

The residents of House Madeleine were enjoying dinner when Madeleine’s second aunt came into the dining hall, his abandoned painting held softly in her arms. There was a sense of pride as it rested there neatly, almost masking the shame of the dreadful painting. And yet, no matter how much he has despised it, his family felt quite different. A running theme, it seems.

The rest of his aunts leapt from their spots, flocking to the product of their beloved Madeleine. Praise flew from their lips the moment they saw it, melding a cloud of what seemed to be simply gibberish. Despite hardly understanding what they were saying, he felt his cheeks gain a warm glow. He was used to compliments, but it always felt different from his family.

“Oh, what is with this?” his first aunt began, running her hand along the white paint that blurred his embarrassment.

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s beautiful anyways,” replied his second.

“Perhaps he couldn’t quite capture his own beauty?” piped in his third, “It is quite much, after all.”

“Maddy?” There were eyes on him, he could feel, but he did not meet them. Gently, he pushed around his food, trying to think of something to say.

“I- I think it captures me quite well,” he began loudly, putting on a face of pride, “blindingly beautiful and so heavenly graceful!”

There was a moment of silence. A moment where Madeleine had thought his composure had cracked just enough they could tell he was lying to them. Enough they could see through him and straight to the problem. But instead the moment remained brief, with his aunties giggling to themselves, making little affirmative noises. They had believed him.

There was a grip in his grip, twisting in the rest of his organs. He felt bad lying to them, but knew he couldn’t really explain what was wrong without sounding crazy. But then again, he has always thought they were lying about the beauty his eyes held, so perhaps this made them even.

His second aunt made a comment about hanging it in the hall, and before he could think to make any noise of protest, they were off. That was probably the best outcome in all fairness. He didn’t know what he could possibly say to change their minds, and didn’t feel like explaining himself anyways.

Anxiety filled his stomach as he sat in the silence. He’d have to see it as he walked the halls now. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, he could just ignore it. Block it out. He certainly couldn’t remove it. With the fork in his hand, he returned to pushing around the meat and veggies sitting on the plate before him as an idea struck him.

Maybe he didn’t have to see it. Traveling Earthbread and spreading hope, joy, and justice had always been an idea in the family. He’d dropped painting before to be the valiant warrior he is today, maybe he could do it again.

The thought was now cemented in his brain, much like the gaze he couldn’t stand to look at. Swiftly, he moved from his chair and made his way back into his chambers. He would bring up the idea later. For now, he has lost his appetite.

[meloncholy-words]

We Shall

ah jeez i havent posted here in like a hot minute. its been, what, a little over a year?? i said id post a story i was finishing and then i,, didnt. in my defense i forgot i had this blog. and also i don't like how that one ended so I'm not going to. but anyways, if you'd followed me previously, you'd know i posted TSS content, but I'm not really in that fandom anymore, so now you can have cookies

i posted this a while ago on AO3 but im getting back into writing again i think so imma start posting here. enjoy i guess.

im ass at making summaries but the basic idea is that the gay people are gay and then one dies but like not really but also really yknow?

~~~

Pairing(s): Earlstar (Earl Grey Cookie x Rockstar Cookie)

Warnings: Character death, violence(the violence itself isn't explicit but i describe someone bleeding out so. could be explicit?), angst, gay people(/j), technically hurt no comfort but also not if you dont think about it

AO3

~~~

Rockstar Cookie was an interesting character. He was loud and destructive by nature, and quite messy. His long, white hair was typically left to be a thick mess of tangles. He decorated his body in a range of piercings, rings, chains, and the occasional tattoo. He was rather clingy and adored being the center of attention, even if he has to go to lengths to get there.

In direct contrast, was Earl Grey Cookie. He was quite reserved, too nervous to be in the direct spotlight, much happier to be standing on the side. He stuck to strict routines and schedules, as well as appearances. He had wardrobes full of the same suits and only ever did his hair in the same tied-back style - he couldn’t stand out if he only ever looked the same. He kept things nice, organized, and clean, fussing if something wasn’t.

Truly, they were exact opposites. If they were puzzle pieces, they would be corners, opposite on both sides. If one should be the earth, the other shall be the sky. The sun and the moon, a flame and a sprinkle, and officer and a criminal. Opposite.

And yet, their hands interlocked as if they were made to be forever held together. Their lips meet with passion and grace and move perfectly in sync. They nestle into each other, arms wrapped tightly against the waist of the other, as though they were two statues carved from the finest marble, blessed to forever hold.

Their fingers find the others’ hair, and they gently begin to comb. Earl struggles to get far through the mess, but neither says a thing. Gently, their foreheads press together, and this is how they shall fall asleep.

When they wake, they shall become occupied. Earl will tend to his guests and his children, and Rockstar shall do as he pleases. They shall sneak a kiss or five through the day, and a few squeezes of the hand. And in the end, they will wrap around each other once more.

