#He almost cries thinking of what he did taking up the mantle

[astorianyxkings]

Dick Grayson is a hyperfixation I'll never get over and him being prepared to be the next Batman is something I physically can't get over. Let's get into it.

Dick's filled in for Batman before, whenever Bruce needed to make a public appearance or when Vicki Vale starts her whole "never seen Mr Wayne and Batman at the same time" thing. And you know he's pretty good at filling in for Batman, criminals and villains can't really tell the difference when he does, but the Bats can, because Dick is Dick and they know him.

But this was different. Bruce was gone (dead, maimed, lost to the world, take your pick) and Dick picked up the mantle. And at first no one really batted and eye, he's been in the suit hundreds of times by now, this isn't gonna be very different.

Except it is. Because even in the cave, there's no smiles, no quips, puns or jokes to make them groan, no stories about things he remembers doing as Robin when dealing with a certain villain. There's none of the Nightwing left in him. There's just Batman now. And you know they thought things wouldn't be so bad, they thought they could laugh with him, talk about how he's "like the old man now, huh Goldie?" but they can't.

Because seeing him in the Batsuit looks right and that feels so damn wrong. This isn't who he is, this isn't what he wants. Nightwing may be like Batman in theory but ask anyone who's fought them both, they're different entities. One of them still has hope.

And it's borderline freaky because he even acts like him. The JLA and their teams love to tease the Bats about how they all have the same mannerisms, like a creepy bat cult. But this is weird because Dick's acting exactly like Bruce, like he's freaking possesses by him.

He sits the way Bruce would, he stands in the shadows the way he would, he fires his weapons the way Bruce would. He has the goddam gravelly bat-voice down the way Bruce perfected it. He is Batman, and it's so wrong.

It's also a moment of realization for them, because even though they're all fast learners, they can't perfect being Bruce the way he does. This isn't something he perfected over weeks or months, this had to be in practice for years.

For years Dick Grayson trained himself to not only embody his own persona as Robin and then Nightwing, but to also be the ultimate clone of Batman. It makes their skin crawl, Dick was the eldest, he was the first Robin. Jason liked to say that Bruce may have been the ring leader but Dick started the cult. But this? His ability to be Batman, to turn himself into Bruce? Into their father so easily? It's a transition that sets them all on edge.

The Bats are quite that first night on patrol. Damian's with Dick because duh Batman and Robin. But the baby bat keeps shifting, his eyes darting back from the streets they're watching to Batman's shadow in the corner of his eyes. Because he feels like throwing up. He's partnered with Nightwing before, and secretly he loves it because Nightwing in Blüdhaven is like breathing in fresh air after Batman in Gotham. But now Nightwing is Batman and like always, Batman dominates all. So he remains silent, silently wishing and praying Dick will crack a joke once they're alone, make him laugh the way only his eldest brother could.

The rest of the Bats are shocked when Dick's voice comes across the comms. Because he sounds just like Bruce and he isn't asking for help or suggesting what they do, he's telling them where to go, how to handle something and where he wants them to reconvene. And yeah Dick's a great leader, by now they've all either seen him with The Titans or worked with them before. But this is different, he's a hasn't got that Nightwing charm on.

Oracle's hands shake as she types back at the cave. She knows better than anyone how much Dick hates this. He's prepared for it since he was like nine when Bruce took him in but he still hates it. No son ever wants to truly be his father, and Dick never wanted to be Bruce and he's long since stopped wanting to be Batman. The cowl comes with a price he hated to bear.

When they return to the cave, everyone kind of lingers. Usually, once they've given their reports, everyone goes their separate ways. Tim and Steoh have to get back to college, Duke and Damian head upstairs, Cass and Babs leave to help Cass pack for wherever she's going, Jason and Dick head back out, one to Park Row, the other to Blüdhaven. But instead of that they all kind of linger in the cave, they're expecting Dick to break character by now, to say something so unbelievably ridiculous that they can't all help but laugh along with him. He does no such thing.

Instead he takes off the cowl, confirming that he's not their dad but rather their brother, and sits at the computer to work through the open cases Bruce left. When he dismisses them and they all leave, Kate and Luke hang back. They too, know how much he hates this. How much he wants nothing more that to scream and break down. They linger for about a half an hour, finally leaving when Dick says he's going back to Blüdhaven. Thank the gods he isn't staying here, they don't think they could leave him alone if he did.

When Dick gets back to Blüdhaven, he scrubs himself down after the Gotham patrol and finally puts on his suit. Its the later half of 4am almost 5, but he doesn't care. He needs this. So he goes on patrol, he flips and flies in the sky, as the gods had always intended for him and he makes stupid jokes when he takes down the criminals who thought they got away when he didn't patrol around 2am as usual.

The next morning, the Bats all let out sighs of relief when they see Nightwing's blurry figure on the online news articles. They never wanted him to give up who he was for Batman. Bruce, emotionally constipated as he is, never wanted them to give up themselves for his mantle.

When Bruce is either revived, wakes us or returns from whatever hell he's been in, the Bats hug him a little tighter, but its his second eldest who lingers. Jason stays in the cave when the rest of them filters out, Dick tried to stay, but eventually left when Jason promised not to cause an argument. "You can't do this again, Old Man." Jason says, he sounds so exhausted so hurt that Bruce wants to hug him. But that action would result in him getting shot so he refrains. "I don't plan to," Bruce responds, "But even without me, you all managed to keep your heads on straight."

"Because of him." Jason responds, he doesn't need to clarify who, they all know who's the one aside from Alfred making sure they stay in touch, stay a family. "You can't do this to him ever again." Jason finishes and Bruce nods, placing a hand on his son's shoulder, "I won't."

And if Bruce does managed to catch a stray tear falling from Jason's blue-green eyes, that's no one's business but his.

“The Batkids probably gave Dick so much shit when he first put on the Batsuit.” No. The Batkids all saw Dick in Bruce’s suit and all secretly felt nauseous about how wrong it looked. How wrong it felt.

[mrs-weasley-reid]

hi hiiiii! I was wondering if you could do a Hotch x reader where there’s maybe an age gap and it’s based on Peter by Taylor swift? I’m obsessedddd with that song. Thankssss <3

PROMISES NEVER TO KEEP

Aaron Hotchner x reader

Synopsis: He said he'll change. You believed he'd change. It's no one's fault, really. Waiting forever is just too long for heartache. WARNING: angst. pure free writing. 700+ word count. not proofread!!! A/N: tysm for this req!!! The age gap was vague, and honestly, the gap is like 9-10 yrs, r around late 20s. Also can anyone believe I sat, played the song, wrote along, and called it a day? The power of a TS song is just unmatched. I strongly suggest listening to the song while reading it.

  Aaron’s late.

  Again.

  You stare at the empty seat across from you. Then, glance at the loud ticking over the mantle. Ten past eleven. Dinner was eight.

  Deep inhales mixed with salty tears you aren’t aware have been flowing for the past five minutes enter your lungs. There’s a tug in your chest that you swear to be a phantom. You smile ever so softly with a sniff as you tuck your head to study the cold dinner on your plate.

  Was it too last minute? Was it on you?

  You told Aaron about dinner two months ago. He said he had it written down and made a note on his phone’s calendar. He said he’d make it this time. Was he lying?

  The pit of your stomach sinks. And you wonder what else he lies about.

  Hot, achy streams trail down a path on your cheeks. You stand and clear out the table, covering his serving and throwing out yours. You watch as the residue drains down the sink.

  Aaron promised.

  And you believed it like any other promises he’d broken before.

  And you’ll believe him again and again and again until there are no more promises he could outswore.

  And it’s depressing because you know you’ll forgive him every single time like a chore.

  And it’s heartbreaking because he’ll make the same promises.

  And it hurts to know he’ll never keep any of it.

  Because he’s Aaron Hotchner. The man who saves lives. The man who put away monsters. The man who’s done many good things to the world. The man who caught your heart and dropped it many times, just for him to fix it with a consolation smile.

  Aaron once said you're his favorite book. He's read you enough times to know the important lines in mind. Just never enough to notice the spaces in between by heart. Maybe it's your fault for being easy to read. Or you're just not smart enough to read Aaron. Not mature enough to understand his limbs of idioms.

  And Aaron tries. God knows you try. He does his best, and you do yours. It's no one's fault that his best is so little, and your best goes unnoticed.

  You zip around your luggage, taking a moment to see how empty the drawer Aaron saved just for you. What will he put there now?

  A familiar tune rings. The tightness on your chest, along with the sobs that echo in the empty bedroom, muffle his call into a far buzzing sound.

  With a sharp gulp to clear the ache in your throat, you pick up, “[Hey, honey…]”

  He won’t show.

  Again.

  But he promised. Your heart cries in agony. And you hug your middle like a child who deserves everything the world can offer as you reply, I know.

  Where are you?

  When are you coming home?

  Why aren’t you here?

  “Hey, sweet man,” Comes out of your lips, masking a shaky sob.

  There’s a sigh on the other end, “[I’m sorry. I won’t make it to dinner. Did you wait long?]”

  You always do. You wait until the daylight peeks in the window. Wait for him to return every single time.

  “After almost burning the house down. I think you would’ve waited longer if you had come.” The laugh comes out damp. You like to think you’re getting better at it. Lying to make him feel better.

  He hums. “[I’m sure it still would’ve tasted amazing.]” Aaron wouldn’t have known. He hasn’t known what your amazing cooking tastes like for a long time because he’s never shown up for a very long time.

  You wipe your tears and take a deep breath before staring into the place you’d once ached to call your home. Reminded by a series of his apologies and empty promises. The place where you burned all by yourself like a candle in the middle of winter.

  And now’s the final flicker of your light.

  “[Still there, honey?]”

  You give your best to sound naturally groggy, “Sorry, handsome… I had an early morning.” A lie over your breath.

  “[Go ahead and rest. I’ll see you when I get home?]”

  You grab the handle of your luggage. Memories of his sweet words flicker, clutching onto false hopes.

  You make a promise that you’ll call him to explain.

  To end things maturely.

  To offer closure.

  To meet acceptance.

  To move on.

  You promise to grow better as a person so that you’d understand an increment of the reason why he can’t make you his person.

  You promise to cross Aaron’s path again one day. When he’s old and gray. When you don’t need to pray. When you know, he’ll stay.

  Placing the spare keys on the bowl, your fingers press the switch to dark.

  “See you when you get home.”

  It’s a promise you won’t keep.

hotch masterlist | masterlist

[jayaury]

Marrying the Maid

More archive short stories. Get more on my P*treon. Enjoy! https://www.patreon.com/JayAury

---

Baron Lukas Instaf fell into his office chair with an audible groan.

Yes.

His office.

He had to keep reminding himself of that fact. To think, he would inherit the barony at a mere twenty years of age. It was quite a bit of pressure, he had to admit.

He found himself looking back at the imposing portrait hanging over the mantle of the fireplace. His father’s picture was of a grim, sullen man with dark hair and a face of hard, disapproving lines.

Lukas had inherited the man’s hair, if not his rough features. He was slimmer than his stocky father. Many said handsomer, and certainly younger. He flexed his hands on the arms of the chair uneasily and scanned the study. He didn’t much care for the decor. But that had always been his problem, as his father had frequently berated him. He was indecisive. Weak.

Well, Lukas had best start getting decisive. For this was his home now.

Well, mostly.

The door swung open with a bang. “Good morning master!”

He sat up sharply as a familiar figure bounced into the room. Clarissa, the family’s maid of two years, was a forceful personality in the house. She filled every room she stepped foot in with her presence and somewhat unconventional character. Lukas had no idea why his father had kept the boisterous redhead.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He had a good idea. Two of them, actually. Clarissa was bustier than some holstaurs. In fact, there were rumours that she was one of those bovine maidens, but had filed down her horns. Lukas wasn’t sure how much he believed that, but he did know that she did attend that new cow goddess church that was making waves. And she was unbelievably brash and forceful for a servant. Not to mention teasing. He’d often been at the receiving end of her attentions, leaving him flustered and annoyed.

And she was wearing scent again, he noticed with a sigh. Honestly, it seemed like every day she wore a new kind of perfume. The current one was jasmine, and was shockingly potent. Well, at least it was better than the rosemary she used to wear around his father. In fact, it was almost… pleasant.

“Clarissa!” he sighed, forcing himself not to stare at the maid’s impressive bust. “You-”

“Here with your tea!” she said, sliding the tray into place before him with a wink of her long lashes. “Starting off the morning well, as the big, strong baron should!”

“Clarissa, really. You can’t just-”

“Not to worry, my baron! There’s plenty of cream. I know how much you like it,” she added, picking up a pitcher and pouring a generous helping into his cup. “And you’ll need it today! Because we have quite a bit of work to do.”

In the midst of tidying his papers, Lukas paused. “We do?”

“Of course, my lord! Now that you are baron, we must decide on your betrothed.”

“M-my what!”

“And I have them right here!” Clarissa chimed, lifting a folder out from some hidden recess of her scandalously short skirt (it had to be custom. No other maid in the estate had such a revealingly tight uniform). “Shall we take a look, my baron?”

“Wh… Hold on now, I can’t just-”

“My baron!” Clarissa cried in mock horror. “Surely you realize the importance in choosing your bride? The barony cannot be left without a mistress. Not only for the hard work running the estate, but also the vital work of carrying on the family line! Which means we must choose the most ample, breedable, lovely wife for you.”

“B-breedable? Clarissa! That is-”

“Not to worry, my baron. I’m sure you can manage that. Why, any woman would consider herself lucky to be bent over your table as you thrust home, stuffing her full of your droit de seigneur.”

Lukas’s face burned as it always did whenever Clarissa got going like this. Not to say she was wrong, unfortunately. She was absolutely right. He did need to get married, but it still seemed so early to be shopping for a bride. “Clarissa, really. I-”

“Early to start, my baron! We must be. Once word gets out that Baron Instaf is not only single, but such an adorable, impressive, handsome piece of stud meat, why, we’ll be besieged by eligible young ladies looking to have you mount them like a prized mare! And whichever does will be lucky to have you. Take my word for it!”

“Clarissa! This is… that sort of talk is hardly-”

“You’re so right, my baron. Here I am, chattering away, and you haven’t even gotten a chance to look at the choices! Let’s take a look at the candidates, shall we?”

Lukas sighed, finally giving up. It was near impossible to stop Clarissa once she set her mind to something, though by gods he would soon. He’d have to talk to the head butler about firing her. She treated him far too casually. But for now, he supposed the best thing was just to get this business with the portraits over with.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s take a look…”

“How wise, my dear baron,” Clarissa chirped merrily as she opened the folder to the first page, propping it up just underneath her immense bosom.

Lukas cleared his throat, forcing himself to look at the portrait and not the impressive pair of breasts just above it. “And this is…”

“Mirria Mable. Daughter of a lord in the southern country. Quite the pick specimen. An attractive if air headed young thing. Pretty, but not terribly bright. And not nearly as endowed as me, hm?”

“Clarissa! That’s hardly appropriate,” Lukas said, though he had to admit it was true, and his eyes did quickly steal a glance at Clarissa’s chest as if just to make sure of that. Gods, the room felt suffocating in the perfume she wore. He should open a window, though the scent wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it was a bit… soothing.

Clarissa giggled. “Very true, my baron. We cannot judge a woman less blessed than myself in that respect. Some of us were merely born with a generous bosom. Perfect to lay one’s head upon.”

Lukas rolled his eyes, but felt his cheeks warm at the thought. “I ah… Well, what about the others?”

“The others? Of course, my lord,” Clarissa said, turning the page, her chest bouncing as she did so.

The sight made Lukas realize quite suddenly his mouth was very dry. With haste, he picked up a teacup and took a sip. Mm. Normally he wasn’t a big fan of cream in his tea, but wherever Clarissa got hers, it was delicious.

“Now then,” Clarissa said. “Lady Blumen from the duchy of Clausen seems like a perfect match for you. Nearly as busty as I am, and I know how important that is for you, my baron.”

“Not that important…” he mumbled.

“Ho ho!” Clarissa laughed, the throaty mirth making her breasts bounce most distractingly in her tight top. “How droll you are, my baron! But I know how much you value an impressive pair of breasts. You can barely keep your eyes off mine!”

Lukas flushed again, realizing he had been staring at her chest. He hastily took another sip of tea. Gods, he was feeling a bit light headed. “I ah… What else is there about her?”

“Why, only that she is something of a black widow, my baron. A nasty piece of work. She delights in wedding rich men, then crushing them beneath her heel. Nitpicking them until they don’t dare breathe without her approval. And what a cruel thing, my baron! Why, she cannot understand true love. The love of a good husband willing to do anything for his darling wife. Adore you. Worship her! She’s only in it for the quick cash! No sense of adoring her new spouse like the good boy he is.”

“S-sorry. Good boy?��� Lukas said.

Clarissa giggled, her long lashes fluttering again. “Oh yes, my baron. A husband must be assured what a good boy he is. What a good, obedient, lovey dovey dummy he is to his beloved wife. Otherwise, he might get the most silly ideas in his head.”

Lukas felt his cheeks redden at the degrading words, even if they weren’t addressed to him. And he found his eyes looking at Clarissa’s breasts again. Big and soft. The subtle heave as she breathed. Or rather, the not so subtle. Looked like she was as into the discussion as he was.

“Er, right. Sure,” Lukas said, taking another sip of tea, sinking back into his seat with a sigh. “So, not her.”

“Oh no, my baron. You deserve so much better. So much bustier! So much more loving and adoring. A sweet wife who would show you what a good boy you are. Who would let you adore her like the happy, dopey husband you were always meant to be.”

“Er, yes. Yes. But uh… Who is the next one?”

