#so if anyone has any suggestions I’d be happy to hear them :)

[sadiecoocoo]

Last chp of Surrender Your Mind releases today! It’ll be my second chaptered fic that I’ve finished!!!

Next Friday I’ll be posting the first chp of the second part… so sorry in advance for what’s going to an agonizing wait lol

[waitimcomingtoo]

I’ll Cry If I Want To

Pairing: enemies to lovers!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Synopsis: you get stood up on your birthday and Peter attempts to cheer you up despite your feud

Masterlist

Peter walked into the kitchen in the tower and was immediately greeted by a confetti popper exploding in his face followed by a tender kiss on the forehead from Tony.

“Oh, my. Good morning to me.” Peter smiled at the greeting.

“Damn it, Parker.” Tony groaned. “I thought you were my little girl.”

“Don’t feel bad, daddy. A lot of people confuse Peter for a little girl.” You said as you walked into the kitchen behind Peter. The two of you made eye contact and you gave him an innocent smile while he rolled his eyes at you.

“Ha ha.“ He said sarcastically and then hissed at you like a cat. You gave him a look as you walked over to your dad.

“Happy birthday, baby girl.” Tony said and pulled you into a long hug.

“Thank you, daddy.” You smiled and hugged him back.

“Thank you, daddy.” Peter said in a high pitched voice to mock you. You and Tony looked at him and he quickly cleared his throat.

“Sorry. What I meant to say was, happy birthday. I didn’t know that was today. I mean, I’d been wondering why you looked so old but I assumed it was from your lack of sunscreen use.”

“Nice try. I wear sunscreen everyday.” You replied.

“Really?” He gasped. “Might want to up that SPF a few. You look like a crumbled piece of paper and not in a fun Taylor Swift way.”

“Don’t talk to me about skincare, Rudolf.” You snapped and tapped your nose twice to point out the zit on the tip of Peter nose. He covered it with his hand and narrowed his eyes at you.

“Children, please. No fighting. It stops my moisturizer from sinking in.” Tony sighed and rubbed circles into his skin.

“Sorry, daddy. I just wanted to make sure Peter knew about the giant pimple on his nose in case he was going to see anyone today.” You said as you smiled sweetly at Peter. He discreetly flipped you off by scratching his cheek with his middle finger.

“Any plans for the night, jelly bean?” Tony asked you.

“Nothing crazy. My friends are coming over later for a sleepover.”

“Oh God. Is this gonna be one of those crazy parties where you all get drunk and things get out of hand and you accidentally kill someone and have to dispose of the body together while hijixs ensues?” Peter. whined.

“No, because this isn’t one of the pornos you watch.” You scoffed.

“Pfft. That is not what I watch.” He insisted. “Where would I even find something like that? What would I even type? I’m open to suggestions.”

“Shut up.” You laughed. “You’re such a weirdo. And don’t be hanging around when my friends are here. I already told them you’re a pervert and on the FBI watch list so you don’t have a chance with any of them.”

“I don’t want to date your freakbob friends anyway.” He scoffed. “And to keep it down tonight, will you? I already wake up the birds chirping every morning. I don’t want to hear you birds all night too.”

“I actually came up with a solution for that. What if you killed yourself?” You asked through a smile.

“That’s a great idea. I might give that a whirl today if I’m not busy.” He replied and matched your smile.

“You? Busy?” You laughed. “Please. Busy doing what?”

“Peter and I are gonna be in the lab doing boring stuff with the suits. Adjustments, additions, and what have you.” Tony answered you.

“Oh. Okay. Do you need any help?” You asked.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that on your birthday, baby girl. Peters got it.” Tony replied, making your smile falter a little.

“Yeah. I’ve got it.” Peter boasted and gave you a smug look. You glared at him for a moment before looking back at your dad.

“I’ll catch you later for some cake, okay honey bun?” Tony told you before kissing your forehead.

“Okay. Bye. Have fun.” You smiled sadly as he left the room.

“You look greasy, by the way.” Peter said once you were alone.

“Like I care what you think. Even your hairline won’t stay with you.” You scoffed and nodded towards his forehead.

“It’s not actually receding, is it?” He asked and touched his hair.

“Maybe your forehead is just getting bigger.” You shrugged and popped a grape in your mouth from the bowl on the table.

“Bite me.” He replied and stopped touching his hair.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You chuckled. “Isn’t that how you got your powers, spider boy?”

“Yup. What do you think would happen if you bite me? Would I be able to a do anything a total bitch can?” He wondered, making you pelt a grape at him. He caught it with ease and popped it into his mouth.

“Watch your mouth before I bring out the peppermint essential oils again.” You warned him.

“You wouldn’t.” He said quietly.

“Try me.” You shrugged. You stared at each other across the kitchen for a moment before Peter gave up.

“You win. Here’s your card. Happy birthday, gaylord.” He said as he handed you a homemade birthday card from his jeans pocket before quickly running out of the room. You rolled your eyes at him but smiled once he was gone and read the card. As annoying as you normally found him, you appreciated that he remembered your birthday. Inside the card was a crude drawing of the two of you fighting next to a drawing of a gift card to Planet Fitness.

Peter strolled into your bedroom around 10 pm when he had grown curious as to why your friends weren’t there yet. It was getting kind of late and you had listed many activities that you had planned to do while Peter begrudgingly listened to you talk earlier in the day. You were still in your room by yourself so he went in and knocked on your door to see what was happening.

“Hey dingus. When are your dumb friends getting here? I need to know when I should jam my ears with scissors.” Peter said as he leaned against your doorway. You were sitting on your bed with your knees draw to your chest and your chin resting on top of them as you stared out the window.

“Do that anyway.” You mumbled and didn’t move from your position.

“I’m going to. I can’t listen to you all yap about when Reputation TV is coming all night. And your friend Stacy’s theories are always way off.” He continued. You still didn’t turn to look at him and his smirk dropped when he heard a sniffle. He frowned and took a step into your room.

“Hello? I knew you were dumb but did you forget how to turn your neck or something?” He said to try to make you laugh. You stayed still and he craned his neck to try to see your face.

“Seriously though, when are they coming?”

“They’re not coming.” You said finally in a horse voice.

“Why? What happened? Did they finally realize you’re an annoying brat whose only redeeming quality is access to daddy’s credit card?” Peter teased in another attempt to make you laugh.

“Something like that.” You mumbled. Peter frowned and finally realized that something was actually wrong. He sat down on your bed and reached his hand out.

“Whats going on? Are you okay?” He asked in a soft voice.

“Just go away.” You said sadly and wiped tears from your face. Peter shot a web at a tissue box on your dresser and pulled it over.

“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened.” He said and handed you a tissue. You gave him a skeptical look and he held up one hand in defense while waving the tissue in the other like a white flag. You sighed and took the tissue before wiping your eyes.

“They found out it wasn’t a yacht party or at some fancy restaurant or some elitist club in Tribeca so they all cancelled.“ You said as you nervously ripped the tissue up in your hands.

“They cancelled? Why?”

“Because no one wants to come to my party. They want to come to a Stark Industries party with puppies in the gift bags and acrobats suspended from the ceiling and Avengers walking around like party clowns. Just hanging out with me wasn’t cool enough so they all bailed.” You sniffled and turned back to look out the window. Peter raised his hand to place it on your shoulder but then drew it back. He didn’t know if he was who you’d want to comfort you and he didn’t want to push it.

“I’m sorry.” He said instead.

“Like you care.” You laughed sadly and held your knees tighter to your chest.

“I do care.” He insisted. “And I’m very sorry this happened to you tonight.”

“No you’re not.” You scoffed. “You’re probably thrilled to see me like this. This is probably the greatest moment of your dumb life.”

“It’s not.” He said quietly. You finally whipped around to look at Peter and he saw the pain in your red eyes.

“It’s not? Look at me, Peter. I’m pathetic. I’m alone on my birthday because I wasn’t good enough for anyone to hang out with.” You exclaimed. Peter went quiet as you slowly caught your breath. You teased each other all the time but you’d never actually yelled at him before. You wiped your eyes with the tissue before staring at your hands.

“You were right.” You said quietly. “I am just a spoiled brat who people only like because of my connections. And I’m sure you’re anxiously waiting for me to shut up so you can say “I told you so” and prove to me once again that I’m always wrong.”

You and Peter sat in silence for a minute without looking at each other. Peter felt guilty that you were expecting him to kick you while you were down. You were feeling your own guilt for snapping at him when he was trying to be nice.

“I’m not gonna say that.” He said after a beat.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Just go away.” You said miserably and turned back to the window. Peter opened his mouth to say something but shut it when he couldn’t find the words. He patted your shoulder twice before getting up and leaving your room. You turned to look at the door once he was gone and felt yourself missing his presence. You turned back to the window and stared out at the night sky through your teary eyes and let time pass.

After a while, you started to smell something. You sniffed the air until you recognized it as the scent of a something burning. Out of sheer curiosity, you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and padded into the kitchen. You found Peter in the kitchen with a lace trimmed pink apron tied around his waist and flour smeared on his cheek. You smiled in surprise and leaned against the wall to watch him for a minute. He was humming to himself a song you didn’t recognize while scrapping a burnt black lump of something into the trash can. When he finally turned around, he jumped when he saw you.

“Jesus. You scared me. But I guess I should’ve known the smell of something baking would have your big back running to the kitchen like I hit the bat signal.”

“Shut up.” You chuckled. “What are you doing in here?”

“Well, your parents went to a movie since they thought your friends would be here. That means no ones home.” Peter began.

“And?” You asked.

“And so I thought we could fulfill a lifelong fantasy of mine and making sweet love to you on the kitchen counter.” He smiled suavely and raised his eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?” Your jaw dropped as he drummed his fingertips on the counter.

“I’m joking. I’m clearly baking a bake. Or, I tried. I guess 500 degrees was too hot.” He said and looked at the burnt cake in the trash.

“Yeah, that’s a few hundred above what it should be. But why are you baking? We have a chef for that.”

“Because it’s your birthday you miserable bitch. And everyone deserves a cake baked with love. Now do you prefer chocolate or vanilla frosting on your burnt cake?” He asked and held up two cans of frosting. You looked between the two before your eyes settled on him. You hugged your blanket tighter around yourself and shook your head.

“I don’t want your pity.” You said quietly.

“You don’t have it so shut up and grab a spatula before I rescind your choice in the matter and funfetti the fuck out of this cake.” He replied and held out a spatula. You stared at it and felt compelled to take it and join him, but you were still throwing yourself a pity party.

“No.”

“No? Look, I’m trying to cheer your dumb ass up so can you please work with me here?” Peter sighed and looked at you. You stared at him for a while before cracking the slightest smile. He noticed the smile and knew he had succeeded in his plan to cheer you up.

“Fine. But I’m not eating that. That’s what Santa puts in the bad kids stockings. We’ll make a new one. But I’m not touching raw eggs.” You told him and grabbed your dad’s matching pink apron from the drawer.

“I wouldn’t expect you to, Princess.” Peter mumbled under his breath. You glared at him through your lashes as you threw some flour and sugar into a bowl. Peter went to put the butter in but you pushed his hand away.

“It can’t be cold butter or it won’t mix properly. It has to be room temperature.” You explained as you filled a measuring cup with water.

“Oh. Let’s pop it in the microwave then.”

“We can’t do that either. Then the hot butter will scramble the eggs. Do you want little egg bits in your cake?” You asked him as you microwaved the cup of water for a minute.

“Maybe just a little.” Peter replied as he watched you put the butter into a small bowl and then place the bowl on top of the microwaved water.

“There. This will soften the butter without making it hot enough to scramble the eggs.” You explained. He looked between your little invention and you for a minute before smiling.

“Wow. That was really smart.” He said genuinely. “Women really do belong in the kitchen.”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes as you set the temperature to the correct heat on the oven. Peter couldn’t help but watch you over his shoulder as you combined the rest of the dry ingredients and expertly cracked an egg in one hand. He rarely got to see you like this, no makeup and in lounge clothes. And he definitely never saw you upset before. He was used to the perfectly groomed and standoffish version of yourself so this change of pace brought him unexpected joy.

“Move over. That’s not how you mix batter. You need to fold it.” You told him and reminded him of the you he knew. You bumped him with your hip and put your hands over his to help him fold the batter.

“Like laundry?” He asked as his cheeks heated up.

“Like you know what laundry is, Pigpen. And no. A different folding. Like this.” You said and helped him mix the batter until it was the desired consistency.

“Oh wow. That worked really well. I usually just go sicko mode until it turns into goop.” He confessed.

“And how does that work out for you?” You asked him.

“Look in the trash and you’ll find out.” Peter replied and eyed the burnt cake in the garbage can. You playfully rolled your eyes at him and kept helping him fold the batter. Everytime he tried to stir the batter, you gently corrected his hands to fold it instead.

“Why don’t you just do it?” He asked when he started getting frustrated with himself.

“Because you won’t learn if I do it.” You replied in a softer tone. Peter went quiet since you were being unexpectedly nice to him. You let the batter sit for minute once you were satisfied and then poured in into a cake pan.

“There. Thats gonna take about 30 minutes to bake and then it needs to cool before we frost it.” You told him as you shut the oven door.

“Oh, so we have 30 minutes? Then circling back to that making love on the counter idea-“

“Shut it.” You warned him. Peter pretended to zipper his lips and throw away the key. You cracked a smile before starting to clean up the kitchen. Peter wordlessly helped you tidy up and you exchanged a soft smile with each other in the silence of the kitchen.

“What was your worst birthday?” You asked after a long beat of silence.

“Are you talking to me?” Peter asked after looking around.

“Peter, we’re the only ones in the room.”

“Sorry. It’s not like you’ve ever asked me a personal question before. It’s usually “are you stupid?” or “can you go away?” or “do you need a tampon cry baby?” He recalled, making you feel bad for always being so mean to him.

“Oh. Sorry about that.” You said quietly. “I sound a lot meaner than I thought I was.”

“I’m mean too.” Peter shrugged.

“You tease me.” You shook your head. “I’m just cruel.”

“I think we are an equal amount of mean to each other. Don’t let it keep you up at night. I’m sure your chronic yeast infections do that enough.” Peter tried to lighten the mood, but you didn’t crack a smile. You seemed faraway in thought and he was curious as to why.

“Do you think I’m hard to be around?” You asked after a minute. Peter was about to crack another joke until he saw the look on your face. He could tell you needed a friend right now and was filled with determination to be one.

“No. I think those girls you called your “friends” are hard to be around.” He said seriously. “I’ve seen you with them. They’re the mean ones. Them bailing tonight has nothing to do with you. They’re a bunch of shallow jerks who only care about the material things in life. They don’t care about having deep connections with people. They only care about deep pockets on people. I know this isn’t the first time they’ve ditched you. And I know you feel alone even when they are here because you’re never fully included. You think no one notices because you tell stories about your charming adventures together but I see it in your eyes. They make you feel like an afterthought. You act tough and pretend it doesn’t bother you but I know that it does. You shouldn’t hang out with them anymore.”

“Then who am I going to hang out with?” You shrugged sadly. “Without them, I don’t have any friends.”

“Sitting alone is better than sitting at a table where you’re the topic of conversation when you get up.” Peter said simply. You stared at him for a moment before your eyes fell to the floor.

“I just don’t want to be alone.” You said quietly. Peter nodded his head in understanding and let a silence fall between the two of for a while. He was going to say that you wouldn’t be alone because you’d have him, but he didn’t know if you wanted to hear that.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked.

“No.” You said immediately. You made eye contact and you let out a sigh.

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“Why don’t you like me?” He asked without looking into our eyes. You saw that coming and stared at him to try and get a sense of what was going on in his head. He slowly looked back up at you and gave you a weak smile.

“Do you remember that time the power went out in the city due to that Max guy or whatever and we all lit candles and hung out in the tower?”

“Uh oh.” Peter gulped. “You answered my question with another question. That can’t be good.”

“Shut up. Do you remember or not?” You asked and gently kicked his foot with your foot.

“I remember that.” He told you and held your gaze.

“You were new around here. You had just gotten your powers that year so I didn’t really know you yet. I had gone to look for more candles and found you crying on the floor of the linen closet.

“I remember that.” He nodded. “It was all so overwhelming to be here with the whole team. I had never felt so small.”

“I know. I told you I felt like that too sometimes. And then we stayed up for hours talking about every stupid thing we ever worried about and gave each other advice. I think at one point I gave you advice on how much conditioner to use.” You said as you replayed the night in your memory. You had a look on your face that Peter had never seen on you before. It was natural and relaxed and playful, all things he knew to be the opposite of you. It was so rare that the two of you were getting along and he didn’t want to do anything to ruin in.

“A dime sized amount and not on the roots. I still use that advice.” He chuckled. “You were so nice to me that night. You came in and pretended I wasn’t crying so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed. You just sat down with me and started talking ad if we’d always been friends. You quieted all my fears that night. I was initially so embarrassed about it but then I felt a lot better knowing someone had my back no matter how bad I messed up.”

“I always had your back.” You insisted. “Even when I was mean to you. If you were in trouble with my dad, I was always here talking him down and trying to get him to see your side. He sees you through the lense of his child that he doesn’t want hurt but I’ve always seen you as a hero who wants to help. I even got him to give you the suit back when you were 15. And it was my idea to put the warmers in because you told me you’re always cold.”

“Really? You were rooting for me this whole time?” He cracked a smile in surprise.

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Always.”

“Then how come you act like…” Peter trailed off in fear of insulting you.

“Like what?” You asked, sounding like you already knew what was coming.

“Like you hate me.” He admitted. You felt your face burn in embarrassment and shook your head.

“I don’t hate you.” You said sheepishly.

“You don’t?” He asked in genuine surprise. You looked at him and he could see the guilt in your eyes even in the dim light of the kitchen.

“No. I don’t. I never did.”

“Then how come we don’t get along anymore?” He asked. He had only gone along with all the teasing since you began it, but he had always wondered why it started.

“One of the things we had talked about that night was how my one regret about being homeschooled was never getting to experience a prom. I told you had dreamed of it since I was a little girl and it broke my heart to know I’d never have one. So then you said…” You trailed off, thinking he’d remember what he told you. His face showed no sign of remembering it but he racked his brain anyway.

“I said what?” He asked, breaking your heart just a little more.

“You promised to take me. To yours.” You told him. You and Peter stood in silence for a moment before he burst out laughing. Your sadness immediately hardened into anger at the sound of him laughing at you.

“Wait, you’ve been pissy towards me for the last few years because I broke a promise I made at 15 years old and didn’t take you to a stupid school dance?” Peter asked through a laugh. You glared at him for his reaction and he immediately stopped when he noticed you weren’t laughing too.

“Oh. We’re not laughing?” He asked.

“Why is that funny to you?” You snapped. Peter saw the moment slipping away from him and started to panic.

“Well I was- I was a kid.” He said simply. “I had a huge crush on this girl Liz and we were finally becoming friends so I asked her and she said yes. That was years after I promised you that. I’m sorry but I didn’t remember.”

Peter thought you were going to yell at him and hurl a parade of insults his way, but you just nodded your head and looked down at the ground.

“You’re right. We were just kids. Forget I said anything.” You mumbled and started walking towards the door to leave. Peter knew he had messed up big time and possibly just killed any and all chances of the two of you becoming friends.

“Wait.” He said desperately just as the kitchen timer went off. You stopped walking and watched him haphazardly take the cake out of the oven and throw it in the stove top as he blew on it.

“You should stay. We have to frost it.” He said with a weak smile and an even weaker attempt for you for stay.

“You can’t frost it while it’s hot. It’ll slip right off.” You said without looking at him.

“Oh. I didn’t know that. Well then do you want to talk some more or-“

“I have to go.” You cut him off and swiftly left the kitchen.

You went back to your room to resume the pouting you had started earlier. You felt guilty about walking out on Peter but it had hurt you to know that a promise that had meant a lot to you didn’t even stay in his memory. You stared out the window and sulked as you thought yourself into a deep rut. It didn’t take long for Peter to start making noise in the kitchen, interrupting your thought spiral. You heard things falling out of cabinets followed by Peter swearing. He bumbled around for a while and slowly drove you crazy with all the noise he was making until you couldn’t take it anymore. Just when you were about to text him and tell him the knock it off, you heard the dulcet sounds of “The Dancing Queen” coming from downstairs. You groaned in frustration and got out of bed to go downstairs and see what was happening.

When you got to the living room, Peter was standing there in one of your dad’s suits that hugged him a little too tightly around his muscles. The room looked like it had been decorated by a child with poorly hung streamers, ripped up construction paper to act as confetti, and bunches of webs that Peter had tried to shape into stars and moons. He had dimmed the lights and put a single bowl of chips on the counter, which he proudly stood beside.

