#then again I think these things and I think of the two cakes comic so. here’s my cake. it’s not perfect but it’s mine.

[archersartcorner]

Hey remember the episode where Kirk gets split in two. Here’s my pitch for if it was Spock,

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Casually calling them "daddy" LADS

Word count; 1,913

Themes; slightly barely there suggestive content, fluff, established relationship

Warnings; mention of "daddy" ofc, fluff

Notes; So these turned out more fluffy than I originally intended...honestly, thought they'd be more smutty, but I've learnt that it's really difficult for me to write smut. Or at least, smut with little to no context before it all goes down. I might eventually write some smuttier drabbles, but regardless of smut, I hope you enjoy this little thing I wrote!

You saw that there was an old trend about calling your boyfriend “daddy” and videoing their reaction so, obviously, you wanted to give it a try…

Xavier 

It's been almost a year since you and Xavier started dating– and it was a wonderful eleven months! He told you everything about himself. What his future with you was like, all of his feelings throughout the centuries, and you listened. You wholeheartedly believed him, because it would be one hell of a lie if it wasn't true…and you didn't think Xavier had the time or energy to come up with a complex lie like that. 

But even if you now know, time moves on. There's not much you can do about your future self, so you can't really change the future in that way though…Xavier's here now, in the past, and that's all that matters to you. 

Anyway, today was just a normal day as any. 

You were sitting at the counter, keeping a close eye on Xavier– who was attempting to follow, yet another, cooking tutorial. The man was desperate to cook a decent meal for you. His heart dead set on making you something edible for your upcoming year anniversary…and while that was cute, you also wanted to mess with him. 

You push your cup just out of your reach and make a big show of trying to reach for it, before sighing loudly. 

“Daddy, can you pass me my drink please?” 

You can hear the clang of a spatula hitting the floor and you watch Xavier’s body comically whip around to face you. 

“What?” His head cocks to the side as his wide eyes were set on your face. “Say that again..”

“Hmm? I said ‘Xav, can you pass me my drink, please’.” You copy his head tilt and he quickly shakes his head.

 “No, no you didn't.” He takes a few steps toward you before grabbing your hand in-between both of his. “Say it again.” 

You couldn't resist his sweet puppy dog eyes, so you hold back a smile as you meet his eyes. “I...called you daddy.” 

“Really?” He seems unusually excited. “So are we…?” His gaze lowers to your stomach and you can’t help the giggle that slips from your lips. 

Gosh, he was so cute. 

“Baby– no, no. We're not pregnant.” You run your fingers through his hair with a smile on your lips. “Are...you disappointed?” 

“Mmh..” Xavier hums thoughtfully for a moment before he shakes his head. “No. We can just make it a reality later. No need to rush.” 

Zayne 

You and Zayne have only been dating for six months, but it felt like much longer. Having known each other since you were little, you both had always been close– well, your definition of close and his were probably different. You always thought of him as a friend while he tried to keep a distance and thought you hated him. But time brought you both back together with him as your primary care physician. 

The two of you had been flirting up until his birthday and finally made it official once he blew his candles out on the cake you made for him. It was a sweet time, but that was six months ago. 

Now, though, you really want to fluster the man. 

He always embarrasses you and makes you feel nervous, but you never get to see him that way. Sure, his ears will turn red and sometimes he won't meet your eyes when you get too intense with him, but you've never seen him absolutely shocked. And you just wanted to see one look of surprise from him. 

So, what did you decide to do? 

You decided to casually call him "daddy” as a joke.

That should definitely go over well. 

Zayne is seated behind his desk at the hospital, sorting through papers as you longue on his sofa. Your eyes continuously glancing toward the windows to make sure the door was shut and the blinds were closed. 

“If you keep staring at the door, you just might burn a hole through it.” Zayne says, though he didn't even look up from his paperwork. He was attentive like that and probably already knew you wanted something or you were ready to go home. And he was right. 

“When are we going home…daddy?” You ask as you kick your feet in the air behind you. You were on your stomach, resting your cheek against your arms as you watched his expression…which didn't change at all. 

"Just give me a few more minutes, angel, and I'll be done.” Zayne pushes his glasses up with his index finger and clicks his pen, jotting down a few notes. 

“I–” You puff your cheeks out with a small sigh and decide to keep going with it. “I want to go home now, daddy.”

“Didn't I just tell you to be patient?” Now Zayne finally looks up at you with one of his brows raised. “I'll deal with you when we get home.” 

Rafayel 

It's been four months since Rafayel asked you out. Four months since you tugged Rafayel down into the bath with you, which set off a chain reaction of a steamy night, followed by him asking you out the next morning; he also complained that you both went out of order, but he wasn’t too upset when you continued where you left off…

Now, though, you moved out of your apartment and to Rafayel's home, ‘Mo Art Studio’ at Whitesand Bay. 