“Oh yes, my baron. That would be the Countess Francesca,” Clarissa said, turning the next page. “But she wouldn’t make an appropriate wife for you either my lord.”

“Hm?” Lukas said, taking another sip, barely paying attention as he watched Clarissa’s breasts bounce. “She wouldn’t? Why… why not?”

“Oh my baron! Why, she does not want children.”

“O-oh,” Lukas said as he took another long drink of his tea. “Yes, that might… might be a problem. Need an heir…”

“Oh no, my baron. Not just one.”

“S-sorry?”

Clarissa gave him a knowing look. “Why, my dear baron, your wife must bear you many children! A dozen at least. A dozen happy, lovely children. Your wife needs to be very eager to take your virile seed. Because I know, my dear baron, that you’re far too much a stud to be satisfied with just one child. That you would like nothing more than to breed your beloved wife at every opportunity. To make her breasts so big… so heavy… so creamy and soft that you can’t help but play with them and kiss them every night.”

Lukas stared at her breasts. Gods, he could imagine it. Imagine those breasts bouncing. Heaving. Wobbling and Clarissa positively glowing from… from…

But… but no. He… he needed to only think of… of his wife like that. Yes. Only his wife. His beloved wife, whoever… whoever it turned out to be.

“I uh…”

“Oh dear, my baron,” Clarissa sighed, closing the folder dramatically, crossing her arms beneath her jiggling bust. “This just won’t do! It seems like there isn’t a noble woman in the land who can satisfy all your needs. A woman so busty. So loving. So beautiful and fertile to satisfy your very high standards.”

“I… y-yes. No one…”

“Oh!” Clarissa suddenly said, brightening visibly. “But then, of course! How silly of me. I didn’t think of that at all! Why, you don’t need a noblewoman for your wife.”

“I… I don’t?” Lukas said, frowning a little, brow wrinkling in concentration. Didn’t he? He was under the impression that was important…

“Oh no, my beloved baron,” Clarissa cooed as she planted her hands on the table, climbing onto it and crawling towards him, pendulous breasts swaying teasingly, her eyes hot, molten with something that made Lukas’s pulse quicken and pound. “Not at all. Why, if the noble stock isn’t up to the standards, then we must simply find another who is. One who is capable of seeing the greatness in you. The handsomeness. The virile… powerful… studliness in you.”

Lukas found himself instinctively retreating, pressing into the back of his chair, watching his maid move towards him like a she-wolf on the hunt. “Wh-who?”

“Now that is the question, isn’t it, my baron,” Clarissa giggled, straightening so she was kneeling on the desk in front of him, her hands cupping her breasts, fondling and massaging them teasingly. “She’d have to know your domain inside and out. She’d have to have every servant in the house already under her thumb. She’d have to know the ways you love things done. She’d have to be so pretty… so clever… so very… very… busty that you just couldn’t say no to her. Every idea she had would just seem like the bestest idea ever. Oops! Did I say breastest?”

“D-did you?” Lukas said, fairly drooling as he watched her bounce and mold her breasts together.

“Maybe I should have, hmm?” Clarissa said. “Because I know how much my baron loves breasts. Big… bouncy… soft breasts. That’s why I know he’ll make the right choice. I know he’ll decide on exactly the right person to be his baroness. To be his loving wife. His devoted mistress. His gorgeous… bouncy… beautiful bride. But who, my baron? Who is busty and smart and beautiful enough for that.”

“Wh-who?” Lukas gasped.

“Think hard, my baron,” Clarissa crooned.

Lukas tried to. He really did. But his mind just didn’t seem to want to cooperate. Every thought he had swirled and squished and bounced and wobbled like Clarissa’s breasts. He whimpered, biting his lower lip, trembling with need as his maid continued to massage her breasts, her buttons straining against her ample tit flesh until… until…

“Mmmm,” Clarissa moaned, tearing open the front of her uniform, her ample, pale breasts spilling into the open. Bouncing with heavy softness. Nipples dark accents to their creamy slopes.

Lukas gasped, jolting like from a physical blow as her breasts bounced free.

“Whoops!” Clarissa giggled. “Did I do that?”

“Y-you… you…” Lukas stammered.

Clarissa’s smile widened. “Me, my lord?” she said coyly. “You want me to be your gorgeous baroness?”

Lukas blinked blankly, his sloshing thoughts struggling. “I…”

“Well, it is true, my lord,” Clarissa cooed, her leg extending, foot pressing against his chest and pushing him and his chair back with a squeak. “I am so very smart. So very beautiful. So very…” she breathed, sliding off the desk, into his lap, Lukas groaning as her weight settled on the hardness of his tenting cock. “Very…” Clarissa moaned as she leaned forward, her ample titflesh pressing against his face. “...Busty…”

Lukas shuddered, inhaling, breathing in the heady scent of Clarissa’s breasts and body. A scent so potent and strong it made his toes curl. Sweet. Heavy and wonderful. Something so real. So potent. The jasmine stuffing his nose. Suffocating his thoughts. And with… with just a faint hint of cream…

“Oh, but whatever would society say,” Clarissa groaned, her hips rocking, rubbing herself upon his thick cock, making Lukas moan and pant under her as his cock throbbed with need. As her breasts squished his face between them and Clarissa’s weight ground him under her. “They might say such terrible things…”

“Ohhhh,” Lukas groaned.

“You’re so right, my baron,” Clarissa giggled. “True love overcomes all odds. And oh, but you do love me, my baron. You do love my big… soft… breasts. And I love you. Loved you so much I tried all sorts of alraune perfumes before I found the one that just. Makes. You. Melt.”

“Mmmm,” Lukas moaned as he inhaled deeply.

“And you love my wonderful, clever mind, don’t you?” Clarissa cooed as she gave her breasts a bounce, swirling his thoughts again to a lather. “So smart to think of buying that holstaur cream for your tea. So clever to know how malleable it makes a good boy. How needy and aroused by big breasts it makes him. How adoring and dumb. How needy and horny and obedient.

“But there is something bigger than my breasts, my baron,” Clarissa moaned as she squeezed her tits around his head. “Oh yes! Believe it. And that is my warm, adoring heart. Perfectly made for my darling baron. Utterly devoted to him. Because I know, my beloved baron, how haaaaard it is for you to think with me around. How distracted you get from a big… soft… pair of breasts. How hard it is for you to rule. You’re not suited for it, my lord. You’re just suited to be a lovey dovey bimbo. A perfect, obedient stud to your darling wife. And oh, my baron, do you really want me? Do you really need me?”

Lukas whimpered beneath his maid, his mind whirling. Drunk on lust and love and heavenly cream and her body. His hands trembled as they touched her, stroking her hips and rump. Touching her back and causing Clarissa to lean forward and bounce teasingly atop him, his chair creaking.

“Oh my baron. If you begged me, then, well, maybe,” Clarissa giggled. “If you told me how much you loved me, how much you need me, then maybe I’d believe you. Maybe I could be convinced to make you my adoring husband. My sweet, brainless stud of a man who’d do anything his busty wife said. Shall we try, my baron?”

“Mmmm,” Lukas moaned into her breasts.

“Let’s,” Clarissa crooned.

Lukas gasped as her breasts came off his face. He blinked dully as he found Clarissa smiling down at him, gaze smoldering and smirk hot with desire.

“I…” Lukas said.

“I want you, my baron,” Clarissa breathed. “Don’t you want me too?”

The note of hot passion in her tone dashed any effort of resistance from him. Lukas’s mouth trembled and he nodded, the truth escaping him in a panting gasp.

“Y-yes,” he said. “W-want you.”

“Do you, my baron?” Clarissa cooed as her hips rose, her hands teased down his chest and to his crotch, Lukas gasping as her fingers played with his bulge, undoing his zipper. “Do you want to fuck your beautiful bride? Propose to her and fuck her and breed her glorious pussy?”

“Y-yes!” Lukas whimpered, his cock springing into the open, a shock of pure ecstasy surging through him as her fingers wrapped around his length. “C-Clarissa, I… I…”

“Oh my baron,” Clarissa giggled, leaning in closer, her molten eyes hot, her rouged lips soft, enunciating every word as he felt his cock guided under the tickling hem of her skirt, brush the smooth skin of her inner thigh, drawn towards the heat of her naked pussy. “Just say… I do.”

“I… I… d-dooooo!” Lukas groaned, head falling back as Clarissa’s body eased down, his cock swallowed in the warm tightness of her pussy. His face buried again under the buxom softness of her ample tits.

“Mmmmm!” Clarissa moaned, her hips rocking, riding her atop his cock with slow, passionate motions that sent throbbing ecstasy radiating through his body and manhood. “Ohhhh my baaaaron! Yes! Yes! I will! I’ll be your baroness! I’ll be your gorgeous wife! Your perfect lover! Your loving, breedable bride. Ah. Ah! Oh goddess yes! Fuck me! Fill me with your cock!”

Lukas groaned beneath her, his lips kissing and licking her breasts, lost in the creamy valley of her tits, trapped in the ecstasy of her figure and the seemingly endless ampleness of her bouncy breasts. His cock throbbed in her, squeezed by her adoring inner walls. Heat consumed him. Pleasure subsumed him.

It was so good. So perfect. He couldn’t break free. Couldn’t resist. The need to cum surged within him. Devoured him. Urged him towards the inevitability of climax. He panted, gasping, moaning under her.

“Yes!” Clarissa gasped. “Oh my baron! Oh my husband! Yes! Fuck me! Fill me! Stuff me full of your cum! Ohhhhh my baron! I neeeed it! Need your mnnn! Your cum! Ah. Yes. Yes! Cum in me, Lukas. Cum in your bride! Fuck me! Breed me! Now! Breed me… nooooow!”

Her voice rose, a crescendo of shameless pleasure, her inner walls tightening, flexing, squeezing his cock with the glory of her peak. As her breasts shuddered around his head, Lukas cried out, surrendering to her pleasure, his cock throbbing, his balls tightening.

And he came.

Blessed release seemed to burst within him. Sear him. Devour him. His cock surrendered to her, filling her in sharp bursts of heady pleasure.

Lukas moaned, lost in her breasts. Lost in the pleasure. Floating in a sea of creamy ecstasy and delight, his mind sinking under waves of soft, bouncy bliss.

Atop him, Clarissa cooed, giggling as she felt him sag, lost beneath her breasts. Her arms wrapped around her new husband’s head, pulling him deeper into her bosom as she looked about the study. Ugh. Such depressing decoration. She’d have to get it cleaned out. And the room would make such a lovely nursery too.

She giggled, admiring the dazed expression of her former master as she smothered him beneath her breasts. She couldn’t wait for the wedding. Especially since she promised that holstaur priestess and her alraune friend they could be her bridesmaids. After all, when one was looking for a husband, one needed a foot in the door. And she just knew her beloved betrothed had some friends in need of busty, brainwashing brides.

Clarissa hummed contentedly, lazily rocking her hips, feeling Lukas’s cock stir anew within her, ready for round two.

Mmm.

All too easy for a clever, busty girl like her…

[mia-martian]

I wanna bring to the Death Note and Lawlight community a take that I have and rarely ever hear about.

A lot of people seem to look at or even just remember L as an unfeeling apathetic weirdo- and this is coming from people who haven't seen the anime in years or just see a couple scenes of him. And that's a fair enough assessment to make- dude is detached in his own way.

But it's really ironic when he's put next to Light Yagami, a character who I believe literally doesn't know how to love.

Not in the aro/ace way- dude doesn't even know how to love anyone platonically. He doesn't love his family, he doesn't love his friends or his romantic partners, he doesn't love anyone. If he shows any small signs of it, I am not inclined to believe it.

When his father died and he cried, it looked like the most half-assed performance to me. As if he used it to framework and test how he would act for L's death. (Edit: Apparently Soichiro's death was after L's i think? I remembered that incorrectly. But at the same time, I think he copy-pasted his fake reaction to L's death and reused it for his dad. Point is, I don't believe he even grieves sincerely.)

And I don't think the Death Note itself exclusively did this to him. Sure, it influenced him a LOT. When you find yourself in a place of power, your brain chemistry LITERALLY changes. Of course the ability to kill with almost no consequence would influence him.

But even in the Yostuba amnesia arc, even when he's doe-eyed and defending the innocent and fighting with L about the people who died for the Kira case, I am not convinced that it's the truth. I am not convinced that he isn't just saying what he was taught to say and believe by his father. I am not convinced he fully believes his own words, even subconsciously. At least in the context of the anime and manga, he is the most insincere character I have ever seen. It's nothing but bullshit coming out of his mouth.

I'd argue the Death Note only gave him a feeling of authority that caused the mask to slip off. I'd argue that he was always this lost and was just waiting for an excuse to cut to the chase on 'justice'. To build his guillotine and finally start collecting the heads he wants to put on his mantle. He is the unfeeling, apathetic and cold freak that I've seen people assume L is. All the Death Note did was foster it.

Because while L tries to be a character for the necessary evil and gray area (i.e. Lind L. Tailor), Light is just evil. He is blindly writing names and filling pages the moment he realizes that the notebook works. He is placing a bomb in his house without thinking of the risks he'd place on his kid sister or his well-meaning parents. He is manipulating women and using them like tools. I simply cannot imagine a reality in canon where Light Yagami can love.

And obviously my point isn't to say "Lawlight wouldn't work in canon !! You can't ship them !!" The canon of a story isn't some kind of divine set of rules, literally have all the fun you want. Canon isn't real. This story isn't real. Literally make it all up and turn Light Yagami into a pining, simping mess. If anything, that's justice.

But it's interesting to think about. I used to ship Lawlight so intensely. But then years later, when I rewatched the anime, my feelings changed drastically.

Now I can't fucking stand Light Yagami, and I wish the same fate he places on all his victims. As ironic as that is.

If he was a real human being, and I had the notebook in my hands, his name would be one of the first that I would write. Call that a sign of my bias.

Now I can't imagine a single scenario where Light loves L.

I mean, I think L definitely would have feelings for Light. L has shown that he has the capability to care, despite how the writers tact on things like in the How to Read manga where his line about Light being his first ever friend could've been a 'coldly thought-out strategy.' (Eye roll)

Even in the scenario that L doesn't truly consider Light a friend, he shows that he cares for people even a little bit. When a member of the task force decides to quit and leave, L says he appreciates him and makes sure he and his family are well paid and protected. When he witnesses a member die, he's shaking in fear. He is capable of being vulnerable and caring for others. He just doesn't do it often. It's half a choice to protect himself, and half his unmasked autism. (And bro IS autistic i don't gotta defend that point)

L is capable of loving Light if L allowed himself to. If that "you're my first friend" line is sincere, he's opened his heart up to a monster. And the unfortunate thing is that there is no possible way Light is reciprocating. Light is the unfeeling, lying monster, uncapable of even concieving what love feels like. Light doesn't care for other people. His motives might be driven by a sense of justice, but that is just the flavor. That's just the color that his true intentions are thinly painted over. The true intention of power. The only thing that brings him joy is the authority he believes he has over humanity.

[rancidpancakebatter]

A Childhood Innocence-[S.H.]

Pairing: childhood!best friend!Steve Harrington x female!reader

Prompt: I saw this post and all I could think of was my babygirl Steve Harrington. 

Summary: Steve Harrington was your best friend once upon a time but years apart makes you see him in a new light. Takes place during season 2.

Word Count: 4.4k

Content Warnings: Mentions of blood, Cursing, Toxic Masculinity/"Man Up" Allusions (Mr Harrington is the worst and I want to roast him on a spit)

A/N: This is my first time writing for Steve Harrington and it was certainly fun. In the future, fics with him will be much more fluffy &lt;3

also, only your father's last name is Stokes

(Y/N/N)=Your Nickname

Hawkins, Indiana is where you grew up, but not where you called home. It's where you were born, it's where your parents met, it's where you lived until you were ten. 

In the Summer of '77, your family relocated to New York. Your father was the second half of Harrington&Stokes and the company opened a branch in Albany. The Harringtons were much more attached to Hawkins society so that meant "The Stokes" had to leave. 

Your parents told you at Sunday dinner. Mr Harrington made a toast to your father and to the company's growth. 

"Albany won't know what hit it!"

You remember feeling like the world had tilted on its axis.  You gripped your chair tightly worried you might fall off. Your mother noticed your expression and tried to gently explain the change that was happening. Her words fell on deaf ears as you could only focus on the boy across the table.  

Stevie Harrington. Your best friend and partner in crime. Born in the same year and attached at the hip. Your moms were best friends and they wanted that for their children as well. So you guys did everything together. 

Sometimes he could get on your nerves but you had built a sort of alliance through the years. You both were often shown off as trophies by your parents at their company soirees. Perfect little children, both gifted. One with brains and the other with brawn. It was nice to have someone your age in that stuffy office. Someone who gets it. 

You remember your last sleepover. Your room was barren: all furniture and trinkets gone, save a small lamp plugged into an outlet in the wall. Stevie sat next to you in his sleeping bag with a glum look on his face. You're sure yours didn't look much different. 

"Are you gonna forget about me?" His eyes were glassy with tears he refused to let fall. 

"No, of course not. Besides my parents say we're gonna visit for holidays and stuff, so I'm not gone forever." You weren't sure who you were trying to comfort. 

Stevie just sniffled, nodding his head. 

The next morning you left and the Harringtons waved your family off in the Uhaul. Both your father and Mr Harrington teased all the "girls" for getting emotional. 

Your mothers hugged and cried and promised to call while you and Stevie sat in the back of the open truck, swinging your feet. He held your hand as you cried. He had to keep his composure in front of his father lest he face a lecture. 