“What the hell is this?” You asked him.

“Will you go to prom with me?” He asked with a huge smile.

“No.” You said immediately. “Please kill yourself.”

“I will.” He promised. “After one dance.”

“I’m not dancing with you. I’m not doing any of this.” You told him and turned to leave. You heard a “pst” right before feeling a web hit your back. Before you knew it, Peter tugged on the web and sent you stumbling back into Peter’s arms. He caught you with ease and winked when you landed in his arms. You rolled your eyes at him but felt a smile tugged at your lips.

“Please? Just one dance? Then I’ll let you go and hate me for the rest of your life.” He pleaded as he stared into your eyes. He looked so desperate that you found yourself nodding before you knew what you were agreeing to. He smiled in excitement and twirled you around before slowly swaying to the beat. You begrudgingly sighed and wrapped your arms around his neck while his stayed in a respectable place on your hips. You could feel his eyes on you but you kept yours on the ceiling.

“You can look at me, you know.” He teased, making you begrudgingly look him in the eyes.

“Oh. I almost forgot.” He smiled and pulled something out of his pocket. You looked down and saw a few poorly drawn flowers webbed to a rubber band.

“Your corsage, my lady.” He said as he slipped it onto your wrist.

“This is so stupid.” You laughed but secretly loved the thought he put into everything.

“It’s about to get even more stupid. Wait here.” He asked and quickly ran into the kitchen. He returned with one of Morgan’s plastic tiaras with a big fake gem in the center.

“Every prom needs its queen.” He said as he placed the crown on your head. You made eye contact as he stepped forward to adjust it and you felt your breath catch in your throat from how close he was.

“You didn’t have to do this.” You said quietly.

“Yes I did. I owed you a prom experience. I’m sorry I didn’t take you the first time. And I’m sorry for laughing at you. You just caught me off guard. I have spent many nights thinking of all the things I could have done to make you hate me. I genuinely forgot about that promise. I had no idea this entire time that you hated me because of prom.” He said as the two of you started swaying to the music again. You felt a feeling rise up in your chest, a feeling you hadn’t felt for Peter in many years.

“It wasn’t just the prom.” You admitted before you could think about it.

“It wasn’t? What else did I do? Did I hotbox the elevator with you in it or something?” He asked. “I did that to Wanda once and now she’ll show up in my dreams sometimes and make me pee the bed.”

“That’s disgusting.” You said flatly. “But no. It wasn’t that.”

“Then what?” He wondered.

“It’s stupid. You’ll just laugh again.”

“No I won’t.” He assured you. “Probably. I’ll definitely try really hard not to.

“Come on. Please tell me.” He pleaded and gave your hip a gentle squeeze. “You have to tell me now or I’ll become so annoying so quickly. I’ll be worse than those people who try to describe SNL skits to you and keep explaining even when it’s clearly only funny if you’re watching it.”

“I can’t tell you. It’s dumb anyway. Forget I said anything.” You said and hoped he’d drop it.

“It can’t be that dumb if it stood between us all these years. What, did you have a crush on me or something?” He laughed through his question. You went quiet and Peters eyes went wide.

“Oh shit. Did you have a crush on me?” He asked in a soft voice. You looked down at the ground to avoid having to look him in the eyes now that you were caught.

“I don’t know.” You sighed. “You were my age and had these cool powers and muscles and unexpected sense of humor. I was homeschooled and had swiped to the end of Tinder. You were my only option.”

“Oh. I see. So you only liked me because I was the only choice?” He said through a laugh but it hurt him. You could sense in his voice that you had just hurt his feelings and for once, that wasn’t what you wanted.

“I mean, not the only choice.” You added. “Cap used to hang around a lot more and he’s not the worst looking. But he’s like 500 so I never really had a chance.”

“Why me, then?” He wondered. You finally looked in to his eyes and shrugged a little.

“Because you were kind.” You admitted. “You didn’t need to take on as much as what you did at such a young age but you refused to do the easy stuff. You used to drive my dad crazy with how for you begged for assignments. You were so determined to get out there and save people, it was almost obnoxious. You were never content getting back stolen bikes. You always wanted to protect people from the big things. Even when you were just a kid. I liked that about you. I still do.”

“Still?” He gulped. “Even now?”

Before you could respond, the slow music that was playing ended and “Munch” started to blast from Peter phone. He scrambled to change the song but the moment had already been ruined.

“Sorry about that. I don’t know who put that on my playlist.” He quickly lied.

“It was you.”

“It was me, yeah.” He admitted and hung his head in shame. You stopped dancing and slowly withdrew your arms from him, making his heart sink.

“This was really sweet. Thank you, Peter.” You said genuinely. “I should probably get to bed now. I just want this day to end.”

“But we haven’t frosted the cake yet. It’s still your birthday. You can’t go to bed without any cake.” He said in a desperate attempt to get you to stay.

“I don’t know. It’s late.”

“Come on. It’ll be fast. That’s one of my powers. Spider can frost cake really fast and so can I.” He said and rushed over to the cake. He held it up and gave you a lopsided smile, convincing you to stay.

“Fine. Let’s make it fast.” You agreed and walked over to him. He smiled at you joining him and got out the frosting. He handed you a spatula and you started to frost the cake.

“You don’t have to keep wearing that if you don’t want.” Peter chuckled and went to take your crown off. You quickly swatted his hand and adjusted your crown.

“Back off. It’s mine.” You said and stepped away from him. He chuckled again and you laughed too.

“I really do appreciate everything you did for me tonight. I hope I can make it up to you one day.” You told him.

“You can make it up to me right now if we clear off this counter top and-“

“No.” You cut him off.

“Worth a try.” He mumbled.

“Really, though. You cheered me up tonight and I didn’t think that was possible.”

“In a way, I’m glad your stupid friends cancelled on you. It gave us an opportunity to spend time together. And this was the least I could do for not taking you to my real prom. Which was total buns, by the way. I missed most of it because I was putting my dates dad in jail.”

“Well I’m glad that didn’t happen tonight.” You laughed softly.

“Me either. I wish I took you to the first one. We could have been friends this whole time if I had just remembered my promise.” He sighed.

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago. I’m done moping about it. I’m ready to eat this cake and be friends from now on.”

“I’m ready for that too.” He smiled at you. “Especially the part about us being friends. But also for this cake because it’s kinda giving me a boner from how good it smells.”

“It does smell really good. I can’t even blame your boner. But if that thing even looks at me you’re getting impromptu gender reassignment surgery with this spatula.”

“Ouch.” He chuckled and looked over at you. He didn’t stop looking at you until you felt his eyes on you.

“What?” You laughed shyly.

“I can’t believe you ever liked me. And that this whole time, I had no idea. I am so not cool enough for a girl like you to like.”

“Yeah, well. It wasn’t like I dropped any hints.”

“Maybe not. It just doesn’t feel real. I wouldn’t believe it even if you weren’t always mean to me. You reciprocating my feelings was not something I ever thought would happen.”

“Reciprocating? You liked me too?” You asked as your mouth went dry.

“Are you kidding? You’re my mentors insanely hot and totally off limits daughter. Of course I liked you. Not to mention you’re funny, smart, good with a screwdriver and the apparently my biggest supporter. Though you did it in secret. Make no mistake, birthday girl. I had the biggest crush on you for years. Even when you were being mean to me.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.” You said quietly. You had your back to him as you washed your hands but you could feel his eyes on you. You peaked over your shoulder and sure enough, Peter’s eyes were locked on you. You gulped and turned back around when you heard him walking over to you.

“You know, as mean as your insults were, they were always clever. And you always looked good saying them. How could I not fall for you?” He said as he came up behind you. He was close enough that you could smell his cologne, along with a scent that was just distinctly Peter, making your heart pound in your ears. You turned around and leaned against the counter as you looked into his eyes.

“Well how do you feel now?” You asked with unwavering eye contact.

“I feel like those feelings never left.” He admitted. You had never heard such confidence in his voice and it was just the thing to tip the scales back in his favor.

“Hm. Interesting.” You shrugged and turned back around. It was almost like you could hear the disappointment in the air once you had your back to him again. You decided not to torture him forever and give in to what you both wanted.

“Peter?” You asked and looked over your shoulder at him.

“Yeah?”

“Clear the countertop.”

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[lukas-crying-heart]

Anyway here’s Sprite and Ivy’s song

[annwrites]

— homelander quotes ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*: | tell me i'm your national anthem

❝Did mommy and daddy not teach their little girl respect?❞

❝I could always just make you get on your knees. To either suck me off or lick my boots. Maybe both.❞

❝Do you not like me? I’m a fucking hero! I am the face of this country. Yet you treat me like any other insignificant schmuck on the street. I deserve some goddamn respect!❞

❝Y’know what? That does seem like a good start at fixing things between the two of us. You can have the honor of making me dinner. Maybe we play house for the evening.❞

❝Well, it’s either that, or, once I’m done with my dinner, I carry you over to your bed and have my way with you. Whether you want to or not.❞

❝Oh, honey, I can do whatever the fuck I want.❞ (...) ❝And I think you’re going to like it.❞

❝I know you’re in there. I can hear your heart. So, you can either open the door, or I’ll just break a window and let myself in.❞

❝What? No home-cooked meal for your favorite superhero tonight? And after all that hard work I put into making a meal out of you just twenty-four hours ago.❞

❝You are going to be a good little girl and get to cooking. I’m not asking twice. I’ve been hard at work all day. It’s the least you can do for me after bothering to fly all the way here to keep you company.❞

❝I’m no A-Train, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still love a good chase, sweetheart.❞

❝They’re just the ones who sign my paychecks. See, they work for me. The whole fuckin’ world does. Including you, honey. I’m the real hero. My little tagline where I say otherwise? It’s bullshit. But the people eat it up. They swallow the garbage I feed them with a grateful smile.❞

❝Maybe I should gift you a Homelander pack of panties.❞ (...) ❝I could be with you all day long that way. Right between your legs.❞

❝I’m not going to rape you. If I wanted you on your back with your legs spread, you would be.❞

❝You’re mine,�� he whispers. ❝You belong to me now. Do you understand?❞

❝You understand me,❞ he continues. ❝Like no one else has ever bothered to. We’re together now. Got it?❞

❝It wasn’t a question. I wasn’t asking. You’re mine.❞

❝If I find out you’re seeing anyone else, you won’t like what happens to him. So, I suggest staying loyal. Not that anyone else could ever compare to me, anyway. I mean, you should be happy about this—that you’re the young woman I’ve chosen for myself. It makes you special. Being mine, that is. A rich superhero. The supe.❞

❝The greatest man in all of America—the world—and I’m all yours.❞

❝We'll, I’d just fucking kill him. I’d kill any man that looked at, or touched you, y'know?❞

❝Because we belong together. I mean, you belong to me. You're my property.❞

❝That's my good girl. Besides, once I got done taking care of business, you'd have nowhere else to go.❞

❝I’d make sure that I’d be the only thing you had left to run to,❞ he says—his tone slightly threatening. ❝In all the fuckin' world.❞ (...) ❝Because I am your world.❞

[itsjunear]

Shadows and Whispers

Note: Hello loves! I'll try to be more active and post more often, maybe once a week (this is my proof that I'm trying 😀). It's really been a long week for me, but I truly appreciate and I'm so happy for the support the previous post received. I'm very grateful for the likes, reblogs, and comments 💙💙💙 I'm not sure if I should make a second part of that one, but in the meantime, here's this. I hope you enjoy it, and sorry if it's a mess! Again, remember that English is not my first language, but if there are any mistakes, don't hesitate to let me know! I’m leaving the song I wrote this with, the slow version sounds really good :)

P.S.: I’m not really sure if this would work in ACOTAR, but I don’t know, I just liked the idea.

Words: +1k

Warnings: none, slight mention of tension

Summary: Reader and Azriel are sent on an undercover mission where they must pretend to be a couple. Reader has unresolved feelings, and the closeness with the shadowsinger leaves her confused.

The Mother definitely had a twisted sense of humor.

I was certain that in this life, I was paying for each and every bad thing I had done in my previous ones. If not, what would be the point of all this?

I had to suppress the complaint lodged in my throat ever since I had left the meeting with Rhys and he had communicated his plans for the Autumn Court.

Why? Why did these things always happen to me?

I could have gone with Cassian, Mor, or even Amren. I wouldn’t have had any issue pretending to be the lover of one of them. But of course, I had to go and pretend with Azriel.

Rhys had received a formal invitation to a ball in the Autumn Court, but decided to send us instead to investigate the political situation surrounding that entire red-haired family and how the stir was being perceived by the court’s nobles. Evidently, we were supposed to look as distracted as possible to catch any murmurs here and there, and the simplest way to do that was by pretending we were simply there to enjoy the evening as a couple in love.

Fantastic, I thought.

"I try to respect your privacy and not intrude on your thoughts" I heard Rhys’s voice in my head "but the way you’re shouting them, I could hear them even from the scraps of the Spring Court."

I grimaced but didn’t respond, letting the anger fill my mind so that he could feel it.

"Why are you so… irritated?" I heard him ask with genuine curiosity, and I sighed.

Rhys could dig just a little and find the reason, but he would never dare. Not without my permission.

"What do you care" I barked mentally, sulking.

I’d apologize later for speaking to my High Lord like that, but right now, I could feel the smoke coming out of my ears, and I guessed he could too because a laugh echoed in my mind before it simply vanished.

"Idiot" was the last thing I thought before raising my mental walls and reinforcing them with everything I had.

By the Cauldron, what was the problem? Well, for starters, I wasn’t in love with Cassian or Mor.

Hell, I had even suggested going with Amren to avoid going through this. Going undercover with Cassian was impossible—Nesta’s scent was all over him, and it wasn’t a secret that he had a mate. Mor was in the Winter Court visiting Viviane, and Amren… well, she was busy with Varian.

So that only left the shadowsinger and me free. Plus, neither of us was involved with anyone publicly, so we were the perfect candidates.

This time I didn’t suppress the groan of exasperation as I headed to my own room in the House of the River. I missed the company of the House of Wind, but now that Cassian and Nesta were there, it was impossible for me to stay—for the sake of my mental health, I fled that place. So I sighed and nearly cried when I reached my bed, bracing myself and trying to find the strength to endure what would happen in a few days.

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

Two nights had passed. Two damned nights sleeping like shit, practicing a mask of indifference and composure that I clearly didn’t feel.

I had also been more sensitive than usual, so I tried to avoid everyone, including Azriel. However, I saw Cassian every morning at training, and although I felt him casting strange glances at me, anticipating my mood, he didn’t ask about it. For that, I was grateful.

In a few hours, Azriel and I would be on our way to the Autumn Court, and I was just trying to control my breathing to avoid panicking. Even now, my hands were shaking so much I couldn’t fasten the endless buttons on the back of the pretty midnight blue dress, adorned with some crystals at the top and quite fitted from the waist down. Courtesy of Rhys.

A knock on the door distracted me from the mission, and holding the top of the dress to my chest, I opened it to come face to face with the man I had been avoiding with all my might.

I had to restrain myself from shrinking away upon seeing him in all his glory—not dressed in Illyrian leathers, but in a formal suit the same color as my dress, fitted in all the right places that made him look out of this world. If you added the large wings behind his back, the stoic hazel gaze, and the tendrils of shadows that surrounded him, giving him a mysterious and irresistible air… My breath faltered a bit.

He scanned me from head to toe as well, and the shiver that ran through me was completely involuntary. His gaze burned, but I did nothing to break the silence in which we were immersed.

"You look… beautiful" he finally said, hesitating a bit.

I swallowed hard and looked away, unsure of how to act. I had never been shy about receiving compliments, but when they came from him, they managed to destabilize me.

"Thanks" I whispered "You look great too."

Azriel nodded, and I saw his eyes drift to my chest, right where my hands were holding the dress.

"I need help with the buttons" I said in a tired tone.

He nodded again and entered my room, closing the door slowly. His shadows roamed freely, and I felt one of them caress my braided hair, making me smile.

"Sorry" Azriel apologized as he gestured for me to turn around.

I shook my head.

"I like them" I replied with a smile that died the moment I felt his fingers touch the exposed skin of my back.

"And they like you" he answered in his usual calm tone.

I didn’t respond, fearing my voice would tremble, and I focused on avoiding my skin from tingling wherever his touched. I even resorted to thinking about the painful blows to the stomach that Cassian gave during training when Azriel’s hands brushed dangerously low on my back.

I knew he also noticed the tension by the way his wings were tucked, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, I released the breath I had been holding once he finished and he removed his hands, though a strange sense of loss invaded me. Nevertheless, I ignored it.

A moment later, I turned around and faced him, tilting my head back to meet his eyes now that we were so close.

"Rhys told me you had certain… reservations about this" he broke the silence, looking at me with a calm expression.

Of course, he had told him.

I almost scoffed.

I opened my mouth to respond, but he interrupted me.

"We won’t do anything you haven’t consented to or that makes you uncomfortable"

I frowned.

"Of course I know that, Az. It’s just that I doubt this will work" I responded, smoothing out my dress a little.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. Though that wasn’t the main reason. It all boiled down to the fact that doing this with him made me nervous.

"It will" he reassured me. "Rhys and I have evaluated all the scenarios. We are the most credible for this plan. Just trust me"

I nodded, though I couldn’t shake the slight anxiety of having him so close.

The shadow from before wrapped around my arm, making me smile again. Even though the touch was cold, it didn’t feel strange, so I didn’t fear playing with it with one of my fingers, not realizing I was practically brushing Azriel’s wing membrane until I noticed his shiver and the way his breath escaped him. I quickly pulled my hand away and looked at him only to find him with his eyes shut and the rest of his shadows slightly agitated.

"I’m sorry, Az" I apologized. "I’m so sorry"

I knew how reserved the Illyrians were about their wings and how they shouldn’t be touched, so his silence only increased the unease brewing inside me.

"It’s fine" he replied slowly after a moment. "It’s nothing" but I could see him swallowing hard.

I bit the inside of my cheek but said nothing more.

"We should go now" he spoke after a moment.

I nodded and took one of his hands, preparing to pretend I was in love with him, according to that stupid plan. When in reality, I would stop pretending I wasn't, for a moment.

That was what terrified me—letting my feelings out and not being able to hide them again after tonight.

But there was no turning back now.

"Ready?"

No.

"Yes" I responded with the steadiest tone I could muster.

He gave me a deep look before I felt the shadows envelop us, and soon the room lit up, leaving us at the entrance of the grand hall of the Autumn Court.

Then, I let go of one of his hands and gently brought it to his cheek, trying to convey my intentions. He held my gaze for a second before bending obediently, giving me the opportunity to leave a chaste kiss on his lips.

The sensations exploded inside me, but I held back. This was a mission, I reminded myself. So why did his hand immediately curve around my waist?

This is just a mission, I repeated.

I pulled away a moment later, smiling softly at him. Before we both straightened up.

I supposed we had made it quite clear that we were together by kissing in front of all these people. I made sure to do it at the entrance so everyone would see, and I guessed Az understood too by the slight squeeze he gave my hand.

I looked at him one last time, letting a bit of my love for him escape. And then I turned towards the crowd, with a bright smile.

All right, the game had begun.

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[luxaofhesperides]

those who serve.

CHAPTER SEVEN: a wound.

previous chapter. full fic on ao3.

14k.... finish what ure doing first before u read this. this is ur only warning.

cw for this chapter: violence, injuries, nongraphic medical procedures

. . .

Danny gets one week to adjust to the reveal of the Wayne family’s night activities, on top of getting learning more and more each day to help Alfred. Then everything upends itself in the face of a gala taking place in the manor in ten days.

Most of the preparations have been taken care of by Alfred months in advance; renting out extra tables, chairs, and tablecloths, hiring catering, getting together press passes for attending reporters, and so much more. He kindly goes over each thing for Danny, reviewing the specifics of each group so Danny can have an idea of what to look for in the future. The amount of information he gets makes his head spin, and the prices of everything make him break out into a cold sweat.

Technically, Danny is joining the ranks of the rich with his new paycheck, but no amount of time will make him comfortable with such large numbers being attached to his bank account.

Ten days to the gala, Alfred shows Danny how to get blood out of white and light colored clothes. Tim, apparently, pulled some stitches after getting stabbed the night before, and bled through his shirt. 

Hydrogen peroxide is a life saver. It definitely would have been useful to have while he still lived in Amity Park.

He also discovers a love of ironing; watching the wrinkles in the fabric disappear is deeply satisfying in ways he can’t put to words. 

“I’d certainly be happy to pass on all ironing duties to you,” Alfred says, when Danny mentions this. “Just be careful not to burn yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not that clumsy!” he replies, moving the iron across another shirt. Looking at Alfred, Danny miscalculates how far he’s moved the iron, and the edge of the hot metal touches his palm, pressing the shirt flat against the ironing board. He yelps, yanking his hand back, then gives Alfred a sheepish smile. “That doesn’t count.”

