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littlecellist · 8 days

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You said you'd stay with us (you swore you'd still be you)

absinthe makes the heart grow fonder - series masterlist here

pairing: poly marauders x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.5k

genre: rockstar au !! fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: drummer reader, some real 'where does the performance end and you begin' vibes, reader smokes, it's inferred that they're also drinking, y'all will have to pry bestie peter from my cold dead hands

a/n: oh uuuuuh more pining more yearning more I'm in love with you but I'm too afraid to make it real. like what if you were all in a band and you were all in love and you were all too scared of fucking it all up to say anything

"You're looking awful glum tonight," James points out as he leans against the railing of the balcony you're on. He doesn't reprimand you for sitting on the railing, but he does frown as he glances down to where the ground is, inching closer to you to place a firm hand on your thigh.

"I called the car around - I'm going back to the hotel. You can let the others know if they notice," you respond in a sigh, the smoke leaving your lungs on the exhale as you bring your cigarette to your lips for another drag.

"…Are you sober right now, love?" James asks, eyeing you carefully. You look at him bemusedly.

"You think I came to a party after our show and… didn't have a single drink?"

"Well…" he says carefully. You narrow your eyes and James grips your thigh a little tighter - a plead for you to hear him out. "You weren't exactly the life of the party tonight, lovely. You disappeared pretty quick. If you have been drinking, that means you've been doing it out here - alone, sitting very precariously on a very high balcony, with no one looking out for you." You've stopped looking at him, keeping your eyes trained on the expansive driveway out front of whoever's house this is. When you see your car pull up, you put out your cigarette easily on the railing before sliding off of it, letting James keep a hand firmly on you, sliding from your thigh up to your waist.

"I don't need a babysitter, James," you say bluntly, but you can't help but soften a bit at the wide, sad eyes he gives you, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. You wonder idly if he realizes he looks at you so often like he's a puppy you've just kicked. "I'll see you tomorrow for rehearsals," you offer gently before you slip away.

In the safety of the backseat of your car, tinted windows blocking out the gaze of the outside world, you let your head lean back against the seat, sighing and closing your eyes as you rub at your temples. The relief is short-lived, however, as the car door is pulled open and James slides into the seat next to you, grinning despite the glare you sent him.

"Didn't really think I'd let you go sit at the hotel sulking all night, did you?" He quips. You bristle.

"I don't sulk," you huff. His smile widens as the car pulls away.

"Sure you don't, sweetheart." He throws an arm around your shoulders and you let him, sighing as you lean against him, resting your head against his chest. "You wanna tell me what's going on?" He asks gently.

"Nothing," is your quick reply. He hums thoughtfully, running a hand through your hair gently.

"Wanna try again?" He's still gentle, a patience seeping from him into you that lulls you as you relax further against him.

"It's just a lot sometimes. I'm tired is all," you admit. James presses a kiss to the crown of your head and your heart does something funny in your chest.

"You're allowed to take a break every now and then, love," he offers. You tense.

"I don't need -"

"No, but you still can," he placates, smoothing his hand over the back of your head as he silently coaxes you into relaxing once more. "I know you don't need to. God knows you'll run on fumes forever and never say a thing about it. But you don't need to - not here, not with us."

James, in all his mother-hen nature, continues to reprimand you in that gentle, caring way of his all the way up to your hotel room, only stopping when you shut yourself in the bathroom and turn the tap on so that you can't hear him. By the time you come out in clothes that are decidedly much more comfortable than what you'd been wearing at the party, he's lounging in your bed and flipping idly through TV channels.

"Oh, sure, make yourself at home," you quip as you flop onto the bed next to him, leaning against the headboard. James grins in that beaming way that he's so fond of, turning the TV volume down to a low, background hum.

"Thanks, love." You scoff at his words.

"Are you planning on staying here all night?" You ask wearily. He pretends to think about it.

"What will you do if I leave?" You shrug, sliding further down in bed and crossing your arms. James opens his mouth to speak and you know he's going to say something about you sulking, so you make a point to wack him with a pillow before he can. He laughs good-naturedly about it, though, so you're not so sure what you've accomplished.

Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, you don't have time to ponder it further before your hotel room door is swinging open and Sirius is flouncing into the room, Remus trailing in after him. You sigh and look at Remus imploringly, but he only shrugs, leaning towards you to squeeze your shoulder in what you're sure is supposed to be comforting before he settles in the armchair next to the bed. Sirius, on the other hand, takes to flopping directly across the bottom of the bed, landing on James's legs and causing some sort of friendly tussle between the two of them.

"This is actually my hotel room, you know," you point out dryly. "How did you even get in here?"

"You gave Peter your spare key," Remus points out.

"Peter doesn't come in unannounced," you shoot back. Sirius and James stop whatever roughhousing they're caught up in so that Sirius can lean over and press a sweaty kiss to your cheek. You click your tongue in annoyance and hope it hides the way your heart flips.

"Cheer up, doll," Sirius says, unperturbed by your scowl. "What were you playing at, anyway? Leaving without telling any of us and thinking we wouldn't notice? Like we wouldn't miss our favourite drummer." You shoot James a look that says you shouldn't have told them and he smiles disarmingly.

"Just because I'm staying in tonight doesn't mean you all have to - and I'm your only drummer, Sirius, in case you've forgotten," you say icily. Sirius smiles, but it's more honest than you're used to, and he reaches across James to smooth a thumb over your cheek quickly before pulling back.

"Could never forget you, love. Not even if I tried." You stare at him, his tone heavier than normal, as Remus shifts and clears his throat.

"Anyway, dove… we just want to make sure you're alright, yea?" He says, and you exhale a breath you didn't know you were holding as the tension dissipates.

"Everything's fine," you say stubbornly. "I just didn't really feel like being there tonight."

"Well, we can see that," James chimes in. "But you always go to these things. You -"

"I know, I know, ok? I won't - it won't happen like that again, all right?" You huff. "I won't leave like that."

"No, see, I'm not sure you're understanding what Jamie's saying, love," Sirius says, the softness in his voice making your heart drop. It takes a lot for Sirius to be gentle, and he only does it when he thinks he really needs it. "What we're saying is that you don't have to. Pete never goes to the parties - we haven't kicked him out of the band yet, have we?"

"But that's different," you sigh, sitting up straighter. "Pete and I… are different kinds of performers. You know that." Remus leans forward in his chair to put a hand on your knee and you will yourself not to flinch at the contact, not to shy away from the kindness in his eyes that you know he reserves for the people he really loves.

"You don't have to perform here, love," Remus says gently. "You don't have to do that. Not here, not when it's just us." Your bottom lip trembles and you bunch the covers of the bed in your hands.

"Sometimes I think, for you lot, this life is fun… and for me, it's still work. I just can't make myself see it the way you guys do."

"But that's what we're here for," James offers, his voice kind. "Let us help you out. We decided to do this together for a reason, right? You decided to stick with us for a reason."

"I… I did, yea," you say.

"Yea," Sirius repeats. "So let us be here, alright?" Remus rubs his thumb across your knee as the other two look at you expectantly. You smile, a terse, small sort of thing - but it works nonetheless.

"Alright," you sigh. "Together, then."

#the idkhow lyric 👀👀#mutuals <3 #rec list

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littlecellist · 8 days

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littlecellist · 8 days

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Is this my soul, still? (is this my ghost, again?)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.3k

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: damian has nightmares and issues and anxieties poor boy, it's all very nice and soft though actually

a/n: annnd here we go <3

There's a softness that exists in Damian's life these days that he finds himself stumbling in, a gentleness that feels out of place - foreign to him. Sometimes it's a comfort that you're by his side, tripping with him, into him. It isn't always, though. On nights like these, he finds himself wishing he was anywhere but laying next to you, silk sheets cold and strange against his skin. It's his home, yes, the penthouse he chose with you and the bed he bought. But sometimes… sometimes this isn't his life at all.