After your goodbyes, the Harrington family stood on the side of the road looking similar to the picture above their mantle. Only Stevie didn't even bother plastering on a fake smile. Your father climbed in first while your mother held the door for you. You looked back at Stevie and tried to give him your most convincing smile before you scaled your way up to the seat. 

"Wait!" You turned to see Stevie tear away from his father's grasp.  

He ran straight to you, tackling you in a hug. You felt his tears fall on your shoulder and squeezed him tighter. Eventually, his father called out to him and he let go. He looked back at his father's stern expression and took an unsteady step towards him. 

"Here take this." In his hand was his woven red, yellow, and blue bracelet. 

You took it from him and risked another quick hug before turning and finally climbing in the truck. 

That was almost 7 years ago. You had visited for the first two years, but then slowly Hawkins became distant memories. You saw Stevie's parents when business called for it but between your nice private school, new friends, and ballet classes Stevie took a back seat in your mind. 

Returning to Hawkins felt like a dream. It was almost unsettling driving through Mainstreet, like opening a diary you had long since forgotten. Your new house was much bigger than the one you had left behind. It's a unique experience, returning to a place so familiar yet foreign. 

The Harringtons were waiting for your family as you pulled into the driveway. The lived just down the street. Apparently, the Harrington family had moved, not long after you, into the "nicer" part of town. Cheers and Shouts rang through the air as your parents spilled out of the Uhaul to greet each other while you and Stevie just stared at each other. Two strangers who used to be friends. 

He helped you unpack and set up your furniture all while trying to make awkward small talk. You told him about your life in New York and he tried to catch you up on his. He promised to help you adjust, to be your friend. He kept his word. 

Steve had changed a lot in 5 years. You had too, you guess. Like now he goes by Steve. 

"Just Steve, not Stevie or anything else."

He's a lot less shy, cocky even. You were surprised to see he's popular, nicknamed "King Steve". He was once a bit of a playboy but now he has a girlfriend, Nancy Wheeler, who seems really nice. He doesn't seem to care about grades anymore. 

But he was also the same in a lot of ways. He still played sports, both swimming and basketball. He still had the same sense of humour. He still loved watching movies and listening to music. He was still sweet (although he tried to hide that). 

What surprised you most though was how he had somehow become a babysitter. He wouldn't tell you much about how this came about. He did fill you in on the "Byer's Incident" though. You thought the tale was a little tall but everyone said the same thing, so you never questioned it. 

School was pretty okay. You assimilated with Steve's group of friends. Your classes were easy because of your previous schooling. You joined the cheer squad. All in all, Hawkins wasn't so bad. 

That was until October. Hawkins gained another "New Kid" who seemed to have it out for you and Steve. Steve because Billy wanted to be top dog and you because you called him a creep when he hit on you. 

Then Nancy broke Steve's heart at a Halloween party. He was reasonably upset and confided in you. You hung out after the party, talking it over. The day after she shattered it, unable to tell Steve she loved him. He was then further disgraced when he found out Nacy had run off with Jonathan. 

Steve got it in his head that he should apologise, for what you weren't sure. No matter how many times you laid out the facts to him he wouldn't listen. He told you he had to get her back and left. That was Saturday afternoon. He left and you haven’t seen him since. You were starting to worry. 

You figured, at first, that his plan was successful and he was just preoccupied. You waited around all Sunday to hear from him. Your parents were all out of town in Tulsa and you were instructed to look out for each other. You waited out at his house for hours and nothing. 

When the sun started to set you decided you would track him down. You riffled through the phonebook and found the number to the Wheeler's house. A sweet woman answered the phone but told you that Steve was never there. 

"Nancy's spending the weekend at Ally's, if he came to see her we would have told him the same." She must have sensed your defeat because she offered up some other information. 

"You know what? Dustin stopped by. Nance told me that Steve sometimes babysits him. He may know, let me give you the number."

You thanked her and hung up to call the Hendersons. Unfortunately, Ms Henderson didn't know where Steve or Dustin were either. She told you to call the Sinclairs, who told you to call the Byers. You called a few times and there was no answer. A dead end. 

You paced Steve’s empty house. Where was he? Did he even come home last night? He was a good driver but sometimes he was stupid, impulsive. What if he crashed his stupid BMW? No, no, someone would have called you. Surely his parents or yours would have told you if they got a call. 

After an hour of imagining the worst, you called Mrs Wheeler again and asked for the Byers' address. She warned you about driving up there in the dark and you didn’t have the heart to tell her you would be walking. You locked up the Harrington house and left a note for Steve if he did come back. You didn’t know how long the walk would be but you didn’t care. 

You reached the mouth of the Byers’ driveway exhausted but suddenly relieved. There you could see a car you recognised as Steve’s. He was here. You had found him. But then you noticed the obnoxious blue Camaro. What the hell was Billy Hardgrove doing here? That’s when you heard screaming. 

“Stop!” “Stop it!” “You’re gonna kill him!”

You started running up the gravel path. The screaming stopped before you reached the door. There’s nothing that could have prepared you for what was on the other side. Hargrove was laying on the floor with a bloody nose, a gaggle of tweens were standing in the living room, one holding up a pair of keys, and Steve was bloodied on the floor. 

The kids all stopped and stared at you and you at them. No one moved as your collective brains tried to figure out what was going on. Then you heard a small groan and remembered why you were here.

“Steve!”

You fell to the floor beside him cradling his face. He blinked a few times before you saw a glint of recognition in his eyes. 

“Hiiiiiiiiii” You wanted to strangle him for trying to be cute right now.

“Arthur. Steven. Harrington. I am going to kick your ass." He smiled and the blood on his lips leaked onto his teeth.

“Billy beat you to it.” And with that, his head lulled to the side and he passed out. 

“Shit, shit, Stevie? Steven!” You looked back at the kids still staring at you. 

“I need a damp wash rag and a first aid kit.” They stayed frozen, just looking at each other as if having a silent conversation. “NOW!” 

That got them to scramble. They returned with a warm washcloth and a handful of colourful bandaids. You looked at the kid you assumed was Dustin with a raised brow. 

“It’s all they had.” You huffed, accepting them and trying your best to clean up his face. 

The kids fell back into the kitchen as you cleaned him up. When you were done you did your best to move Steve onto the couch.You walk in interrupting whatever important meeting they were holding in hushed whispers. 

“I want answers. Now. What happened?” They looked at each other instead of answering. You were getting real sick of that.

“Hey! Over here! Why the fuck is Stevie knocked out on the couch right now?” They must not have appreciated your tone, because only the small brunette spoke up. 

“Who the hell are you?” You watched as they all looked you over. 

“I’m his friend, your turn.” The kids did another silent group convo before Dustin shrugged. 

“Billy came over looking for Max and Steve went to send him away because Max said he would kill us. Then he saw us in the window and next thing we know the psychopath is  throwing open the door and pinning Lucas against a cabinet, making threats. Lucas kneed him the dick to get away and then he was all like ‘You’re dead Sinclair. Dead!’ and then Steve was all like ‘No, you are.’ Then he punched him right in the face. Then he got a few more punches in, it really looked like he was gonna win for a second. But then Billy smashed a plate over his head and Steve fell over on the carpet there. And Billy was on top of him, cackling like a maniac while he punched Steve over and over. We thought he was gonna die, but then Max drugged him and then…well, you’re here now.” 

You blinked dumbly for a moment before cursing under your breath. 

“We don’t have time for this! We have to go, they need us!” You look at the brunette confused.

“Go? Go where? Who needs you? Who’s we?” 

“That’s need-to-know information-” The kid in war paint and a bandana says.

“Yeah, party only. And Steve. And Max too.” Dustin tells you. 

You look at them in disbelief. “Stevie isn’t going anywhere right now, and I assume he’s supposed to be babysitting you. You can’t just leave.”

“People are gonna die if we don’t leave, right now!” The brunette's face was red now. 

As you looked around you saw nothing but desperation on the faces of the children surrounding you. You were inclined to believe them, as crazy as it seemed. All of your paranoia turned out to be justified, maybe theirs were too. 

And that’s how you found yourself driving down the back roads of Hawkins in Billy Hargroves’ car with a bunch of kids you didn’t know and your best friend unconscious in the back seat. Not at all how you thought your night was gonna go. You were on a long stretch of road and the car was very quiet. Was very quiet. 

“Can I ask you a question?” You glanced in the rearview mirror at Dustin. 

“How about you each get one question and you have to tell me your names? Then I return the favour.” You saw some nods from the backseat passengers. 

“I’m Lucas,” said your navigator. “How long have you known Steve?”

“We were childhood best friends until I moved to New York when we were ten. But now I’m back.”

“I’m Max, Why do you call him Stevie? Are you dating?” You scoffed. 

“No, no, that’s just what we used to call him when he was a kid.”

“Dustin here, and you guys are asking the wrong questions. Is Steve’s full name Arthur Steven Harrington?” 

“Yeah, he’s named after his dad.” Dustin let out a laugh. 

“Oh my god, King Steve has the dorkiest name ever! Wait, his name is Arthur. He’s King Arthur! That’s kinda cool, actually. Why doesn’t he go by that?”

You huffed, “Dunno and I said one question.” 

Dustin’s face fell into a grimace. You glazed back at the brunette who sat silently staring out the window. He seemed especially stressed. You felt you had done a good job of calming down the kids, even if it was at Steve’s expense. 

“And what’s your name?” He remained silent until Dustin reached over to smack his arm. Dustin gave him a look of raised brows and that seemed to do the trick.

“I’m Mike.” His answer was short and clipped. 

“Nice to meet you, Mike.” Your attempt at warmth did nothing to soften him up. 

“Right, my turn then. I’m (Y/N). Now Lucas, where are we going? Like more than directions and more than some farm.” He seemed to hesitate before answering. 

“Look, this is all really dangerous. It’s better not to get involved. The less you know the better.” You were confused by his sombre tone. What did a twelve-year-old know about life and death?

“Well, I hate to tell you but I am involved. I’m driving you all to this dangerous location, so maybe you could give me an idea of what I’m getting myself into?” He let out a sigh before explaining you were going underground to set fire to a hive mind running through all of Hawkins.

“Right, of course. That’s uh…okay, sure. Max, What’s connected to this hive mind underneath Hawkins?”

“We’re not sure. We know there’s demidogs and whatever’s inside Will right now. I don’t really get it myself, I just joined this circus today.” Jesus, every layer of this just added more confusion. 

“Wait, Will? As in Will Byers, Jonathan’s little brother? There’s something inside him?” Dustin scoffed. 

“What happened to one question?” You let out a small laugh.

“Alright, alright. Dustin, What’s inside of Will?” It blows your mind how longwinded this kid is. But you remember Steve saying something about that. He gave the whole rundown. About how Will was kidnapped by an interdimensional creature and taken to the “upsidedown” and how he’s been seeing the “Mind Flayer” and how it got to him. 

“Wow, okay. Mike, What’s the plan?” He glared at you from the rearview window. 

“You don’t believe us.” You felt the venom he spit at you and you weren’t sure what to do with it.

“Mike it’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just this is a lot. Imagine you’re me for a second. You go out looking for your friend and then before you know it a bunch of twelve-year-old kids are telling you the most boring town in the world is actually the epicentre of some evil dimension.” You hoped he would understand and maybe stop being so angsty towards you. 

“We're not kids! And we’re not twelve, we’re thirteen!” You apologised for the assumption while Mike continued to stare you down. You thought that was all you were gonna hear from him, but he must have decided you were genuine. 

“Our friends are trying to close the portal right now. The demidogs are gonna be swarming them, trying to protect it. The plan is to get to the centre of the hive mind and draw them away, clear a path for them.” You huffed out a sigh, soaking in his words. 

“So, we’re the bait. Got it.” 

The car fell into silence once again, the roar of the speeding engine filling the cab. You ask Lucas to give you directions again. Not because you need them, you’ve been to Merrill’s Pumpkin Patch plenty of times, but just to hear something. You needed a distraction from your spiralling mind and the nerves you felt eating at the lining of your stomach. 

“What’s going on?”

For a second you forget that you’re driving dangerously fast in a car you don’t know well without a license, and you whip your head around to look at Steve, relieved that he finally woke up. He sees your face and begins to panic and that makes you panic too. More so than you were before. You only turn back around when you hear Lucas yell at you to look out. You swerve narrowly avoiding a mailbox. Everyone starts screaming at each other and you snap. 

“Everybody shut the hell up!” Your head is starting to hurt, your brain being stretched to its thinnest in the last six hours. 

“Oh, wait,” Lucas says catching your attention. “That’s Mount Sinai. Make a left. Make a Left!” 

You pull hard on the steering wheel, coming off the road a bit before correcting yourself. Steve has not stopped yelling at you to both slow down and stop the car. You do neither as you continue to focus on Lucas’s voice. 

It’s not long until you’re crashing through the familiar “Merrill’s Farm” sign. You park the car and everyone starts spilling out. You take a deep breath as you hear Steve start to try to wrangle the kids. You hear Dustin trying to talk him down and decide to help. 

“Now, I know you promised Nance that you would keep us safe. So, keep us safe.” Steve begrudgingly takes the bag that Dustin hands him and Dustin makes his way to the hole.

Only as he’s walking away does Steve notice you rummaging through the trunk for your own gear. He puts his hand out in front of you to stop you. 

“Woah, Woah, Woah, you’re not going down there.” You push his hand away from you and grab your bag. 

“Uh, yes, I am.” He stands up straighter now, squaring up to you. 

“Like hell you are! You don’t even know what’s going on here, okay? This is fucking dangerous and I don’t want you anywhere near it.” You fix him a steeled gaze he hasn’t seen since you were kids. 

“Listen to me, Steven. They filled me in on the way here. As confident as they are that we’ll survive, both of us know there’s a really good chance none of us make it out. Someone needs to watch over those kids and only one of us here isn’t suffering from a possible concussion.” You move to grab the Axe you brought. 

“(Y/n)-”

“Look, you made a promise right? To keep them safe? Well, I did too, and I’m not about to let you walk through a hell dimension without me there to keep you safe.” You push past him, putting on your chemistry goggles and tying the T-shirt you found around your nose and mouth. 

“Hey, (Y/n), wait.” Steve goes to grab the bridge of his nose before wincing. “Let me go first so I can spot you.”  

That night he drove you home. The car ride was quiet. He pulled into his driveway and neither of you moved to get out. Both of you were thinking about everything that happened. 

“(Y/N/N), are you okay?” You blinked a few times before answering. 

“Yeah, I think so.” You looked over to Steve and you were reminded of the many years you spent apart. He’s so grown up now, no longer little Stevie. You didn’t realize you were staring until Steve looked away. 

“I’m so sorry.” He was looking straight ahead; his hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You never should have gotten caught up in all of this.”

“Steve it’s okay-”

“No, Don’t. Don’t you dare say it’s okay. None of this fucking okay. You risked your life today. We could have died. You…you were looking for me and that’s my fault. And now your life will never be the same.” You rolled his words around in your mind, polishing them like a pearl. 

“It was my choice. I could have left several times, but I didn’t.” He scoffed at your words but you cut him off before he could retaliate. 

“If it were the other way around, what would you have done?” Steve’s mouth opened and closed but nothing came out. 

“Don’t blame yourself, okay?” He shook his head back and forth as if trying to shake your reassurances out of his ears. You pulled on you your jacket sleeve and placed your wrist in front of his face. 

“Do you see this?” His gaze fell onto a band of braided thread, the colours muted after the years. 

“You’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. And that’s my choice.” His grip on the steering wheel loosened. One hand fell to his lap while the other reached out to touch the bracelet in disbelief. 

“You still have this thing?” You just nodded your head as his fingers traced the skin of your wrist. 

In the glint of the streetlights, you saw his eyes get glassy just like all those years ago in your childhood bedroom. You reached across the console and did your best to wrap him in your arms. It took a moment for him to respond but when he did he held you tight. This hug lasted much longer than the one you received before disappearing behind the horizon in a Uhaul. 

When he pulled away he didn’t go far. His arms stayed wrapped around your waist and yours stayed around his neck. The expression on his face wasn’t one you recognised. His eyes were swirling with something, the chocolate brown of his irises deeply saturated. 

You never really looked at Steve before now. His face had matured a lot since you last saw him. His features are soft yet distinct. The moon cradles his face and you think he looks almost holy, a guardian angel damned only to protect but never protected. He has freckles of different sizes on his cheeks that trail down the side of his neck, the only flaws you can find. Even when beaten up he was beautiful. 

Steve was having a revelation of his own, several really. He knew you pretty, that wasn’t new. He also knew that he loved you. But now he can’t help but think of his conversation with Dustin earlier that day. Electricity was singing in the space between you. Had it always been there? 

That day behind the school gym he had called Jonathan Nance’s “other boyfriend”. She just as quickly called you his “other girlfriend” and told him he was just as guilty. He brushed it off at the time thinking it was nothing more than deflection, but now he wasn’t sure. He told himself that you guys were only so close because of your history, because he promised to be there. But these past few months he’s been relearning you. Your favourite snacks, songs, shoes, all of those things had changed and he loved getting to know you again. Now he sat in his car with you a breath away and he had never wanted to kiss you more. 

You had both been staring at each other for a while now, too close for too long for it to be acceptable between friends. You felt his hand move from your waist to hold your face and for a second you forgot to breathe. Your brain was doing pirouettes and grande jetés in your brittle skull. You watch his caramel eyes drift from yours to your lips. His thumb is tracing small circles on your cheek and you feel something akin to fire; pulsing flames dancing between you. He starts to lean in and you panic. 

“Stevie are you sure?” He looks at you with furrowed brows.