It was definitely odd at first, but it was a good change of pace. Always being by the ocean, able to take your morning walks together on the beach and collect seashells. You had a whole collection on your desk at work. He'd always give you the most unique and prettiest shells, saying “only the best for his cutie”. 

He was also so easy to fluster. 

You immediately knew you had him wrapped around your finger every time his ears would turn red. That same crimson slowly made its way from his ears to his cheeks, all the way to his whole face. So you assumed your little ‘prank’ would also have the same effect. 

You were sitting on a beach towel in the sand with an umbrella blocking your eyes from the bright sun. In front of you was Rafayel, painting your visage, with an easel. His hand deftly moves across the canvas as he sketches the outline for his new painting. 

Lately, you are the only thing he can paint. Always asking you to stop what you're doing so he can run and get his sketch pad. You could be doing something so normal and mundane, but he'd be struck with the inspiration to record your very image. 

As much as you loved it and thought this was very sweet, after almost two weeks of this…You wanted some form of payback. 

“Hey, daddy, can we take a break for a second? It’s really hot out here.” You squint your eyes to try and see Rafayel's face, your hand fanning at your body because you, seriously, are hot out here. 

“Huh?” 

It's like Rafayel is frozen in time, or buffering. He's just blankly staring at you with a confused expression on his face until his pencil drops into the sand. That's when he quickly stands up  and makes his way toward you. 

“Again.” 

Now, it's your turn to be confused. 

“Raf, what–” 

“Not that, say the other word again.” His ears were red as he crouched down in front of you, a look of determination in his eyes. 

“No– you're making it weird!” You put your hands on his shoulders, trying to put some distance between him as your face turns red. 

“Please, I really need to hear you say it again! I'm seriously going to die if you don't.” There's your overdramatic fishy. 

“Fine, but just this once.” You grumble, turning your head to look away from him. “Daddy…” Though you say it as low as you can and Rafayel groans, tilting his head back. 

“Louder.” He rests his forehead against yours. “Come on, cutie. If you don't…I might want to change that to my new nickname.”

Sylus

It's been about…a year? Yes, definitely a year since you and Sylus started dating. Well, you both have differing opinions on when exactly you started dating. Sylus claims it was the moment he laid eyes on you in the N109 Zone, while you claim it was only about six months ago– which is when you and Sylus made a bet. 

It was a bet where if he came back safely from his mission, he'd leave you alone. He wouldn't bother you anymore, wouldn't talk to you, contact you, anything of the sort…and you won, but you didn't realize he'd actually do it. So whenever you seeked him out to make sure he was safe, and he ignored you, you realized that maybe you did want him in your life. 

This led to you running across the street to him and jumping into his arms like this was a hallmark movie, and you claim this was when you officially started dating Sylus.

But between us, you just agree with Sylus when he says a year, because if you don't, he'll pout for the whole day. 

...And today was one of those ‘pouty Sylus’ days. 

You went on a mission that was probably way too dangerous, even though you told Sylus you were going to slow down on your Hunter's work. But you couldn't just ignore endangered civilians. If any of them would have died, that would've been too much for your sympathetic heart to handle. 

And even if Sylus understands your reasoning, he's still upset that you left without telling him– having woken up to a cold bed without you by his side sent him spiraling into a panic. 

So, when you got home, you noticed he was sulking in the kitchen as he made dinner. 

“Sy…” You take your shoes off by the door, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you tentatively walk into the kitchen. Standing behind the counter, you sigh, “I'm reeaally sorry...” 

“If you're reeaaally sorry, then help me make our dinner.” He says, not looking up at you and that doesn't make you feel any better. 

“Okay..” You finally step past the counter and you look around. “So…what do you need?” You were trying to figure out something– anything that could make Sylus feel better when a thought comes to your mind. 

Most guys probably like it when their girlfriend calls them daddy…right? 

“In the cabinet, top shelf. I need a bottle of garlic powder.” 

Okay, you got this. 

You take a deep breath and open the cabinet, straining your arm to try and reach the seasoning bottle, but your fingertips barely brush it and knock it over. “Shit…” You swallow back your nervousness before continuing, “Daddy, can you grab it for me?” 

The room fills with silence for a moment, but then you hear Sylus chuckle. 

“Sure, kitten.” 

Your back suddenly feels warm as a firm chest presses against it and Sylus reaches up from behind you to grab the bottle. 

“I ask you to do one simple thing and you can't even do that.” Sylus chides, clicking his tongue as he pops the bottle open to pour some into the pan on the stove. 

“Da–”

“If you think a few empty words will make me feel better, kitten…you've got to try a lot harder than that.” 

I'd like to say, this is definitely one of my better drabbles– one of my favorites, in fact!

I have like...six more ideas for drabbles and then I'll need to come up with some more. Like these new cards and Rafayel's student photoshoot event really had me thinking of how seriously the LADS men would take roleplaying– and that spawned a whole different drabble idea, so you can definitely look forward to that!