There's a furrow in his brow, a tense set to his shoulders as he rolls over in bed, away from you. And the dreams, the dreams, they curl around his mind as he stumbles in and out of sleep. Sometimes it all comes back to him, the League and his life there, the voices in his head telling him that you belong on the end of his sword. Sometimes he thinks, in that dazed, dreamlike way, that it's perfect that you're asleep next to him - caught completely off guard. It's a part of him that he's tried to bury, the part that demands he reach over and wrap his hands around your throat.

When he finally wakes fully, gasping and sweat soaked and trembling, he tries to stay oh so still so that he doesn't wake you, the remnants of his dreams rolling over and over in his head. Wayne, he tells himself. I am Damian Wayne. I am not Al Ghul anymore. I do not have to feed on that bloodshed anymore. But there is a part of him that never dies, an act of violence that he cannot kill. Damian Al Ghul is alive and well, and he reaches hot, sun-touched hands to wrap around his heart, strangling him from the inside out.

Sitting up slowly, Damain wills his breaths to come out long and slow, forcing himself to feel the expansion of his lungs over and over. Glancing towards your sleeping form, a relief washes over him when he sees that you're still sleeping - that his torment hasn't woken you, hasn't touched you in any way. Damian Al Ghul doesn't weep in his bed, he thinks - before he can stop himself. He wonders, almost desperately, if you prefer that younger, wilder version of him. He wonders if you really love him, or just the memory of what he used to be.

As he stares down at your sleeping form, the stillness that creeps over the two of you begins to be too much for him. He slouches back down and under the covers despite the heat from his skin. Easing himself lower, he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around your frame to pull you into him. Something deep inside his heart is soothed at the way you curl against him, pushing your head into his chest in your sleep. Some part of his soul feels unbroken because of it.

Reaching slowly, he curls his hand around yours, his fingers pressing against your inner wrist as a need to feel your heartbeat thudding against the skin and into him grips him, a desperation to know that you're alive and safe.

Of course it's that that wakes you, of course it's his gentle, loving touch smoothing over your skin that feels unnatural enough to rouse you, your eyes blinking slowly up at him as you take in his wild eyes and tousled hair.

"Dames," you murmur, your voice sweet in a way that makes his heart stutter as you reach a hand up to smooth over his cheek, leaving your other firmly in his so that he can keep his fingers on your pulse. "What's going on, hm?"

"I just couldn't sleep, beloved," he murmurs back, his lips finding your forehead. "It's nothing to worry about. Go back to sleep." His hands and voice shush you gently, a soft lull that pulls you back towards sleep. But you know, you can see it in him - feel it against him. Something isn't quite right.

"Damian," you chastise softly, but the breathy quality of your voice as you fight sleep undermines your authority. "Talk to me."

"I had a dream that I lost you again," he answers, face buried in your hair. There's no resistance anymore, your love for him the only thing he needs to surrender. "I had to make sure it wasn't real." His fingers press into the pulse in your wrist as he speaks.

"Again?" you inquire gently. He tightens his hold on you.

"Well I did, once, didn't I? I lost you, I… I left you."

"Oh," you breathe, smoothing a hand through his hair. "That was a long time ago, love. Neither of us are the people we used to be… and neither of us need to keep repenting for sins committed when we were children."

"Hm," is Damian's only response, his fingers smoothing over the skin of your inner arm, finally leaving their post of being pressed against your pulse.

"It wasn't your fault… and you're not going to lose me again. I'll always come for you, yea? I'll always find you." It's a good promise, coming from you. Reliable. It's always been true, and Damian wills himself to find comfort in that, to find truth in your love for him.

"We're… not, are we?" He asks tentatively - carefully. "We're not who we used to be. I'm… not."

"No," you say easily. "You're not." Damian looks at you pointedly at your words and you shrug, smoothing your thumb over the furrow between his brows.

"Does that upset you?" He asks. You shake your head no and shoot him a look. Of course it doesn't, he sees in your eyes. He huffs out a sigh. "Do you… do you love me? Now? Or is it - is it some kind of loyalty? Is it me that you love or is it the memory of what I once was that you're chasing?" You still at his words, sitting up to look down at him with your eyes hard and jaw set.