“Do you not want this?” Your emotions were fogging your brain, this was your last shred of sense he was prodding at. 

“That’s not what I asked.” Your voice was smaller than he had every heard. He paused, thinking through his answer. 

“No, I’m not but I think we should try.” And that was enough for you. 

Tag List: @Defrosting-strawberries, @fanfics-intead-of-depression, @heejinw0rld, @jedisstark, @Qualitybeliverflower, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz,

[demigoddessqueens]

HIII!!! So I was thinking with the new batch of episodes for the legend of vox machina season 2 , there's been an idea brewing. HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE! The in-depth look at Vax becoming the raven queen's new champion was sosososo cool. WHICH GOT ME THINKING, what if that fate was subjected to the reader. Maybe right before Vax was able to go "take me instead you raven bitch!" the reader intervenes. Making it worse, the reader knows that Vax would want to sacrifice his life for his sisters in a heartbeat but the reader does not want him to lose what he could have. So as a way to both save Vax and Vex, you (the reader) offer yourself up instead. Now that you are connected to her, you are deemed instead as the new champion. To make this oh-so bittersweet, Vax and reader? *the other woman blasting from speakers* How he would react maybe? Feeling even more responsible knowing that you will be dealt a gruesome fate. But the reader was always ready to do it because it was for their "friend" </3

Oooh! This hurts the best way 😅💕🥹💔😭💞

I’ll answer this with some headcanons and small drabble too

Analysis wise - I feel like Vax would still be a bit like his old self, but EXTREMELY on high alert once the party has to go on their quest(s) to Vasselheim and elsewhere. It comes with almost losing Vex, seeing the Matron, and the risk of his significant other now.

Headcanons….

It’s amazing at how well the Deathwalker’s armor adjusts to you, but still it feels weird

Sometimes Vax can’t help but stare in amazement and worry at you in the armor

Anytime there’s a conflict (the Sphinx, dragons, etc.) he’s super protective to you

But whenever you have a “vision”, he’s scared out of mind of what it entails to you. He saw her too just for a brief moment, so he knows/understands.

Vax is always there to talk to you, always checking on you, whenever for whatever. There’s an understanding with you two.

I still would think he’s “fate-touched”/tied to you, but your path is now altered as well.

Drabble

You waited till everyone was asleep after the scare with your new visions. Their breaths calmed you down for a while, but you needed to get some air. Stepping away from the fire, you tried to collect your thoughts. The quiet didn’t last long as you heard the shuffling of his boots behind you.

Turning to face Vax, you had your words prepared.

“I didn’t want to—.” But you were cut off as he scooped you tightly into his arms, head buried into the crook where your neck and shoulder met.

Vax’s arms were tighter around you than the supposed mantle you had just assumed.

“I don’t know what’s to come, but please..please! Tell me, let me in. Let me do whatever I can to help you. Together.”

It would have sounded so lovely coming from him if the cracks in voice didn’t chip away at your heart anymore than they already did. All you know is that you never wanted to be the source of his cries that haunted you in the Matron’s chamber.

[lullaebies]

Hi I don't know if this has been done yet as one of your helaegon prompts but I was wondering how you'd feel about writing one about the aftermath of the coronation but Jahaerys, Jaehaera and Maelor escape their nursemaid to see the iron throne and their parents are in the throne room. You can do whatever you want with it I just think we need more helaegon and kids fics and especially more Maelor (who I love how you write).

When I first saw this prompt I thought - wow that's adorable! and then I thought about the scenario and it actually ended up really really loaded. So this ended up more angsty - but everyone in the family went through A LOT that day, so what can we do 😭 Hope you'll enjoy this regardless!

-

It looms, that throne of iron, fire, and blood.

The coronation is over, and so is the exhilaration of a crowd crying out their name. The throne room is devoid of people aside from him and Helaena. Aemond has left for Storm’s End, and Mother has gone with the maids to clear out her chambers so they could take their place in Maegor’s Holdfast.

 “These are the chambers of the reigning king and queen,” she told them. “I’m no longer fit to occupy them.”

And we do? The crown is on his head, heavy as stone. Too much so, almost, but perhaps that was because of the remaining shake of his bones from the encounter with that dragon earlier.

“There was a beast beneath the boards,” Helaena says again. “I told you.”

She doesn’t seem nearly as shaken. Because she knew, perhaps, he thinks to himself, but her hands hold each other together tightly regardless. She is wearing Mother’s crown now, and it is as if she has a crick in her neck, making her cast her eyes down.

“You knew,” he says with a hollowness in his voice. “I didn’t know a coronation will be held until I’ve been dragged to the keep,” he tells her. “King, and I have never known a thing for it.” He carries the conqueror’s name, the conqueror’s sword, and the conqueror’s crown, but he’s no conqueror. War will come soon, for all to know this true; his knees are weak, only thinking of it.

Helaena finally looks at him, but only in uncertainty. And why would she? The crowd that cheered for him is all dead.

“Father?” A high-pitched voice calls. Both he and Helaena quickly turn back to look at the entrance. Jaehaerys looks tentatively at them; behind him stand Jaehaera and Maelor, each holding one of his hands.

Helaena is the one that steps forward first. “Why are you alone? Where’s your nursemaid?”

“She kept telling us to stay in the rooms and didn’t tell us why,” Jaehaerys says. Jaehaera comes forward, against her mother’s dress.

“Maely couldn’t sleep.” She says. Maelor is hidden behind Jaehaerys as if his older brother is a shield; his face is only slightly peeking from Jaehaerys’s side. His one shown eye is glassy, twinkling for incoming tears. Maelor has never been afraid to sob; he cried the loudest of their children, so much so that even Aegon couldn’t help but try to stop him from tantrums.

“Did the beast get grandpa?” He asks shakily, so fearful. He wondered why his children were not afraid to look at their grandfather when he was all but a living corpse. But how could they choose not to? He was the king; he was their grandfather.

Helaena’s face whitens, as it does when the children take her blurts to their heart. She does not cry in front of him often, but he vividly remembers her sobbing when she scared them before like this. She lowers herself, holding Jaehaera as she speaks to them three. “Your grandsire found his rest during the night, my love,” she says. “He didn’t meet any beast.”

“Is it coming here?” Maelor asks again, curling into Jaehaerys further. Jaehaerys turns to him and holds his cheeks with his hands.

“It won’t,” he tells him. “I’ll kick it.”

Aegon feels hollow as a whole, now. His own son of seven declares himself his brother’s protector, courageous and brave. Why did he take up this mantle? He’s just a child. He shouldn’t have. Aegon shouldn’t have let him. And Aegon…

Bears the conqueror’s name, bears the conqueror’s crown, and bears the conqueror’s sword. Despite his flaws, is king; despite it all, their father.

He unsheathes Blackfyre, the sword sliding out in a metallic buzz to catch the attention of the room. “The beast left,” he finally says when their eyes are on him. “And if it comes back, I’ll slay it,” he says, trying to not let his voice waver. “Your grandsire left me this sword not for nothing.”

His children, and Helaena, stare at him. His Father left him nothing, that much he knows, but he will lie until what he speaks, too, becomes the truth. And despite his misgivings, despite everything, Maelor runs to his leg and holds it. His children gather around him.

Perhaps a crown is all convincing. The way Helaena looks at him, it seems they all only want to cling to hope. But this is a crowd he cannot let die. That is the one thing he does know.

[s3cr3tjuic3]

long post ahead!! this is purely copy and paste so sorry for any spelling errors

after they get brought back, regressors roxas and xion and caregiver axel bc theyve all been through so much

roxas and xion regressing bc, i mean, they never had a childhood and axel just easily takes up the mantle of caregiving bc i he loves them so much and they deserve to have a healthy coping mechanism and dangit they are just so cute!

the two started regressing involuntarily and neither could put a name to it, they both would just find axel and tell him something was wrong and cry and all axel could do was craddle the two and tell them it would be alright

it wasnt until riku visited one day and the two "had another episode" and riku saw and pointed out that they were regressing

axel didnt catch on as fast but the two littles did and they were devastated

riku easily stepped up and calmed the little down. after a little explaining to axel what age regression was, axel didnt even think before he started taking care of them.

riku decided that it was nap time to he "coherced" the two littles to lay down and watch a movie while he "got them a surprise"

riku taught axel how to make the kids angel milk and even wrote it down. the two presented the sippys and while xion was eager to taste whatever sugary surprise riku made, roxas w as shy abt the idea of drinking from a sippy cup but ge eventually gave in and the two littles passed out before even finishing the cups

axel asked riku how he knew so much about age regression and riku was silent for a moment.

-"riku you dont have to tell me"

-"no, its not that, its just... sora was a little and i used to be his caregiver... i just miss him is all"

that couldn't be said without a little tears, everyone missed sora and no one was any step closer to finding him

the two regressors had a talk with axel and riku the next time they were big, riku explained an answer to every question they asked, very knowledgeable in experience. the two had a hard time accepting the coping mechanism their brain choose for them but [riku: "its a totally healthy and normal coping mechanism and response. i know nobody says it but you were put through a lot and deserve to be able to experience the childhood you never had"] it was just a little bit easier after that

riku was a frequent babysitter and the two littles even started calling him "bubba"

before sora disappeared, when riku was new to caregiving, he worriedly searched everywhere for an appropriately sized paci for sora and ended up in traverse town before sid. riku tried to be as inconspicuous as possible around sid but sid had been around long enough to gather that something was going on and confronted riku abt it. riku caved and told him about sora coming to him regressed one nice and how he had sucked on his thumbs for so long that he had a blister and riku really needed a replacement. pitbull sid, been there, done that actually had a hidden supply of adult pacis. he knew a few people who were littles and, hey, he does run a shop, so he supplied some just in case he ran into someone who needed it. riku almost cried tears of joy when sid presented him with a plain red a paci and riku was off back to the tower to give sora his new present. the little boy was beyond happy and spent the rest of the day curled up to riku's side with his new paci

[kettlefire]

Dan had been surprised when he managed to escape. He's still not sure how, and why it even happened. But it had.

He found himself in a city he's never been before. Even after he'd levelled and destroyed his home dimension.

Gotham City.

It was strange, reeked of anguish and hope. Dan loved it. It felt safe, it felt like home even with danger lurking around every corner.

He loved the city. Loved the feeling that radiated from every surface.

Then he met the bats.

They hadn't regarded him like the monster he was, and after getting to know him. After he's told them the truth in an emotional outburst, they accepted him.

Bruce even has him take over Batman if he's too injured to, or there was too much heat and spotlight on Bruce Wayne.

For once, Dan felt seen. He felt safe, and heard. He wasn't a monster. Not to these people. They saw him for the misguided hero he was before he just broke.

It took a while for him to finally feel comfortable. The fear that any moment all of it was going to get ripped away from him, finally let up.

He settled into his new normal.

Dan knew he shouldn't have. Years of experience proved no matter what, his life can never be smooth sailing.

His past was always going to come to haunt him.

It did. Just as he should have expected. In a moment he had no real clue what to do. He was taking on Batman for the night.

Everything was going fine, normal. The usual fights and crimes, and that's all.

Up until it was time to call it quits. Dan had been ready to teleport back to the cave, found the best spot to ensure no one would see him.

Then he felt it. A feeling that hasn't run through him in what felt like forever. A familiar shiver ran down his spine, a puff of soft cold blue smoke left his lips.

Dan tensed, spinning around quickly. His core thrumming in his chest, running through his veins. Prepared for a fight.

Except that isn't what happened.

Maybe it's the years away from the other ghosts. Living his life in secret, hiding away in fear of being found. Being returned to that godforsaken thermos.

The moment Dan's gaze fell onto the ghost, he felt terror run through him. A level of fear Dan hadn't felt since the day he lost his family.

Clockwork. It just had to be Clockwork standing before him, the familiar adult form staring st him with unusual cold eyes.

Dan did the first thing he could think to do. The first instinct that ran through him. It wasn't to fight. To fall back into his darker days.

No, instead Dan ran.

He teleported straight to the cave, tearing off the Batman cowl, and phasing off the suit. It all felt too suffocating.

His lungs felt like they were collapsing. His body immediately falling to hyperventilation, a cold sweat, and the shakes.

His mind ran a mile a minute, but Dan had enough focus to realize it was a panic attack.

He couldn't go back. He couldn't. Not after tasting freedom again. After finding people that cared about him. After finally finding a family again.

Dan almost, almost, lashed out when he felt hands on his shoulders. Turning him to face the other person in the cave.

Tears stung in Dan's eyes as his gaze landed on Bruce. Barely hearing it as the man tried to talk him through breathing.

Instead, Dan broken.

He wrapped his arms around Bruce in an almost crushing embrace. Buring his face into Bruce's shoulder as he shook and cried.

He couldn't process any of the words he knew was spilling from Bruce's lips. But the man's arms wrapping around him, stroking his back as Bruce tried to calm him down.

It reminded Dan was his own father. The father he had before Bruce ended up taking the mantle. It only made him cry harder.

For the first time in a long time, Dan didn't feel like a man. An adult. A hero, or a villian. Not right now, not in this embrace.

Instead, he felt like a kid again. Like he was fourteen, crying into Vlad's shoulder after his whole life had been ripped away from him.

Dan didn't say much in this time. Trying to calm the tightness in his chest, and the burn in his eyes. His brain throbbed, and his body felt like he was dying all over again.

However, Dan managed to choke out a single sentence. Dripped in pure terror and fear. Enough for Bruce to know exactly what he was talking about.

"H-he found me Bruce, I-I can't go back..."

Short DPXDC Prompts #550

Dan will take over for Bruce as Batman whenever he can’t make it to patrol.

[redrobin-detective]

The late Daniel Fenton

It was shaping up to be a beautiful if chilly December day and Casper High, as always, was bustling. It was 7:49 and class was about to start. The teacher watched the last few kids stumbling in at various levels of wakefulness. He already knew who would be the ones to rush in after the bell but that was alright. Life was too short to stress about being a few minutes late to class, especially in Amity Park of all places.

He looked up to see Madison, one of his shyer students walk in before making a beeline for his desk. She was biting her lip and nervously rubbing her hand down her skirt. “Hey,” she began quietly.

“Good morning. What’s up, Mads?” He asked casually. She looked upset, he could probably put on a video for the class if she needed to talk. They really needed a permanent counselor but the constant ghost attacks ran off most of them so he’d taken up the unofficial mantle. It felt good to help his students like that, make up for past wrongs.

“Are we um, expecting any new students?” She asked, her eyes darting over to the door she’d just come through. “Any transfers, exchange students or anything like that?”

“No,” the teacher frowned. “Amity isn’t the kind of place people transfer into. Why?”

“There’s a kid in the hallway,” she mumbled. “I don’t recognize him, he’s got a backpack and everything but he’s... I don’t know he doesn’t feel right.”

“Oh you’re talking about that weird dark haired kid,” Kyle said as he entered and sat down with a slouch. But even the class slacker looked unusually tense. “Dude’s creepy, can’t put my finger on why but he definitely doesn’t belong.”

“Oh,” was all the teacher had to say. Suddenly he realized how cold the classroom had become, the uncomfortable feeling that was pressing ever so slightly down on them. “I suppose it makes sense, the ghosts have been quiet lately with the Truce and all. He probably got bored.”

“Sir?” Madison said.

“Shannon,” he said instead, looking over at the frizzy haired girl hunched over her sketchbook furiously at work. “Would you do me a favor and move to the vacant seat in the second row? Just for today.”

“What? Why?” the girl whined even as she gathered up her various arts supplies and got ready to move.

“That’s Mr. Fenton’s seat,” he said taking in a deep breath and closing his eyes in preparation for what he was about to see. Danny would come here, of course he would. This was Lancer’s old classroom and Danny had him for first period English Lit. He and Dash both did.

“Mr. Baxter? What’s going on, is it a ghost?” Malik asked from the back row while Shannon shuffled to her new temporary seat.

“Yes but you don’t need to be scared,” he said softly, evenly. “He won’t hurt you.” The bell rang but Dash didn’t start the lesson. Instead, he waited. Danny had never been on time to class the entire time Dash had known him, of course death wouldn’t change that.

“Sorry, I’m late Mr. Lancer,” Dash gripped his desk so he didn’t jump when Danny Fenton simply appeared in front of his desk instead of walking through the door like any other student. “My folks couldn’t drive me, they’re still working on their stupid ghost portal.” A quick glance over at this class showed varying levels of fear, shock and curiosity but they were Amity kids through and through. The cold, powerful energy radiating off Fenton told them it was best to play along with whatever the ghost wanted.

“Perfectly alright Mr. Fenton,” Dash said softly, searching the 14 year old’s perpetually young face. He hadn’t changed a bit since Dash last saw him their second week of freshman year. It seemed unreal seeing how the years had taken their toll on Casper’s favorite son, Dash Baxter. God had they really been that young once? “Take a seat and we’ll get started.”

Danny shrugged and walked over to the seat Shannon had just vacated. He sat just the same, one leg stretched out and the other propped up against the leg of the desk. As soon as he took off the backpack and put it around the chair, it disappeared. He didn’t say anything else, just sat as stared at Dash with piercing blue eyes like he could see right through him.

“We had been talking about the lead up to the Civil War but let’s table that for today,” Dash said, proud his voice only wavered a little. He knew other people had seen Fenton around town. Lina saw him standing outside the Nasty Burger maybe five or so years ago. Dale, who used to live near Fenton Works swore he sometimes saw someone moving through the windows of the long abandoned house. He’d always secretly dreaded the thought of seeing Danny Fenton again, afraid he’d finally get was coming to him.