I'm trying to come up with new ways to do my drabbles, so that's why I did a little prelude before I started writing for the guys. Please let me know any feedback yall have for me! Especially with the coloured dialogue, I'm not too sure if I like it, but it seems really pretty and probably makes it easier to tell who is talking apart. (I won't use it for my fic though, only the drabbles!)

Anyway, I have a small personal project I'm working on this weekend so I probably won't be able to write any chapters for my 'Divisa' fic, but I'm still going to post chapter nineteen of 'Twist of Fate' and try to write at least two more chapters since I'm only on twenty-three or so.

I hope you all enjoyed these drabbles and I hope yall have a great night/day! 🩷

[elizzsush]

“Fuck you Comic Con nerds!” | DC - Batman WIP

Batfam X Isekaied Reader

— in which you, a DC fan gets isekaied into and gets saved by boy wonder. Only to get mad at him and B… it’s only after you calm down (still mad at them) you piece together what actually happened… but should you tell them?

AU: Soulmate (?), isekai Rating: Sfw

Note: You and Damien are the same age and shit. I don’t really remember how old he is but for the sake of fanfiction let’s age him up to 18 (or down I looked it up and it said he was 37? I have no idea where that info was from comic are confusing)

Warning: Y/N swears a lot and makes a like one sexual joke? _________________________________

One minute you were in the greatest, most magical place in the world: Six flags. And the next you were in the sewer. To say you were pissed and totally confused was an understatement. Those funnel cakes by the entrance were calling your name- you were gonna get one before you left! Now instead of that sweet cake smell it was replaced with the smell of shit and piss and whatever else lived in the sewer.

Sixflags was suppose to be relaxing- doctors orders. You just needed to relax and distract from-

You were in the sewers. You dreaded to think about what you may have stepped in while on your quest to find a manhole cover.

So yes, you looked like an idiot in a Superman cape carrying a Wayne enterprises mug wondering around the sewers. The mug was half off and made you feel like you existed in the world of DC instead of the regular merchandise… and the cape was because who doesn’t get a cape when they go to six flags? Or at least bring the cape they already bought with them. Looking back, you blamed the mug. Anyway, you were wandering around this horrible sewer with water greener then green. It seriously looked toxic… when you heard this horrible roar…

You glanced back from where you came- looking towards the sound, when you heard it again. So, like any sane person. You broke out into a sprint.

Bad ideas, because it heard you and was coming closer now.

You seriously doubted you would be able to outrun this thing for long. It was getting closer and rapidly. But, thankfully, luck was on your side- because you saw a manhole cover!

Climbing the ladder you pushed the thing open-

Only to almost get ran over by a fucking car! “Watch it!” You cursed at the speeding car, a certain finger proudly in the air as you climb out. Momentarily forgetting about the creature that was chasing you. Remember that you slammed the man hole cover shut in a hurry.

But, did you think you could compete with some monster when it comes to the battle of strength? Yeah, didn’t think so either. It blasted the manhole cover off of its neat little spot and you hurry back and away from the road. “What the- oh my god.” You breath in relief when the thing was too big to actually climb out of the sewers. “Killer croc… okay… I’m losing it… whatever it is…” you try and breath out to collect yourself but you were interrupted by the sound of a very angry lizard man… thing. Crocodile? “Okay fuck off!” You shouted angrily at the villain and rip your cap off. “Abusive aunts or some shit is hard but by god your annoying!” You huff and run away because that just made him more angry and you didn’t want to stick around for that.

You did run away while waving two fingers at him, each from the middle of two of your hands but that was neither here nor there. You just needed to walk away and clear your head-

And…

You bumped into someone on your little escape. A chest of a fucking cosplayer. “My day couldn’t be going worse- oh my god, Fuck you Comic Con nerds!” You swore at the boy in black, red and green. “Six flags was suppose to be fucking relaxing!” You swore at him and turned away to go the opposite way only to bare witness to the snarls of a certain croc

“get back here!” He made the fucking ground shake.

“Fuck you and your shitty Damien cosplay, I am out of here.” You turn and ran from him only he to met with the silhouette of a bat… man, it was fucking Batman. “Oh I wonder who it is? Bruce Wayne, no fucking duh, Go fight the idiot on acid and leave me out of it.” You hissed because you were cornered. You tend to lash out when your cornered. He approached you quieter now. “…Oh um, I’ll take the crocodile, thanks.” You spoke as you backed up only for him to make the ground shake harder-

“Fine! Boy wonder then god damn. At least he’s hot!”

“How do You know our names?” Boy wonder piped up. He was suddenly standing beside you.

“Are You dense or really into role play?” You hissed at them. “I don’t know what kind of budget your little prank crew is working with but screw off!” Just then the crocadile managed to ruin the ground around him and break free- resulting in Batman and Robin to fight him and you-

The sane one to run away, “I’m so suing six flags for this- didn’t sign up for their fucking role-play shit.”