Alfred shakes his head with a fond smile, holding out a hand. “Let me see.”

Danny holds up his hand for Alfred to inspect. There’s no burn, barely any redness in the skin, but Danny draws some ice across the area anyways to keep Alfred from worrying.

“You could always iron using oven mitts,” Alfred suggests. “I believe we have some spare Batman themed ones in the kitchen.” His tone is so dry and even that it takes Danny a second to realize he’s joking.

“I would have accepted that if it wasn’t Batman themed,” he jokes back. “Anyone but him.”

“He’ll be heartbroken to hear that, I’m sure.”

Danny snickers and goes back to ironing, carefully keeping it away from his hand this time.

He’s not laughing when Alfred teaches him about formal suits that night, showing him each piece to the suit and how to properly wash, fold, and iron them, as well as how to put them on. And then he drops the bombshell of, “You’ll be getting your suit fitted tomorrow as well,” in the most casual tone possible for him.

Danny chokes on nothing and has to spend a minute clearing his throat before he can say, “Sorry, what did you just say?”

“You need to get fitted for a suit. Tomorrow. I have already made the appointment with a tailor I’ve worked with for many decades.”

“Cool, that’s what I thought you said. Is this required?”

“Yes, as you’ll be attending the gala as well. We are the two permanent members of the Wayne Manor staff. There will be eyes on us as we keep the event running smoothly, so it’s important to be well dressed.”

It makes sense when Alfred puts it like that, but Danny still has to smother his instinctive refusal. He’s only rented suits before for school dances, and those were never super comfortable. He avoids events that require suits, like formal conferences his parents are invited to, with an extended invite for family. Suits and wealth will always make him think first of Vlad. 

Maybe in time, he’ll associate those things more with the Waynes, but for now, Vlad is the face that comes to mind and Danny has to shove away the urge to run and hide.

“Not to worry,” Alfred adds, as Danny struggles to smooth out his expression from the pained grimace it twisted into, “You will not be going to this appointment alone.”

That’s not the part that Danny’s concerned about, but he still appreciates it. He’s definitely not ready to be alone in the city again, considering how his first time out with the Waynes ended with a hostage situation and a mall full of violent gangsters.

There’s not much anyone here can do for his own hangups, especially when they originate in another dimension. 

So Danny pastes on an unconvincing smile and gets back to work.

Nine days before the gala, Danny finds himself in a car with Bruce and Cass. Alfred had offered to drive them, but Bruce grabbed the keys before anyone else could and cheerily waved Alfred away. He was then told to not get another speeding ticket and to try to be a good role model for Danny.

Danny, whose only good role model is Jazz, looked away nonchalantly and acted like he didn’t hear that. 

It’s not like he needs good role models anyways. He’s doing just fine on his own!

Alfred doesn’t count because Alfred isn’t a role model as much as he’s an ideal Danny is striving for. Alfred is who Danny wants to be when he grows up. Now that he has a chance to grow up (relatively) safe, that is.

Cass had snickered at the three of them, then bodily shoved Danny into the backseat before climbing in after him.

Now, they’re going down the streets of Gotham, driving over a bridge, through neighborhoods, through run down districts that slowly get bigger and cleaner and visibly more suited for people with money. Bruce doesn’t drive recklessly, thankfully, despite Alfred’s warnings. 

Even so, Danny still clings to the car door, ready to throw himself out at a moment’s notice. He’s learned to bail quickly with his parents’ dangerous driving. 

“You alright back there?” Bruce asks, meeting Danny’s eyes briefly in the rearview mirror.

“Yep!” Danny chokes out. “Doing great!”

He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to regulate his breathing, counting slowly in an attempt to settle the wild beating of his heart. 

He wasn’t this bad in cars before. Even with his parents. He’s not sure what changed, but being in Gotham, after everything that’s happened, makes the small space of a car feel suffocating. The rocking of the car as it goes down bumpy roads would have once lulled him to sleep, but now makes his stomach roll and his chest go tight with panic. None of this is made better by having two observant and dangerous people watching his every reaction, no matter how small.

The radio is playing softly, simple background noise as Bruce drives them through Gotham. Danny tries to pay attention to it, to listen to the songs that come on, but his focus is completely shot. The noise keeps fading in and out of his ears.

“It’s okay,” Cass says softly. Her fingers skate over the back of his hand, making him jump. He blinks his eyes open to look at her. 

At some point, she’s taken off her seatbelt. Which isn’t safe! She needs to put it back on! 

Danny’s gone through the lessons and powerpoints back in Amity Park, when teachers tried to make sure he and his sister would be better drivers than their parents. Seatbelts help prevent severe injuries in car crashes, and there’s a reason they’re required by law.

Weakly, he shoves her back against the seat. Then he leans forward to reach past her, taking hold of the discarded seatbelt, and fastening it around her again.

“Keep that on,” he says around a gasp, his breath catching in his chest. His voice sounds weak and thready even to his ears, which means its bound to be even more concerning to her and Bruce.

“Do you need me to pull over?” Bruce asks, glancing back at him. “If you’re feeling sick, I can stop until you feel better.”

“No, just keep driving. The sooner we get to wherever it is we’re going, the better.”

Cass is frowning at him when he looks at her, ensuring the seatbelt is still on. “Why?” she asks, pointing at him.

That’s such a vague question! What is he supposed to answer! 

‘Why is he like this?’ ‘Why is he worked up about a seatbelt?’ ‘Why is he a mess?’

The answer to all those questions are the same: he doesn’t know!

The most he can do is offer Cass a weak shrug, so that’s what he does. Cass squints her eyes at him, then grabs his hands and lifts them up to start a clumsy game of patty cake. It quickly becomes apparent that she doesn’t actually know how to play patty cake and is instead clapping their hands together randomly with a look of confusion on her face, so Danny takes over, humming the song under his breath.

It helps distract him from the unreasonable panic of being trapped inside a car. That was probably her intention, but Cass is so focused on keeping up with their steadily quickening game of patty cake that it doesn’t feel like he’s being coddled. It just feels like this is normal, like they’re two kids passing time on a car ride.

Like they could be anyone else. People who are safe. People who haven’t been so hurt.

It’s almost a surprise when the car comes to a stop, Bruce smoothly pulling into a parking space with a reserved sign in front of it.

Danny opens his mouth to ask if it’s really alright that they park there, but can’t say a word before Cass smacks his hands down. When he looks at her, she rubs her fingers together in the universal sign for money and gives him an impish grin.

That’s right, Bruce is rich enough that he can get away with anything. Who cares who that reserved sign is for? Bruce can just buy them a new parking lot. 

That won’t stop the whole thing from leaving a bad taste in his mouth, but at least it’ll be easier to ignore.

Cass hops out the car and skips around the open the door on his side, holding out a hand to help him out. 

He takes it and lets her yank him out of the car. She doesn’t bother waiting for Bruce before dragging Danny into a fancy looking store, the outside all black brick and large, reflective windows. He doesn’t get a chance to see the name of the store, pulled in too fast by Cass’s enthusiasm.

She all but throws open the door, the bell above them ringing merrily, and leads him inside. The dark wood floor and fancy lights immediately make Danny feel out of place. The racks of fancy clothing on display and the mannequins all dressed up in suits of various dark colors only make him feel more like he doesn’t belong in there. 

“Hello, hello, welcome!” calls out an employee. She wears a dark green apron with a notepad tucked into the front pocket and a pin cushion on her wrist. “Are you just browsing today, or do you have an appointment?”

“We have an appointment for Danny,” Bruce answers, somehow appearing behind them. Danny squeezes Cass’s hand to hold back his flinch; he’d really love if the man would make some noise when he moves. 

Did the bell over the door even ring when Bruce came in?

“Great! Follow me, I’ll get you into a fitting room and then let Mr. Brownstein know you’re here.” She leads them through a door near the back of the store, leading to a short hallway with three numbered doors in them. 

They’re given room one, which looks more like a lounge than a fitting room. Beyond the couch and armchairs is a round platform with floor length mirrors surrounding it on three sides. Past that is an area that looks like a large dressing room with only a curtain to separate it from the rest of the room. 

Bruce wastes no time in sitting down on the couch with a low grunt. Apparently not even vigilantism and constant training can save him from old man joints. 

Cass lets go of Danny’s hand to flit around the room, then grabs a few magazines and sits next to Bruce, flipping through them quickly. 

Left on his own, Danny stands near the door awkwardly before he forces himself to join them, sitting on one of the armchairs to keep some space between them. 

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks as soon as Danny’s gotten comfortable.

Danny shrugs. “Fine. Just… not used to this.” He gestures vaguely to everything around them and Bruce nods as if this makes sense.

“I understand that this can be a lot,” he says, “But we’ll do all we can to make things go smoothly for you.”

“Will be normal… time?” Cass adds, looking to Bruce for help.

She signs something and Bruce helpfully supplies, “Eventually.”

“Yes! Even-tu-ally.”

“I don’t know if anyone ever gets used to this. The being rich thing and your hobbies.”

“Plenty of us in the know have had to adjust to this life, you’re not alone in that.”

Danny squints at Bruce. “I highly doubt any of you were normal before doing what you do.”

Bruce opens his mouth to refute that, thinks about it, then closes his mouth and slowly nods. “That is a fair point. What’s normal for Gotham is hardly normal for anyone else.”

“No, no, this is not a Gotham specific thing. This is a Wayne and associates specific thing.”

“You are in that,” Cass says. “Not normal.”

“I think I’ve made it very clear that I am not normal. But I wasn’t insanely rich! That changes things!”

“No,” Cass says firmly, agreeing. “Not normal. Better that way.”

A knock on the door sounds through the room before they can get into it anymore. The door opens just a second later and an old man with heavyset wrinkles, white hair, and a fancy looking black cane with the handle done in gold, enters with a smile.

“Ah, Mr. Wayne, how lovely to see you again.” He’s got the same accent as Alfred, the same even, unflappable tone.

“Davey!” Bruce stands with a grin, his voice turning loud and energetic. It’s such a change from how Danny’s used to seeing him that he can’t do anything but stare at the man in shock. Bruce shakes Davey’s hand in big up and down sweeps, full of cheer.

Gone is the calm, steady, intimidating presence Danny is used to. In its place is some guy with a good attitude and not much else in his head.

“So good to see you again,” Bruce continues, dropping the handshake in favor of patting him on the back. 

“I do hope you haven’t wrecked any of your suits recently. I was hoping to go more than a few months between tailoring new suits for you.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll be happy to know all my suits are in perfect condition! We’re here for someone new, anyways.” 

Taking his cue, Danny stands up and gives a small wave. “Hi,” he says rather weakly.

Davey lights up, striding across the room to take Danny’s hand in his, giving it a vigorous shake. “You must be the boy Alfred’s taken in! Such a pleasure to meet you lad, I’ve heard only good things about you.”

“You know Alfred?”

“Know him? I grew up in the same neighborhood as him in England, and he’s the one who helped me set up shop here in Gotham back in the 80s. I’ve gotten ahead of myself.” He shakes his head and steps back, giving Danny some breathing room. “David Brownstein, at your service.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Brownstein. I’m Danny.”

“Call me David. Any friend of Alfred is a friend of mine. Now, I hear you’re in need of a suit?”

“Yeah, there’s a gala soon and I don’t have anything formal or like… professional to wear to it.”

“Make him pretty!” Cass demands, clapping her hands together in delight. 

David nods to her. “I intend to, Miss Cassandra. Let’s begin, shall we?”

In no time at all, Danny is standing on the round platform in a black suit, trying his best to be as still as possible. He’s stopped breathing completely so he doesn’t accidentally disturb David where he’s pinning his left pant leg to better fit him. The fabric is soft and smooth, higher quality than literally anything else he’s ever worn in his life. 

When he glances into one of the many mirrors around him, he has to admit that he looks good.

To be fair, though, everyone looks good in a suit. 

It’s just so far beyond his normal that it feels like he’s looking at someone else in the mirror. To think that just a few weeks ago, he as a homeless teenager living on the streets with only the clothes on his back. Now he’s getting fitted for a designer suit that probably costs more than his entire college fund.

Bruce left the room at some point and Danny has no idea where he could be. Cass is still around, though she disappears every so often, then pops back in wearing a beautiful dress that she presents to him for his opinion.

Danny gives her a thumbs up every time while also trying to keep his arms still. 

Near the end of his appointment, she walks into the room with a bunch of silk ties in different colors and patterns draped over one arm. She holds up each one in front of her face, looks between the ties and Danny, then either tosses them onto the couch or puts them back on her arm. The ones she keeps on her arms, she yanks at each one, then wraps them around her neck and tries to choke herself with them.

This, apparently, is part of the selection process, and she tosses a few more to the couch. 

He’s… not sure he wants to know why she’s considering which tie would be best to strangle someone with. That’s not a problem Danny has to deal with. It’s not in his job description.

Bruce conveniently reappears once Danny carefully changes back out of the suit. The thought of trying not to disturb the pins or chalk lines is so stressful that Danny just phased out of them once the curtain was drawn, so they’re all as untouched as they can be. 

He passes the suit to David, who leaves quickly with a goodbye tossed over his shoulder to the three of them. Cass hands three ties to Bruce, who stops by the register to get them paid for and packed up before they leave the store. 

They head back to the manor soon after. Danny’s grateful to be done, even as he spends the entire drive with his head between his knees, trying to pretend he’s anywhere else.

“How was it?” Alfred asks once Danny’s joined him in the kitchen to help with dinner. 

“Fine. David was nice. Also, I’m not sure if Cass wants to strangle me or not.”

“She’s like that sometimes,” Alfred says, then smoothly pivots the conversation into a new direction and they both silently decide to move on and pretend everything’s fine.

Eight days before the gala, Damian pops up while Danny’s removing dead leaves from the indoor plants. He hovers over Danny’s shoulder completely silent while Danny works, unaware, until Damian says, “Stop what you’re doing.”

“Shit!” Danny jumps, throwing dead leaves into the air, and goes intangible. His feet sink into the floor before he catches himself and flies up, floating in the air with a hand on his chest to keep his half-dead heart from escaping.

Damian stares at him, unimpressed. He looks at the dead leaves on the ground, then at Danny, and sighs.

“What?” Danny says, flustered. “You scared me! Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“It’s hardly my fault you lack awareness of your surroundings.”

“Yeah, whatever. Did you need something?” Danny floats back down to the floor, tangible once again, and kneels down to clean up his mess.

After a moment of brief hesitation, Damian joins him, carefully gathering up the dead leaves closest to him.

Any annoyance Danny has at being scared like that fizzles away instantly with that little gesture. 

Damian is blunt and full of jagged edges, but he’s not unkind. 

“Has anyone shown you the emergency supply caches or escapes routes?”

Danny vaguely recalls Damian mentioning the caches but nothing else. And Danny hasn’t exactly been going out of his way to spend time with anyone but Alfred, who is busy enough teaching him how to handle all his new butler duties. 

He shakes his head, gathering up the very last leaves, the smallest of the bunch, then stands up. Damian follows suit with a disapproving click of his tongue. “I suppose I will have to do it then. Come, let us begin.”

“Woah, wait, we gotta throw these away first!” Danny tries to take the bundle of dead leaves in Damian’s hands from him, but he turns, keeping his hands out of reach with a scowl.

“Fine. You don’t need to do it for me. I’m not incapable of basic tasks.”

That was not at all what he meant by that, but okay! Danny decides to move on from that and dumps the dead leaves into the small trash bag he’s been carrying around for this task. Then he holds it out for Damian to do the same. 

Having taken care of that, Danny has no more excuses and is quickly taken on a trip around the Manor with Damian, who points out all the hidden emergency caches. 

There are so many. If Danny didn’t know about they’re vigilante activities, he would have been convinced that the Waynes were secretly doomsday preppers. 

Some are hidden in panels in the walls. Others beneath floorboards. Some behind large paintings. 

“You must carefully memorize which paintings are emergency caches. There are some paintings within the Manor that lead to secret passageways or panic rooms,” Damian says. 

“How the hell did this place get built that you guys have so many secret, hidden things in it?”

“Very carefully.”

Damian puts a hand on a panel in the wall in the next hallway and pushes against it. The wood falls back and opens silently, revealing a small space with a first aid kit, six gas masks of various sizes, and three tasers. Danny carefully takes note of the location and tries to memorize a few details around the cache so he can find it again later. 

They go through the entire manor, even unused rooms and halls, the attic, and areas that the Wayne family allows outsiders to access when they open their doors. 

Escape routes follow next, but take much less time when Danny reminds Damian that he can just fly out of the Manor whenever he wants. Danny himself is an escape route. Still, he memorizes some that go from the ballroom to the back of the manor in case he needs to evacuate people. 

“Now,” Damian says as they come to a stop in front of the grand staircase in the foyer, “Walk to every emergency cache you can remember.”

“Oh, come on,” Danny groans. “There’s no way I’m going to remember any correctly.”

“Which is why we’re doing this. If we put it off, then you won’t learn until it’s far too late.”

That doesn’t sound too bad, since Danny’s been learning on the fly since the Accident. Half the reason he managed to do what he did as Phantom was because he had no choice but to learn as he went, thrown into fights he wasn’t prepared for. It’s never gone too badly before, and he’s always been able to get out of things relatively fine. 

Then again, Gotham is much more dangerous than Amity Park. It’s not ghosts that are causing the problems here, but living people who have no qualms about killing. Danny rarely ever had to hold back his strength with ghosts; they were already dead, they could take a hit.

But here?

If Danny isn’t careful, he could kill people here. Even if he doesn’t mean too. 

He remembers how strong he felt when stopping that mugger from hurting Alfred. How fragile and small the gangster who attacked him and Dick in the mall felt trapped beneath his foot. 

In Amity Park, Danny was just another ghost.

Here in Gotham, Danny is a monster. 

Damian’s right. It’s better he be prepared so he can act more carefully, have more options at his disposal instead of just working off panicked instinct.

“Alright,” he sighs. “Just don’t be too upset when I can’t find more than one.”

Damian stares him down with hard, serious eyes, but something about the downturn of his lips makes him look more awkward than intimidating. “You are a civilian who has only just begun to learn everything about the Manor. I’m not expecting much from you.”

The words, by themselves, are harsh, but Danny can hear what he really means: You don’t have to get it perfect, you just need to know enough to be safe.

“Okay. Should we start from here?”

Damian nods, and so the roles reverse and Danny leads them around the Manor, trying to remember as many emergency cache locations as possible. He gets more than he expected, around seven correctly and six more with some hesitation and poking around in areas he knows something is hidden, but he’s not 100% sure where.

He expects that to be the end of it, but Damian just nods thoughtfully and takes the lead again, showing Danny all the caches he missed. It takes up the rest of the day, but Alfred didn’t mind when he rushed to the kitchen afterwards to help finish dinner.

The next five days are spent deep cleaning the Manor, mostly in areas where there will be high traffic, and making sure anything Bat related or generally suspicious is hidden away. He doesn’t see the Waynes much at all outside of meals, and even then it’s only Bruce, Damian, and Cass that show up regularly. Everyone else appears at random, no rhyme or reason as to when they decide to sit down to eat with the rest of the family. 

He overhears stern reminders to be careful on patrols, for the Waynes joining Bruce to make sure their clothes are ready and any needed cover stories are made and memorized. The others tease the poor souls forced to host the gala with Bruce, flaunting the fact that they get to go out and patrol like normal instead of pandering to the crowd of deeply annoying elite folk. 

None of what they say make Danny feel any better about having to work the gala.

He tries to channel his nerves into work, always finding something to do in order to keep his mind from wondering about all the things that could go wrong at the gala and spiraling. The giant crystal chandelier in the ballroom is sparkling from how thoroughly Danny’s cleaned it. 

Alfred handles all the logistical tasks, smoothing out last minute hiccups and answering questions from caterers and hired security. The ease with which he works through things has Danny in awe, hoping to one day be as capable as he is. 

Two days before the gala, his suit is delivered to the Manor. Cass somehow gets a hold of it first and ambushes Danny as he walks into the kitchen, holding a basket full of bell peppers and tomatoes. 

“Your suit!” she announces, suddenly in his face as he turns around from closing the door. One of her hands darts out and holds the basket up from the bottom, keeping any of his garden harvest from falling onto the floor as Danny freezes and tries not to jump back and bang his head into the door.

Once she’s sure he’s got his balance back, Cass steps back, presents his suit on a hanger to him, and says again, “Your suit.”

“Thanks, Cass. This couldn’t wait until I wasn’t holding stuff?”