“Instead, we’re going to talk about local history,” he continued, not daring to take his eyes off the undead teen. Every other living student was tense, afraid. He wished he could assure them that the ghost wouldn’t lay a hand on them. In the event Fenton decided to ditch the hero schtick, it would be Dash and Dash alone he’d come after. “Amity Park has long had rumors of being haunted dating all the way back to the 1600s. It wasn’t until the last century that scientists determined that Amity Park is located on top of a thin spot between our world and the ghost realm. Natural portals form here all the time allowing spirits to pass through.”

No one spoke and barely anyone breathed except for Danny would wasn’t breathing at all. He just sat and stared at Dash with steady, unblinking eyes.

“Jack and Maddie Fenton were the scientists who discovered the weak point in reality in Amity. They devoted their entire life to the study of ghosts and made remarkable advancements in our knowledge of ectobiology and culture, the first being,” he paused as Danny cocked his head in confusion, squinting his eyes suspiciously at Dash. “The first being their manmade portal to the ghost zone. The portal remained active for almost two decades for research purposes but was shut down following their deaths.”

“You’re not Mr. Lancer,” Danny said suddenly, his eyes shifting from baby blue to an ectoplasmic green. Marty, who was sitting to the left of Danny, swallowed a squeak of fear and squeezed his eyes shut.

“No,” Dash sighed, “Lancer died almost thirty years ago now. Best teacher I ever had, he gave me his blessing when he passed on the job to me.”

“I,” the ghost ran his hand through his hair which was starting to lose its color. Seeing Fenton looking so scared and confused made him ache. It reminded him of old times. Dash had spent most of his life making sure he helped hurt kids if only to make up for the one he’d never been able to make it up to. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s okay, Danny,” he soothed. “I know it’s a lot to take in.”

“The portal, it wasn’t working at first,” Danny justified, his aura glowing a little more. “Sam and Tuck, they were curious. They wanted to look but I told them it wasn’t allowed, Sam, Sam she dared me to go in. I put on the hazmat suit and went inside and found the on button inside. I accidentally hit it and-” he paused midsentence and looked down at his hands. They weren’t pale flesh anymore but covered in white gloves. The black was completely bleached from his hair. A few of the students gasped as they saw the strange would be student melt into Phantom, the ghostly hero who’d been protecting their town since their parents were young. “I died.”

So much time had gone by. People were born and people were buried and the truth became distorted until it was just a legend passed jokingly around cafeteria lunch tables. Amity’s youth had forgotten their town’s history until it was sitting in a desk, trying once more to be one of them.

“You did,” Dash said sadly. He remembered hearing the news of Fenton's death. An assembly had been called the morning after the accident. Lancer had cried at the podium, Manson and Foley hadn’t returned to school for a week and had never been the same again. Dash hadn’t known what to think at the time, only that the kid he’d beat up for the crime of being different would never show up to school again. Or so he’d thought. “It was a tragedy, you were mourned by a lot of people.”

“I know you, don’t I?” Danny said quietly before he sat up straighter. “Dash?”

“In the flesh,” Dash grinned shakily.

“But you’re so old,” Danny said, once more distressed. “Your hair is grey and there’s wrinkles on your face and-and you’re a teacher now?” The last line was said with incredulity, his eyes flaring again. “You used to push me down the stone steps of the school and shove me into my locker and call me names.”

“Yeah, I did,” he sighed, feeling every one of his years. He was pushing 70 but he didn’t think he’d ever stop feeling like a stupid 14 year old who took out his frustrations on the ones who didn’t deserve it. “But you were the last; I never touched another kid again. I’m married now, four kids. I’m vice principal now, teach History and coach the school’s football team. It’s,” his voice caught again, still unable to process how young and stupid Fenton looked sitting there like no time had passed at all. It made Dash feel like all his accomplishments and attempts to be better would never amount to anything so long as his last victim roamed the earth unable to find peace. “It doesn’t fix what I did back then but I make damn sure that there won’t be any bullying at Casper so long as I’m here.”

“Huh,” Danny said, slouching once more in his seat but it looked less like his earlier teenage laziness and more weary. He and Dash were the same age after all, just because only one of them got old doesn’t mean time didn’t still affect them. “You did change, a lot of things did.” Danny looked down at the desk, “how long has it been?”

“Almost 50 years,” Dash sighed. “My wife wants me to retire but I guess I always find more things to do.” He paused then decided it was now or never. “I’m sorry Danny, for hurting you back then. I wish I'd gotten to know you better.”

For just a moment, Danny was perfectly clear. Even half floating out of his chair and looking like the local celebrity, his eyes were so painfully human. A boy killed before he ever got a chance to get started. Who’s will to protect was so strong it lasted half a century. It haunted him late at night to think of the glory and power of Phantom overshadowing just how incredible Danny Fenton had been. Not that anyone had seen it at the time. Soon there wouldn’t be anyone left to remember that quiet, kind teenager and then Danny Fenton really would be dead. Kill him just as thoroughly as that portal had.

The moment was broken by a breath of cold leaking out of the ghost’s lips and, just like that, his highschool classmate was gone and Phantom was left in his stead. He looked curiously around the classroom as if he didn’t know how he’d gotten there.

“There’s a ghost, stay here and don’t leave unless the fighting gets too close. I’ll get it though, don’t worry. No kids are dying today.” Maybe it was Dash’s imagination but he thought he saw Phantom’s eyes linger on him for an extra moment, trying to place where he knew the teacher from. Dash just smiled.

“Our lives are in your hands. Good luck, Phantom,” the ghost teen saluted before fading away entirely. Dash let out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, suddenly exhausted but also lighter at the same time. It wasn’t every day you got to look your mistakes in the face and apologize. “Shannon, you can move back now.”

“No, I’m okay here,” Shannon said as she flipped to a new page in her sketchbook and looked intently at the spot where Fenton had once sat. “It’s like you said, that’s Danny’s seat.”

“I had no idea, Phantom’s been around for like, ever,” Freddie mumbled, pushing up his glasses. “But he used to be just like us.” And still was, Dash thought sadly. Danny would never grow old, never go to space like he’d always dreamed or marry Manson like he’d probably intended to. He was stuck, in more ways than one for who knows how long.

“Yes, that’s why it’s important to know your history. The Civil War and my other lessons are important but we can’t forget these smaller, more intimate histories. If we lose these lessons to time then we risk repeating the same mistakes over again.” He looked his students in the eyes, holding their attention.

“So we’ll continue today with the local history. Before he was ghost butt kicking superhero, Phantom was Danny Fenton, son of the local ghost hunters and a bit of an outcast in town. The Daniel Fenton Foundation was founded about a year after his death and was-”

[sorcerese]

teneguine·:

✢⁎. oblivion yellow

Never before had Professor Oberon Dark seen a more esteemed pupil. 

Her magic is fierce, her natural aptitude for spellsinging far beyond even himself back in his prime. Anankos’ powers did much for him, in gloomy Nohr, but he can’t drop balls of scorching fury onto his foes and hop-skip his way back to safety like Delthea can. He’s seen the training dummies–or rather, what’s left of them. If ever there would come a more fitting cloud on which to forge a lightning bolt, he would take a vow of silence. 

There’s just one problem:

“Hoy, o Font of Brimstone and Pulsars! Verily, in my fell hand lies just one flaming question for thine mind of infinite power to ponder: have you ever considered giving your spells a dramatic touch?” 

Such a problem is the one and only reason he’s deciding to hold her after class today. It should be lunch time by now; Owain’s lectures on Fodlan’s history are often left with feet hurrying to the dining hall. But this–Delthea’s training, as he sees it–is more important than some measly meal. 

Setting aside his papers and his textbooks and his chromatic collection of chalks, he inches closer to the student–each step blocking more and more of the doorway.

“Stuff like special moves, battle cries, heroic epithets…” with each suggestion he uncurls and counts another finger, quickly running through his entire hand with how fast he fires them off, “Oh–and an alter ego! Many heroes of yore have donned the mantle of a second identity: one kept secret from their loved ones so the dark forces they conspire against would not shed their kindred blood!” 

It need not be said that excitement shimmers in each feature of Owain’s face: his eyes, ears, cheeks, flashy smile. But none of that holds a candle to the sudden pose he strikes, one hand falling over half his face, the other outstretched to poor Delthea while he breaks his back bending into an obtuse curve.

“Try something like this: Cower, mortals! The inferno rages! the storm swells! I am Delthea Dark, and with the ravenous force of my Vermillion Forcebolt, I shall teach you the meaning of revenge!” 

//starter for @sorcerese

             " what in mila's holy name did that idiot just call me? "        the prodigy says under her breath as she feels her eyelid oddly twitch for a moment taken aback by his eccentric personality, raising a hand to her nerve ticking eye she takes the longest painstakingly blink of her life. it was almost as bad as when alm handed her a bag of flour as rations. he rushes towards her she watches as he gets closer to her and she grips her cape in her hands and stops for a moment upon further realization.     “   oh.  ”   her mouth opened in surprise. she looked at his attire. looked around for a moment then realized .     “  oh crap.... he's a professor. am i in trouble? mmm.... no way i didn't get caught skipping at all last week.... ”    she keeps murmuring to herself. delthea wasn't exactly paying attention to him at first as her mind was rotating around the fact that she could potentially land herself in the first seat to detention hall this afternoon, she didn't plan on going back there after that one priest kept talking his head off about the rules and respect for the academy and whatever else he said... her memory is spotty considering shes perfected the art of mentally falling asleep mid-lectures. props to luthier for that one. she looks back at the professor who seemed more excited than upset with her. nice. maybe she wasn't in trouble.

 “   oh sorry, i didn't really catch too much of what you said i was busy thinking about the theory of magic in this realm. so forgive me i didn't catch too much of what you said but you were talking about incantations and what not?   ”    the prodigy flashes a painfully sweet smile as she lied through her teeth. she could hardly care about theories but professors love it when they see their student in thought about lectures right? at least, that much she could pick up from the one standing before her.     “  — errr, i haven't put too much thought in battle cries or incantations since back home we didn't find a need to make spells more complicated when they were inefficient in battle but i do enjoy casting magic in a stylish manner.  ”    she wasn't really lying, casting wind magicks to lift her to a better angle before casting another type of magic was kind of her style. she thought it looked cool to float and cast magicks at the same time like some kind of god or something of the sort.     “  alter egos? uhm... i think i know someone who kinda did that, but they scare me so i think i'll pass on that one.  ”    his eyes locked on to hers, his excitement seemed to be stronger than her current energy levels but she didn't mind this kind of attention... after all, she really was too cool and powerful of a mage to ever walk this earth.... or  so she claims. her ego is tickled pink and she closes her eyes and puts both hands on her hips in a rather confident pose.

      “  i'm glad you can see my obvious talents, professor owain, i'll try this... reccomendation of yours but with a bit less of... back pain. also, my last name isn't dark.  ”    she closes her eyes before clears her throat as she regains her composure, she raises her hand in front of her chest elbowed raised high as her other hand grabs hold of her cape lunging it forward.       “  BEHOLD.  Wielder of the most glorious, powerful, and grand magicks.   I AM DELTHEA ,   crimson-black blaze, though i promulgate the laws of nature, i am the alias of destruction incarnate in accordance with the principles of creation.  o crucible which melts my soul, scream forth from the depths of the abyss and engulf my enemies! BURST FORTH :  CRIMSON FLAMES !   ”     her voice echoes through the monastery halls ,  she hears it echo back as everyone who lurked around the halls stare at her and owain in surprise before walking away awkwardly. the mage remains frozen in her pose; her face rising in temperature. 'WHAT DID I JUST DO??'  she quickly regains control over her body and quickly shrinks into a fetal position on the floor, wrapping her cape around her body like a safety blanket, tears about to spill over in embarrassment.    “  there you go professor now if you dont mind... i'm just gonna die here now, thanks for the lesson.   ” 

[flashflashhundredyarddash]

Stephanie Brown was Robin for 104 days before she was fired.

There had been, also, the three month training period beforehand. Apparently, she had had the shortest training period of Robin (Dick had trained for a year, Jason had trained for 13 months, and after Tim’s first brief stint as Robin he’d trained for 7 months). Overall, it’s a record to be proud of.

She had helped stop 215 violent crimes. 43 criminals were charged with federal offenses due to work she did as Robin. She learned how to code in 23 different coding languages. She learned seven new languages. She could only do a quarter as many pull ups as Bruce, and she could only run four miles before having to stop to pant for breath to Bruce’s 32.

She would never be as good as her predecessors. It was in Bruce’s every sigh, his every scold. It was in the display case of a torn Robin suit in the Batcave.

Stephanie's Robin had been different. Because her training period had been so short, Bruce had taught her what he felt were the most important skills of being a vigilante. Do not let your fear control you. Always try your best to think before you act. Learn to fall before you learn to be Robin. Check your gear every night you go out. Above all, you listen to me.

Stephanie wasn’t so good at the last rule. No Robins were. She was upholding a very noble tradition.

***

“Found our perp,” Steph said around a mouthful of M&M’s.

“Hmm,” Bruce said and took a sip of his slushie she had made Bruce buy. She’d told him to get Mountain Dew and Banana. The lack of complete expression on his face told her Bruce thought it was one of the worst things he’d ever had in his life.

“I’ll take that off your hands for you,” Steph said.

“Please,” Bruce muttered.

***

Being Robin was simultaneously some of the best and worst experiences of her life. Bruce yelled at her every other day, and kind words were sparing. Some nights, it felt like she never did anything at all but follow behind Batman and feel small and lost.

But those few seconds between flinging herself into the air and catching herself with a grapple? She lived for that. All the Robins loved flying.

Cassandra Cain was on another level. In any given spar with Bruce, she could knock him on his ass nearly a majority of the time. She was so in control of her body Stephanie couldn’t even be jealous the way she was with Dick, because Cass was so far beyond anything Steph could even hope to achieve it didn’t matter.

Cass never minded that Steph said weird shit or made jokes that were only funny to herself (Steph was a comedian, okay? If you throw enough at the wall, some of them stick. Some don’t, though). Steph had done alright in school, and she was funny and fairly pretty, but because of her parents and then because of her extracurricular activities Steph had never really had a best friend before. Cass, though, was just as weird as Steph. One of her favorite hobbies was going to Target and making Steph push her around in the shopping carts. She genuinely loved pickle juice to an absolutely disgusting degree. She liked to listen to Jersey Shore and then copy lines to tell Bruce. Cass was the best friend Steph ever had.

Steph, despite any appearances to the contrary, was an intense person, and she had never had any deep connections with people because it had never seemed like anyone got her. Tim, for a time, had gotten her. Tim was just as intense and self-obsessed and weird as Steph was at that age, and the mantle of Robin was almost mythologic at that point and Tim was hot and cool and smart and seemed to think Steph was hot and cool and smart. Tim and Steph, at 14 and 15 respectively, had both very badly wanted to be seen and held and appreciated by someone else.

Growing up means outgrowing the person you used to be. It means the people you grow up with change, too. Tim was Tim Drake, and then he was Robin, and then for a while he wasn’t anything, and then he was Robin again and then he was Red Robin. Steph had been Stephanie Brown, and then she had been Spoiler, and then she’d been Robin and Spoiler and then she had been Batgirl. At some point, none of those identities fit together. And it sucked. But it was okay. She’d been in love with Tim at 15 in the only way she could have been in love at 15, and it wasn’t until she was older that she realized little-Steph’s thoughts that Tim Drake was the only boy she would ever love were both incredibly dramatic and also very sincere in a way that she missed.

Training with Barbara Gordon was even harder than training as Robin. Bruce had been training her to be a vigilante first, to get her the skills she needed, and to be a Robin second. Bruce, almost as soon he decided to train her, had realized Steph would never really be his Robin. Steph had understood this. Steph didn’t try to be Bruce’s Robin, or Dick’s or Tim’s (or Jason’s). She’d only tangentially been a Robin. A New-Robin. A Maybe-Robin. A Blonde-Robin and a Girl-Robin and the Girl Wonder and the Robin who was the first Robin to turn her head too fast and whack Batman in the face with her thick braid. Nightwing laughed so hard he cried. Steph had had no real expectations to live up to besides not dying, and she nearly fucked that one up, too.

Barbara had decided she had expectations for Steph. Babs and Cass both thought she was ready to be the next Batgirl (after a few more months of training, obviously. Dinah Lance hit like a motherfucker). Steph had wanted to be Robin, because every self-respecting boy and girl in Gotham wanted to be Robin. Even the kids from the worst parts of town, who’s parents spat about the Batman, pretended to be Robin in the streets.

Batgirl was different. When Barbara had started, she had worked with Batman, was obviously associated with him, had been trained extensively by him, but she was still her own vigilante. She had her own parts of town to patrol, her own investigations to pursue, her own people to call on in times of need. Robin was never allowed to age, not allowed to stray too far from Batman’s bulletproof cape. Batgirl was something both more profound and more real than Robin.

Steph had a legacy to live up to. Steph had several legacies to live up to. Batgirl had been something new that she could make hers in a way she would never be able to make Robin hers. It was a hard grueling task, and half the time Steph thought maybe she really wasn’t ready, but then Babs would give her a hand up, or Cass would smile teasingly at her and give her a water bottle, and Steph thought maybe she should let her self-deprecating thoughts take a backseat for a while.

Stephanie Brown loved the feeling of free-fall. All Batgirls did.

[aimless-imagines-for-fun]

Damian Wayne Dating HCs

Pairing :: older/adult!Damian Wayne x fem!Reader

Headcanon :: How Damian gets into and acts in a relationship

Word Count :: 1,676

Warnings :: N/A

A/N :: The image I’m using I created with Artbreeder. 