—————————————

Okay, so after adjusting. You were no longer in six flags- nor some rich nerds cosplay special effects whatever. Hell you didn’t even somehow end up on a movie set shooting for the next Batman. “Gotham more like god dammit, right?” You joked to yourself, and the old women next to you. She just looked at you weirded out and oddly disappointed before shaking her head. “Okay, Fuck me then.”

So, yeah, you were feeling a lot of emotions. Hey, you can adjust to this! Because no way in hell was getting back to your world worth being involved in whatever episode or comic plot this whole thing was. Yeah no, fuck that. You made a checklist.

1. Get out of Gotham (metropolis was lovely, Superman was cool-)

2. Get enough money to fuck off to some corner of the world no one knew about.

And finally 3. Live peacefully knowing you’ll never get that funnel cake.

The only problem? You didn’t have any money, food, shelter, phone, money again, or anything besides the clothes on your back. And you were craving funnel cake. Yes, you were poor in Gotham. That was basically a death sentence.

At least you had a mug. A stupid, useless mug. Hey, at least you can beg for change with it! “I should rob people.” You mutter to yourself because, that seemed like a good easy way to get money- the old women next to you however eyed you warily and moved her purse. “Not you, we’re cool Margaret.” You sent her a wave and a wink and got up. This plan would work.

It was this or sell the Justice leagues names to villains. Which- hey that could make cash and make you dead!

—————————————

Despite what people will tell you, stealing is fun.

Who would have guessed- your a natural pick pocket! If pick pocketing was running past women and tugging their bags away. “My bag! My purse!” Okay, maybe you had a bit of a sick sense of humor but you were desperate! And you made 132 dollars and 25 cents. Had it been two days? Yes, had you been pepper sprayed twice? Yes again, but you avoided it!

The only regret you had? Why hadn’t it been marvel? Marvel just seemed easier to live in. Yes the world did end but it bounced back! You sighed and threw a penny in the air. You were honestly tired. Two days was a long time to go without a bed. You couldn’t get a job either, you tired and needed so much to prove you were a serial killer or a thief- which included a birth certificate you didn’t have and so much more. Background checks would be the death of you. Even at that small cafe you met Margret? Yeah it was Margret. “Well we’ll well, if it isn’t Gotham’s newest petty criminal.”

You dropped your penny. Leaving you with 24 cents.

It was Jason fucking Todd.

“If I die, at least make it by those thighs.” You said solemnly, accepting your death. “I mean seriously, you squat or something?” You did a wolf whistle and now you were being detained. Okay, you tried.

You never claimed to be better then a man. And if you did you lied.

“I got her B.”

.

.

.

.

“Banananannaan Batman! Da Na!” You sang as Batman’s Batmobile pulled into the bat cave. The same one you had been dragged too. “He’s the crime fighting vigilantes who works alone! Besides Robin, Nightwing, Gordon, the Justice League, batgirl, Red Robin, red hood, Oracle, Barbra, um… I know theirs more help me out jay bird?” You sang as he excited the car. “He refuses to kill the joker who’s a mass murder ands death would save thousands! It’s Batman! The hero man! Danananana!”

“How do You know?” Batman asked as he walked towards you.

“The Song? Oh I improvised. Hard to find rhymes for Batman, hero man is pretty good though, huh?” He fucking punched you! “Fuck! What the hell dude? Wait are you the angry Batman who’s quieter or the nice Batman- god it’s so hard to know which one I ended up with.”

“This is serious.” Dick Said as he grabbed Batman hand and pulled him away from you.

“Heard of coping? penis?” You rolled your eyes, “this is kinda how I do it.”

“You sold our information, or Superman’s information too a villain. Tell us why and how you knew it and we’ll let you go.” He continued, “our friend is in serious danger now because of you.” He gritted his teeth looking upset.

You just rolled your eyes and licked your now bloody teeth. “Would have sold your guys information for a lot more then I got on me. Living large with eight dogs- maybe cats? Don’t know how I feel about animals actually. Which do you prefer dogs or cats?”

“We need to know how many villains you sold us out too.” Dick said calmly, his face getting closer to your own. “Now.”

You smile and lean closer to him. “You free after this?” He backed away with a frustrated look and Batman put his hand on Dick shoulder. “Oh B is tapping in now- great!”

“Your the only person who knows who we are.” Another voice said you looked behind you and saw Damien.

“That you don’t trust. Maybe check your inner circles before punching a poor thief! God… you’d think the world greatest detective would fact check- oh wait isn’t the greatest a chimp or something? I’ve always loved monkeys- oh maybe I’d get a monkey for my pent house.”

“You have no family, no friends, no birth certificate- before last week you didn’t exist. There are no records of you being born or traveling to Gotham. Who exactly are you?” Batman leaned close to you.

You stayed silent, thinking of your options. "I was with a traveling circus..." You began, "Then one day someone rigged the equipment for my parent's routine and then batman adopted me, and that was how I began robin..." You spoke solemnly, you noticed how a certain blue suited bird man tensed up. "Aw, don't tell me we have the same backstory!" You accused the Nighwing, "well one of us is going to have to change it and I hate to tell you, but I make it work."