“Nope. Go put it on!”

She smoothly takes the basket from his hands and replaces it with the suit. Then she uses her shoulder to push Danny away from the door and out of the kitchen, ending with a light, playful kick to his back.

Well. He’s no longer making spaghetti, apparently. 

With nothing else to do and no reason to deny Cass, Danny heads off to his room to get changed. He doesn’t quite remember all of Alfred’s instructions on how to put on a suit properly, so he has to look it up on his phone. It’s a long process to lay out the suit in all its pieces and then put them on in order, looking between his phone and the mirror to make sure he’s doing it right.

The only thing he doesn’t have is some sort of necktie. He’s pretty sure butlers wear little black bowties, but that could just be a movie thing. He’s pretty sure it’s what James Bond wears, anyways, which isn’t quite the look he’s going for. 

Once he’s got the suit on as well as he can manage, Danny takes a look at himself in the mirror.

He’s still pretty thin despite his appetite growing and his stomach being able to handle larger, richer meals. There’s a paleness to his skin that will probably always be there, making him look washed out and slightly drowned. His hair is a mess, as it always is, but in the suit, it looks more like a style choice than a consequence of his refusal to touch a hair brush in the mornings when he makes breakfast for himself and Alfred. 

He doesn’t look half bad. 

And the suit is fitted to him perfectly. Nothing is too tight or too loose. Everything falls where it should comfortably. 

Satisfied with his efforts to dress himself properly, Danny gets back to the kitchen to let Cass see him. It’s easier to fly through the walls than make his way down the winding hallways, so that’s what he does, passing by a startled Tim who must have just come up from the Batcave. 

Cass is sitting on the counter when he returns, kicking out her legs idly. She lights up when she spots him and claps her hands together in delight. “Nice!” she says, giving him a thumbs up.

“Thanks. I don’t have a tie or anything, so it’s not really a complete look.”

“We got ties,” she says.

“Uh, when?”

She waves a hand vaguely. “At the store. With your suit.”

Well. Bruce did buy some ties, but Danny hasn’t seen them since so he assumed they weren’t for him. For all he knows, they’re for Cass. She was the one checking them to see how well they could strangle people. He’s not really sure he wants those ties, if they’re going to be used as improvised weapons.

“I didn’t know any of those were mine. I definitely haven’t seen them since we got back.”

“Oh. I forgot.” Cass hops off the counter and says, “Stay here!” Then she’s gone, disappearing back into the depths of the manor.

“Sure, I guess,” Danny replies to no one. He stares forlornly at the basket of bell peppers and tomatoes on the counter. He would get started on the sauce if he could, but he doesn’t trust himself to keep his new and expensive suit clean while he cooks, so all he can do is look longingly at the work he should be doing.

He doesn’t wait as long as he expected to. Cass must have made use of those hidden passageways scattered all along the Manor to get back to him so quickly, three ties in hand. Or she’s just fast. One or the other.

“Here!” she says, presenting them to him. 

Danny looks them over, reaching out to feel them. They must be made of silk for how soft and smooth they are. 

One of the ties is a deep blue color with gold thread providing some embellishments. Another is a simple red, one solid color. 

It’s the last tie that holds Danny’s attention. Black with silver thread stars and planets and celestial bodies, carefully placed on the length of the tie. He’s never thought much about ties, much less about their designs, but he’s obsessed with this one. It’s perfect for him.

Cass must clock his interest in the last tie. She tosses the other two over her shoulder, then reaches out to flip his collar up. The tie goes around his neck and she ties it loosely, clearly unsure of how to properly tie it, but doing her best anyways.

Once done, she looks it over before she nods, satisfied. “Good.”

Danny looks down to lift up one lopsided end of the knot she’s made with the tie. “Thanks, Cass. This one’s great. Can I ask why you tested these three for strangling capabilities?”

She shakes her head. “Not for harming,” she explains. 

“Uh… strangling is very harmful. And that’s definitely what it looked like to me.”

She shakes her head again, stronger. With one hand, she takes one of the ties on her shoulder and loops it around her neck. “Picked the ones that won’t be bad. Hard to hurt with these. Try.” And Cass offers one end of her makeshift tie noose to Danny.

He stares. “No, thanks.”

“I’ll do it then.”

“Don’t!”

Cass grins at him, all teeth and challenge. “Stop me.”

And she yanks with all her strength, harder than she did at the tailor’s, genuinely trying to strangle herself with this silk tie. Danny chokes on his breath and scrambles to stop her, grabbing her wrist and struggling to pry the tie out of her fist. She doesn’t let him stop her, pulling harder, her grip iron and unmovable.

Danny, in a moment of panic, shoves his fingers between the tie and her throat, creating space, then makes the tie go intangible, finally freeing it from her grasp. 

“Please,” he begs, “Do not try to kill yourself in front of me.”

“Woah, what?” Tim asks, having chosen the absolute worst time to walk into the kitchen.

Cass waves at him. “Testing,” she says, pointing at the tie, the wraps her hands around her neck and mimes being strangled to death.

“Oh. I see.” Based on the way Tim is blinking at them, befuddled, he definitely doesn’t see. “Why silk ties? Those are the worst for strangulation. They slip too much.”

Danny stares down at the tie he liberated from Cass’s grasp. Slowly, he wraps on end around his wrist, ties it off, then pulls with what’s left of the tail. 

Sure enough, the tie slips along his wrist and against itself. It still pulls tight, but not as strongly as he thought it would.

So this is what Cass meant when she said these were safe. The ties she chose must be what she decided were least capable of strangling him.

It’s actually kind of sweet that she went out of her way to find something specifically so it wouldn’t be used to hurt him too much. As strange as the whole process was, he can’t deny that he’s touched by the effort she put into this.

“Unless that’s the point,” Tim continues, looking between the two of them. “Nice suit, Danny, you look great. Have you figured out where to hide weapons in it yet?”

“What? Why would I do that?”

“In case you get attacked. Always a risk at galas.”

“Are the rich people going to attack me or something?”

“No, no! Probably. But that many rich people in once place, especially in Wayne Manor, makes the gala a huge target for anyone wanting to rob us or take someone for ransom. But maybe be wary of the rich people too, there’s some really creepy old guys that are somehow still kicking.”

“Great,” Danny says weakly, “That’s exactly what I want to hear.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be able to keep you safe. So, weapons?”

“I don’t think I need any. I have powers, remember?”

“And you can fight with them?” Tim presses.

“Fighting’s all I’ve ever really done with them, so yes.”

“I’ll take your word for it then. But remember, plenty of us will be there in case anything goes wrong, and we’ll have plenty of security around. I’m sure the gala will go fine.”

Cass points an accusing finger at Tim. “Jinx!”

He winces. “Ah. Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have said that. My bad.”

“Well, as long as I don’t have to fight rich people,” Danny tries to joke, only to blanch when Tim moves his hand in a ‘maybe-so’ back and forth motion. “I don’t have to fight rich people, right? I thought we already agreed on that!”

“You probably don’t have to fight rich people,” Tim corrects, “But there was a cult situation years ago. Like, when I was in elementary school, but B took care of it so it’s not a problem anymore. Not that it would stop them from making more cults, but we haven’t seen any recently. So.”

Danny stares at him, a little horrified. “Man, what the hell is Gotham?”

Tim and Cass snicker, as if this isn’t the reality they grew up in. “Don’t worry,” Tim says, “You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

“Ancients help me when that day comes,” Danny mutters.

He leaves them to steal snacks from the kitchen as he changes back out of the suit and is graced with their company as he makes two pots worth of spaghetti, smacking their hands with a wooden spoon when they try to sneak a taste of the sauce. 

And then, suddenly, the day of the gala of here. Danny can only hope it doesn’t end too terribly.

. . .

“The first guests will likely arrive around seven in the evening,” Alfred says as they make their final rounds to ensure the ballrooms and sitting rooms are all ready for the elite of Gotham. “Preparations will begin at noon. Security will arrive first. They have all received instructions onto where they should be. Be on the look out for anyone going to places closed to the private; we have had many people in the past be bribed to steal from us while had them employed for an event.”

“What should I do if I do find someone out of place?”

“First, try to escort them back to where they should be. If they resist, then do whatever you deem necessary.”

“And when you say ‘anything necessary,’ does that include…”

Alfred stops to look Danny directly in the eyes as he firmly says, “Anything.” And then continues walking as if that didn’t just happen. Danny hurries to follow, putting into practice his newest, most important skill of moving right on past that shit.

“Tables and chairs for the ballroom will arrive at one. I’ve printed out the layout they need to be placed in. The rental company has a copy of these instructions, so all you need to do is oversee the set up. Catering will arrive at five to set up, cook, and have food out and ready for guests.”

“Do I have to greet any of the guests?”

“Not at all. Master Bruce has that responsibility. I will be taking care of coats and bags for guests. I will need you to direct cars to the drop off point in front of the ballroom entrance.”

“Everyone’s being dropped off?”

“That is correct. You don’t need to worry about arranging rides for anyone, as that is something they have to do themselves.”

Okay. Cool. It’s still stressful, still a lot that Danny has to be in charge of, but it’s not as overwhelming as he thought it would be. Alfred hasn’t given him too much to do, and all of it is easy enough for him to take care of with his current skill levels. As long as no guests come up to him demanding he do stuff for them, he should be fine.

They split up after they leave the ballroom to put up the velvet ropes that will hopefully keep people from wandering into places they aren’t allowed to be. From what he’s heard, it shouldn’t be a problem except with particularly drunk guests. The Wayne family is big and important in Gotham, enough so that any and all guests will be careful to be respectful while attending the gala. 

Danny double checks the list he was given of where to place the rope barriers, double checking that he got all of them. 

After that, it’s a flurry of tasks to be completed, last minute details to fix, and preparing lunch for everyone so no one goes hungry until the gala begins.

In no time at all, security arrives and Danny is tasked with directing them to their positions, helping them review their routes to keep the venue safe. It’s off putting to be the one listened to when he’s so much younger than everyone, but none of the hired security guards act like anything’s out of the ordinary while with him. It’s probably just in his own head, but it still feels wrong.

Tables and chairs arrive after that, and Danny helps them get to where they need to be placed. He helps with moving some of the tables as well, putting his enhanced strength to good use so the other workers don’t have to struggle so much. Tablecloths are set out, carefully smoothed of wrinkles. Floral centerpieces follow.

There’s only one near miss with two workers crashing into each other and the centerpiece—with its glass vase—goes flying amid the horrified gasps of the others. Danny had just managed to catch it in time, moving on instinct honed from years of ghost fights.

The relief on everyone’s faces helped him feel more at ease working with them.

By the time they’re done and everything is where it should be, properly put together, the catering arrives, bringing with them another flurry of movement and energy.

Danny lets himself get swept up in it, helping where he can. He almost doesn’t notice how late it’s gotten until Alfred appears at the entrance to the ballroom and looks at him expectantly. 

Everything is as set up as it could be. The rest of the staff are now to act as waiters, basically, carting around drinks and finger foods for the elite. Danny will just get underfoot if he stays.

He leaves with a quick goodbye and is waved off by more people than he expected. 

Alfred falls into step with him as they make their way to the servant’s quarters to get changed into the gala suits. Before they part ways to go into their own rooms, Alfred gently claps a hand against Danny’s back.

“Well done,” he says warmly when Danny looks at him. He looks proud of Danny, so proud that it makes Danny’s eyes well up with tears he hurries to dash away. 

“Thanks!” he returns with a bright smile, and ducks into his room to try to get his emotions under control before he has to meet a bunch of rich people with red eyes and tear tracks on his face.

To think he can be undone so easily with just two words.

Jazz would probably have a whole lot to say about that. He misses her psychoanalyzing annoying big sister attitude so badly it hurts, a wound that will never heal. He hopes she’s doing alright wherever she is now. He’s ruined enough of her life, he’d like it if his disappearance doesn’t hurt her too much.

Taking in a deep breath, Danny shoves away all thoughts of home and family. He needs to focus. He’s here to do a job. He needs to make sure the gala goes smoothly.

Step one of that plan is to put on his suit and fix his hair so he looks more put together and less on the verge of an emotional breakdown.

He completes step one more or less successful. The only thing he can’t do is knot his tie nicely, and no video tutorials he watches really helps. With the time limit he’s on, Danny just gives up and decides to ask Alfred for help.

Alfred is already in the hallway waiting for him when Danny opens his door. He holds up his tie with a sheepish smile. “So, I don’t actually know what to do with this…?”

Alfred’s eyes soften and he waves Danny over. “Allow me.” 

He takes the tie from Danny’s hands and flips up his collar. With clean, precise movements, he has the tie around Danny’s neck and neatly knotted into what is probably a fancy shape that Danny will never be able to recreate. Then his collar is smoothed down again by Alfred’s hands, which quickly move to straighten out the lapels of his suit. 

“There we are,” he says. “And look at you now: a proper butler of the Wayne family.”

A warmth settles deep in his chest. There’s joy, rising on strong wings, that sweeps through him. 

He’s still an apprentice.  He still has so much to learn. But tonight, he will go out as the future butler of the Wayne family. That is how this world will know him. Alfred has carved out a place in this foreign dimension just for him, and finally Danny feels like he can take it, settle in, finally belong here beyond just a charity case taken in from the streets.

“Are you ready to work your first official event?”

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Danny replies, standing taller. 

“I’m glad to hear it. And Danny, if you ever need a break, you can hide away in the kitchen for as long as you need. I’ll be sure to join you in there eventually.”

“Got it!” And then, softer, “Thanks, Alfred.”

“But of course, Danny. Tonight will be busy. It may even be overwhelming. But I will be there for you should you ever need me.”

Danny nods, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut so he doesn’t start crying. He had been doing so good too! But Alfred’s honest words always throw him off balance. 

He has no defense against Alfred’s kindness. That’s how he ended up here in the first place. Pulling himself together with nothing but stubbornness and sheer will power, Danny lets out a steady breath, then starts walking. Alfred joins him as they return to the ballroom and gives him one more pat on the back before splitting off to tend to his own gala duties.

Left alone in the ballroom, surrounded by the bustle of staff finishing up their last minute tasks, Danny takes in the glittering opulence of the place; this isn’t the warm, lived in Wayne Manor full of history and family and comfort. This is cold and sharp, all gold and bright lights, a stage for false personalities and masks to take the spotlight for the night.

A group of musicians in the back of the ballroom fill the air with the sound of strings and flutes as they tune their instruments and prepare to play for hours on end. 

Food is set up and serving stations all have someone behind them, standing with their hands behind their back as they wait for the first guests to trickle in.

It’s nearly seven. Danny hurries outside, ready to wave drivers towards him, directing them down the gravel path that branches off from the main driveway that goes to the front door of Wayne Manor. It takes barely a few minutes before he sees the first headlights make their way down the makeshift road. 

Danny waves a hand in the air and the driver stops right in front of him. An old couple dressed lavishly get out of the car and stand together, arm in arm.

“Oh, who’s this?” the old woman coos, looking at him. 

Danny gives her a tight smile. “Hello, and welcome! I’m Danny, the apprentice butler to the Wayne family.”

“How darling,” she says, pressing a hand against her chest. “It’s been too long since I’ve met a young man like you learning the art of butling. Why, my own family had an apprentice back when I was in college, and he went off to serve a family in Spain that was closely related to the Spanish royal family.”

“That’s cool,” Danny replies, trying to hide how awkward he feels. “I think I’m going to stay with the Wayne family, though. I’m not that ambitious.”

“Waynes are close to royals in Gotham. They’re the most important family in the city. Why, I remember when Martha and Thomas were killed in Park Row. It was a dark day for us all…”

Woah, what? That’s the first time he’s heard of any murders happening in the Wayne family.

Some of his shock must shown on his face, as the old couple suddenly look more engage, more eager to talk to him.

“Why don’t you escort us in, son,” the old man says, “And we’ll tell you about it was we walk.” 

The couple begin to slowly walk to the Manor, slow with age though they still hold themselves tall. Danny falls in step with them and the man begins to weave a tale about a much younger Bruce Wayne and the parents who loved him so dearly, and how the sudden, tragic loss of them rocked the world.

Danny doubts he ever would have found out about this on his own. And he certainly won’t have known the impact the Waynes have had on Gotham. The fact that their lives and deaths mold the city is a heavy realization.

The couple keep him at the door to the ballroom for a few minutes to wrap up their story. Danny glances out over the grounds every so often to make sure there aren’t any headlights in the distance coming his way until they thank him for the escort and go inside, leaving him to wait for more guests.

He never really thought about why the Waynes go out each night as vigilantes. It’s dangerous, thankless work and no one would do it without a reason.

He can see, suddenly, a young Bruce, just a child, suddenly lost and adrift in a world that murdered his parents. He can see that child decide to fight back in any way he can. He can see Batman rise from the heart of that child and swear to prevent anyone else from experiencing the pain he had to survive. 

And he can see Alfred standing behind that boy, carrying his own grief as he takes care of a child who grows up ready to throw his life away for a cause far greater than himself. 

How they can bear it?

Danny is both the one who left and the one left behind, running from his parents just as they turned their backs on him, and it destroyed him. He’s only just now building himself back up again, feeling more stable and steady despite the hole in his heart that will never close. At least he got the privilege of starting fresh in this dimension. Bruce and Alfred had to grow around the loss that is embedded into the city.

He really doesn’t know much about them, he realizes. This is the first time he’s really considered their histories. 

Maybe Alfred will be willing to talk to him about it later. 

With those thoughts heavy on his mind, it’s hard from him to be fully focused as he directs cars to stop before him one by one. More guests in fancy suits and elegant dresses step out and walk into the ballroom, only a few bothering to greet him as they go. His mind keeps drifting as he pastes on a smile and waves to drivers as they leave.

He stays outside for another hour before the last of the cars leave. The gala is in full swing when he ducks inside, sticking to the walls as Gotham’s richest mingle together in the ballroom. The low murmur of voices fill the air alongside the music, high strings playing a soft melody to fill the background as people wander around with glasses of champagne in hand, nibbling on finger foods.

Bruce is the center of attention, smiling jovially in a dark blue suit, the first two buttons of his silk shirt undone. 

It’s hard to see him as a once grieving child, full of rage and determination, ready to take on the world. Bruce as he is now looks like a perfect socialite, surrounded by a small crowd of people all vying for his attention as he talks loudly, gesturing with broad movements, keeping their attention. 

Tim is hanging off to the side near the musician, talking to a small group of people his age. They all look more relaxed and down to earth than any of the older people, so perhaps there’s hope for the next generation of Gotham’s high society.

Danny wanders a bit to make sure everything’s going well, checking in with the other staff members to see if there’s anything he can help with. But they have everything under control, so he can do nothing but try not to mess with the sleeves of his suit as he keeps circling the ballroom.

On his third circuit, Tim breaks away from his group and weaves around other guests to smoothly reach him.

“Is Damian here?” he asks, eyes darting around the ballroom.

Danny frowns. “I haven’t seen him. Did he come in with you?”

“He did, and then he left us as soon as we had greeted most of the guests. He’s supposed to stay out here for a few more hours, and I told him to just stick with me.”

“Where do you think he’s gone?”

Tim sighs, lowering his voice a bit. “He could be anywhere, honestly. He hates galas, which I get, but we needed him here because he’s Bruce’s bio kid. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if Damian went downstairs to get away.”

If Damian ditched the gala to go punch criminals, that would be bad, to say the least.

“I’ll go look for him,” Danny says. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I can get him back up here.”

“Thanks, Danny. I gotta get back to it. Also,” Tim adds in a whisper, “Don’t worry if Bruce seems like a different person or super drunk. He’s really good at acting.”

“Okay…?” 

Danny’s not really sure what that has to do with him, but he appreciates the heads up anyways. He’s been excusing all of Bruce’s weirdness as either ‘Batman-related’ or ‘none of his business’, so he’s fine ignoring whatever Bruce gets up to tonight as well.

Now that he has a task to complete, Danny gladly leaves the ballroom to find Damian. 

He starts off checking the sitting rooms, which already have a few of the guests lounging in, drinking wine and gossiping. The other areas that guests can access are all Damian-free, which is about what he expected. 

Danny moves on past the rope barriers, nodding to some of the security guards walk by on their patrol, ensuring no guests, invited or otherwise, go deeper into the Manor. 

The kitchen is empty. As are the living rooms on the ground floor. 

Maybe Damian’s in his bedroom? Or his art studio. Those are the only two other places Danny would think to find Damian that’s not the Batcave. 

He just really doesn’t want to go down there again. Especially not on his own.

Just as he reaches the top of the stairs to the second floor, Danny sees someone walking down the hall. It’s not Damian, far too tall to be a teenage boy, and they’re moving slowly, looking around as if searching for something.