When they are to separate, they will not be lonely. Rockstar shall keep a stolen teal ribbon wrapped tight around his wrist - another precious jewel to decorate his body. Earl shall hold Rockstar’s favorite pillow close - an attempt to suffocate himself in the scent left behind. The singer shall indulge in the sweets Earl has delicately wrapped up for him, and the hotelier shall indulge in the music which holds the voice and passions of his lover.

They shall reunite with deep emotion and a long kiss. The twins shall complain and feign disgust, and they shall roll their eyes, still comfortable in each other's arms.

And of course, there shall be secrets. Ones Rockstar shall stumble upon.

He shall come across the Darkness. The Darkness shall glance back, and it will strike. He will run, or he will try, but for certain, he will fail.

Earl Grey shall experience things he never wanted to.

He shall know what it feels like to be held in the grip of a dying man. He shall know how strong the stench of blood and tears is over his boyfriend’s favorite cologne. He shall know the sound of broken sobs through a scratchy throat burned deep into his mind. He shall know the feeling of a body growing cold and heavy as he tries to hold it close to his chest.

He shall know what it feels like to scream his throat raw. He shall know what it feels like to become stained red and dirty, and for once, not care.

He shall know the feeling of sleeping in a bed that has lost its warmth. He shall know the feeling of no longer wanting to wake up in the morning. He will know he has to get up, to care for his children, for himself. But he will fail as he tries.

He will know how deeply crimson stains white.

But for now, they are. They are curled under the sheets, hand in hand, whispering sweet nothings that keep them giggling like school children.

For now, they are happy.

[meloncholy-words]

A Snake’s Skin(Bonus Chapter)

I uploaded this on the wrong blog and now I’m sad so I’m not rewriting all this stuff again >:(

However: AO3 Link , Tumblr link if you haven’t read the first one yet

Warnings: Deceit, Remus, Dee does a lil strip and reveals them Snitties ™ (not really NSFS but it’s still there)

~~~~~

By now, it had been a while. Three months, to be exact. He’d carried on his shenanigans for about another week. Dee was trying to get down to the amount of clothing that Virgil was comfortable seeing(long sleeve shirt and pants), but decided that moving at the pace he wanted would break his boyfriends, so he stopped. Entirely.

He’d slowly begun explaining what he was doing, to which he was showered with the attention he wanted. He said he wouldn’t do it again, because it was too much effort for attention. He, of course, refused to ask for it the normal way, but he wouldn’t start stripping for attention anymore. That’s what he’d promised.

He, of course, was lying.

It was in his name, what did they expect, him to continue seeking out attention in his version of normal? That’s a better joke than any Patton could ever tell!

He’d kept his promises for a long time. Three whole months! But then, he’d stopped getting as much attention as he demanded. And this was not okay.

This was illegal. So he would have to be even more illegal.

~~~~~

They were all sitting in the living room. Roman and Virgil were playing Mario Kart(or rather, arguing about whether Roman was or wasn’t cheating in Mario Kart), Logan was reading a book(well, holding a book, he was really just watching them bicker), and Patton, Dee, and Remus were enjoying the show.

Patton and Logan were the ends of their couch line, with Virgil next to Patton and Roman next to Logan. Remus was sitting on the floor, just under Logan. Seperate from all of them, was Dee, on the other extension of the cough. This meant no eyes were on him. Perfect.

Deceit removed his hat, setting it down next to him. Nothing. Next, were his gloves. Still, nothing. Third to go was his capelet, neatly folded next to him. This caught the attention of Remus, but no one else. Even then, he went back to watching the fight. Next, was his shirt.

No one had ever seen him without one. No one had ever even seen his collar bone(except Virgil on rare occasions). It was something he was proud of. He was willing to break that for attention.

He began unbuttoning his shirt. Not even Remus seemed to notice. Once it was unbuttoned, he slipped it over his shoulders and down his arms. Still, no one paid him any mind. He was tempted to throw his shirt at them to get their attention, but decided against it. Instead, he folded it and placed it with the rest of his clothing. He threw his arm back, letting his elbow rest on the back of the couch to prop up his head as he watched the screen.

It took a couple of minutes, but eventually, he caught the eye of Roman. Upon seeing the very shirtless(and fairly muscled up) Deceit just sitting there, his face turned a deep crimson. He tossed his controller into his lap, grabbed the pillow behind Logan(much to his protest), and screamed out “SNITTIES-” before chucking the pillow into Dee’s face and hiding in Logan’s shoulder.

This made Deceit laugh, which caught everyone else's attention(along with the screaming Roman), who also immediately turned red and blue screened. There was a second pause before Patton let out a very gay sputter and grabbed the blanket folded on the back of the couch, throwing it over Deceit. This only made him laugh harder.