"She knows more about us than our names... or at least more about Nighwing." You heard a robin mutter, the red one.

"Okay being red was his thing” you look at red hood, “and you took it, so you have no place to talk about me and penis's copycat situation- Even though I totally did it first and he should change it." You nudged your head towards Red Hood, "Kinda like how you took his role as Robin, but you know what Ima stay away from that can of worms haha." You laughed awkwardly as Jason stood up from behind you and walked towards you menacingly.

"This is a Major Turn Off for me you know? The costumes just don’t do it- maybe if you strip-“ and your mouth was tapped shut.

_____________________________________NOTE: Y/N is supposed to be Deadpool coded because I was watching Deadpool and laughing my ass off earlier.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya!! I’m obsessed with your writing. You’re my favorite writer on here, I dream of your stories!

Would it be possible to request (either with Ghost or Price, I love them both equally) something like they were young love but he breaks up with reader cos he wants to keep her safe and thinks he knows what’s best for her. Then during a mission gone wrong, they need a safe house but somehow the enemy found out all the locations of their approved safe houses. He remembered her place is close by and tries his luck. Maybe she gets mad at him for making decisions for her or maybe he learns about her difficult past that happened without with. But with a happy ending? ☺️

Only if this inspires you! Thank you again for sharing your beautiful writings!

If You Bite My Hand Again

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: How dare he show his face to you after all of these years. How dare you still find it in yourself to love him.

WORDCOUNT: 6.6k

WARNINGS: Heavy angst, abandonment, arguments, mentions of death, blood, insinuations of torture & mental illness troubles, Simon's comic backstory, hurt/comfort, sort of suggestive?, anxiety attack, somewhat happy ending, etc.

A/N: This was really fun to write, lol, enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You never should have met him. In fact, it seemed like the universe had been adamant to make you not run into each other on that chilly October morning almost…well…it has to be more than thirteen years ago, now. So long. 

As you head to your kitchen and glance at the clock, the hands point to a perfect three-fifteen—an hour of pitch-blackness and whispering winds that dash past the musty glass of the windows. The thump of your footsteps blocks out the heaving sigh that falls from your mouth; rubbing at your eyes like a cat as great bags sag from tired flesh. 

The dreams weren’t uncommon. 

Simon still reigned supreme in the conjuring of them, ingrained into the sinews and pulled thin by a hand constantly working them—knitting a sweater of memories addled with age. Moth-eaten. 

As you snap on the light of your tiny and run-down kitchen, the bulb fizzing and the dishwasher still emitting that squeal as it always does, you think about him before grabbing a glass. Water hits and fills the thing up as your eyes blankly stare, fatigued but yet never more awake. 

The tremors in your hands persist.

You never should have met him.

—

Your feet take you to Primary, laces a mess atop your little shoes caked in mud and grass—you’d chased after a butterfly through the front yards, getting caught in your neighbor's bushes and having to slip your way out before she could rampage outside with her broom. 

It was no surprise that your face was lit with a bright smile, eyes shining like fire that your teachers had given you a special name for—“Ember.”

The very thing that could start a blaze over and over again as long as it still was alight.

Laughing and peeing out leaves from your hair; flattening out your uniform, you stride with pride ingrained into your body. Well, you did before you heard the soft sniffling coming from down the alley. 

Halting, your ears perk at the sounds, smile freezing as you blink quickly. Looking to your left, you lock onto the hunched figure of a boy. 

Perhaps only a year or two older than you, you stare in curiosity as he consciously paws at his cheeks, walking out of the alley in broken and odd strides. His uniform is ruffled, wrinkled, but not in the way yours was.

He must have fallen and hurt himself, you reason with a child-like frown pulling on your lips. Blinking at his blond hair, you get a glimpse of red-rimmed brown eyes.

The boy halts, looking at you widely, fear and pain emanating from his expression. You’re the first to speak, brightness still in your eyes but a deep innocence that comes with youth. All you saw was a boy your age in pain—that was strange to you. You knew what getting hurt was like; you fell and scraped your knees often, or hit your elbows on corners. Sometimes you would cry from that…did the same happen to this boy?

“You’re crying, aren’t you?” Brown-Eyes stares, hurriedly pushing at his face to wipe tears but only succeeds in making his face red from the material of his uniform. “Did you fall down? I do that pretty often—it’s okay, my Mum says you’ll be better after a hug and a kiss!”

You smile and stand straighter. 

“I,” the boy begins, sniffling. “I didn’t fall. I’m not clumsy.”

You tilt your head, confused. “Well…then why are you crying?” 

“That’s none of your business!” He snaps, brows pulled in as he comes forward on the sidewalk. Your face twists as you huff in annoyance. 

“My Mum says to treat everyone nicely. That wasn’t very nice.” 