“Hey!” Danny calls out to them, striding towards them quickly. “You’re not supposed to be up here.”

They turn, and Danny recognizes the uniform for the security guards that are meant to be at their positions around the ballroom. This man has taken off his jacket, leaving him in a simple button down shirt and dark pants, a gun tucked into a hostler by his hip. 

“Oh, sorry, I thought I heard something up here and went to check it out.”

“This is pretty far from the ballroom. It would be hard to hear anything here from where you were supposed to be. Wanna try that one again?”

The easygoing smile on the guard’s face disappears, replaced by a dark scowl and a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Listen kid, this will be easier for all of us if you just walk away now. Don’t make me do anything you’ll regret.” He puts his hand on the holster. The threat is clear.

But Danny’s had guns pointed at him from years. He’s dodged shots from his own parents. One guy isn’t going to scare him.

“It would be easier if you just went back to you post and did the job you were paid to do.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m doing exactly what I was paid to do.” He grins, sharp and mean, and pulls out his gun.

Okay! Great!

Danny’s not nice anymore. And Alfred already gave him permission to do anything he deems necessary.

In a blink, Danny’s closed the distance between them and tosses the man over his shoulder. He kicks the gun out of his hand and is about to try to flip him over so he can put the guard in a shoulder pin, but a knee slams into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him.

Danny wheezes and is kicked back, stumbling to keep his balance. The guard rises to his feet and lunges forward, throwing a straight punch. It’s easy enough to dodge it, ducking to the side and stepping closer to try to knock the guard down again, but he pulls his arm back a bit, bends it, and slams his elbow into Danny’s face.

Pain races through his skull as he falls back, hands flying up to his nose. It’s probably broken, already gushing blood, and it stains his teeth as he bares them in a snarl and grabs hold of his ghost powers.

Teeth sharpen into fangs. His eyesight gets sharper, the iron taste of blood stronger in his mouth, and icy fog wafts out of his mouth. 

“The fuck—” is all the guard is able to say before Danny tackles him. The force of it knocks them both to the ground, the guard’s head hitting the floor hard. He tries to force Danny off of him again, but Danny holds tight, blood still dripping off his face. “No one said the Waynes has a fucking meta with them!”

“Bad luck,” Danny says, a growl turning his voice into a low rumble, staticky even to his own ears, and the guard pales. 

All it takes is one hand to lift him but his shirt, the fabric of it held tight in his hands. And then Danny slams him back against the ground, making his head bounce, and the guard is out cold. 

He means to drag the guard someplace where he can be locked away until someone can deal with him, but screams rise up from the ballroom, stealing away his attention.

Shit, something must have happened!

As much as he wants to go racing back to help, his priority is Damian. 

The other guests will be protected by the guards (hopefully) and Bruce and Tim. But Damian is unaccounted for, and the longer Danny can’t find him, the more danger he’ll be in.

There’s no point in being discrete or quiet now. Danny runs down the hallway, shouting Damian’s name. 

He doesn’t get any response.

His nose throbs with dull pain each step he takes. His suit is a lost cause, covered in his blood and rumpled from the fight. None of that matters at all as he races down the halls, trying to find Damian.

Distantly, he hears gunshots and more screaming from the ballroom. 

Danny grits his teeth and gives up on running entirely to fly recklessly through walls, dreading every second that passes. 

The second floor is empty, save for the prone figure of the guard lying in the hallway near the stairs. He doesn’t have time to search any higher floors, so Danny goes back down to the ground floor, hoping that the noise from the ballroom would have drawn Damian out. He’s bound to have heard it, wherever he is in the Manor.

He drops back down to this feet and pushes his ghostliness away as he draws closer to the ballroom, wary of running into someone. It doesn’t seem like any of the guests had been able to get out of the ballroom. 

Every so often, there’s a single gun shot. The sound chills him to the bone.

Just as he’s getting closer to the open areas of the Manor, within the rope boundaries he set up with Alfred earlier, he hears a noise in a sitting room that makes him slow to a stop, listening intently. It’s a soft noise, at first. Just a few clinks of objects being moved. Then there are heavy footsteps moving slowly. 

Whoever it is can’t be Damian. He would never be so loud when he walks. 

The door is partially open, so Danny peeks in to see who it is.

It’s not a guard. It’s not any member of the staff that arrive to work the gala. 

In front of a broken window is a large man with a dark orange bandana tied around his nose and mouth, obscuring the bottom half of his face. He’s twitchy, pacing back and forth unsteadily, mumbling to himself. When he turns, the light catches on a glint in his eyes, the same drugged sheen that’s been present with other people who have attacked members of the Wayne household. 

Danny plans to creep in and knock him out so there’s one less person to worry about when a large hand grabs the back of his suit and lifts him up like he weighs nothing. A startled noise slips out of his mouth, making the man in the room whirl around, glaring at him.

“Caught a peeper!” announces the man holding up Danny. He’s large, bigger than a bodybuilding, like the one Danny fought in the mall. “Think Boss will give us more Venom if we drag this thing in?”

The other guy looks over Danny consideringly. “Nah. Bring him here. We can deal with him on our own.”

The not-body building walks into the room, unbothered by how Danny struggles in his hold, kicking out at the air. 

Danny’s thrown unceremoniously onto the floor, where he turns into a roll and gets back up to his feet, carefully keeping both of them in his line sight.

“Oooh, he thinks he’s a fighter,” not-body builder cackles. 

Danny glances at the door. 

“Don’t even think about running,” the first man says. “You work here, don’t you? Why don’t you tell us all about the goodies we can steal from this place. Make us rich and I’ll let you walk away alive.”

All this just for a robbery?

The guns, the break in, the violence, just for a robbery?

That’s fucking insulting. 

Danny checks the open door one more time to make sure no one’s coming their way, then launches himself at not-body builder. His ghost strength comes rushing back into him just as he hits, sending the not-body builder stumbling back with a surprised shout. He wobbles, trying to keep his balance, then falls.

He doesn’t waste a second before kicking his head and knocking him out. 

That’s one down.

Danny takes a deep breath, trying to wrestle down his strength so he doesn’t accidentally do serious damage to the other man, who is much smaller, only to gasp, breath punched out of him. A sharp pain tears through his back, which was left open to the other intruder.

Stupid, stupid! he berates himself, trying to get away. 

But the man holds him still with a hand on his shoulder, and Danny, in his panic, goes intangible.

The knife and the man’s arm go right through his torso.

Danny looks down at the knife. Looks at the arm. Both of them are frozen from this sudden turn of events.

His mind goes blank and he desperately tries to think of what to do when an idea parades itself to the front of him mind, to say: IMPROV.

“What the hell did you do to me?!” Danny cries out, putting as much terror into his voice as possible. 

“What did I  do?” the intruder sputters, pulling back. “I didn’t do anything!”

“Yes you did!” Danny argues. “I’m fucking air! You made me not-solid!”

“That wasn’t me!”

Taking a chance, Danny recalls what the guard upstairs said, and says, “You’re a meta?!”

“I’m not!” the intruder denies, “I didn’t do this to you!”

Danny spins around to face him, trying not to wince when the movement pulls at his back. “Fix this!”

“I can’t! I told you, I didn’t do it! This must be your doing!”

“I think I would know if I could turn into air,” Danny refutes, channelling Paulina to give him a withering look that will, hopefully, make him feel small and stupid. She always was great at digging her heels in and driving people mad with her stubbornness while tearing down their self esteem. He tosses his head back to glare at the intruder, meeting his eyes. “This is clearly your fault so fix it!”

They’re just going back and forth, thrown off their rhythm and scrambling to work though the situation Danny created for them. He doesn’t know how to put a stop to it. He really doesn’t want to be stabbed again.

“I really didn’t do it!” the intruder insists. He looks down at his own hands, faltering. “Right? There’s no way that could have been me…”

He doesn’t get any more time to contemplate whether or not he has powers because his body abruptly tenses, twitches sporadically, and then his eyes roll up and he passes out.

Behind him, holding a taser and wearing a deep scowl, is Damian.

Danny is so relieved to see him that he feels weak in the knees. The blood loss is not helping with that matter. “Damian!” he says, “Where were you? I’ve been looking for you!”

“I felt that something was off so I went to investigate. I found some of the guards marking areas around the ballroom as entries for the gang that’s taken over the ballroom. I was trying to take them out before this happened, but I wasn’t fast enough.”

“What is going on right now?”

“From what I heard when I traversed the vents above the ballroom, the leader of a recently established gang has taken over to take the valuables of all the guests. He is recreating Venom and trying to replace Bane.” Damian shakes his head. “That fool is just going to get himself killed. Bane will stop at nothing to have his head now.”

“I take it this Bane person is a big deal?”

Danny purses his lips, then looks away. “We’ll catch you up on the villains around here later. Come with me, there are others still around.”

“Are we going to the ballroom?”

“No. Black Bat and Nightwing are already here to take care of it. They’re just waiting for an opening. We will be taking out the intruders outside the ballroom, then going to the Batcave to join Pennyworth.”

Damian tries to take hold of Danny’s wrist, but his hand goes right through. He stares down at it in shock, as though he was betrayed.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Danny drops his intangibility and pats Damian’s hand to let him know he’s solid again.

Damian looks up at him and squints. “Are you alright? You’re bleeding.”

Danny brings a hand up to his face. It’s clean of blood. He must have let it all fall off of him when he went intangible, but his nose is still bleeding and it’s quickly rolling down his face again. He can feel his back get more wet, too, the stab wound steadily pulsing with pain, blood spreading through his suit.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Danny says. He’s survived way worse than a broken nose and a small stab wound. There are people in danger and people trying to hurt them. That takes priority over him, any day.

“Your nose?”

Danny shrugs. “Probably not broken?”

Damian reaches out and prods at his nose, checking it. It brings up flares of dull pain, but it’s not enough that Danny can’t stay still during this. In a matter of seconds, Damian nods and pulls his hands away, so the damage to his face probably isn’t anything to worry about. Danny’s going to trust Damian on this one.

“Very well. Let’s go then. And take this.” Damian holds out his taser to Danny.

“Um. Don’t you need it?”

“I am more than capable of taking people down without weapons. You need this more than I do.”

That’s fair. Danny gingerly takes the taser, keeping his thumb above the switch that will flip it on and have it buzzing with electricity. He follows Damian’s lead as they creep down the hall, staying low and quiet on their feet. Damian keeps in the lead, checking that it’s safe to move before signaling for Danny to follow. 

They take out three more intruders before the lights in the Manor flicker and then go out. Noise swells up in the ballroom before another gunshot silences it.

Danny tenses, fearing the worst, but Damian reaches back to squeeze his hand and whisper, “It’s alright. That was the moment Black Bat and Nightwing were waiting for. They’ll take care of it.”

When he strains his hearing, he can just pick out the shattering of glass and muffled cries of pain. He doesn’t hear anyone’s voices, but as long as no one is screaming, it’s fine. Probably. He hopes, anyways.

They circle around the ballroom, checking room and hallways, but it seems that most of the intruders didn’t bother hanging around out here when all their targets were conveniently in one large room. Having cleared out all the intruders they could, Damian leads them to Bruce’s office.

“What are we doing here?” Danny asks, keeping his voice low as he keeps one eye on the door to ensure no one comes in.

“We’re going to the Batcave,” Damian answers absentmindedly as he fiddles with a grandfather clock behind a desk.

Danny blinks. “Wait, we go in from here?”

“Look.” Danny looks to where Damian has opened up the grandfather clock to reveal a dark staircase that leads down, deep beneath the Manor.

“Huh,” is all Danny can say to that. It’s definitely safer than just falling through the floor like Danny did, but somehow it feels a little anticlimactic. It’s just stairs. It’s very hard to make stairs cool.

They could have at least put in a fire pole. 

A giant underground vigilante cave and not a single fire pole to slide down on? What’s the point then?

Danny holds back a sigh, then grimaces at the heavy taste of blood in his mouth. His nose isn’t hurting as much anymore, just a dull throb, and it’s easily ignored when his back flares with pain with each minute movement. He looks down at the stairs as Damian begins his descent, already wincing at how much it’s going to stuck going down them with a stab wound. 

He could really use that fire pole right now.

Or, actually, why bother taking the stairs? Danny’s half-ghost. It needs to be good for something.

Danny promptly goes ghost, flies down into the cave completely invisible and intangible, then drops back to the ground in a quick flash of light, human again. He intends to stand up and wait where there’s more light, but his head suddenly spins as his vision goes dark. There’s a buzzing in his ears and he gets a strange, floating feeling, as if he’s no longer in his body, just drifting out into open air. 

The floor is cold against his cheek. The floor is…

The floor?

Danny blinks his eyes open, wondering when he closed them. It takes a moment to realize that he’s lying down, somehow, on his back in some dark corner of the cave. There’s a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

He tries to say something but his voice dies halfway out of his throat. A few more blinks has his eyes clearing enough that he can see Damian crouched in front of him, looking over his head, mouth moving as he speaks, though Danny can’t hear anything. His ears are still ringing. 

The world sways around him.

He closes his eyes trying to count his breaths so the world will feel more solid around him. Wayne Manor just got attacked. Now is not the time to be lying around.

But he can’t force himself to get up. His body refuses to respond to him. All he can do is lie on the floor of the cave, trying to get his head to stop spinning, feeling the heat of the wound in his back as it presses against cold stone. 

Arms wind around him, lifting him up, and Danny whines as it jostles him. More blood spills out of his stab wound, soaking his suit even more. Distantly, he hears someone curse as he’s moved into a more brightly lit area. It’s too bright, even with his eyes closed, and Danny turns his face, trying to hide from it. 

A hand runs through his hair, soothing him. He’s carefully set down on something—a bed?

So they can have soft, high quality beds in their vigilante cave, but no fire poles. The Waynes need to get their priorities straight.

He tries to say something about that, but just mumbles out some slurred, nonsense sounds.

Someone hushes him kindly. The hand keeps brushing his hair back soothingly.

And then—

His shirt.

They’re opening his shirt.

They’re taking off his jacket.

Danny is laid out, helpless, held down, and they’re stripping him of his clothes. Terror slams into him like a train, ice in his veins chilling him from the inside out. His eyes snap open and his  blurry vision catches sight of two heads bend down over him, features dark and unrecognizable, backlit by the light shining too brightly right above his face.

His breath stutters in his chest as he stares at them, horrified and betrayed.

What are they doing to him?!

Panicked, Danny beings to thrash, adrenaline surging through it. It dulls his pain, lifts the lead from his limbs, makes him gather enough strength to try to push them away. More hands appear, trying to hold him down and a hoarse scream tears out of his throat. It doesn’t have any power, can’t throw them away from him, and stutters to a stop a few seconds later. 

“No!” he cries, tears leaking out of his eyes. “No, stop! Don’t, please don’t do this to me…”

A sob catches in his chest so hard is hurts. 

The people above him speak over each other, their words melding together. He doesn’t know what they’re saying, just that they’re speaking, but it does nothing to calm him down.

How can he be calm?

They’re trying to cut him open.

He tries to go ghost and his entire body lights up in pain, back arching off the bed as he screams again. 

The lights go out. The hands disappear. 

The world goes still.

Danny heaves for breath, shivering. 

It takes a long time before he feels solid again. Less likely to shake out of his own body. He doesn’t know what just happened. He should be able to go full ghost, but he entire body refused. It hurt and hurt and hurt and he doesn’t understand why.

It’s not just a failure of his powers, but a betrayal.

Slowly, he begins to breathe evenly. His entire body still hurts, but it’s the pain of a bruise, not an electric current running through the whole of him. The world steadies itself and his vision clears up properly.

Something cold touches his hand.

Danny flinches back, then looks up to see Alfred. 

Alfred, who’s aged face is lined with deep concern. Who stands just close enough to hold out the water bottle to Danny. Who doesn’t crowd him or demand answers. 

Alfred, who is safe.

Without thinking about it, Danny sags towards him. Alfred has to step closer, steady him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Danny, my boy,” he says, “Can you hear me now?”

Now? Was Alfred speaking earlier? 

Danny nods, blinking up at him.

“Wonderful. Do you think you could drink some water?”

Another nod. He looks down at the water bottle and its unsealed cap, then his own trembling hands. He doesn’t think he can open it.

Before he can ask Alfred for help, another hand appears in his line of sight, from the other side of the bed. Damian grabs the water bottle and twists it open, then shoves it into Danny’s hands with a click of his tongue.

He doesn’t let go until he’s sure Danny has a solid grip on it.

Danny tries to thank him, but his throat clicks from how sore and dry it is. He drinks half the bottle in one go, clears his throat, and is able to say, “Sorry about that.”

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Alfred says, just as Damian says, “If you’re sorry, then take off your shirt so we can tend to you. You’re injured.”

Alfred turns to Damian with a severe look on his face and Danny hurries to intervene before things can get messy. Or, messier. 

“Right. Sorry. Again. It’s not a big deal, it’s just a small stab wound.”

“A stab wound?” Alfred repeats. “Danny, please let me tend to it. It may need stitches.”

“It doesn’t—”

“You don’t know that,” Damian hisses. “Let Pennyworth help you, or I’ll do it myself. And you won’t like it if I do it myself.”

Danny is ready to refuse again, but the clear concern in Alfred’s eyes stops him. 

He does need help. He doesn’t want to cause trouble for Alfred.

“Fine,” he bites out. “But don’t—don’t touch me if you can avoid it and don’t ask any question.” He doesn’t give himself a chance to second guess, just pulls at his shirt and suit coat, going intangible to get it off him without lifting his arms. Strangely, that doesn’t hurt the way trying to go full ghost did. 

Something to consider later.

The silence that follows is heavy. Danny can’t stand it; he wants to hide away, to rewind the last hour so he can undo what he’s just done, pretend he’s still fine. All his scars are on display. The arcs of electricity from the Accident that have embedded themselves into his skin, close calls from ghost fights that were bad enough to leave a mark in his human form, the burns from his parents inventions locking onto him before he was able to deactivate them.

Alfred lets out a slow breath. Then he says, “Master Damian, if you could get—”

“Of course.” And Damian is up and moving, the light above him turning on. It’s much dimmer than it was before.

“If you could please turn around, Danny. I need to see what I’m working with.”

Danny forces himself to turn, showing his back to Alfred. He’s tense, every inch of him ready to run. 

It’s Alfred, he tells himself sternly. Alfred won’t hurt him. He’s safe.

Damian returns, handing something off to Alfred. He can hear them move, hear things being prepped behind him, metal against metal, and another sliver of terror runs down his spine.

“Stop,” he says without meaning to. 

The cave goes quiet again, both Damian and Alfred freezing. Danny swallows roughly, then turns back to face them. “I can’t,” he chokes out. “I can’t—I need—I need to be able to see you.”

“Then I’ll do your stitches,” Damian announces. He rounds the bed, snapping on a pair of latex gloves. “I am more than capable. Even before I came to Gotham I had learned how to provide medical aid both in practice and on the field.”

“I’ll be right here,” Alfred reassures him. “Master Damian is very capable. He will do a good job at this.”

Danny nods, taking in a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay. Then, please, Damian.” 

“I’ll apply the local anesthesia now. This will keep you from feeling the stitches go in.” Danny tenses, and then the area around his stab wound goes numb, the pain dulling.

Alfred takes hold of his hands. “Breathe with me,” he instructs. Danny does his best, keeping his eyes on Alfred, matching him with each deep, even breath. 

He tries not to be too tense, to think about when Damian will begin, if he’s already started, all the questions they will ask him about his many scars…

“Done,” Damian announces.

…What?

“What? Already?”

“Yes,” Damian says, a pleased note in his voice. “I told you I knew what I was doing. I’m going to put the bandage on it now. Do not get it wet.”

His back and shoulder are still numb enough that he doesn’t feel the bandage get put on, so he just takes Damian’s word for it. That wasn’t as bad as he expected it to be. In fact, that went really well? Fast, too. Danny would have never been able to stitch himself in that time.

Alfred squeezes his hands, leads him through a few more breaths, then pulls away. He helps Danny lie on his side and pulls the blanket up over him. 

“Get some rest now, Danny. I’ll be here while you sleep.”

“Wait, the gala. Is everyone…?”

“Everyone is alright. The police had been contacted and will be here soon. Nightwing and Black Bat have the situation under control. There is nothing more you need to do.” A hand drops over Danny’s eyes, blocking out the light. “You can rest now, Danny.”

He’s sure that he won’t be able to sleep at all, let alone soundly, after all that. But his body has other ideas and in no time he’s pulled under into that deep darkness that shuts away the rest of the world and lets him drift away. . . .

(The scar map of Danny is being uploaded into the Batcomputer’s archives when Nightwing arrives, carrying a plate full of finger foods pilfered from the gala.