There was a chorus of cries and gibberish before everyone(besides Remus, who decided to closer, because obviously) looked away, still very red.

Gosh, he loved his boyfriends.

[meloncholy-words]

A Snake’s Skin

Based on the idea that Deceit, in all his old-timey, fancy nature, can make the other sides do A Fluster™ by showing even the slightest bit of skin. I don’t remember who had the original idea, but I’m turning it into a fic. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and am finally doing it, especially now because I need my comfort. I’m ditching all new information because I don’t wAnNa ThInK aBoUt It.

Ship: DLAMP

Warnings: Other than Dee and Remus, none, I need CoMfOrT

Deceit yawned. He was bored. The others weren’t giving him enough attention. Patton and Virgil were baking in the kitchen, Roman and Remus were doing God knows what in their room, and Logan was reading, right next to him, and not giving him any attention. Which was, by the way, illegal! But then, Deceit had an idea…

He made a few glances towards Logan, before shifting around slightly, before he struck. He let out a loud, exaggerated yawn, lifting his arms up as high as he could, letting his shirt lift up ever so slightly. He took a small little peak at his boyfriend, and inwardly smiled to himself.

Logan’s face was a bright red, his eyes were wide open, and his jaw had dropped. He stuttered a little, before he let out a squeak and lunged forward, pulling Deceit’s shirt down.

“D-Dee,” he stuttered out, voice unusually high, “I get that we’re alone, but now isn’t the time for that.”

“Oh, my apologies,” he said smoothly, a small smirk on his face as he spoke,” I was just yawning. See, I’m just so bored here, with nothing to do and no one to do anything with.”

“I see,” Logan said, adjusting his glasses. His face had gone down in hue, but his cheeks were still fairly dusted in a vibrant red, and his voice had lowered back down to normal. “If that’s the case, perhaps we could watch a documentary and cuddle?”

“That sounds excellent!” he said, clapping his hands together and smiling a wide, happy smile.

Logan pulled up Netflix and threw on a documentary about the earth and its shape. They fell asleep in each other’s arms before it reached halfway through.

~~~~~

It was an unusually hot day in the Mind Palace today. Not unbearable, but definitely noticable. While the others went outside to play in the pool, Deceit had stayed back to stay in his room instead. However, that decision was made after breakfast, and he was hungry. He left his room in favour of heading to the kitchen, an “evil” smile gracing his lips when he peeked into it. For you see, there was Patton, making lunch for everyone. He wasn’t dripping wet, but he was certainly not dry. He was also there, standing so innocently, in nothing but some swim trunks, flip flops, and a thin, wet tank top. This was a big contrast to Deceit, who was covered in layers upon layers of clothing. This wasn’t uncommon in their household, though.

‘Hm, it has been a while since someone’s paid attention to me..’ the sly snake thought. He hid himself back back around the wall, before adjusting his hat slightly, and then striking.

Deceit made his way around the corner, dramatically sighing as he removed the hat he’d just readjusted.

“My my, it’s so hot. Oh, hello there, Patton.” He started lightly fanning himself with his hat.

“Oh, hi Dee!” Patton said in his normal giddy tone. “Yeah, it is. But we have some lemonade and iced tea, if you need any!” He let out a soft giggle, before returning to making the sandwiches.

“That sounds like a good idea, but-” he had unclasped his cape at this point, and had it folded as he placed it down onto one of the dining chairs, “-I don’t think that’ll be too helpful.”

Patton let a glance towards his direction, before slightly tensing and looking back away, a light red tint on his freckles cheeks at the sight of some of Dee’s neck. This caused Deceit to smile again, like the evil child he is. He reached towards the top button on his shirt and popped it off.

Walking up to Patton, as he began pulling his shirt collar more outwards, he leaned over his shoulder, and asked, “Oh, what kind of sandwiches are you making?”

“Oh, you, know just some simple ham sandwiches, maybe some apple sli-” Patton let out a loud squeal, nudging deceit away as he looked in the opposite direction. “D-Deceit, that-that’s highly in-inappropriate!”

“Oh, I’m sorry Puffball,” he said softly, “it’s just sooooo hot, I couldn’t help myself.” He shuffled himself a little closer, and whispered lightly, “You wouldn’t want me to overheat, would you?”

Patton made a strangled sound before pushing past Deceit grabbing the sandwiches, yelling out, “ITWASNICESEEINGYOUBUTIGOTTAGONOWBYEHUN-” and fleeing the scene, leaving Deceit to cackle by himself.

This really was just too fun.

~~~~~

Deceit sighed to himself. Roman had invited him to join him in the imagination for a fancy ball. Of course, he blended right in, using his lawyer suit because it made him feel special. What didn’t make him feel special was how Roman had decided that his kingdom was more important than him. Now, that was fair, it was very understandable. But that didn’t mean that he was happy with it.