“I don’t bloody care, do I,” you’re sent a scathing glance as he passes. “I didn’t ask for you to speak to me. Leave me alone.” 

Naturally, you follow after, cheeks gaining heat.

“You’re being mean! Apologize!” 

“Would you run off already?!” The boy shouts, and perhaps something fires in that small brain of yours—a thought and a semblance of self-realization at the shame that emits from his tone. A tight squeeze of vocal cords. 

He was ashamed. Ashamed you’d caught him. Seen him. 

Your feet slow back to a stop, watching him hurriedly continue on and hearing the quiet gasps of breath. After a moment, you grit your teeth and run the distance; seizing him around the middle in a hug of stubby fingers and tightly closed eyes.

The boy startles, body hardening and a cry escaping his lungs. “Get off of me!” He shouts, hands snapping down to yours and digging under your hold. 

“No!” You call, stubbornly. “My Mum says that hugs make everything better—”

“Stop talking about your Mum!” The boy stomps his foot to the ground, chubby cheeks turning crimson as he tilts his head back to look at you, tears still dripping off his chin. 

A stiff silence falls but like a green branch on a tree, Brown-Eyes’ form twitchingly loosens, his prying hands softening as you hold tight—digging your nose into his spine. He minutely flinches, but you only hug him more. 

You’re both late to the building, and your teachers are going to give you scoldings. But right now, on a chilled October morning, you hug this strange, crying boy and blink your fiery eyes up at him. 

After he relaxes fully and the sniffling stops, you let go and smile brightly again, looking up into his open expression of innocent confusion. Whatever had happened, he must have fallen pretty hard, you thought, pulling out another leaf from your hair. You giggle and hand it over as a gift. 

The boy hesitantly picks it up and looks at it before turning back to you. 

“Call me Ember.” 

A pause. A hesitation. But your eyes shimmer and he relents with the memory of the hug in the front of his mind. Such a strange encounter. 

He speaks, looking away from you with flushed cheeks, muttering out as his tear streaks dry.

“...Simon.”

You walk together the rest of the way.

The reality was, if you had gotten caught by your neighbor, had snatched that butterfly—had even stayed in those bushes for three more seconds, you would have missed him. And if Simon hadn’t run out of his home crying, he never would have locked onto the burning reality that was with you. 

—

You put the glass to your chapped lips and take a long sip, throat bobbing as you take down the liquid with tears burning your eyes. Blinking rapidly, you swipe at the water at the sides of your mouth and shake your head, sighing. 

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Your voice bounces off the walls, peeling paint and moving the dust stuck atop the fridge. “Damnit, Simon.” 

Today was worse than the others—everything building and stacking like some castle of misery and pain; windows too narrow to let in any light and your form stuck in shadows longer than an endless rope. There were just so many things that suffocated you now. 

And in the endless nights, the brain desperately looks for comfort. 

You hate that it only comes from the memories of him. 

“I have to go to work tomorrow.” Your subconscious reminds you as you blankly stare out the window above the sink, seeing the streetlights and the cone of warm light—it flickers every so often, a blinking taking place like the eye of a large, brutish, wolf. 

Work, then the grocery store, then back home to eat a tasteless dinner and fall back to sleep. An empty house with empty walls and empty memories. 

Your hands put the glass in the sink, coming back up to rub and dig into your eyes until the itch behind your flesh stops. A thump of a low pulse is felt in the thin skin, orbs of your optics moving before you pinch into the bridge of your nose and drop them with a slap of a hand to the counter. A harsh breath exits your mouth, but it’s quickly strangled away into a sound of ragged shock. 

Outside, under the light, the silhouette of a man leans heavily on the pole, feet shaking under him and face pressed into the shadows as his shoulders heave. You stare, wide-eyed, as your heart jumps to a rapid pace. 

“What the fuck?” Your mouth utters, watching the man push off the light and stagger with a heavy limp and a jerking body of immense stature. Whoever this guy was, he was out of his mind—and coming right for your front door. You startle to go and secure it, feet slapping the ground and face twisted. 

“What the fuck?!” Gasping, you re-check your locks and frantically look for something else—the stool where you place your keys meets your eyes. You grab it and place it as a barrier to the handle, tilting it on two legs and blinking quickly as whatever sleep-sheen that had been in your gaze leaves in one swoop of adrenaline.

Grunting wafts in from under the door, haggard inhales and a sudden slam of a body hitting the door. You stifle a scream and back up quick steps, slapping your hands to your mouth.

Sure, you might live in a shitty neighborhood, but no one had ever tried to just straight-up break in high or drunk off something. Your mind slashes to the knives in the kitchen drawer as the wall shakes again—something sliding down to the ground and a grunted whine. 

Just before you run off, you hear it. An utterance; a disruption of airwaves. A whisper, a plea. Your brain ceases to function with one foot back the way you came, hand on the frame with the knuckles tight. 

In one instance it all comes to a screeching halt. 