“Where’s Danny?!” he demands, sweeping his gaze across the entirety of the Batcave. He sees Danny curled up in a medical cot before Alfred can answer. “What happened?”

“He was stabbed,” Damian answers nonchalantly from where he’s going through sword katas to work out some of his more volatile emotions.

“Stabbed?!”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

Cass appears behind Nightwing, already shedding parts of her uniform. She steals something from the plate in Nightwing’s hand and is about to eat it when he hisses, “That’s for Danny!” 

She slowly puts it back on the plate. 

Alfred watches her stare at Danny in the medical cot, then turn on her heel to go to the lockers to change out of the rest of her suit. 

“Miss Cassandra, if you could please pick up all your clothes off the floor,” he says as she walks. Cass darts back to pick up everything she dropped behind Nightwing, then disappears into the locker room.

Nightwing finally shakes himself out of his stupor and makes his way over to Alfred, setting the plate down next to him. “Seriously, is Danny alright?”

Alfred places his hands on the desk, palms flat against it, and very calmly says, “Hunting down every person who has ever hurt him will be the last mission I ever go out on.”

“Shit.”

In any other case, he would have reprimanded Nightwing’s language. In this case, it’s the only appropriate response.

“Once the police are gone and the guests seen off, we need to have another family discussion. Danny is a very brave and very strong lad, but he’s gone through far too much. We must do better.”

“I’ll call the war council then.”

“See that you do, Nightwing.”

Alfred nods to him, then pulls the chair away from the Batcomputer to Danny’s medical cot, and sits with him. Looking down at his thin, worn face, Alfred is reminded of Bruce, in the aftermath of his parents’ murder, of Dick’s first nights in the Manor, of Jason and his nightmares, Tim and his loneliness. Now, Danny and his fear will join the expressions he never wants to see on his family again.

He is so young, so fragile, so bright and wonderful despite it all.

Yes, war council is the only appropriate way to move forward. It is the least he can do for Danny, so do it he will.)

[pullhisteeth]

wise words | eddie munson

summary Eddie f*cked up (royally) and has to work his ass off to get you back. based on a swift song obviously [4k]

contains 18+! fem!reader, a bit of fuckboy!eddie, angst, arguing, grovelling, hurt/comfort, crying, eventual fluff, suggestive themes/allusions to smut, Robin and Steve being disappointed but supportive pseudo-parents

-

He’s standing on your doorstep.

He’s standing on your doorstep and he’s shaking. Like a fucking leaf.

He looks down at the flowers wrapped in cellophane and thinks, are they good enough?

Am I good enough?

Will anything ever be good enough?

Thick drops of rainwater run down the plastic and coat the pink petals and he resolves that no, they’re not good enough.

He knocked twenty-three seconds ago. He knows this because he’s counting, keeping himself grounded.

Twenty-four Mississippi.

Twenty-five Mississippi.

Twenty-six Miss-

The door swings open quickly, almost impatiently, as though there wasn’t nearly half a minute between the knock and the response.

He looks up and when his eyes meet yours he knows for sure this time that this was a bad idea.

“Are you insane?” you ask him. Concern cuts through the irritation, leaving those creases by your eyebrows he’s so familiar with.

He doesn’t respond, his mind elsewhere. He’s desperately trying to pull it back but it’s running fast, back to yesterday evening.

-

“Eddie, seriously,” Robin says, impatient, “you have to do something. This is getting ridiculous, and besides, she’s crazy about you, even if you did royally fuck up, and- Hey!”

“What Rob means to say,” Steve interjects, giving her a swift and clean elbow to the ribs, “is that you’ve gotta grovel, man.”

“But it’s been so long,” Eddie whines, running his hands over his face, a pattern he has grown accustomed to over the past few months. A fed-up, miserable routine of lamenting his deepest regrets to his patient but equally-as-fed-up friends over beers on the nights you’re too busy to join them. “I can’t- I don’t know what I’d say.”

“Here,” Robin says, laying her palms flat on the table, fingers splayed. She pushes herself up, weight on her hands, and leans over Eddie. He stares up at her from behind his own fingers and winces quietly. “You love her, right?”

“Yes,” he responds, voice muffled under the heels of his hands.

“And she loves you-”

“Does she?”

“-and we know this because we’re her friends.”

Eddie’s eyes flit to Steve, whose face is drooping with sympathy. Anyone who has been on the receiving end of a Robin Buckley lecture knows the feeling, and he has had his fair share.

“So what you gotta do,” she continues, dipping her head to regain his attention, “is apologise.”

“I tried that-”

“Properly.”

At this he gives in, huffing a sigh and dropping his arms to fold in front of him, quickly enough to catch his head as it drops to the table like an anvil. He hears Robin return to her seat, and then feels gracious fingers on his elbow.

“Eds, man, it’s gonna be fine. You’ve just gotta fight for it.” It’s Steve, being soft as ever, so desperate to see his two friends happy that he’ll relinquish himself to his affectionate side.

“I want to,” he says, voice muffled again by the denim of his jacket sleeves. “But she deserves better than me.”

“Tell her that,” Robin suggests, voice far softer now. “Tell her you miss her, it’s been a long time, and that you were scared.”

She’s clever, Eddie thinks, pulling that gem out from the archives. On a particularly bad night, maybe two months after it had happened, he’d admitted to them the truth at the heart of all of this: he’s a scared boy, one who resolved while young that he would never fall in love, never let the walls down, for fear that he’d have to endure loss any more than was necessary. Your love had driven him mad and fear had driven him away, and now he avoids three diners and nearly all of the gas stations across Hawkins, schedules doctors appointments at the most inconvenient times and definitely never steps foot in the movie theatre downtown.

“She’ll come around,” Robin tells him kindly. When he lifts his head, eyes regretfully filling with that hopeful spark, she says, “She’s mad, don’t get me wrong. But she’ll come around. You just have some work to do.”

“And for what it’s worth,” Steve says in a cadence that worries Eddie enough to make him lift his head back up again, looking at Steve’s stern expression, “she does deserve better than you.”

“Stop, Steve, seriously-”

“She deserves better than you if you can’t find the fucking courage to go get her back.”

-

Now, standing on your front doorstep, looking at you for the first time in half a year, Eddie knows Steve was right. He doesn’t have the balls to do this; he’s too afraid of rejection, and more specifically rejection from you, and this was a bad idea. You deserve better.

He barely notices when you step one pace to the left, and when you speak your voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of a thick wall.

“You’re gonna get hypothermia if you stay out there.”

He moves without thinking too hard, because you’re right - it’s cold as fuck out here and he’s grateful for the humming warmth he can feel coming from inside your home.

“Just stay there, I’m gonna get some towels.”

He feels pathetic, standing in your hallway, dripping wet like a fucking dog, gripping so hard onto the flowers that his knuckles are turning white. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, afraid of getting anything in your house wet, but acutely aware of how stupid he must look.

You come back around the corner with two big bath towels in your arms. They’re white and Eddie feels the burning shame of ruining them but says nothing, remaining tight-lipped and letting you clean up the floor. When your fingers curl around his tense ones he stares at you, at the strange, unreadable look on your face, and feels the jolt of a thousand volts carry down his fingers and into his shoulder. Where your fingers made contact you leave a sensation not unlike carpet burn.

“These are pretty,” you tell him, gently pulling the flowers from his grip. The cellophane crinkles and it slowly brings him back to this, to you, and he nearly chokes on air.

He says your name, a pathetic sound followed by even more pathetic noises, and when you smile, tight-lipped just like him and brows turned down, he cracks, voice failing him as he stumbles.

“Get your boots off and meet me in the kitchen,” you say, your face unreadable as ever as you turn on your heels and step back through the open door he knows well. 

You leave him bewildered, like a soldier in the wake of a bomb, but he eventually comes to and does as you say. He debates leaving them outside, to cause you the least bother possible, but decides instead to leave them on one of the towels by the door.

His socks are soggy, slipping on the hardwood as he treads softly through your home. The reaction his gut is having to being here is ugly, so he breathes in slowly through his nose and wipes rainwater off his cheek with the back of his hand.

You’ve got your back to him, standing over the sink. At first he thinks you’re sorting the flowers, the way you always do - wrapping off, stalks trimmed, vase filled - but then he sees that, instead, you’re gripping the porcelain. White-knuckled.

For the first time he gets a look at you, or the back of you at least, because he’s pretty sure you haven’t heard him come around the corner. You’re much the same as before, except for the way you’ve cut your hair, and the fact that he remembers you in pretty sundresses and tennis shoes but it’s December, so you’re bundled in a jumper and sweats.

“I, uh-” He stammers, words catching on the edges of his teeth. He says your name again and watches you flinch. “It’s- It’s been so long, I-”

“Yeah,” you breathe, shoulders relaxing and grip loosening. You turn and lean back on the sink with your arms crossed over your chest.

“Just so you know,” he starts, and he can feel it, the fucking sarcastic tone that he can’t seem to shake. It comes out whenever he has to be genuine and it’s like someone else somewhere is pushing his buttons, controlling what comes out of his mouth. “-it’s been the, uh, the longest six months I think... ever.”

You look at him, more than familiar with this tone and this game. 

“Yeah,” you say again.

“I don’t really know how to-”

“Eddie,” you bite, words like venom. “Can I ask you a question?”

As he nods his head, a little bemused, you gesture to the kitchen table. He catches on and sits at the chair closest to the door as you mirror him on the chair opposite.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

You rest your crossed arms on the table and lean on them, peering at him.

He breathes in slowly.

“To apologise.”

You scoff and he flinches, recoiling at the sound.

“And how’s this one gonna be different to the other hundred apologies?” You spit the word, as though it bears no meaning. At this point, and when it comes to Eddie, it almost doesn't.

That’s fair, he thinks.

-

“You are such a fucking jackass, Eddie Munson,” Robin barks, raising her arms in defeat. She’s pacing the aisles of Family Video while he sits on the counter and Steve loiters behind it, sorting tapes. “A jackass, seriously!”

“I get it, Rob, thanks,” he drones.

“No,” she snaps, feet finally finished being aimless and instead marching her over to him. She stands somewhere close to between his knees and if it weren’t Robin and she weren’t about to grill him for all he’s worth, it might be endearing.

She jabs her index finger into his chest, straight to the centre of his sternum.

“You’re a piece of shit. An asshole. A douchebag. And I’m allowed to call you all of these things because it’s me who gets the phone calls at two in the morning when she’s crying over you. Again.”

He drops his gaze, his hair covering her wrist and his face.

“Why’d you do it, dude?” Steve asks from behind him. “Like… I just don’t see the… Goal, or whatever.”

Eddie groans and tips his head back, staring uncomfortably at the ceiling tiles.

He wonders for a brief moment, before answering, why the two of them are still friends with him. Clearly his end goal is being as inaccessible as possible, keeping everyone at such a far distance at all times that he can never feel remorse, or that he’s letting anyone down. But now he’s here, with his friends, and he’s let them down and, worst of all, let you down, too. More than ever.

“I was trying to make it better,” he says, and the jab to the sternum comes harder this time, and is the full brunt of Robin’s fist rather than her finger.

“That is bullshit,” she says.

“I was!” he maintains, exasperated. “I just… I started trying to explain myself and I just couldn’t tell the truth.”

“So instead you told her you never want to see her again?!”

“I-”

“How does that help literally anything?!”

Robin’s right, of course. She’s always right; too smart for her own good, Eddie’s always thought. But he doesn’t have an answer for her.

“She’s better off that way anyway,” he says, sighing.

-

He blinks at you, studying your stern expression, before answering.

“I wanna be honest with you,” he begins, “like, actually this time. And I know it’s been ages and that I have been…”

“Awful,” you suggest.

“Yeah, awful-”

“An asshole. The worst. Evil. Cruel. Mean.”

“Right,” he says, nodding limply. “Yeah. That.”

You lean back, arms still crossed like armour.

“I want to get this right,” he admits, surprising himself, “and I’m trying to work out how.”

You also seem taken aback by this, brows raising just a bit, your eyes going wide. You don’t say anything, though.

“I want you to know how sorry I am,” he continues. He’s sitting rigid in his seat and can’t find something to occupy his fingers, so he begins twisting a ring around one of them. “But, like, I don’t know how to get that across… The flowers were, uh, step one, and this is step two… I, uh…”

He’s stumbling again, searching for the words in a sea of insecurity and unsteadiness. You wait, sitting still and breathing shallow.

“I think I- I was scared.”

“Of what?” you ask, taking him by surprise. He was expecting a vast silence that he would have to fill with pleas, excuses, sorries and truths. He thought you’d leave him to it and let him down slowly at the end.

“Uh, of you. Of us, I guess.”

“What?”

He leans forward finally, dropping his head into his hands. “I don’t know how to-”

“Try,” you say flatly.

He looks up at you, unsure.

“Try to explain it. You haven’t even tried.”

Deep, heavy breath in.

-

“Eddie, you can’t, I don’t-”

“Fucking stop it,” he bites, arrowhead words ripping you open.

“I don’t understand,” you try again, voice thick with tears and your throat closing in. In fact, everything is closing in.

He’s leaving.

“Exactly,” he spits, pulling his shirt on. “Just… I’m going.”

“But-”

He’s out of the door, jacket in arm, before you can protest any further. Your mind is racing, spinning out in search of something that you could have done to fix this, or else something you could have done to cause this.

But you’re coming up empty, because you’d spent the day the same as any other day this summer: in your bed, entwined, wayward fingers and lazy kisses. Sweet nothings splashed in whispers across bare skin, and-

Oh, you think. Oh.

-

“When you said you loved me,” he begins, wincing at his own honesty, “I just… I freaked, it was scary. I… Honestly, the main problem here is that I was fucking scared. I am scared. I don’t know how to… How to love, or whatever… How to do it right and not hurt you, or me, or both of us. I’m useless, it’s why I’ve never bothered before and I knew, even before we started hooking up, that-”

“Hooking up?”

He looks at you, pulling his eyes back from their wandering, to find you bitter and your face contorted in disgust.

“You call that hooking up?”

“I mean- I-”

“If you think we were hooking up, that’s bad enough, Eddie. Hook ups don’t last three months.”

“No,” he sighs. “They don’t. I think I’m… Trying to make myself feel better about it.”

“You don’t deserve that,” you tell him, and though it’s cutting and it should hurt, your voice is so kind so suddenly that he can’t help but lean into it, tugging gently on the hands of care it extends to him. “You left me, after months of stringing me along. I was basically your girlfriend, without the labels or whatever. There isn’t another word for what we were.”

“No,” he agrees, dwelling for a moment too long on those moments of domesticity, the quiet mornings drinking coffee on your front lawn, the afternoons spent hanging the laundry and throwing stray socks at one another. “And that was fucking scary. I was way too scared, when you said you loved me that morning, way too scared to admit what I really, really wanted.”

“Which was?” you ask, arms still firmly crossed.

“Oh, come on,” he scoffs. “You know what I-”

“Say it.”

“You-

“Say it.”

He breathes, defeated, and looks at you dead in the eye.

“I love you,” he tells you. “I loved you then, and I love you now, and I have no idea what to do about it.”

You deflate, your arms going lax, face surprised as though you didn’t expect him to actually do it, to rise to your challenge and be honest. For a flash, he feels smug, but then he remembers-

“I love you,” he repeats - the feeling of the words rolling off his tongue is unbearable, they’re too heavy, they won’t stop falling - “but you deserve better than me.”

You breathe sharply through your nose in frustration.

“Why are you here then?”

“What?”

“If I deserve better than you,” you repeat, finally releasing the tightness of your crossed arms and planting your palms on your knees, “why are you here? To torture me? Not satisfied with the last six fucking months, huh?”

“No, I-”

“Well, Eddie-” You spit his name like it’s gone bad and it twists something inside him. “-I’m fucking fed up of you and your… How mean you are. You’re always so mean to me and I hate that I cried over you for weeks-”

-

The door swings open and Robin rushes inside, expression tight with fear and worry.

She calls your name in a tone that drips affection as she rounds on you, where you’re standing with your weight on the wall and a hand over your face. By now it’s puffy and uncomfortable, your cheeks raw from wiping them with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

“What happened?” she asks, holding you like you’re about to break and moving you across your house to the couch. “Did you argue? Or-”

“He left, Robs. Just left.” You sigh and it heaves like you’re sat under a crate of bricks. Robin’s heart aches, nearly cracks in two at the sight of you and the fury she feels for her stupid, good-for-nothing metalhead friend.

“Oh, honey,” she coos, wrapping you up in strong arms. As she rocks you, you cry, and she kisses the crown of your head and tells you, without much belief in it herself, that it’ll be okay.

“Steve’s on his way,” she says after ten or fifteen minutes.

“It’s okay, I’m-”

“We’re gonna stay here,” she says quickly, “just for tonight.”

You look at her, eyes glassy, and as you speak your voice cracks. “I love him, Rob.”

She looks back at you sadly, fingers gripping your hands. “I know.”

-

You’re on your feet now, pacing back and forth and he’s watching, transfixed, as your shoulders move up and down, powered by rage, understandably.

“-I cried so much because I had spent weeks working up the courage to say that to you, to admit it to you and to myself because you’re so cold, Eddie. You’re so cold and distant and I still managed to fall in love with you.”

It’s at this point that Eddie’s drifting eye, which is following you back and forth, lands on the cluster of picture frames on your windowsill. He recognises most of them - photos of the group of you, up by the lake or in Chicago, some of your family and others at special occasions. But one of them calls to him loud enough to pull his eye from you completely.

It’s a silly frame he found at the thrift store. It’s hand-painted in gaudy colours, brush strokes in swirls and bursts of yellow and purple and green. And behind the glass is a picture Wayne had taken one day when you were at his trailer, watching movies on the couch.

It’s a polaroid, as most of your photos are, bright cracks of colour and light caused by the window right by his head - his head which is looking straight ahead, big wide grin and happy eyes, and you beside him, hands on one of his thighs, pushing yourself up to kiss his cheek.

It’s only when you stop pacing and, more noticeably, stop talking that he realises anything is wrong. His face is wet and there are new drops of water on the table - not the drying rainwater from his hair, but one or two drips from his jaw.

“Are you crying?” you ask, hands on your hips.

“Huh?” He asks, wiping his face with his wrist. “I, uh… Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I just-”

His eyes flicker upwards and past you, to somewhere you follow with your own gaze. It lands on the photo and you start, cheeks flushing warm.

Suddenly, the anger lingering in the room, filling the air and his lungs and almost definitely yours, dissipates. It doesn’t disappear as such - you’re still seething, breathing loudly, but it’s like someone cracked a whip and the dust lifted.

He calls your name and you look at him, wide-eyed.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you earnestly. “I’m really, really sorry.”

You breathe out slowly and he watches your chest deflate as you take a step to sit back down. As you sit he rises, stepping over to you on unsure feet. He’s tentative, waiting - expecting - an adverse reaction.

You watch him as he gets closer and lowers himself to the ground.

“You are not about to-”

“I’m not getting on my knees, if that’s what you’re gonna say,” he says, and his tone is light - too light for his liking, but he catches the twitch in the corner of your mouth and something warm blooms in one of the chambers of his heart.

He squats beside you, resting his weight on one hand on the table. He keeps the other to himself, fingers spread over his bent knee.

“I’m an asshole. In fact, I’ve been all of those things you said, and I don’t think I’ll ever be sorry enough for you. But I… I’ve had all this time, and some… intense conversations with Rob and Steve, and I… I want to try to be sorry enough. Or to just make it up to you, somehow. Because I can’t… It’s too hard, doing all of this without you.”

He knows how this must look, him on the ground, soggy socks and soggier hair, staring at you like a lost puppy. But the way your eyes soften, and the familiar feeling of the brush of your fingertips over the damp skin of his bare wrist, is enough to make him go limp.

“What’d they say?” you ask him, watching your own fingers where they trace aimless strokes.

“Hm?”

“Rob and Steve. What’d they say?”

He laughs lightly, embarrassed.

“Uh, that I’m an asshole. In fact, Rob, she made sure to tell me that multiple times. Basically every time I saw her. And Steve, he… He’s such a good dude, you know? But I… I disappointed them, and myself, and you. I hurt you so bad and I don’t know where to put all this guilt I have.”

Neither of you are looking at one another, but you chuckle, thinking about Robin. Her loyalty makes your head spin. And Steve, with his heart of gold, who held you all those times you cried and fought silently between his anger at Eddie and his love for you.

“I love them,” you whisper, your fingers halting. The pad of your thumb hovers over the protruding joint, stroking it softly until you feel the thrum of his pulse under your own. Your fingers wrap the opposite way, until you’re holding his arm like a bracelet.

You squeeze and he sucks a quick breath in.