I didn’t call Damian “Robin” and referred to him as a vigilante because Dick stopped being Robin at 25, Jason 22, and Tim 18. The Damian I’m writing is 22. We don’t see much of Older!Damian, and when we do he’s either taken up the mantle of Batman or The Demon’s Head for The League Of Assassins

Getting into a relationship (all of this is in roughly a year) :

Neither you nor Damian know when you started dating, it just sort of happened

He met you at a bookstore you worked at, and you noticed he always came in buying older books about history, warfare, and strategies.

You found the warfare and strategies odd at first but chose not to question it

You asked him out first.

“Why do you always buy these books?” “I like history.” “Oh cool, I do too... Wanna hang out and talk about the First Battle of Tarain?”

You were joking, he said yes to get out of doing a thing with Tim

You each thought it was going to be a small amount of time spent together at some local cafe. You two ended up staying until closing talking about history.

This becomes a bi-weekly thing, you meet up at the cafe, talk until it closes, or go out and talk in a nearby park until sunset.

Damian’s family notices, but choose not to question what he’s doing because it’s seemingly making him less annoyed with people

Dick starts getting curious when he sees Damian smile just a tad bit looking at a text from you

You text him random facts all the time, but they’re weird. “Did you know squirrels are behind most power outages in the US?”

Eventually, you two stop talking about just history and start talking about other things that interest each of you and your personal lives. 

You open up more than Damian

Damian pays close attention when he notices you’re talking about something you’re genuinely passionate about He pays attention to detail in general.

For your birthday he got you a leather swiss army medic bag from WWII. You cried tears of joy and jumped onto him for a big long hug.

That was the first time Damian’s heart skipped a beat. After seeing you overjoyed, he realized he likes seeing you happy. It gave him a warm feeling, but he doesn’t know yet he has feelings for you.

Yours and Damian’s first “official date” was to a fancy Wayne Ent. event. This time Damian asked you. He’s super stiff.

“Would you like to accompany me to the upcoming-” “Are you asking me out on a date??” “No, I’m asking you to accompany me-” “I’ll go.”

No one in his family knows your coming, except for Alfred because he was asked to pick you up and bring you to the manor the day of. Alfred is confused the entire car ride because you act super chill

When you show up, the other boys surround you. Dick realizes who you are instantly, Jason thinks you’re not human, Tim is afraid you’re like Damian.

Bruce is silent, and a bit thankful his son found a normal human

Damian picked out your outfit: A fancy dark Sacramento green dress with black heels, a pearl necklace, and pearl bracelets to match.

You panicked when you saw the jewelry and Damian instantly goes into “comfort mode” to reassure you it’s fine. The family is shook.

At the actual event, you feel SUPER AWKWARD. Your family had enough to get by in life, so you feel very out of place around all the rich people

Damian can tell you’re uncomfortable and so he tries to hold onto you at all times to help you feel comfortable

Ex: He holds your hand, puts a hand on your shoulder, stands directly next to you so your arms are touching.

You eventually feel comfortable, but, you’re both bored there, so you suggest hiding in the outside garden

Finally alone, you two start talking about the other batboys

“Does Dick always try to show off odd party tricks?” “Only when he sees a pretty lady.”

“Why was Jason just standing in the corner looking at everyone?” “He doesn’t like dressing up.”

“Come on, there’s no way Tim’s actually happy here.” “Did you see him on the dance floor?” He has awesome dance moves, he’s just very energetic.

You eventually start talking about something else.

You can hear the music from inside, so you two start slow dancing together.

He’s holding one of your hands and has a hand placed on the small of your back. You rest your head on his shoulder and have your free hand flat on his chest.

It’s in this instant you each realize you have feelings for one another.

You two swayed around slowly until the song eventually ended.

When you two pull away, you stare into his green eyes briefly before you place a hand on his cheek and pull him down for a kiss.

Once In A Relationship :

You and Damian are a good pair because he’s serious and you’re go-with-the-flow. If he starts over-analyzing something, you start relaxing him. 

You two spend at least one day a week together, and you constantly text each other basic messages like “How was your day?”, “Are you okay?”, “Good morning/night”, “Have a nice day”

If you take over an hour to reply to Damian he gets anxious something bad happened to you.

He legitimately gets ready to start searching EVERY PART of Gotham until he gets a text “Sorry, I was taking a nap. Long day at work.”

When you two are together, you’re usually out or at your apartment. He only takes you to the manor if none of the other guys are there.

He took you once with everyone there. Never again.

Dick: “Oh my god! Look! He has a little girlfriend! How cute, Damian’s growing up.” “I’m 22.”

Tim: “You… You look so nice. Why? How is she so nice and you’re so… you.” “I’ll murder you and make it look like an accident.”

Jason: “How? Did you threaten her? Is he threatening you?” “Dames is super sweet.”

When you call Damian “Dames”, your nickname for him, they all lose their shit.

“DAMES?” “YOU HAVE A NICKNAME FOR HIM?” “DA-ME-SSS?” “DO YOU HAVE MORE?” “D-A-M-E-S?”

Your nicknames for Damian: Dame, Love, and Mr. Serious

Damian’s nicknames for you: Beloved, Love, and Sunflower

He briskly drags you away before you can say anything else, and you just go with it. 

“??I thought we were going to talk more to your brothers??” “They’re not my brothers.” “Okay. I appreciate you.” “.....I appreciate you too.”

You two don’t say “I love you” very often. Instead, you say “I appreciate you”. You do say “I love you” in private/intimate moments, but in public/at random you say “I appreciate you”

Damian isn’t possessive, just protective. There’s a difference. 

He’s never been in a serious relationship before and he’s never loved someone romantically like with you before, so he wants to make sure you’re safe and comfortable 24/7

The first time a random guy catcalled you while you were with Damian, he instantly defended your honor.

“What did you say?” He grabs the guy and easily raises him a foot off the ground. He forces the guy to apologize and lets him fall on the ground after.

Quickly, you reassured Damian he doesn’t need to go to such lengths to “defend your honor”. You tell him to ignore people like that guy because they’re nobodies.

After a few months, you start to pick up on the fact you two rarely spend time together after sunset.

You questioned him once about it and he quickly told you it’s because he helps his father with Wayne Ent. You never questioned him again.

You didn’t 100% believe his answer, but trust he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you

One time you called him crying at night. He was about to go on patrol, then dropped everything to go to your apartment and make sure you were okay.

Damian got a key to your apart about a year into the relationship.

There are times you go to sleep alone and wake up with him asleep, arms wrapped around you. He doesn’t do this often, only after a rough night on a patrol or a particularly dark mission.

Damian’s usually a realist, but when he sees you smile and laugh, he becomes an optimist for a split second

He isn’t big on PDA, so depending on his mood sometimes you hold hands when walking, other times you just lock your pinkies together.

When one of you notices the other is upset though, then you get touchy to calm the other down

Sometimes, when you two are alone at your apartment or the mansion, you don’t speak. You just rest and enjoy the silence while laying on top of one another.

If you lay on Damian, you’re literally on top of him snuggling into his chest. He holds one of your hands and rubs your back.

If Damian lays on you, you’re usually sitting and he places his head on your lap. You love playing and messing around with his hair.

When you found out Damian’s a vigilante, it was a massive accident

You called him while he was on patrol, whispering in a shaking voice that two men had broken into your apartment.

He booked it to your apartment and busted through the window, in costume.

After taking care of the guys and handing them over to the authority, he starts questioning you to make sure you’re okay. When you don’t answer he realizes he’s still in costume talking to you now.

You’re in shock because now a lot of things make sense.

You’re upset for about an hour(because Damian knows how to make you happy when you’re angry) and then you’re utterly fascinated by Damian’s other life

Damian tells you he doesn’t want you to know a lot because it could put you in danger and you’re the one part of his life that’s normal

You accept his wishes and continue with your relationship as normal.

There are only two things that changed:

One: Damian moves you to a more secure apartment and makes sure you have plenty of bats or batons you could use to protect yourself “just in case”

Two: Damian spends almost every night at your apartment after patrol now

[aspoonofsugar]

Ironwood and Cinder: The Final Word

Cinder: And that’s… checkmate.

The Final Word of the volume is Cinder’s and it is meaningful she says it to Ironwood.

As a matter of fact Ironwood and Cinder are two sides of the same coin on many levels. This is conveyed also structurally.

Volume 7 is mostly about Ironwood’s tragic spiral. We are shown him struggle with his flaw throughout the whole volume, but in the end he loses to it and becomes just as dangerous as Salem:

Oscar: Then you're as dangerous as she is, James.

Not only does volume 8 close with Cinder instead, but it also opens with her:

And it even gives us her backstory:

Why does it happen? And why is Cinder’s final line so important when it comes to her foiling with Ironwood?

GRAVITY

It is not by chance that Watts calls both Ironwood and Cinder out before the climax of respectively volume 7 (Ironwood) and volume 8 (Cinder). This is because, as stated above, volume 7 is Ironwood’s volume, while volume 8 is Cinder’s. So they both are confronted with a truth about themselves and their reaction to it influences their stories in the Atlas arc.

In a sense, even if Watts is the one dangerously hanging over an abyss... it is actually Ironwood and Cinder who are on the brink. They are deciding Watts’s survival, but they are also deciding their own destiny.

They are choosing if to fall because of gravity or if to fly in the sky victorious.

At the same time, the two scenes with Watts show how Cinder and Ironwood are both similar and opposites.

AS ABOVE, SO BELOW

Ironwood and Cinder are nothing, but two products of Atlas’s society.

Ironwood was born at the very top:

Watts: You just stood atop it and called yourself a giant!

Cinder existed at the very bottom:

Watts: You think you're entitled to everything just because you've suffered, but suffering isn't enough! You can't just be strong, you have to be smart! You can't just be deserving, you have to be worthy! But all you have ever been, is a BLOODY MIGRAINE!

Watts is in the middle and he represents the worst traits of both.

He wants everything, just like Cinder:

Ironwood: I gave you everything you could have wanted!

But differently from Cinder it was no true he had nothing. He was successful, had food, clothes and respect. Still, he was never satisfied and ended up disgracing himself in the search of something more.

He also disregards feelings in favor of rationality, just like Ironwood:

Watts: Our tin soldier’s heart has cost him his mind.

And he sees people under him as inherently inferior:

Watts: Yes, yes, please keep your posse in check.

This is why his death is fitting:

Cinder: I merely added more flames to the fires of Atlas.

He burns with Atlas aka the city he wants to destroy, but also a symbol of who he is deep down.

What is more, his death happens specifically because he blindly follows his wishes:

Watts: Oh, believe me, this is everything I've ever wanted.

And because he is outsmarted and manipulated by Cinder:

Cinder: You deserve this, Arthur. We'll be back.

He is proud of his genius and rationality, but in the end he dies because of his feelings of pettiness.

In short, Watts, Cinder and Ironwood represent three social classes of Atlas and how the system corrupts people at every level. In general, all three want to be at the very top, but disreguard and mistreat the ones below.

-This is why Ironwood seeks control even in situations where he is not in charge, like the Vytal Festival. He also challenges Ozpin’s authority and leadership because he is not used not to be the one deciding. At the same time, he is shown ready to discard Mantle in multiple occasions.

-This is why Watts can call out Ironwood’s arrogance without seeing he is exactly the same as him.

-Finally, this is why Cinder lashes out at people she sees as Atlas elites (the Schnees, Ironwood, Watts), but treats those below her just like she was treated:

Emerald: We don't need him! Everything was going fine! (a slap is heard, and she cries out in pain)

Cinder: Do not mistake your place.

Mercury: Oh yeah? Tell that to--

Cinder: Quiet.

THE ENEMIES OF TRUST

Both Ironwood and Cinder’s left arms are artificial. Ironwood’s is mechanical, while Cinder’s is Grimm.

Their respective arms convey opposite approaches to things.

On a more general level, they are respectively linked to Creation (Ironwood’s mechanical arm) and to Destruction (Cinder’s Grimm arm). As a matter of fact a robotic arm is a human creation, while Grimms are nothing, but the symbol of destruction.

On a personal level, their arms hint at the two characters’ opposite personalities.

Ironwood’s arm can’t feel pain.

Cinder’s is instead linked to pain and feelings in different ways:

Raven: Aura can't protect your arm, it's Grimm.

Salem: You chose to disobey my specific instructions just to fail again.

Cinder: She’s back…

Cinder feels great pain whenever her Shadow Hand is cut because she can’t protect it with aura. At the same time, it is used by Salem to torture her. Finally, it links her to Salem to the point that she knows when her Master is back.

In other words, Cinder’s arm lets her feel more, while Ironwood’s lets him feel less.

This difference is mirrored by both the ways Ironwood and Cinder respectively attack Watts and by their semblances:

Ironwood’s Mettle lets Ironwood suppress his own feelings, so that he can pursue any objective, no matter how cruel or immoral it is. It makes him “superhuman”, but in a very negative sense.

Cinder’s Scorching Caress represents Cinder’s explosive emotions. It is a form of self-expression, which is both destructive and self-destructive.

Ironwood’s semblance is about repression, while Cinder’s is about lashing out.

Similarly, Ironwood goes after Watts at the cost of his arm and he ignores the pain he feels:

Watts: I wouldn't do that if I were you. I mean, unless you're hoping to add more metal to that body of yours.

Cinder instead goes after Watts to vent her anger:

Cinder: What do you mean, she'll destroy herself? How am I supposed to take her power if she's dead?!

Both are extremes and both are wrong, as Winter explains:

Winter: But yes Penny, we must still acknowledge our personal feelings, wrestle with them. It ensures us that we’re on the right path. It’s what makes us human.

Ironwood and Cinder should aknowledge their own feelings not to be consumed by them.  It is also the only way for them to truly be humans, not machines or monsters, but simply people.

Both characters almost succeed just before the climax of their respective volumes.

Ironwood tries to open up to others:

And Cinder shows vulnerability:

However, none of them is able to capitalize on this chance for development. This is ironically because of each other:

Cinder messes with Ironwood’s insecurities, while Ironwood’s ultimatum gives Cinder the perfect chance to ignore hers.

The result is that Ironwood goes back to control, while Cinder goes back to manipulation. Both do so because they are unable to trust.

Interestingly, they take after their respective mentors in this.

Ironwood takes after Ozpin:

Ironwood: Did you really think you were the only one who got to work on a new plan after Beacon? WIth Ozpin gone, I needed my own team of people I could trust.

Oscar: General? Earlier, you asked for my advice.

Ironwood: I wanted Ozpin's advice.

Oscar: And his advice probably would've been to keep your secrets.

Cinder takes after Salem:

Salem: When I chose you as my vessel for the Maidens, I put my trust in you. So, I trust that you wouldn’t possibly return to me empty-handed.

Ironwood’s whole struggle in volume 7 is his search for a “new approach”. He wants to be like Ozpin, but better. This is why he founds his own group, but wants to trust the world with the truth about Salem. However, he confuses trust with control.

Cinder instead wants to become just like Salem and suffers when she sees she is not. This is why she collects assets, just like her master. This is also why she does not trust anyone, but manipulates others.

That said, what is the difference between Ironwood’s control and Cinder’s manipulation? It has once again to do with feelings.

Ironwood’s attempt to manipulate others is about suppressing feelings. He uses Atlas’s military hierarchy and social structures to ask for his subordinates’ blind loyalty.

Cinder’s method to control people lies instead in making use of others’ feelings. She uses both wishes and fears to her advantage.

In short, control and manipulation are nothing, but the same inability to trust declined in opposite ways. They are both “enemies of trust”.

This is why both Ironwood and Cinder find a strong enemy and a foil in the character, who embodies friendship in these volumes:

Deep down, Ironwood and Cinder not trusting others is because they fear betrayal:

Cinder: I won’t have to run now.

Rhodes: That’s all you’ll ever do.

Ironwood: I've chased a lot of shadows over the years, always expecting betrayal. But never once did I think it would ever come from you.

However, Penny too is betrayed and mistreated by others:

Penny: I do not like it when friends fight.

Ruby: I know. Yang and I may not agree on how best to save Mantle but-

Penny: No. I mean Winter. The general. They were our friends. But then the Ace Ops attacked you. And the general, he said people were going to die, because of me.

 However, she does not give up on the ideal of a genuine bond:

Attached but not By strings

Still, if Penny is a positive foil to both Ironwood and Cinder, why does she die?

RISK

Weiss: Trust is a risk.  

Yang: Ruby, they’re not called sure things, they’re called risks.

These two lines taken together are why at the end of volume 8 Penny dies, our heroes fall and the manipulative Cinder wins.

It happens to show the main theme of the two Atlas volumes. Trust is not a “sure thing”. It is a risk and it does not always work. Still, it is necessary to trust as it is necessary to take risks:

Yang: You were being optimistic. Look, blind optimism isn’t great, but no optimism means we already lost. We need hope. We need to take risks.

Giving up on trust and risks means giving up on hope. It means to give in to fear.

Still, this does not mean your trust will always be paid back. And it does not mean that the risks you take will always work, even if you come up with a wonderful plan:

Cinder: I knew your plan would be bold, but I never could have predicted all of this...

Sometimes people will betray you:

Sometimes your risk will end up in a fall:

However, it is still worth to trust, even when you have no guarantee it will work:

And sometimes It is even worth to risk the fall because it may lead to people being saved:

This same idea is conveyed also through Penny’s final choice:

Penny: Trust me.

Winter: Thank you for trusting me with this.

Penny dies tragically, but she still manages to pass the Maiden’s power to a person she trusts.

This is especially meaningful because the Winter Maiden power, just like Penny herself, has been subjected to both control and manipulation.