"I'm not chasing you, Dames, I have you." You flick his forehead as you speak, a subtle indicator that you're not irreparably angry with him. "And of course I love you now. There is no ghost that could keep me here, tied to this life - not even yours… we're our own people now, Damian. It's why we can choose to love each other." You lean forward as you say that, touching your forehead against his gently and letting your eyes close.

Damian sighs deeply, smoothing his hands up your sides and letting one roam up your front. His knuckles brush against your throat lightly before settling his hand there. Your pulse is stronger there, of course, and he can't help but notice that it's steady and slow, even with his touch wrapped around your neck.

"I love you, Damian," you say gently, a clarity ringing through your voice as you dip lower to press your lips against his. "And I trust you. I -" But whatever you're about to say is cut off by Damian pulling you to him, knocking your arms out from supporting you to press you against his chest, holding you tightly, desperately to him. You let him, of course, pressing your face into his neck and kissing the skin that you can reach there.

"I love you," he says in that strong, determined way of his. "And I'll… I'm…" The words seem to leave him then, escaping him as he holds you to him.

"I know, Dames," you soothe, letting yourself be pulled closer still. "I know."

#i am having a moment #nobody look at me i’m crying #mutuals <3 #rec list

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littlecellist · 9 days

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littlecellist · 10 days

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THIS HAS ABSOLUTELY MADE MY FUCKING DAY

BRO WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE HES ABOUT TO BURST INTO TEARS 😭😭😭

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littlecellist · 10 days

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know that whenever i draw stephanie brown it is absolutely a self insert i may be cringe but i am free

#she <3333 #stephanie brown #she’s so precious to me

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littlecellist · 10 days

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where were jack and janet while <insert event> was happening to tim?

well let's see.

if we're talking pre-war games/identity crisis/utrh/OYL jack was probably:

kidnapped

busy having sex with his girlfriend dana

or actually noticing something *was* going on with tim (for once)

and janet:

was dead as a doornail, just like she's been since she died right before tim actually became robin

and if we're talking after war games/identity crisis/utrh/OYL jack was

super dead. like very significantly super dead.

and janet was

still dead, because we live in an unjust world where superboy prime's punch didn't bring her back to life for a grand return after OYL (wait, idea. superboy prime's punch brought her back to life & tim finds her catatonic and walking the streets of NML. now he's gotta figure out how to fix her post-resurrection and hide the whole thing from his dad because the secret-)

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littlecellist · 11 days

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Tim & Steph <3

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littlecellist · 14 days

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It's a lot healthier to go for a daily walk than to sign up for a gym membership you won't be using because you hate that kind of exercise. It's a lot healthier to eat a frozen meal than to skip a meal because you were too tired to cook something healthy. It's a lot healthier to take a quick shower than to procrastinate an elaborate routine for days. Don't aim so high that you won't be hitting anything!

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littlecellist · 14 days

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worst part about getting angry is how much it makes you want to be mean

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littlecellist · 15 days

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There's an anger in me (I think I learned it from you)

hope here needs a humble hand - series masterlist here

pairing: platonic bruce wayne x reader, platonic dick grayson x reader

length: 1.9k

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

warnings: reader and dick get into a fight and dick is so mean. reader definitely has trauma and issues but Good Dad Bruce Wayne is here so it's fine and also Big Brother Dick in the end

a/n: I'm not a dick grayson hater but I do think he'd be the biggest bitch and say the meanest shit in a fight. anyway life is kicking my ass so bad rn so idk if this is even any GOOD but you can have it <3

Alfred sighs to himself, a disapproving sort of frown finding its way onto his face as he listens to your raised voice, you and Dick butting heads again. It's not uncommon for you to find reason to argue with the others, but it is tiresome - frustrating to him that you can't seem to lay down this constant fight of yours that you live with.

And Dick? Well, as he spits an insult back and you and you shove at his chest, Alfred idly thinks that maybe he's your worst target so far. Dick Grayson may be kind under typical circumstances, but anger like this brings out the worst in him.

"At least Bruce wanted me," he snaps at you. "You just shoved your way in."