“You really hurt me, Eddie,” you tell him, lifting his arm off the table. He wobbles and uses his free hand to steady himself on your chair, the knuckle of his thumb meeting the side of your thigh for just a second. You manoeuvre his hand into your lap, where you lay it flat. You both stare at it and all he can hear is your breathing and the rush of blood past his ears.

“I know I did,” he says. “I can go, if you want.”

You hum and begin tracing the lines on his palm. “It’s gonna take a while,” you say.

“What is?”

“Making it up to me.”

His eyes move without permission to your face, where he finds a barely-there smile and the beginnings of the crows feet by your eyes.

“Forever,” he says, knowing you’re right - it’ll take a long, long time.

“Forever.”

“I must’ve been crazy,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

“Hm?”

Your fingers are still now, resting on his, and he finally moves his own. His knees are burning from squatting and the balls of his feet are digging into something sharp under the linoleum, but he’s not thinking too hard about any of it. He takes your hands in his and holds them, backs of your palms to the front of his. He dips his head and kisses your left wrist and then your right, lingering to feel the thump of your heart.

“I am crazy,” he says. “I let you go.”

“You left me,” you correct him. “I never wanted to go.”

He looks up at you and pales when he sees the tears. Your eyes are wet and red round the edges and he thinks to himself that you’ve been doing this, crying over him, for six months. And it’s his fault.

The two of you move quickly and without thought. His knees buckle, giving into the strain he’s been putting on them for so long, and as he hits the floor he tightens his grip on you without meaning to. You’re pulled off your chair with a yelp and a clatter, landing in his lap with your knee dangerously close to his crotch.

Hands paw and wipe tears and you lift your leg to plant it beside him. As you stabilise yourself his arms come around you, too quickly at first; so quick he worries you’ll push him off, tell him to go fuck himself. They’re met by yours, though, coming around his back.

“I’m sorry,” he says into your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

You say nothing, and instead push your face further into his shoulder.

He feels and hears you sniffling, so he pulls you back gently. Some of his hair sticks to your face and you wipe your nose unceremoniously with the back of your hand, scoffing at him when you see he’s smiling at you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you tell him, looking away.

“Like what?”

“Like… That.”

“I don’t-”

“You have that look,” you say, groaning. And then you reach up to hold his face, and he caves, bowing into you in every way he can. “You’re so fucking pretty and it’s the worst.”

“You’re one to talk,” he tells you, enjoying the way you flush.

“Always the charmer.”

“It’s true,” he says. “Never seen anyone as pretty as you.”

He leans into your palm and twists just so, lips brushing the heel of it in a quick kiss.

“Flattery won’t get you out of this,” you tell him, your smile deceiving you only slightly.

“I know,” he says. “But it might help me.”

You’ve been inching closer to his face, and now you’re all he sees. You’ve taken up his field of vision, your breath brushing past the end of his nose.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Wow,” you laugh, “Steve taught you how to be a gentleman since I last saw you or somethin’?”

“Stop- You’re ruining this.”

“Sorry,” you say, still laughing. “You were just never the kind to be so… chivalrous.”

“I’m hardly being chivalrous,” he says, matching your smile. “But now you mention it, yeah, actually.”

You lean back only slightly but it’s enough to make him deflate, unhappy at the new distance.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I mean… I was an asshole, as we’ve established. Needed to learn my manners again.”

“What did he say?”

“Can we please talk about this later? I just wanna-”

“No,” you say, grinning now. “I want to know.”

He groans, the hand he has spread across your back to hold you up tensing.

“I dunno, he just… He really did a number on me, y’know, telling me how I did everythin’ wrong and that I…”

He’s gone coy and you’re relishing in it.

“You what?”

“I… Steve called me a fuckboy.”

You bark out a laugh so loud Eddie flinches, but then he watches as you carry on laughing, nearly bent double, eyes all crinkled just the way he likes, the way he’s missed terribly.

“What’s so funny?!”

“It’s true,” you say. “It’s so true! Robin, Steve, I mean, we love you, obviously, you’re our friend, but like… They did say when you and me started, y’know… That I was in for it, that you’d break my heart, and I told them they were crazy ‘cause it was just sex, right? But then I realised maybe it wasn’t just sex, when you basically started living here, and we were more like… I dunno, like a couple… But they were right!”

He looks at you, aghast.

“They told you all of that?”

“Yeah! I mean, they were right, huh?”

“Yeah, I just… I didn’t know it was that bad, that they’d be able to notice that kinda thing.”

“You know,” you say, fingers tapping patterns up his chest. “Steve told me somethin’ else, a few months back.”

“Oh, god,” he groans, mind reeling through the thousands of things this could be.

“It’s not bad,” you say. “Well, it’s not one of the bad things. There were still bad things.”

“Right.”

“He said… He said he’s known you for, what, like three years now? And in all that time, before you and me met, you’d always have different girls, were known as a bit of a player at school…”

“Christ, okay.”

“But after you left me, Steve said he’d never seen you be so… Alone.”

Eddie looks at you in shock, so frightened by what else Steve may have said, but also by how you’re relaying this to him. Calm, stoic, unfeeling.

“I mean… I haven’t, y’know, slept with anyone else, if that’s what you-”

“I know,” you say. “I just… It makes it feel more real, you know?”

“I know I’m gonna be spending the rest of my life making sure you know I’m sorry,” he says, breathing out through his nose slowly, “but I mean it. I’ll do it. For the rest of my life. There isn’t anyone else. I’ll forego women, relationships, whatever… ‘Cause I won’t have time. Will be too busy makin’ it up to you.”

He noses at your neck, trying with everything he has to hold himself back from kissing you. The air around the two of you feels thick with laboured breaths and unsaid things - so many unsaid things, things he’ll tell you one day and other things he’s sure he’ll hear from you.

“So can I?” he murmurs into the warm skin above your collarbone, lips only a hair from making contact.

He feels your fingers come around the back of his neck, taking root at the nape where his hair starts. They curl around it, tugging him up, and then you do the dance - the one that always happened between the two of you in these moments. You dip in, so close, and back out, ebbing like a riverbank. It drives him crazy and he knows that you know it, so he smiles, and it’s only then that you finally kiss him.

As you move against him, lips and hands and chest and thighs, he lets his eyes close and his tongue move with yours, and thinks that this - kissing you - is much better when he’s being honest.

-

[upat4amwiththemoon]

IN LOVE WITH GROUP PROJECT, please please do a second part, and if you don’t want to include this topic in the second part could you do another high school fic whit angst and fluff like some of Wanda Nara group friends are mean to reader and something happens but happy ending. Sorry I just want a good high school fic but I can never find good ones. Loveeee❤️❤️❤️❤️

Group project | part 2

Summary: Proximity warms hearts.

Pairing: WandaNat x female!reader

Warnings: bullying, some angst

Word count: 1226

a/n: I’d suggest reading part one of Group project before you read this!

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @emsmultiverse

masterlists | quidelines

All parts: part 1, part 2

“We’ll meet you at chemistry class, okay sweets?” Wanda smiles, kissing Y/N’s cheek before dropping her hand from her waist.

Natasha grabs her chin and kisses her lips quickly. “Gotcha.” Y/N giggles, slowly backing away from them. “See you later.” She waves and walks through the other students.

After few months of serious dating, the three of them decided to make their relationship officially public, before that, only Kate and Yelena knew.

As expected, not everyone thinks it’s a good relationship, but so far they haven’t gotten any significant trouble. Only minor comments and shoves in the school hallways, which were all received by Y/N. Technically, Wanda and Natasha still don’t know about any of it. She intends to keep it that way.

The smile on Y/N’s face fades quickly when she arrives to her locker. Some people have formed a ring around it, most of them snickering, others just staring at Y/N silently as she pushes through them. Her heart jumps up to her throat.

There are papers taped to the door of her locker with big, bold, red letters on it.

SLUT

HOMEWRECKER

Her eyes widen and there’s a sudden sick feeling in her stomach as tears start gathering in her eyes. Her lower lips starts quivering and the snickers get louder in her head.

Y/N rips the papers off of the door before practically running out of the school. Feeling humiliated, she really doesn’t want to be around anyone. On the way out, she sees a group of Wanda and Natasha’s friends very clearly laughing at her.

That’s when the tears finally fall. She figured they weren’t the most supportive of their relationship considering all the dirty looks she received from them, but she never knew they’d go this far.

Gripping the handles of her backpack, Y/N starts running when she finally gets outside. She runs all the way to her dorm. There she throws her bag to the ground and crawls under her cover, where she just cries.

After an hour of crying, there are no more tears to cry in her. Y/N is just laying on her bed, staring at the wall in front of her.

However, it gets interrupted by knocks on the door, and then the sound of a key being put into the lock. Which lets Y/N know it’s Kate. She’s the inly one besides her who has a key into their dorm.

“Y/N?” Kate’s voice is quiet. She closes the door and takes of her shoes before walking inside. “Are you awake?”

Y/N gives no indication of hearing her.

Kate sits down to her bed and sets a hand carefully to her side, her thumb rubbing it in a hopefully comforting manner. “I heard what happened. I’m so sorry, Y/N/M, you don’t deserve any of that.” She stays quiet for a moment. “Yelena is definitely going to beat up whoever did this.”

“It was their friends.” Her voice cracks and it’s weak from all the crying. “Wanda and Natasha’s.”

Kate frowns. “Which ones?” Y/N just shrugs, not feeling like talking anymore. Rapid knocking comes from the door. With a sigh, Kate gets up and cracks the door open. The moment she sees Y/N’s girlfriends behind the door, she steps to the hallway and closes the door behind her.

“We heard what happened.” Wanda starts, there’s clear worry on her face. “Can we see her?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not now at least.”

Natasha furrows her brows. “She’s our girlfriend and she is upset.”

“And I am her best friend of many years, I’m deciding what’s best for now. So, I say, now is not a good time.” Kate repeats, her voice set. “Do you know who did it?” They shake their heads. “Figure it out. It was your friends who did it.”

“What?”

Kate doesn’t let them continue, she just goes back inside and closes the door in their faces. Going back to the bed, she lays down behind Y/N, pulling her close against her chest.

They stay there for the rest of the day.

Kate is shuffling around the dorm, cleaning it up while Y/N is finally getting proper rest. The last two days have been full of staring at the wall in silence and crying, with Yelena popping in at times to bring food for the two.

While Kate is throwing useless papers into the trash, a knock comes from the door. With a sigh, she goes to open it. “Please let us see her.” Natasha says before the door is even fully open.

“Fine,” Kate puts on her shoes to give the three of them some privacy, “but she hasn’t really been talking.”

“Thank you.” Wanda says as they step inside. “Has she eaten?”

“Barely.” Is the last word before Kate leaves the dorm, shutting the door behind her.

Natasha and Wanda walk deeper into the room, careful not to step on anything or make any sudden loud noises. They notice the Y/N sized lumped on her bed, completely under the cover. Wanda goes to sit by her feet, setting one of her hands on Y/N’s leg.

“Hey.” Wanda whispers, rubbing her leg. “How are you feeling?”

Y/N shrugs.

”We, uhm,” Natasha sits by Y/N’s head, “we found out who did it.” She starts explaining, her voice gentle. “It was people on our friend group, Peggy, Pepper and Tony basically planned it.” Clearing her throat, she moves the cover out of Y/N’s head. “We’re so sorry this happened, we didn’t know they’d do something like that.”

“They’re your friends.” Y/N whispers.

”Not anymore.” Wanda assures her, climbing over Y/N so she can lay down opposite of her. “We would never want to be friends with people who are being mean to you.” She strokes Y/N’s cheek.

Natasha lays down behind Y/N, so the two are sandwiching her. “Have they ever done something like this before?” She starts playing her hair, a gentle smile appearing on her lips when Y/N leans towards her touch.

“Sometimes they give me dirty looks, or shove me around the halls.” She explains quietly, averting her eyes more over Wanda rather than to her eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because I didn’t think it was a big deal.” She shrugs. “They’re your friends.”

Sighing, Natasha pulls Y/N closes to kiss the top of her head. “People who hurt you are not our friends, okay? You gotta tell us if something like this happens.”

Y/N hums. She snuggles closer to the both of them, pushing her head to Wanda’s neck. “I’m sorry.” Her voice gets muffle by Wanda’s hair.

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Wanda wraps both of her arms around her. “It wasn’t your fault. We are sorry for not noticing this earlier and we’ve dealt with it.”

”Promise you’ll tell us if something like this happens again.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Natasha puts her arm over both Y/N and Wanda. “We should get you something to eat.”

“Can we sleep first?”

Wanda hums in confirmation, having already closed her eyes. Natasha chuckles at the two, they’ve always been the tired ones. She decides to stay awake and order food to the dorm while the two start sleeping.

[f1lthywriters-fandoms]

𝓡𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓸𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮 ♡ 𝓣𝓸𝓾𝓬𝓱

Pairings here: Cooper Howard • The Ghoul x Original Character(with a twist)

Summary: Cooper Howard was divorced, but soon got close to a co-star, the chemistry was there, the stars were high above. Let’s not forget his ex-wife to what she has suggested, not only he lost his daughter with no way of finding her, but losing his now and then before the bombs drop wife. Now he’s hired to find someone, the price is heavy amount, but what happens when he finds out who it is and not being able to do anything about it… or can he?

Word count: 1.9K

Warning(s): Minors, please don’t interact and fuck off, this is adults only, thanks you. The writer having an inexperience writing bc it’s been a while, yall signed up for this, remember that. ANYWAYS… Slow burn, implied torture, implied past fucking, future fucking, face fucking, anal fucking, normal creampies, radiated creampies, drug use, oral receiving and giving, and overall just pure filth. (Each chapter will have more descriptive warnings though!)

Notes by yours truly: If you wish to let me know of any errors, send a dm or something, I’d like to keep opinions from anyone open, as long as you’re nice. I give energy that’s given and I don’t fuck around, don’t sugar coat or anything, practice makes perfect and I wanna keep that flow going! Thank you. Happy reading, friends!

The Prologue:

Living in the vault was easier, much easier, the food was always fresh, never having to eat scraps to the dirt, licking everything till there was nothing left. The saliva that dripped off the tongue would linger wet onto the grainy floor till the sun would burn it dry. Getting a plate of Mac and cheese made by Blamco, the storage was full of any sort of food, with the side of Salisbury steak and pork n beans. But that wasn’t the case on the surface now. Tip was her name, living in a vault wasn’t her choice, the memories were a blur, but the voices were much presentable and known. Her name was simple and unnoticeable, but needed when bounty hunters would come looking for intel for whom they were looking for and to where to find them. The small amount of caps that she would get was always spent on food, never on anything else. The day she escaped the vault, it was a blessing from the dry boiling sky above, even if it was a surface hell, where she was at was far more worse.

Upon awakening from the cryogenic pod, the first fresh gasp of air, burning her lungs from the crisp sensation of the cool air around her, managing to get out, falling in the process, unsure if she was in that damn thing for days, maybe months - or worse… years. There was no telling how long she had been there, but the sight along from seeing, raiders is what some were called from the surface, hearing a while back that some heard of the vault she was imprisoned in, it was better than most, the food was the greatest, the water was most fresh and purified to the stomach and skin. When they let her out, they promised to reunite her with her lover, yet never saw him in any time that she was taken out, just to be put unconscious and back into the cryogenic pod. They never let her see what day it was, even the month was unknown, along with the year. Making it known that she would be fooled once again, because her feelings were always heightened, leaving her in such a state, her mental health was at its worst months ago. Fighting raiders wasn’t in her to do list, but she sure showed those fuckers that she was worse than any of them. From wearing the vault suit that was tight against her flesh to their shitty attempt of clothing, now she wore a worn out wedding dress that carried more blood stains from every son of a bitch that had crossed her so far. No one got near her, if so, they got to deal with her resting bitch face and dry responses or nothing at all.

“Doll, please lemme have some -” a poor idiot bastard tried to place his hand on her exposed knee that was wrapped by duct tape, attempt to expose a wound from a light stab, he had the tip of her double saw shotgun right in his lips, practically giving it a heavy smooch.

“Touch me the fuck again, and I will make sure you deep throat my fucking barrels,” she snapped, her tone cold as ice, cooling his nerve endings, “Now fuck off, you piece of lizard shit.”

The only time that a bounty hunter has talked to her, it was to find the whereabouts of a Skeeter Roman, a little pickpocket thief that roams in crowded pathways, easily sneaking a hand into a pocket and snatching a stash of caps. Tip tilted her head to the side, her light eyes spotting who was asked for, with no hesitation, pointing at the little radroach thief, taking an unconscious drunk idiot’s bit of caps from the pocket. Poor little bastard wasn’t warned or nothing, she watched the man walk up to that little person, grab from the neck and snap a quick snap. The man grabbed the body and slumped it over his back, walking towards her and handing her one hundred caps for the trouble.

Taking a full swig of her nuka cola quantum, all eyes on her, but no one dared to even pull a gun for such a thing she had done. It’s not the telling, it’s for the caps, fuck everyone else, it’s only you against the world of pure bullshit and hell.

It’s been about a few days, everything seemed too quiet for her liking, her little home was a worn out house that was probably fucked by the nukes that were launched, a very late warning, leaving a lot of people running to vaults, under the house shelters that were later discovered as bullshit. The people that bought the high price were saved, but later killed, for what? For being selfish assholes that pushed others to their deaths or more, they either became ash forms or whatever mutated shit that was created by the radiation. Pulling out the metallic bottle jug that she managed to find, it was still fully intact, but filling it with the fresh purified water was so good, the way it washed the dryness of the throat, the refreshness felt so filling, pulling it away was so painful and limited. Pulling a bag that was hidden away, unzipping it to push the top to the side, the inside carried a lot of old worn out clothes that weren't too tattered, most of it was dresses, casual pants and tops, and some garments. Whoever put this together, they were either going on a vacation or trying to see if they would survive the blast, sadly anyone that did, well… there’s the aftermath of it all.

Scavenging was something close to surviving, but sometimes luck was a clutch, anything would be, if the cards were played right. Sighing, anything over nothing was better to none, it made no sense to make sense, it’s how it was. Letting her body go limp for a moment, hours of looking, breaking through things for something, just a bit to show some sight of hope, but even that was impossible to find. The vault was easy living, the problem was that it was too easy for food, for clothes, and overall… peace. Living on the surface wasn’t like that, it was like rats fighting for the last little sugar bomb, only to be shredded in the process, then eaten into nothing. Leaning her head back, swallowing the annoyance of the thoughts of differences, even to have the what ifs was irritating to think of.

What if they didn’t drop the bombs?

What if it didn’t get to that point?

What if…

Her brows furrowing, eyes closed, the thoughts were overflowing her mind. There was so much to think about, wondering if she would exist with how she was before, getting a chance to see what it was like to live… normally? Was that even a thing? It wasn’t that she wasn’t alive, no. It was more of being born in luxury, becoming a star like her parents, getting to be a popular model for cereal brands and even some cooking shows, and movies. Just the memories flowing again, this time they were clearer than before, just her being a damsel in the arms of a cowboy that held a smile after saving her. The way he fought off the goons, freeing her from a silly pathetic little scheme, then the shared kiss. Her hand touching her lips, her eyes still closed, wondering where he could be and if he could be alive, maybe he fixed his -

“Well, now…”

Her eyes snapped open with a panic, her hand quick with the gun by the side that was never brought up from her surroundings, but she sure kept it in sight to her side if need be. Staring where the voice was coming from, gun at hand and aiming at the person - no, pointing at a pretty much fully and mentally attached ghoul. It was odd to face one that talked, even if there were a few, they kept to themselves till they succumbed into madness, but this one felt different. Oddly different. He was a pretty interesting sight, the outfit he wore was cowboy like, the accent that lingered was something familiar, unsure where to place it, her image wasn’t a sight to see for sure, but what was a cowboy dressed up ghoul pulling up to where she was, and why was he there?

“Can’t find your own damn fucking house to claim?” She asked, her tone was steady with her facial expression holding a stern look.

His eyebrows would’ve risen, if he had any, but yet he was hiding the shock under his impression, ain’t no one ever had the balls like her to do what she just did. Not like he gave them a chance, because he was quick with the trigger, but this individual was something fucking ballsy to even find, especially that he was hired to bring her back. The cap was more than what any bounty hunter has ever been hired to do such a thing, most would pay that way to kill the person and call it a day, but this one was different, and he was determined to why. There was something about her that felt… familiar? Why? He didn’t know her, or did he? The questions were there, it was something that he never had to deal with, if it was, that was so damn fucking long ago to remember now, he was no human now that he was then. The two stared at each other in silence for a moment, till his mind grinding the gears going back some, maybe far back, just the eyes from her gaze and then it fucking clicked.