Ironwood does all he can to make sure the power ends up to Winter. At the same time, he is the one most responsible for Penny feeling as nothing, but a robot:

Ironwood: As the official report stated, that footage was doctored. Penny is completely under my control.

Cinder tries to steal the power three times. She also manipulates Penny’s feelings towards her friends:

Cinder: I was hoping your friends would be here. But it looks like they left you to do all the work. You’re just a tool to be used!

In the end, Ironwood treating Penny as a machine (control) and Cinder using Penny’s love for her friends against her (manipulation) are among the psychological factors that lead Penny to be mortally wounded by Cinder.

Still, while dying Penny negates both Ironwood and Cinder and frees the power and herself from both control and manipulation.

The fact she chooses Winter works well to illustrate this.

Winter is the person Ironwood wants as the next Maiden. However, Winter becomes a Maiden not because of Ironwood’s control, but because of Penny’s trust:

Ironwood: So… the destiny I chose for you has arrived.

Winter: You chose nothing. This...was a gift.

Winter is a Schnee, so she represents both what Cinder hates and what she herself wants to be:

Cinder to Winter: You Atlas elites are all the same! You think hoarding power means you’ll have it forever, but it just makes the rest of us hungrier.

Winter is a symbol of Atlas and so she is a reminder to Cinder that Atlas is not really destroyed:

Robyn: What do you think a kingdom is? The people, or just the chunk of land they live on?

Just like Cinder’s past isn’t.

WORTHY

Cinder wants to be worthy. Ironwood wants to be a hero.

Deep down, Ironwood and Cinder want the same thing. They want to be above others. They want to be more than humans.

However, they go at it in opposite ways:

Ironwood: I have sacrificed everything!

Cinder: I want it all...

Ironwood thinks that victory lies in sacrificing everything, while Cinder sees it as taking it all.

These opposite viewpoints mirror their respective social stances.

Ironwood can say he wants to sacrifice everything because he has everything.

Cinder thinks happiness lies in everything because she has nothing:

Cinder: You’re right. Without you I am nothing. But because of you, I am everything.

In the end, Ironwood and Cinder are each other’s true enemies, but they fail to see it and lash out against the wrong people:

Ironwood and Cinder’s respective fight against Winter and Weiss is exactly this.

Ironwood fights a Maiden he sees as an enemy of Atlas, while another Maiden is attacking the people he swore to protect.

Cinder lashes out at Weiss because of her origins, while Weiss has decided to leave her status and money behind to make the right thing.

Still, Ironwood and Cinder are too hypocritical to see the truth. This is why they attack people, who could have helped them, if they were given the chance.

This is also why they receive a warning:

Winter: No, you have sacrificed everyone else!

Winter: You… are going to pay… for everything you’ve done!

Ironwood claims he is ready to sacrifice everything. However, he never sacrifices himself:

In the end, he is unable to sacrifice his life to fight Salem.

Let’s highlight he has nothing to lose by this point. He is falling with Atlas anyway. In his final moments, he is given the chance to prove true to his words:

I would die Without regret, I’d offer up my life With zero reservations I would fly Into the sun If that would keep our dream alive

Instead, he gives up. He has been shooting his allies until the very end, but freezes in front of his enemy.

Cinder thinks she is closer to her final victory, but in the end she has accomplished nothing of what she truly wants.

She wants to kill RWBY, but they are alive. She wants the Maiden powers, but she fails.

At the same time, Cinder is still far away from what she truly needs:

Cinder: You have everything you need?

Watts: Oh, believe me, this is everything I've ever wanted.

She is given a perfect mirror of herself in Watts. Still, instead of seeing it, Cinder uses his flaw, which is her same flaw, to kill him. Watts’ wants lead to his death and the same thing might happen to Cinder if she does not stop herself in time.

Finally, there is this:

Salem: This game is not yours to win, Cinder, it’s mine. Just because you’re more valuable to me than a pawn, does not make you a player. Everything is already in motion. All you need concern yourself with is your ability to act when I tell you to.

Ironwood and Cinder share a chess motif.

Ironwood thinks of himself as a player and specifically as Salem’s opponent.

Cinder is instead told she is no player.

However, in the end, Ironwood becomes a mere pawn to the point that all Watts has to do is to open his cell to be sure he is going to unwillingly aid in Cinder’s plan.

What is more, he is so fixated on Salem that he fails to aknowledge the people below him. This is why his true opponent is a slave that Atlas exploited.

Cinder frames herself as a player instead. She is the one who truly makes the first move against Ironwood and ultimately she is the one who defeats both him and our protagonists. Finally, she is the one who calls checkmate.

Still, is she really playing her own game?

In the end, the one who gets what she wants is not Cinder, but Salem:

And all she has to do to obtain it is one small move:

Salem: And I’ve realized, it’s all my fault. You’ve fought your whole life unwaveringly for what you want and here I am holding you back instead of lifting you up.

While Cinder is once again letting her talent be exploited by those above her. She is choosing to be Salem’s Queen instead than a player of her own life.

She is the Black Queen defeating the White King, but nothing more.

[rayshippouuchiha]

naruto moves into the forest of death bc loving that place is in his blood

I see this, I love this, it begins a long time before Naruto is born and it goes a little bit like this:

Hashirama never fully recovers from the fight with Madara.  Not really, not fully, not in the ways that truly matter for a man and a shinobi.

He keeps a strong presence for the village and those who would seek to do Konoha harm but to those closest to him, to those who know the man behind the titles and the legend, the differences are stark and grim.

Hashirama spends more and more time in the forest, spends days and nights out amongst the trees and the flowers and the sprawling roots, pouring more and more of himself into all of it as he goes.

Tobirama argues with him about his distraction, about his distance, about his decision to pass the mantle of Hokage onto Tobirama who never really wanted it but wears it now because he must, because Hashirama asked.  Because Tobirama has always done all he could do to make whatever Hashirama wanted into a reality.

Hurt and hurting Tobirama’s words and accusations are cold and cutting, because that is what a life of too much war and too little peace has made him in moments like this, when fear and love rides him hard, and unlike Hashirama he’s never been able to slip more than a fraction of that mantle.  But, most of all, Tobirama is desperate not to let his beloved elder brother slip through his fingers like so many others have in the past.

They built the village Hashirama and Madara dreamed of to stop the death and the suffering so why is Tobirama’s beautiful and lively brother seemingly so determined to fade away.  To go where Tobirama cannot follow?

He doesn’t understand and if there’s one thing Tobirama truly hates in this life it is not knowing.

But Hashirama just smiles at him, reaches up to pull him down so he can press a kiss to Tobirama’s forehead, and then drifts away back into the trees.

Mito watches her husband just as closely and sees what Tobirama, her brother in all the ways that matter, sees.

Hashirama, once so vibrant and alive, is ... diminished.  Fading bit by bit.

But, unlike Tobirama, Mito keeps her silence.  Words have not been necessary between her and Hashirama for years now.

Instead she follows him into the forest when time and her duties will permit it, sometimes even when they do not.  She watches him breathe new life into a forest that already teems with it.  Watches him eradicate sickness from saplings, watches him push them to grow until they are towering monoliths with bark as hard as iron.  She watches him run calloused, battle worn fingertips over flower petals and leaves with the gentle sort of reverence that he’s always touched her with in their quieter moments, in the times when passion and lust and heat were not necessary. When only love was.

She loves him all the more in those moments, in these moments of fading light, even when she knows that he is leaving her.  Going somewhere she cannot follow, not with her duties, not with what she carries.  Not yet.  Likely not for decades to come.

“Mito,” Hashirama sighs to her one night when the fireflies are thick and the trees sway down to meet the both of them.  “My beloved Mito.”

“Husband,” Mito murmurs back as she always does, one hand smoothing over his hair where his head is resting in her lap.  “My foolish husband.”

“I cannot give you back the sea,” Hashirama whispers once the silence has grown thick and heavy around them.  “I cannot return you to the whirlpools and the eddies.”

“You took neither from me so they are not yours to return,” Mito tells him sternly, lovingly.  “My choices were and are my own, you wood brained idiot.  They have never been yours to carry.  If I wanted the ocean I would simple go to it.  But Konoha is my home now.”

“My fierce fire-pearl,” Hashirama smiles then, soft and small.  “My beloved ocean rose.  I would bring the very sea here to meet you if I could.  Or I’d pester Tobirama into doing it for me.  But instead I give you this, an ocean of trees, a sea of leaves and flowers as wild and untamed as Uzushio’s itself.  Here you will always be safe, here you will always find me.”

“I will never need to find you,” Mito tells him, the hand laid atop his chest clenching just a bit in the battle silk above his heart.  “You will not go where I cannot follow you, you know better by now.”

“Of course, dear,” Hashirama smiles.

They both know it for the lie that it is.

They both know he’s already leaving.

And when he loves her there, pressed down onto a bed of soft clover and surrounded by trees that seem to sing, Mito tangles her hands in his hair, raises her hips to meet his own as steadily as the tide, and weeps.

~~~

Mito is a widow no more than a month later.

~~~

Tobirama does not weep but the skies do it for him, monsoon like rain washing over Konoha the moment he feels Hashirama’s living and present chakra signal fade away into nothing.

For three days and nights there is only rain, water rushing down streets and swelling the rivers and lakes.

The villagers pray for sun.

Tobirama mourns.

The trees of the forest sway and sing.

~~~

Years pass and Mito wanders the forest in her free moments, hands trailing over tree trunks and vines alike, fingertips ghosting over flower petals and slowly unfurling buds.

As she walks she whispers or rants or sometimes sings, telling the forest her days, her nights, her triumphs and her failures.

And always, always, the trees hum and sway and sing back to her in welcome, in safety.

In love.

~~~

Tobirama wanders the forest in his free moments, leaving streams and ponds in his wake as he goes.  He pulls fresh water to the surface, cleanses stagnation where he finds it and ensures that it does not return.

‘Refuge,’ Tobirama thinks as he pulls water from the air and the ground as he breathes his own form of life into the forest his brother had loved and nurtured like a child.  The forest he had tried and failed to hate in his grief.  ‘Let this be a refuge, let this be a place of peace.’

He does not speak to the trees that feel so like his brother and yet not.  Does not talk or argue or scream or rage or beg.  He keeps his silence now as he had not then.

But the trees sing back regardless.

Hashirama had always known all of the things Tobirama could never bring himself to say.  Had always been able to read beneath and between and around whatever Tobirama did.

His forest is no different.

~~~

Far too soon Tobirama is gone as well and Mito is alone in a way that has far too little to do with the number of people around her and everything to do with her heart.

More years pass and her isolation, her loneliness, only grows.

She is one of last of a quickly dying breed, one of the few who truly remembers life before the villages.

She aches for her husband, for her brother, for her family.

Sometimes, in her darker moments, she even aches for the burden she knows she will pass onto another.

And now she aches for the Clan she has lived long enough to see destroyed.

When Uzushio falls Mito takes to the forest as she always does these days.  As she has for years and years now.

She does not rage.

She does not weep.

Instead, kunai in hand, she bleeds.

Uzumaki blood and life force flow out onto rich dark soil, is pressed onto iron bark tree trunks and splattered over flowing vines and unfurled leaves.

Seals flow from her bloody finger tips, are pressed into the ground with every whisper quiet step she takes.

“Shelter,” Mito half begs, half demands to the forest that has been her companion for so long now.  “Uzushio has fallen.  Hashirama, my love, my people are slaughtered and scattered and lost.  You said you would give me the sea if you could, you said this forest was built for me as much as it was for the village.  So let this be a shelter. Let this be a place of safety for those who truly need it.  Let the Uzumaki blood find home and hope beneath these branches as I long have.  Let them know your love as I do.  Should they come, let them stay.”

And all around her the forest hums and sways and sings.

Mito, bloody hands pressed against the trunk of the colossal tree that Hashirama had once made love to her under, laughs.

And then, finally, she weeps.

~~~

Time passes, the village moves forward, and so many, too many, forget things that should never be forgotten.

The forest grows darker, the trees, with their tunneling roots, grow more imposing, the animals more vicious and wild.

The trees stop singing.