That doesn't just stop you, it stops everyone in their tracks. It especially stops Bruce, who had come into the Cave when he'd gotten word from Alfred about another fight. And there's just… silence at first. You, staring up at Dick with wide, hurt eyes while his anger slowly melts, regret replacing it.

"Hey, I didn't mean -" but you don't stay to listen, fleeing past Bruce and out of the Cave, despite his calls of your name. You don't stick around to hear the way Bruce rips into Dick about it, berating him for even suggesting such a thing, before he follows you up to the Manor.

Alone in your room, with the walls closing in on you and your lungs squeezing painfully, your breath catches as you hear footsteps approaching. Bruce's knocks on your door are as gentle as the way he calls your name, asking you to please open the door.

You don't.

How can you? He's right, he's right, he's right - Bruce didn't want you. How much trouble have you caused since you got here? - too much, your brain supplies. And Dick is right, Bruce didn't want you… he couldn't have. You, with your headstrong determination, pushing your way into anything and everything that you'd ever wanted. You, with your heels always dug in and your arms always crossed and your shoulders always squared. How could he possibly want that?

You pace behind your locked door, pulling on your hair as your breath quickens, words you've heard a million times running through your head.

Spoiled, selfish, stubborn -

Bruce's voice on the other side of the door isn't enough to drown it out, his promises of, "I love you, we all love you. Dick didn't mean that, and he'll apologize to you when you're ready. Please come out, sweetheart… I love you, and you have always been wanted by me. You've always been wanted by this family."

You stare at the door as if glaring hard enough would make it soundproof, your breath still coming out in short little gasps as you clench your fists, nails digging into the skin of your palms. You watch through blurred vision as Bruce's shadow shifts and darkens under the door - you watch as he settles on the other side of the wood, determined not to leave you to do this alone.

"You come out whenever you're ready, sweetheart," he says gently. "I'll be here."

You scoff, turning abruptly away from the door - away from him. He won't stay - he won't, he won't, he won't -

"I won't leave you." Bruce's voice is heard again and you squeeze your eyes shut. It's like he knows, and you can't figure out how, can't fathom the idea that he really has been paying attention all this time, that he knows you and your ticks and your traumas. You curl up on top of your bed, determined to just shut down until it's all over - until he gives up and leaves you be. Maybe then you can leave, too - leave for real. Maybe it would all be better if you slipped out quietly, off into the city, into someone else life and away from this one. Maybe there really wasn't room for you in this family.

When you wake later, the first thing you're forced to notice is the throbbing behind your eyes and the light that streams in through the window, the sun beginning to set and bathing you in a halo-like glow. Sitting up, you notice a shadow still stationed on the other side of your door, having stayed, unmoving, for as long as you'd been hiding.

Getting up slowly, you make your way to it, sitting down with your back against the door and letting your head thump rather loudly against the wood of it. It's only then that Bruce moves, shifting on the other side. You clench your fists on your lap as words get caught on their way out. I'm sorry, I love you, thank you for staying.

"Why are you still there?" Is all that ends up coming out, the words harsh as they cut through the air. You flinch at hearing them, your own voice hatefully foreign to you.

"Because I love you," Bruce says simply, like it's such an easy thing. "And I promised I wouldn't leave you." You sit still after that, turning what he's said over in your mind again and again and again before standing abruptly and wrenching your door open, relying on Bruce's reflexes to get himself up and standing by the time you do.

Fortunately, he's always been a little faster than you, always a little better. By the time you're looking at him, he's standing in your doorway, his shoulders slumped as he slouches down to look you in the eye. He's making himself smaller, you realize, something that feels like regret eating away at you. He's making himself small and it's your fault.

But Bruce isn't looking at you like he blames you, and the way he ever so gently puts his hands on your shoulders and presses a kiss to the crown of your head speaks only of love. Only of forgiveness. You stand straighter when he does, a silent urge for him to do this same - for him to be tall for you. Maybe then, you wouldn't have to be.

"It's true, though, isn't it? You ask, something pained in your voice that you can't quite hide.

"It's not." There's a way he says it, like it's written in some holy text somewhere and he's promising it now because faith demands it. "You are always wanted here. And you always will be."