It was someone from his fucking past.

Fuck.

— Tags here: @rafecamsgirlll @yondus-girl

[gio-cosmo]

I’m sick rn so forgive me but ur cool. Only discovered Strega recently (never really got into persona three like I did the other games in the series) any suggestions for Strega-based content I could eat? awesome sauce and other such phrases

Hi!! Sorry for answering this late, my inbox refuses to notify me of new asks sometimes lol. I hope you feel better soon!! Feeling sick sucks.

Strega based content is unfortunately rather hard to come across. Besides in-game content, here’s what I can think of off the top of my head:

- Strega Days by Narihara Tonmi. You can find scans & translations online!

- Tartarus Theater Wild - Again, scans & translations are available online.

- You can find them featured in the Weird Masquerade stage play, but I can’t find a translation for it (if anyone has one lmk)

- Someone posted on here with scans for Shadow Cry (untranslated) a bit ago which is fully dedicated to Strega, but my dumbass lost it and can’t find it so umm I’m actually kind of hoping someone will respond to this post and give it to me 💔 LMFAOO

- They are also featured in the P3 movie!

This is all I can think of off the top of my head but I feel like I’m seriously forgetting a LOT of stuff…forgive me, I’m so incredibly forgetful that I’m sort of bad at stuff like this LMFAO.

But besides official content, there’s of course fan-content as well! I’m always searching tumblr for fanart, and if you’re interested in fanfiction, there’s some fics written abt Strega on ao3. Some of which have changed my brain chemistry for real…fellow strega fans, you guys are so awesome. I love seeing everyone’s different perspectives on the characters!!

OKAYYY RAMBLING SESSION OVER. I hope this is helpful!! I’m always happy to see more people getting into Strega — they are such an interesting trio of characters and I adore analyzing them ❤️

In general if you guys ever have any Strega-related questions or queries or just want to share your thoughts on them in general I’d love to hear it!! My inbox is always open, and if I ever take a while to respond, it’s likely just bc tumblr doesn’t notify me sometimes ^_^

[my-v3nt-plac3]

Okay! So I really need to get this off my chest and I hope writing this down will help me or anyone else who is also struggling. Lately I’ve been questioning if I’m aromantic. It’s not the first time but it is the longest I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve been thinking about it more recently tho because my friend has been talking about her relationship troubles and I just can’t get my head around it. I don’t understand how someone can have such an impact on you. Granted I’ve never been in a relationship, so I don’t really know, but for me I always just think if you’re having such problems, just leave.

I value my happiness and peace over everything and I don’t think there can ever be a relationship that would make that worth it. But then I think, well I do want company, a partner in crime that I can go to that chooses me, and that sounds like a relationship. But also when I think of that, I can’t see myself having any type of sexual relation with that person or even being exclusive. Then I think, asexuals exist, even if I’m not, and have perfectly good relationships. So I start thinking, what is the difference between a platonic relationship and a romantic relationship?

In both you go on little dates to the park or a restaurant, in both you can hug and hold hands depending on the people, and live with each other and have a deep connection, friends with benefits exist and open relationships and polygamy so it’s not about being exclusive and finding that one person. So what’s the difference? What is romance? Being thoughtful and showing care? Going the extra mile and sentimental? You can do that with anyone close to you. So really what is it and why do I think I don’t want it? And the only thing I can think of: being sensual. Its slow kisses and lingering touches but laying together in silence and all in all being vulnerable. not with just your body or emotions and thoughts but with your spirit and soul and taking care of the person who decides to do the same with you. And yea that sounds really nice in theory but I wouldn't have the energy, patience and time to deal with that responsibility or want to give someone that much power over me. And like, I’m a firm “I’m not your therapist” type person. Respectfully, I don’t want to constantly hear your woes, especially if you’re not trying to fix them. Maybe it’s because I'm just young and i’ll change my mind when i start settling down or maybe I just know myself really well.

I see marriage more as a contract than a romantic ceremony, I’ve had maybe one crush and even that I think I just thought she was pretty and just thinking about the time and energy I’d have to put in to make a relationship last makes me want to take a nap. I’m a solitary creature, an introvert, homebody, I have one friend and it takes everything I have to even answer her text, never mind actually going and hanging out with her!

So! Am I aromatic? I don’t know. But I hope this gets you thinking. If you have and advice, thoughts, comparisons or suggestions, please comment. I’ll most likely read it even if I don’t reply because of my anxiety.

[starsreminisce]

His gaze didn’t lighten, though that smile again played about his sensuous mouth, no doubt his favorite mask. “Only occasionally will I do that. And I can’t help it if you send things down the bond.” I contemplated refusing to ask as I had done last night, but … “How does it work—this bond that allows you to see into my head?” He sipped from his own tea. “Think of the bargain’s bond as a bridge between us—and at either end is a door to our respective minds. A shield. My innate talents allow me to slip through the mental shields of anyone I wish, with or without that bridge unless they’re very, very strong, or have trained extensively to keep those shields tight. As a human, the gates to your mind were flung open for me to stroll through. As Fae … ” A little shrug. “Sometimes, you unwittingly have a shield up—sometimes, when emotion seems to be running strong, that shield vanishes. And sometimes, when those shields are open, you might as well be standing at the gates to your mind, shouting your thoughts across the bridge to me. Sometimes I hear them; sometimes I don’t.”

I tried to convince myself that everything I’d done had made you hate me. But I felt you through the bond, through your open mental shields. I felt your pain, and sadness, and loneliness. I felt you struggling to escape the darkness of Amarantha the same way I was. I heard you were going to marry him, and I told myself you were happy. I should let you be happy, even if it killed me. Even if you were my mate, you’d earned that happiness.

But Elain studied me, the map, then nodded. She had no mental shields, no barriers. The gates to her mind … Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns.

Considering that we don't know where Elain is with her training, the only tidbit we have is her saying that she needs to get reacquainted with her powers. This suggests she hasn't been experiencing them much, especially when Feyre mentions Elain hasn't had visions or any foresight regarding the outcome of Feyre's pregnancy or the search for the trove.

What’s interesting to me is how early Nesta started to train to shield her mind in ACOWAR. I believe that’s why Nesta was able to ward off most of the mating bond's effects, except when Cassian stabbed himself—she kept her shields up most of the time.

Feyre says Elain has no mental shields or barriers, and I don’t believe that has changed. If Elain had been practicing, she would have argued that to make a case for her to search for the trove. Additionally, Feyre describes Elain's mind as a result of lacking sunshine, likely since Lucien has been away on his quest to find Vassa. As much as people argue that Feyre should disclose to Lucien who his real father is, we drew that conclusion because of Elain's revelation.

I believe that Elain and Lucien likely communicate more through their bond than is explicitly shown in the books, especially considering the hints we get from both ACOSAF and ACOSF. Rhys's experiences with Feyre might provide some insight into this, as their bond seems to allow for an intimate understanding of each other's emotions and thoughts.

It's possible that one of the reasons the bond might be uncomfortable for both Elain and Lucien is the sudden shift from being able to hide their true feelings around others to having someone who instinctively knows when they're lying. Elain's words, "he doesn't know me," could reflect this discomfort and the unsettling feeling of being seen so deeply by another person.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

do you think how Jamie reacted to Roy and Keeley's teasing at the auction in 1x04 was related to his trauma from his Dad making him loose his virginity to a lady from the red light district? and do you think after the three of them officially get together, that they ever talk about that?

Tricky one, nonny, because as much as I tend towards Watsonian explanations over Doylist ones, in this particular case I can’t quite disregard the fact that I am not at all convinced that Jamie’s Amsterdam backstory was in place when 1x04 was written. It might have been, sure, but… yeah, I doubt it, actually.

And, like, in hindsight, after 3x06, it’s hard not to connect Jamie’s discomfort at the gala with his experiences in Amsterdam. Even if he doesn’t consciously join the dots himself, even if he’s not yet realized that the experience was traumatic to him (and I think 3x06 does suggest that it was, even if it’s possibly to argue otherwise), the notion of having to have sex with someone he doesn’t want to have sex with, especially when they’re that much older (not because having sex with old people is gross, obviously, but because it would mirror the experience he had as a child), would have made him deeply uneasy.

I mean, it would make most of us deeply uneasy, so that’s not the strange part. The strange part, really, is that Jamie believes – if only for a little while – Roy and Keeley’s assertion that he’ll need to put out. Becaue, yes, Jamie’s not always the brightest, but of course the club’s not actually pimping out the players. He knows that, surely. But for a moment he isn’t sure – and maybe that’s because it’s already happened to him, hasn’t it? Not quite like this, no, but money exchanged and him required to fuck someone he had not chosen to fuck. So, yes, things like that can happen and maybe they do happen at Richmond because Jamie didn’t see it coming the first time either, did he, but no, it’s just a fucking joke, Roy and Keeley having a laught and he looks like a right idiot now, doesn’t he, for having believed them, and he can’t even articulate (not even to himself, I think) why he thought, for a moment, that maybe…

Yeah. Makes a horrible sort of sense, doesn’t it?

So, in hindsight I think we can read his reaction being at least partially related to what was done to him in Amsterdam, and normally I’d be perfectly happy with that, actual text over authorial intent, but in this case I can’t stop wondering about what it all was originally intended to mean (if, indeed, the Amsterdam part was not known to the writers at the time of writing 1x04). Maybe it intrigues me because it has the potential to reveal more and interesting things about Jamie? I don’t know, and I don’t have any real theories either, just… something about football players being used to getting sold and traded, something about his sense of self and value directly tied to his body and what he can do with it, time spent creating his brand and the slight disassociation and/or confusion between self and image it can cause (even as I think that Jamie has a very strong sense of self generally). Given all of that, is it so outlandish for him to briefly assume that maybe this too might be required? Especially given his experiences in Amsterdam… Can be a mix of the two, really. Maybe that’s the interpreation I mostly favour.  

As for if they ever talk about it... I don’t necessarily think it’s something Jamie would bring up and I doubt Roy immediately connects the dots once he hears Jamie’s tale of his first Amsterdam trip. Keeley, I think, doesn’t know what happened in the Red Light District; to me, Jamie telling Roy reads very much like a ‘first time I ever told anyone’ thing, but that’s obviously open to interpretation.

But say something reminds Roy of that gala dinner, and what was said then. Maybe they’re getting ready to attend it once more and this time they’re dead pleased to be seated at the same table, making little jokes about can you fucking imagine if someone would have told us then that this is where we’d end up and could have saved ourselves so much trouble if we’d just gone home together that night and Keeley playfully reminds Jamie that he doesn’t actually have to sleep with someone if he doesn’t want to and Jamie pouts like that shit wasn’t funny but he’s laughing too because it was long ago and they’re here now and he doesn’t tend to dwell –

– but Roy goes quiet because wait hang on oh no fuck no, and he doesn’t say anything right away, they need to get going and he’s not sure is he, and he keeps on saying nothing throughout the dinner, and behind the still face he is quietly spiralling as he watches Jamie’s every move like a hawk, every twitch of his lips and every roll of his eyes.

Jamie and Keeley both notice, and are both confused. They keep exchanging glances and when Nate’s off to the loo and Jade’s done her disappeaering act and Sam and Dani drag Jamie off to join the rest of the team for a round of shots, Keeley takes the opportunity to lean in and ask what’s going on, Roy, are you okay?

He’ll tell her then, I think, and that’s not great – not his story to share – but it’s eating at him and there’s no one else for him to confide in and Keeley is part of it too, so yes. He tells her; she’s upset but still the voice of reason; no matter what happened that night Jamie’s doing fine right now, he’s having a great time with his friends and we shouldn’t ruin that for him, but come tomorrow we’ll have a proper chat all three of us, okay, sort things out?

And come tomorrow, they do.

[lesbianxreader]

Chapter 2 is up again I’m still trying to figure out how to use this! If anyone has suggestions on where else I can post I’d really appreciate it!

Chapter 2: a sandbender past

Lin led Savannah into a room with a bed and a desk. “You’ll be staying here,” she said, closing the door behind her and freeing her from the entanglement of cables. “Talk to me. Start from the beginning—who are you, and how did you get mixed up with those criminals?” Lin leaned against the door, her arms crossed, waiting for answers.

Savannah took a deep breath. “My name’s Savannah. They took me from the orphanage in Misty Palms… I didn’t want to work for him, but they didn’t give me a choice. He said he’d kill me.” It all came out of her like a waterfall. It felt good to finally tell someone, to maybe be given freedom.

“So you were kidnapped?” Lin’s voice was sharp with shock. “By who?”

Savannah hesitated, unsure if she should share more. Should I be telling her this? she thought. “…His name’s Rajan.” Savannah couldn’t explain it, but something about Lin made her trust her. Lin’s sympathetic eyes made her want to cry and curl up into her arms. She felt safe.

Lin pushed herself off the door frame and started pacing. “Rajan…” she repeated. “I’ve heard whispers of him before but never had any proof of his activities.” She stopped abruptly. “You’ve just given me the break I needed to take him down. Thank you.” Without another word, she left the room in a hurry.

Lin radioed Mako. “Listen, I need you to look up someone on the missing children’s registry. Her name’s Savannah, from Misty Palms. She probably went missing 10 or more years ago…”

“Found her,” Mako responded quickly. “You’re right. She went missing 15 years ago from the orphanage. She should be about 27 now, disappeared when she was 12.” He paused. “Why’d you have me do this?”

“We found her,” Lin said, her voice filled with a rare moment of happiness. Savannah’s story checked out, which meant she was innocent. The realization hit her hard—she had been just 12, forced to work with pirates. Lin’s stomach turned with disgust. How many more children have been taken like this? she thought to herself.

Savannah sinks into the beds soft covers. Today was hell. She thought to herself, knowing Rajan will find her soon she decided to sleep while she can. But she just tosses and turns in her bed unable to sleep, when she hears laughter coming from the near by beach. I wonder what’s going on, she thinks and looks out her window to see 2 girls laughing and passing a bottle between them. Curious she slips on her sandals and sneaks out to the beach.

“If you’re going to drink and keep me up you can at least share.” She says earning a shock from the girls.

“Oh you’re the pirate Lin found.” Said one of the women. She was wearing a blue water tribe getup, “I’m Korra, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Like wise” Savannah said reaching for the bottle.

“I’m Asami.” The other girl smiles at her.

“Savannah.” she says back joking the girls for a drink.

After a while of talking and drinking Lin approached with a stern expression. “You shouldn’t be out here in the open.” She said

Korra and Asami took the bottle and hid it behind their back. Lin noticing it reached down and snatched it. “And public intoxication is illegal ladies.” She said earning a giggle from the two drunk girls.

“Oh come on I’m still on the island.” Savannah said with a pout.

“You're not making this easy, you know that? I have a duty to keep you safe, not to enable reckless behavior!” She said rolling her eyes. “Now let’s get you back inside.” She said gently grabbing you by the arm.

“Well it was nice meeting you, Korra and Asami!” Savannah said before following Lin inside. “Buzzkill.” She joked.

Lin rolled her eyes before responding jokingly “whatever you say you drunk.” She stifled a laugh opening the door to your room.

Once inside Savannah started to realize how quickly the alcohol had hit her. She didn’t really eat much. She falls over slightly bumping into the wall.

Lin laughs. “And I thought pirates were known for their ability to hold liquor.” Helping you to bed. “Carful now, just lay down.” She says putting you under the covers

“Stay…” she whispers.

Lin freezes a faint blush creeping on her face. “That wouldn’t be appropriate…I’ll leave some aspirin and water by the table for you.” She said before reluctantly leaving the room.

[izavella21]

Brainstorming ideas for how the V3 cast gets stuck in a hole

This script I wrote is making me think of ideas for how the V3 cast would get stuck in a hole.

The hole in question appears out of nowhere. It's just THERE one morning.

Himiko is the first to fall in.

Miu makes some contraption/gets an idea to get Himiko out, and maybe rallies some other characters to assist (Kibo is most likely one of them).

The contraption/idea doesn't work, and somehow causes Miu, plus everyone who helped her, to get stuck in the hole.

If Tenko's alive, she definitely attempts to get Himiko out of the hole, but probably falls in as a result.

Shuichi, Kokichi and Kaito are the last three to fall in.

Shuichi stands at the edge of the hole, looking at everyone who fell in, and is overcome with a sense of dread.

Kokichi then approaches him from behind and gives Shuichi a light shove as a jest.

However, the shove catches Shuichi off guard. He looses his balance, and in a panic, grabs onto the nearest thing.

Which just so happens to be Kokichi Ouma.

They both fall in. (Maybe Kokichi happens to land on top of Shuichi).

Kaito is uh, not happy that he just let his sidekick get shoved into a hole. (It's not your fault Kaito)

Kaito tries to rescue Shuichi from the hole, only to fall in himself.

Gonta and Maki avoid falling into the hole.

(After thinking over it, I'm led to believe that it would be really really hard to get Maki to fall into the hole.)

Gonta tries to get everyone out of the hole, but is unsuccessful for one reason or another.

Finally, Maki comes up with a plan, and gets Kaito and Shuichi out of the hole (maybe Gonta helps her!).

Kaito, Shuichi, and Maki then get a ladder and lower it into the hole, and that's how everyone else gets out of the hole.

If anyone has any more suggestions/ideas for this scenario, feel free to share them! I’d love to hear!

[thezombieprostitute]

Museum Tours

A/N: Written for the @the-slumberparty​ Bingo card, combining "Vacation" and "Avid Fan" (the latter might be weak, but I've had this story in my head for a really long time and it's nice to have an excuse to write it down). Reader is referred to as she/her but no other descriptors. Warnings: I don’t think this has any, but please let me know if I missed them.

When Donna told Steven he was to be a Tour Guide for the museum gala he was initially elated. At last! A chance to prove how good a tour guide he could be! He made sure to dress in his finest and even attempted to tame his hair. He arrived well ahead of when he was supposed to, so eager and happy to have a chance to prove himself.

About an hour into the event, Steven’s hopes were dashed. These people weren’t here for tours or even to learn what the museum had to offer. They were only there to network and brag about how much money they’d donated. All of his studying and reviewing was for nothing and, worst of all, he lost another chance to prove himself.

Steven left the main area (when Donna wasn’t looking) and decided to treat himself to enjoying the exhibit without the pressure of other people and that’s when he saw her. She was dressed well enough that she was clearly a guest at the gala but, more importantly to Steven, she was actually reading the placards and looking at the exhibits! He walked up to her quickly and accidentally made her jump and yelp.

“Oh, so sorry about that,” Steven rushed. “I was just hoping to offer my services as a Tour Guide to the exhibit.”

She chuckled and responded, “it’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting anyone to be around. Attendees usually just stay near the food.”

“You’re an American?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m here on vacation. I don’t often get out here but I’ve heard such good things about the museum’s collection and wanted to see it for myself. Thankfully the gala gave me a good chance to look at everything I want without having to compete with crowds. I love museums but I tend to feel rushed when there are so many other people around.”

“I hear you,” Steven said. “I’m usually just working at the gift shop and I can’t tell you how chaotic things can get there.” Steven’s smile grew as she giggled and nodded her understanding. 

“Customer service jobs can be so terrible. But if you work the gift shop, what brings you here tonight?”

Steven straightened his posture and told her, with pride, “I’m something of an expert on Egyptology and was asked to be a Tour Guide for this section of the exhibit.”

“Really,” her eyes widened with excitement. “I’m an avid fan of Egyptology but there’s just so much. Any chance of getting a tour? I’d love to learn how these pieces of the past join together to form a culture.”

“I’d be absolutely delighted! My name is Steven, by the way, and if you need me to stop talking, or explain something further, saying “Steven” is the best way to get my attention.”

“Noted. My name is Y/N by the way.”

“Very nice to meet you! Now, let’s start with this idol of Horus over here.”

A few hours later the PA system announced that the museum would soon be closing. Y/N looked genuinely disappointed. Steven, ever the gentleman, offered her his arm and he practically glowed when she didn’t even hesitate to link her arm with his. 

When they entered the main hall Donna was immediately on Steven about where he had been. Not that any of the other guests had wanted a tour, of course, but it was “unprofessional to leave an event.”

Y/N stared at the woman, “This gentleman has been the best tour guide I’ve had in ages. My every question was answered and he is very talented at storytelling. I will very much suggest to my family, the Y/L/N estate, that we invest further into your museum. Especially if it will pay for Mr. Grant’s promotion.”

Donna fumbled over her words as her brain tried to catch up. “Y..yes, of course. I’m glad to hear Steven was such a help.” 

Steven walked Y/N to her car. Before she got in she said, “next time I’m in country, I’ll have to make sure to visit you again. It’s been such a delightful evening, thanks to you.”

“It was a pleasure, Y/N. I hope to see you again.”