“Ember…” 

Who called you that anymore? The rare instance where you’d meet your classmates in the world they would mutter it; also be asked a few questions before they went on with their lives. You pause in your panic, slowly gazing back at the barrier and the stool like you’d just discovered you’re under the sights of a sniper. 

There’s a sliver of something that inserts itself into your brain. Fear or hope, you can’t tell. But that can’t be right. 

He left. 

“Ember!” You flinch, the deep Manchester accent grating your heart into shreds. No. “It’s me!” He says, followed by a horribly gritty cough. 

There’s a weak thump against the door, mumbled curses, and growls as if a wild animal mimicking human speech. You almost wished for that, considering you now knew the exact person behind the door down to his atoms. The brown of his eyes and the way his cheeks looked as they were stained with tears. 

His laugh. Simon’s voice. Everything.

Simon.

You’re rushing to rip the stool away with a clatter and a jerk as it hits the far wall, undoing the locks with shaking hands as you grasp the handle and wrench it sideways. 

His form slams to your feet with a loud grunt as the door hits the wall. 

“Fuckin’ hell! Mind your bloody—!” Whatever he said was lost to you as you stare at the bloodied form of the man you had thought you’d seen the last of. Tactical gear, terrifying skull mask, black on black with weapons galore. But that voice told you all you needed to know.

Simon Riley is alive and very much breathing. 

The same boy you still loved. 

The same boy who’d broken your heart.

—

After October the years with Simon seemed to strengthen. You always walked together in the mornings—or, at least, you always waited for him. The dawn of your friendship strengthened and hardened to an unbreakable amount of mid-day rays; vast and sunny. 

When he was sixteen he asked you to be his girlfriend, hand in his pockets and ache on his chin as he grunted out broken sentences. Stuttering and awkward. You’d smiled with your bright eyes and giggled before kissing his cheek—feeling his sigh and him melting into you with a grin of his own, unable to meet your eyes for a moment. 

Later, when he said he’d wanted to leave his apprenticeship at the grocery’s butcher shop and join the Special Air Service, you’d been along for the ride—anything to get him away from his father and brother. You knew what was going on, even if he was still so hesitant to allow you any glimpse of his home life.

When he’d shy away at the Halloween decorations of skeletons as if the skull would jump off the page and tense at loud cheering, you knew. You did what you could, but there was only so much for you to suggest or say without him shutting down. 

When you’d offered your flat as a safe space after graduation, desperate to help your Lover, he’d stared and blinked in shock; tilting his head at you before smiling softly and taking you into a hug. Wherever he went, he knew he’d always have a place by your side.

So, throughout his leaves of absence from the military, he’d come home to you—bruised and tired, but still the same Simon you fell in love with. You’d cook for him, tease at his shaved hair as he gave you those puppy-dog eyes, and talked him through your classes at University.

You would fall asleep on his chest, feeling the hard strength he was gaining and the way he held you tighter than he ever had; conscious of himself but not wanting to part with you. 

The love the both of you had was akin to a blaze of fire, and you often found Simon simply staring into your eyes in times like those—watching silently and rubbing his thumb along your spine until your face burned. 

He was always so gentle despite everything; you loved his perseverance, his drive to be good despite nearly every factor telling him he couldn’t be. Slowly but surely, he was forging his own life. 

In 2003 he managed to take a break from the military to get his family straightened out. His brother, Tommy, went to rehab—Simon stayed with his mother and a year later he kicked his father to the curb and out of his and his family's life entirely. Finally free. 

You managed to meet his lovely mum, still so bright, and even interacted with Tommy once he got out; went to the younger brother’s wedding in ‘06 and met Beth, his wife. When you saw Simon’s mother and the way she carried herself, you knew where your Love got his pride from. The two were so alike it was a sight to see. 

While it may not have been conventional by any standard, Simon proposed to you in the back garden of Tommy’s cheap wedding venue. Alone, so as not to cause a scene. Willow trees and a small stream of water. Fireflies. The words ring in your soul with every waking moment, and they will stay there until it all goes silent with the grip of death.

He didn’t want to use his mum’s ring—the one that holds so many bad memories for both parties. He’d used the gold from it though. Went to a man who bled him dry for money to have it re-cast. 

It was simple. A small, glinting, ruby pressed in the middle. 

“It was always goin’ to be you, Ember, yeah?” he’d muttered in his deeper voice, formal attire holding you both tight. “So…don’t make me beg too much, Sweetheart. You know the old lady’ll kill me if I get stains on my suit.” 

“Beg?” You responded, tears in your eyes but such a wide grin on your lips. The stars above you twinkle like the pupils of your eyes—the same burn still trapped. “Oh, Simon, come on, now.” He connects his forehead to yours, hand still in the middle of you and presenting the accumulation of all of his love. The other wraps your waist. 

He was shaking slightly. 

“I would never make you beg for my love, Brown-Eyes.”

You both share a breathless chuckle and lock lips, smiling like fools as he sighs into you. 