"What if I never believe that?"

"Then we'll keep telling you." You shoot Bruce a look at his assuredness, one that just makes him smile down at you.

"Even Dick?" You ask, uneasiness finding its home in you despite your clenched fists and set jaw.

"Especially Dick, he answers easily. "I'm sure he'll spend a very long time trying to make up for this. He never means it, you know - there's this anger in him that he can't quite shake sometimes." Your shoulders slump at his words and you drop your chin, eyes trained on the floor.

"Yea," your voice is bitter. "That, I understand."

You find, later that night, that you wish Dick didn't care quite so much. Your mask covers your face, the hard set of your jaw and the annoyance that pulls down your brows, but in the faint moonlight of the docks, you're sure Dick can see the taught pull of your shoulders.

Thank god it's a slow night, you find yourself thinking as you perch on the edge of a rooftop, kicking your legs over the edge. You know he's around, watching and waiting and trying to find a moment to approach you. You think you'll have to find the moment for him when Nightwing finally sits next to you, his movements silent and slow. He looks at you long and hard, his own eyes hidden behind his mask as you stare out at the water, waiting for him to decide how this will all go.

"I don't always say the right thing," is what he ends up confessing. "And it wasn't fair for you to be on the receiving end of that. I'm… sorry."

"I started it," you say simply. "You shouldn't apologize for biting back."

"No," Dick says carefully, tapping his finger on his thigh. "But I should apologize for how I did it." You look at him, then, eyes searching his face and cursing the masks you both wear, layers of protection against anyone who would try to know you.

"Did you mean it?" You finally ask. "Is it true? Because if it is… if it is, then you should only apologize for lying to me up till now."

"It's not," Dick answers, and there's something in the clear ring of his voice that reminds you of Bruce. Your lips twitch into a smile as you think of how unhappy he'd be to find that out. "Things with Bruce and I… well, I'm sure you know they weren't always good."

"I don't actually know everything," you huff back. "Even my eavesdropping has limitations - especially with all of you. You're a lot harder to hide from than everyone else." Dick grins at that, a self-satisfied sort of thing that makes you regret speaking.

"Well, it's lucky, I guess," he goes on. "The Bruce you know now - he's a lot better than he was in the beginning."

"Don't you think we all are?" You ask before you can stop yourself, eyes snapping back out to the water as you desperately try to close yourself off from him, heart hammering at the response you're sure to get. There is no part of you that's getting better. There is no part of you that can be good. But Dick just readjusts how he's sitting, sliding closer so that your shoulders bump and he can tap your hands with his own, a silent chide for the way you twist your fingers nervously.

"You're right," he says plainly, and suddenly you're glad for the masks. You're not sure what would happen if you looked over and saw that big brother, sick-with-pride look he's so fond of. "When Jason came along, it felt a bit too much like being replaced. I know it was a long time ago, but… maybe I still feel it a bit more than I should - whenever anyone new comes along. It's not your fault… it's not your fault and I'm glad you're here."

You sigh at his words, tipping back until you're laying on the rooftop, your legs still kicking over the edge as you pretend to look up at the stars, blinking tears away rapidly behind your mask. You're sure he knows, but you're also sure he's too kind to say anything, laying back with you and interlocking his hands behind his head to lean on.

There's a lot you think you should say right now. I'm sorry, I love you, thank you for coming back for me. Thank you for not leaving me behind. Thank you for not giving up on me.

"What are you hanging around here tonight for, anyway?" Is what comes out instead, but you find you aren't so bothered by it this time.

"Want me to stick around? Finish your patrol with you?" Is his only answer. You huff.

"I don't need help taking care of the docks. I've been doing that longer than I've been involved with you idiots." Dick laughs, loud enough that you groan and roll away from him, standing up and crossing your arms.

"Well, you never know, then," he responds easily as he swings himself to his feet. "Maybe we could learn something from each other."

"Fine," you snipe back, but you can't help the way you bounce on the balls of your feet, a weight you hadn't realized you'd been carrying starting to lift. "Maybe we can."

#this hurts my heart :(#mutuals <3 #rec list

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