Instead they rattle and shake and hum in what some would swear is anger.

~~~

Naruto has always liked plants.

Has always liked the green and growing things that can be found almost everywhere around the village.

Trees and flowers and vines don’t hurt him.  They don’t call him names, or throw things at him, or spit and stare and hit.

Plants are kind. Plants are safe.

And there’s far too few things or places or people in the village that Naruto can truly call safe.  Not for him.

Chest aching, Naruto swipes at the mess of blood and tears smeared across his face as he pushes himself to go faster, to run harder.

He just wants to be away.  Away from the name calling and the hitting.  Away from the hurt.

He barely even pauses when he hits the fence littered with warning signs he can only half read, just scrambles up and over it without even breaking his stride.

Naruto might not be good at or for much of anything but he’s always been good at this.  At running and climbing and finding his own way.  It’s not much but it’s all he has.

The forest is dark and gets darker the deeper he runs.  The trees grow thicker and taller as he goes too, grow bigger than anything Naruto has ever seen besides the Hokage Mountain.

He runs until he can’t anymore, until he collapses at the base of a tree even bigger than the others he’s seen in the forest.

Chest heaving, tears welling up in his eyes again, Naruto presses his bloody hands and face against the thick bark and cries.

Around him to forest goes still, goes quiet.

“Please,” Naruto whispers, unsure of why he feels the need to talk to trees when not even people want to listen to him. “Please help.  It hurts. It hurts so much.  I don’t want to go back.  Please.”

And even as exhaustion rips and claws at him, forcing black in around the edges of his vision, Naruto swears that, for a split second, the tree he’s leaning against almost seems to sing.

[ellsbclls]

The Fire Escape

warnings ➛ A couple of swear words here and there, mentions of death, endgame spoilers, and a dash of far from home erasure.

word count ➛ 4.7K

synopsis ➛ After the events of End Game, Peter Parker takes a break from his crime fighting persona, but when Spider-Man is called to a mission in Sokovia, he realizes that you might not be ready to handle the life of an Avenger’s girlfriend. There’s a little bit of angst, but not enough to keep you up at night.

“Y/N… Earth to Y/N.”

Peter ropes you back to reality with a light squeeze of your hand, a simple gesture that you return two-fold. On normal dates, the competition would ignite almost immediately, squeezing each other’s hands back and forth, under varying degrees of pressure, until one of you cried uncle — but this is far from a normal date.

It had started innocently enough. Peter had begged Dr.Banner to let him leave his “internship” an hour early just so he could surprise you at work. You assumed — after some superb groveling on Peter’s part — that Bruce agreed, because the end of your shift was met with a parchment wrapped dozen of blushing roses, accompanied by your equally blushing boyfriend. The two of you were able to snag one of the emptier carts on the N train, and were accompanied by a small Greek woman who sent a warm smile when you nestled your head into Peter’s shoulder. The smile disappeared as soon as he started using the poles as his personal jungle gym, but your laugh made up for its loss as he offered his hand out, begging you to join him with a Gene Kelly-esque flair. He ushered you into one of your favorite ramen places during your stroll down Ditmars, pulling out your chair when you were given a table, pretending not to notice how you snuck a noodle or two from his bowl when he wasn’t looking. Your heart felt so warm, you’re surprised it didn’t melt.

So why does everything seem so off now? You and Peter are walking side by side down 37th avenue, he’s rambling excitedly about some new enhancement he made to his web slingers, the evening breeze is kissing your cheeks as it waltzes around the autumn foliage, and somehow, you feel like you’re in the eye of a hurricane.

“Where’d you go?” Peter tries to reel you back in once more and succeeds, craning his head to meet your gaze.

“Oh, just a quick jog.” you tease. There’s a thin edge underlying your sarcasm, and you wonder if he can hear it, too. You’re only a block away from your apartment, and the tiny voice in the back of your mind rationalizes that nothing could ruin your impromptu date night if you were tucked away in your home — because you always feel safe when you’re home. Yet, with no solid evidence to confirm or deny the thought, you’re in a race with the block to dig through your purse.

“Oh, well don’t forget to warm up.” he teases back. His caramel hues, once alight with a mirthful glint, start to descend into an uneasy resolve that only confirms your suspicions, but you’re too occupied by the whereabouts of your keys to notice. “Speaking of warm up, actually, there’s something I have to ask you.”

“Shoot.” you reply offhandedly.

“Well, I- I don’t know how to say this.” The tremor in his voice is subtle, but just present enough to pull you from your search.   “There’s- uh- there’s something going on in Sokovia, or at least what’s left of it. There’s a lot of feedback coming off the maps, like a… a hotplate of cosmic activity, so Captain wants the entire team there.”

There it is — that dark cloud that hung over your head this evening finally drenches you in a sharp, cold blanket of realization. Your heart stops, aches, and then crumbles to the pit of your stomach, waiting to be washed away by the waves of terror that crash upon your airways, and despite the wash cycle of emotions you’ve just endured, you feel far from clean. In fact, everything feels heavy — from the weight of your heart to your ragged breath — paralyzed by the idea that each thump, each exhale, brings you closer to the moment where Peter has to leave.

You started dating a year and a half ago, and two years have passed since half of the population was restored to its rightful plane of existence. Iron Man’s death left a massive hole in Peter’s morale, as well as a nagging doubt that he would never be able to take on the mantle he was left with. So, for the first time since he was bitten by that radioactive spider, he cowered in the face of adversity. Not only had he lost a mentor, he had lost his friend — and when Tony Stark sacrificed his life, he was under the impression that the heroes he saved would continue to protect the world, but sometimes Peter wonders if that still reigns true. If Mr.Stark knew just how easily the team had crumbled, how easily he had crumbled, would he still leave? Three and a half years later and Peter still can’t find the answer.

Meanwhile, when it seemed like the world needed him most, Spiderman slipped into obscurity. Now he only makes an appearance when the newscast is a little too bleak to ignore, and even then, he usually sticks to the rogue bank heist or back alley mugging.

You try not to pry, knowing that each time you ask about his brief hiatus is like poking an open wound, and, albeit selfishly, you relish in the fact that your boyfriend isn’t throwing himself in harm's way. However, now seems like a better time than ever for an interrogation, seeing as this is not only the first Avengers mission he’s attended in your relationship, but the first mission to ever span past the Hudson.

No obstacle prior has conjured a looming sense of dread and anxiety as palpable as the one you’re toting now. You can already feel it bubbling in your chest, like a cauldron of endless toils, expelling a hazy fog that makes your head spin.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t give out on me now.” You don’t realize that your knees buckled beneath you until Peter comes to your rescue, and you silently wish that all of his heroic excursions could be this simple. The warmth of his hand bleeds past your winter coat and business casual blouse as it settles against the small of your back, and your body betrays you as it melts into his touch. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m actually not CPR certified.”

“I- I’m sorry.” Your mouth is bone dry, and you can barely muster a laugh convincing enough to counter his attempt at humor, so you don’t. You opt on settling your gaze upon the entrance of your building, just over Peter’s shoulder, and trying to ground yourself enough to stand without his help.

Peter’s hand still lingers on your form when you shuffle away from him, moving from the small of your back to the curve of your elbow. He can tell that you’re shaken, he expected that much from the get go, so he doesn’t leave your side, encroaching on the space you so obviously seek.  

“I don’t know- I don’t…” You muster just enough courage to counter his gaze, and a tiny frown creases between your brows, confusion riddling every other feature. “What exactly are you asking me?”

He pauses, searching for the answer himself. “Well, I guess- I just wanna know how you’re feeling.”

You chalk it up to your sudden sense of irritability, but his question just pisses you off. How dare he throw out a semblance of hope, a faulty impression, that you’d have any choice in this matter. You climb the three steps up to the front door, dolled up in dismay, and still try to find purchase in the illusion that you have any control in the matter. Maybe that’s what pushes you over the deep end, your once honeyed voice now curdled by venom — the hopelessness of it all. “Oh, I’m fine! I’m amazing, Peter. After the way you buttered me up all evening, how could I possibly be upset?”

“Y/N, that’s not fair-” Peter’s visibly taken aback, his features mimicking your own. You can see the cogs turning in his head, formulating some way to diffuse this situation before it really begins, but now that the gates are opened, it’s too late for you to hold anything back.

“Why not? Cause it’s the truth?” You cut him off, freshly manicured nails digging into your palms in an attempt to keep your tone even. “Let me tell you what’s not fair — You don’t even know how long you’re gonna be gone, do you?”

You’re met with a mutual silence, which confirms just how equally unaware you both are.

“Exactly.” At this point, your nerves are getting the best of you. Whether you lay all of your feelings out to him tonight or not, a sickening thought will remain — Peter is going to leave, and there’s a chance he won’t come back. So you persist, your hues boring into his own with each word. “You don’t know what it’s like to sit in our bed and wonder if you’re gonna be in it the next morning. You don’t know how terrifying it is to watch the news and pray to god that you’re not a part of it. You’re never going to be in my shoes when it comes to all of this, and I pray to god that you never have to be because I never want you to feel this way. That’s what’s not fair.” You wish your voice hadn’t grown weaker with each blow, you wish you could utter your last few thoughts with an unwavering certainty, but you know you can’t — not when a sob threatens to bubble up from the back of your throat. “That you can just decide to swing across the globe and put your life in danger while I sit at home and worry about you, and the worst part is that it only makes me love you more.”

“Y/N, do you think this is easy for me?” he’s never raised his voice at you, especially not like this, but it looks like tonight is a series of firsts for the both of you. “I haven’t been on a mission with the Avengers since high school, since —” Since Mr.Stark died. You know.

It’s not like he didn’t try to say it, he did, but the name just felt so foreign on his tongue. After years of inactivity, the threat of unearthing all those memories, all those bright eyed, bushy tailed endeavors, was almost as bad as remembering that he was gone — or even worse, not remembering them at all. But where could he retreat to now? He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, forced to choose between the thought of losing Mr.Stark, or the thought of losing you. His thoughts are raw and earnest as he tries to placate the latter. “I don’t want to leave you. It terrifies me to think of all the things that could happen to you while I’m gone —”

“Obviously it doesn’t scare you enough, because you’re still going!” You punch the last two words, as if you’re suddenly trying to talk to him from across the street.

“I don’t have a choice, Y/N! I don’t-”

Your argument skids to a screeching halt, rivaling the groan of the metal door that guards your apartment complex, and with it appears Ms.Nunez — the single mother that lives a floor below you, whose ability to juggle her graveyard shifts at the hospital with her two rambunctious toddlers is almost as impeccable as her timing.

She appears to be in a rush as she skirts past you, but not enough to stop her from sending Peter an all too knowing look — one that screams “what did you do to that poor girl?”, with only the view of your red, puffy eyes and guarded stance to back up her assumption.

And with an opportunity so golden laying at your feet, who are you to ignore it? You catch the door before it hits the frame and slip into the yellowed entryway, barreling up the stairwell before he can question her weighted stare. You leave Peter no choice but to slip past Ms.Nunez in your pursuit, without so much as a goodbye, but a few choice words still sit on the back of his tongue, waiting to be swallowed.

Normally, the five stories of stairs leaves you winded by the third, but you chalk your superhuman stamina up to adrenaline. Luckily for you, you’re able to reach the last flight of stairs as Peter climbs up the first. Unluckily for you, you seem to forget that your boyfriend actually does have superhuman stamina, and you swear to fucking god that he’s flying up the stairwell by the time you shut the door behind you.

The door slams twice more after that, one loud bang to signal Peter’s entrance and one to punctuate it. His voice pierces through the apartment, firm and unyielding. “This conversation isn’t over, Y/N.”

He has no idea where you’ve run off to, ruling out the kitchen once he drapes his jacket over the center island. All he can hear is your voice, muffled behind one of the walls, calling out to him with little emotion to spare. “Oh, yes it is. I’m over it. It’s over.”

“Well, that’s mature.” He mutters under his breath, not expecting you to hear him, let alone respond.

“Oh, I’m so glad you think so!” You chuckle dryly, ”‘Cause your judgment of maturity is oh so rational and not at all fucking batshit.” And he thought he had enhanced hearing.

“You know what? You’re right.” He scoffs, letting the slam of the bathroom door punctuate his final words. “I’m over this, too.”

🕷 🕷 🕷

“Y/N?” Peter calls out, but to no avail. It’s on nights like these where he wishes you weren’t fighting, knowing fully well that you would command him to the bed with a downward pointing finger and the best glare you could muster. You’ve always loved the way his hair curled into soft, chestnut waves, so you didn’t mind weaving through his damp tresses before he went to sleep. You would make up some excuse about how the process helped give his curls definition, and he would always end up way too tired and relaxed to call you out on it.

You’re nowhere to be found, though. Your comforter is still as haphazard as it was this morning, and the kitchen is void of your late night snack ravaging. The only sign of your presence is found in the open window next to you bed, and way the curtains float against the evening breeze, leaving him to ponder your whereabouts at a breakneck speed. 

A million visions of paranoia screen through his mind all at once, but he’s quick to dismiss them, oddly familiar with the prospect of losing someone, and all the fretting that comes with it.

And you know better than to wander the streets of the city so late at night — but with all of the venom being spewed throughout the apartment, Peter wouldn’t be surprised if you needed a small reprieve. Even for just a quick trip to the corner market. He’s well aware of the eagle eye you sport in the moonlit streets, as well as the switchblade that sits in the side pocket of your bag, but he knows better than anyone that you have to expect the unexpected in these streets.

He pulls out his phone, ready to shoot you a quick text when the bars of the fire escape let out a metallic groan. Despite your apartment’s... adequate amenities, you’d never had a problem with the fire escape. The finicky oven? Maybe, but never the fire escape.

Even without his spidey senses tingling, he has no choice but to poke his head through the window pane, and to his surprise, he ends up killing two birds with one stone.

“I didn’t know you were out here.” Peter balances on the window sill, crouching in a near feline stance as he surveys your position — bundled between the metal grates of the fire escape and your downy comforter. Your lips are parted in a tiny “o”, eyelids blanketing your hues, and with the street lights flickering to life across the seam of thirty-eighth avenue, you’re nothing short of angelic — features now outlined in a seraphic, dewy haze.

If he wasn’t feeling guilty beforehand, the sight before him guarantees he is now.

“Yeah, that was kind of the point.” you murmur. You don’t bother to open your eyes, not even when the iron beams start to squeak under Peter’s weight. “Can I help you with something? I’m pretty sure this thing has a weight limit, and this is a weighted blanket.”

You’re met with silence, and you hate to admit it, but you’d take his silent presence over your self-induced isolation any day. Despite the fact that you only moved in together four months prior, your body has grown accustomed to his presence, subconsciously weaving it into your daily routine. There were nights when you would splay out like a starfish in your childhood bedroom, waiting restlessly for the gentle wrap of his knuckles at the window pane, and that same restlessness bleeds into nights in your shared apartment,  which then bleeds into now. Sure, you can trick your body into sleeping, but rest seems to be boroughs and islands away when Peter’s not there to wish you a good night.

A terse silence settles between the two of you, and you blink up at Peter, expecting him to break it since you surely wouldn’t.

“Why here?” Peter exceeds your expectations with his query. His gaze is fixed on Manhattan’s skyline — even from the tippy top of the complex, he can still make out the jagged glittering, crust of the city’s bustling core — and it’s then he finds the answer to his very own question.

“I used to sneak onto the fire escape at my parents place, too.” you reminisce, the corners of your lips curling into a bittersweet grin. “The apartment walls were thin, and whenever they would fight, or talk shit about something I did that day, I would just sit on the fire escape until I fell asleep.”

“How?” He breaks yet another lengthy pause, and you fight the urge to chuckle at his candor, settling with a lazy grin. “I mean, no offense, but Astoria isn’t exactly a library.”

“Yeah, but inside, I knew exactly what they were saying, how they were feeling — it was all in the air. At least out here everything just… blends together. It’s kind of peaceful in a way.”

Your voice is so timid and gentle as you recall your childhood, reflecting on moments that seem lifetimes away despite the handful of years in between. Peter’s gaze is transfixed on your profile, skating down the slope of your nose and skirting the curves of your lips until he realizes just how small you are. He tends to hold you on a pedestal, a habit he’s retained since the very beginning of your relationship, so sometimes it still baffles him to know that you can be anything but perfect — that you too can be human, and make human mistakes.

“How come I’ve never seen you out here before?” He feels like a little kid, question after question slipping past his lips before he even has the chance to filter them.

“‘Cause I haven’t had a reason to hide since I moved in with you.”

And just when he thought he couldn’t feel even guiltier, he’s soon overflowing with it. It kills him to know that you felt the need to escape, and you’ll never admit it after tonight, but he was the one who pushed you toward it.

“I’m sorry.” Peter blurts out, not expecting you to say —

“I’m sorry.”

You furrow your brows, cutting him off before he can even open his mouth to protest. “I’m just so used to my Peter. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m sharing him with the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”

“Hey, hey — look at me.” His thumb traces the spot right under your eye, using his pinky to nudge the curve of your jaw upward, toward his gaze — heavy and drenched in a type of resoluteness that leaves your mouth bone dry. “It may not always seem like it, but trust me when I tell you that you’re always going to be my top priority.”

“Peter, you’re being dramatic.” You sigh, finding it hard to believe that your life could take any precedence over the safety of mankind itself.

“No, I’m being honest.” His voice, his gaze, they leave no room for protest. You feel a little awkward being the center of their attention, and so it’s a relief when they shift to the city’s skyline once more. “Look over there, you know what that is?”

“Central Park?”

“Mhm, good girl.” Crimson blooms across the valley of your cheeks at his choice of nickname, no matter how innocently he uttered it, but your attention still remains undivided. “I figured out that I can get home quicker if I cut through it.”

You quirk a brow, and he doesn’t need to ask to know exactly what you’re thinking — So what if he hasn’t figured out which trains he needs to board in order to make a dent in his homebound commute? It’s the thought that counts.

“Sometimes like to just stop for a second and watch some of the people in the park, but not in, like, a creepy way? You know what I mean?” A subtle hint of embarrassment tinges his features, but dissolves once he notices your understanding nod.  “Is there a word for that?”

“Yeah, it’s called people watching.” You snickered, trying to imagine your boyfriend and his attempts at roasting the New York natives. “MJ and I do it all the time.”

“No, but with less… shit talking.” He counters.

Ouch.

“Oh…” You’re stumped, unsure of where he’s heading and, quite frankly, a little humbled by his read. “Hmm… Carry on?”

“Well,” Peter lets his hand rest palm forward on his knee, fingers gently curled, and you’re well acquainted with the gesture. Almost instinctively, you hover your hand above his own, digits clumsily dancing with one another as he speaks, and for a fleeting second, everything is back to normal. “It’s just… mind-blowing sometimes. There’s so much life there, all at once. All of these people are just living their lives, making their way home, falling in love, falling out of love, buying overpriced hotdogs from the street vendors — The other day I saw this mom fishing her two toddlers out of that fountain on Terrace road and honestly, if they don’t end up with superpowers, I’ll be shocked.” He can tell he’s drifted wildly off track by the way you nod, slowly and unsure, as to not offend him and his train of thought. “The point is… I used to protect all of that, and it used to make me so happy.”

“You still do,” You murmur, not one to discredit the risks he does take in the name of New York. Just because his enemies aren’t held to the same caliber as, say, Thanos, doesn’t mean they aren’t worthwhile. “All that matters is that you’re doing what you can.”

You hesitantly intertwine your fingers with his, in just a delicate enough hold to let him reject it if he so chooses. Your lips softly quirk upward when he only tightens the grip.

“Thank you.” He offers a comforting smile, one that barely reaches his eyes, and you can tell that he has more to say. So, you squeeze his hand, silently urging him to continue. “Well, I just- after Mr.Stark… passed away… it was really hard to remember why I started doing all of it in the first place. Like- I hate saying this, but why do we keep protecting all of these strangers when all the people we do know just keep getting hurt?” He winces at his own words, so far removed from such bitterness that he can barely believe he once thought such selfish things. “But then- then I get to see all of the people that I’ve been protecting, and suddenly it all makes sense again. All I want to do is make sure people are safe, and happy, and hopefully… Hopefully, when we’re older, and we have kids that jump in the fountains at Central Park, someone like me will be watching… and they’ll feel the exact same way.”

When we’re older, When we have kids... Those promises of marriage, of a loving family, of a future — they bounce off your eardrums like a mantra. Soon, you can’t even imagine thinking about anything but Peter’s words, and how much you love him right now, and how you’ll love him until your heart can’t possibly take it anymore. You can read what he’s trying to portray loud and clear — He loves you, he can see a future with you, and if there’s ever a doubt in your mind that his feelings may have changed, you can look out into the world and find pieces of his heart in every passing face.

“I haven’t been doing everything I can to make sure that’s possible, though.” He breaches your lovesick trance, reminding you that there’s still a thread of discord dangling between you. One that you can see rapidly disappearing with each passing second. “I have to go on this mission, Y/N. I wanna start helping people again. I wanna do right by him.”

“I know.” You whisper, conceding to the fact that you will always want what’s best for him, even if you aren’t a fan of the circumstances. “It doesn’t make it any less sucky.”

“C’mere.” He can barely pat his thighs before you’re crawling toward him. He passes a warm hand under your thigh once you straddle his waist, scooping you further into his lap, and uses his free hand to encompass the nape of your neck. You feel like you could melt, being cradled between his strong, toned  arms, and the feeling only intensifies when his lips seek out yours. His lips are soft, and warm, and taste like listerine, and you couldn’t ask for anything more perfectly suited for you.    

“I love you.” He murmurs against your lips, without a trace of uncertainty. His thumb wipes the corner of your mouth, and he continues to plant a series of sweet, soft butterfly kisses over every patch of skin he can get his lips on — your cheeks, your nose, your temple.

He’s so wrapped up in his gentle ministrations that he barely hears you return the sentiment, eyes fluttering to a close as you breathe out, “I love you.”

“Please come inside,'' he whispers against your forehead, punctuating his plea with a chaste kiss.

You pretend to entertain the thought, tapping your index finger against your chin, before shaking your head with a waggish simper. Fortunately for you, it doesn’t take long for him to take the bait, and he disappears through the window. You can just barely make out the harmony of wild rustling and hushed obscenities coming from your room before Peter is returning to your makeshift bed, clad in the cheesy “The Floor is Lava!” hoodie you snagged from a street vendor during your trip to Pompeii the summer beforehand.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, Y/N,” Peter’s voice is tight, shuffling his knees across the fretted ground as he crawls into your lap. It takes him all of three seconds to make himself comfortable, collapsing between your thighs, and you seize the opportunity to weave your fingers through his soft, chestnut locks. “I don’t think I can make this a recurring thing. I can already feel the scoliosis forming.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” you scoff, only to be met with a scandalized set of caramel hues. “I think you can make it through the night without any permanent damage to your spine.” With droopy eyes, your body starts to hum with the tell-tale signs of sleep, and your voice drips with drowsiness as you murmur, “And I wanna savor as many nights with you as I can.”

“I know,” he whispers back, the aftertaste of guilt intermingling with the abashment that follows your sleepy confession. ”I know. I’m right here, babe.”

And he swore, in that very moment, that nothing would change that.