He glanced towards Roman, and felt a twinge of sadness. He felt lonely. He took a sip of wine as the gears in his head began turning. Finally, they clicked, and he felt his evil smile return. Right next to Roman was a long food table. That’s where he’d gotten the wine. There were some pastries stacked up neatly just beside him. He knew what to do.

Deceit, very gracefully, made his way over to the pastry rack. He made it clear that he had no intention of acknowledging Roman, at least, not yet. He gathered up two pastries, and made a, not big, but eye-catching, act of spilling some wine onto his gloves. Not too much, but a reasonable amount.

This certainly caught the eye of Roman, who was still giving the rest of his attention elsewhere. However, what really caught his attention was when Deceit, very slowly, removed his stained glove. This lit up Roman’s face a noticeable amount, not the colour of his sash, but enough. He quickly excused himself from his company, and grabbed Deceit by the arm, leading him out to the balcony.

“Deceit, we are in public!” he hissed into his ear. “You’re already wearing less than usual, was that really necessary?!”

“But Roman,” Deceit exclaimed, feigning innocence, “my glove! It got dirty! What did you expect?”

The prince, whose face had somehow become closer to his sash, pulled out a single extra glove.

“Stay here, put this on, and I’ll be back with another pair for you.”

“You’re gonna leave me out here.. Alone?” Deceit let his lip slip out slightly, and his eyes grew bigger. Yes, he was absolutely resorting to puppy dog eyes.

Guilt gently washed over his face, and he softly said, “I’ll be back fast, I promise.” He gave Deceit a light kiss on his forehead and disappeared back inside.

A pair of thick, orange gloves were the ones that Roman decided would best for his King Snake. However, when he exited back out to the balcony, he blue screened. Not only was Deceit’s hat off, but both of his gloves were off, too!

Noticing the prince, Dee opened his mouth to say something, only to be cut off by gloves smacking into his face. Roman had also returned back inside in a flustered fit, which made him giggle. His boyfriend was just too cute sometimes.

~~~~~

Virgil and Deceit were cuddling on the bed together, even though they should have been sleeping. They’d both had a hard day, and had taken to each other’s embrace. However, instead of sleeping at normal times, they’d stayed up well past 2 am to discuss conspiracy theories, and how believable they were. It was a fun game they’d like to play. One would say a theory they’d heard and start giving off some details about it, and then they’d both announce if they thought it was believable or not. If they both agreed that it was either believable or too crazy, they’d continue. If not, they would try convincing the other onto their side. They would carry on when they had both ended up on the same side.

Now, they’d both intended to sleep, as this game always started. This meant that they were both in pajamas, which is a significant decrease in the amount of clothing Dee would normally wear, though he was still quite covered. He had loose, baggy sweats on, thick, fluffy socks, and a long sleeved shirt. This contrasted with Virgil, who had on boxers and his (unzipped)jacket. And nothing else. Deciding he wanted to continue his game of flustering, he started hatching a plan. Virgil was used to seeing Dee like this, so him being less layered than normal didn’t make him red. However, this was the least amount of coverage that he’s seen him in. Which means…

“Ok, ok, fine, it’s believable, jeez!” Virgil exclaimed. At this point, they’d given up on being quiet. “Ok, now, you’re turn.”

“Hmmm… What about… me showing skin.”

Virgil looked into Dee’s eyes like he had gone mad.

“Least believable one yet. Next!”

“Oh, is that so?” Dee said, a smile in his voice. He snapped his fingers, which turned his long sleeved shirt into a short sleeved one, and his baggy sweats into baggy sweats, but with the ends rolled up, exposing his ankles and a little bit of his calves to the world. This made Virgil begin to turn red.

“DECEIT!” he screeched, hiding his face. “I know it’s late and you may be a little bored, but SERIOUSLY?! Nowisntthetime!!!!” This got Deceit laughing, and he snapped his original clothes back, cuddling right back into Virgil.

“I know, I know, sorry hun. I just had to prove you wrong.” Virgil huffed at this, lightly smacking the smaller man’s chest.

“That was mean!”

That got him laughing again.

~~~~~

The sides had cuddled up on the couch, watching Disney movies together. Remus had passed on the offer to join them, pretending to gag as he threw himself onto the floor to watch by himself. Virgil had fallen asleep after the first few movies, leaning onto Patton, who cuddled Deceit up into his lap immediately. Logan held Roman in his arms, and they were both also leaning on Patton, with Roman beginning to drift off but being determined to stay awake.

Deceit looked around at his boyfriends and smiled. Seeing them go into a gay panic was nice, but this was even better. He was content with them being like this instead. It made them all happy.

And that was all that he wanted, really.

[meloncholy-words]

Welcome to the Meloncholy! No one is safe here, no matter how hard you try! :)