In a happy world, that would have been the beginning of a perfect life. A happy house. A happy wedding. Happy deaths. 

But something went wrong on one of his deployments. 

Missing for months, he came back…wrong. With a fiery temper and sharp snapping words—wounds on the outside as well as inside. His eyes were feral, like a dog held back by a broken chain carting around its feet. 

Simon never spoke about it—the missing days. The weeks. The months. 

You broke yourself over it, trying to help but not knowing what would make it better. Some days there were flickers of soft expressions, but it was as if he were dragging himself up from a pool so deep it was bottomless to show them to you. Simon rarely smiled. He rarely sent an affectionate glance. 

He didn’t let you touch him. 

And then he called the entire engagement off with a letter on your counter only holding four words. 

‘Don’t look for me.’ 

And then Simon’s mum, Tommy, Beth, and his nephew had all died. Been killed. And you were just supposed to move on? Live with that? There were times when you had breakdowns so bad you couldn't leave the house for days—the house that Simon and you had bought together. 

All of those years. 

All those vows and shared nights.

And he disappeared on you.

—

You have him sitting on the couch, watching silently from the chair across the room as he finishes wrapping his leg with the bandages from the first-aid kit you’d provided. 

More like chucked at his gut.

No one had said a word, and the air was as tense as a noose—choking any oxygen that traveled into your throat. Simon was getting blood all over your flat cushions, the crimson saturating the fabric as you sit rail-rod straight, hand clenched on your thighs. 

Simon’s avoiding your eyes.

“Take off the mask,” you hiss, pupils slits. If he wasn’t going to address it, then you were. Simon freezes, not breathing as his hands fall stationary around the bandages. 

“I’ll be fine in a while—”

“Take off your fucking mask, Simon.” You can’t help the way you snap, face burning with shame and hate. How dare he show up now, after all of these years of mourning him and the relationship you’d built as kids. Simon wasn’t just your boyfriend—your fiancé—he was your best friend. 

And all he’d done was left you a four-fucking-letter note before leaving you behind.

The geared man sighs silently, and you see his shoulders sag. His grip travels up as he straightens his spine in a fluid motion, pain medication working through him in waves of numbness. 

His brown eyes bore through you as if he were a ghost. Under the fabric, his mouth thins. “Ma’am.” 

Even his voice is older. More dead. How could this be your Simon?

Your heart bruises your ribcage as he grasps the top of his skeletal mask, gloved fingers peeling back the sown layers until you get the full image of a man more damaged than before. You have to stop yourself from sobbing right then and there; your throat going dry.

So many scars. Milky white and spread vastly—they weren’t pretty. Up his cheeks, down his brow line; even at the corner of his mouth and seeping down his neck. A crooked nose with damaged cartilage. Strangling a gasp, it comes out as a great expelling of horror, eyes going wide with shock. 

You hate how you want to rush to him, take his face in your hands, and try to brush them away as if marks on paper. But you don’t make any such movements beyond a hunch of your shoulders. 

“Not pretty, eh? Guess I should’ve warned you.” Simon rubs at his forehead, blond locks, hanging around his temple, and the black of face-paint stuck in his sockets. “Didn’t mean to fuckin’ drop in like this, Ember. Bloody bastard thing for me to do.” 

You flinch at the name, looking away as you’d been peeling back his skin with your eyes. “What are you doing here, Simon?” Anyone with a brain could hear the cracking hardness in your words. Face blank. 

He studies your features, taking in the changes and the bleakness of your expression. Brows furrow slightly before they go back to a state of nothingness. Simon glances around the room, finding the condition of things concerning but doesn’t show it. 

“Nothin’ you need to worry about comin’ back to you, Sweetheart. Just work.”

“It is when the bastard who abandoned me shows up years later, bloody on my doorstep. Stop acting so self-righteous,” you growl, snapping, “I should toss your arse outside and let them have you. And don’t fucking call me that.”

Silence descends, and your words echo. It’s like now that he was here everything hurt ten times more than when he wasn’t. 

“I never wanted us to end up like we did—”

“Bullshit!” You’re on your feet and stalking to him, pointing with your finger as he hurriedly stands up as well and looks down in shock as you press your digit into his bulky vest. “You shut your mouth, Simon Riley, and you let me explain something to you.” 

He keeps silent, mouth parted and scars shifting around his stubble. His hands slightly held out at his sides and hovering over your hips—not touching you but there just in case. Simon’s brown ords are carefully widened at your tight exclamation. The sound of his clearing throat enters the living room before you speak again. 

“I waited for you, hoped and prayed that you would show me at least a,” your throat bunches, but you push through. “A modicum of respect and show your stubborn self up at my door with apology flowers and a guilty smile on your lips. You know who took care of your family's burial plots, you fucking piece of shit,” his eyes flinch closed a bit, turning his head down as his breath hitches. “Me! You fucking disappeared!”

You know you shouldn’t be yelling, shouldn’t be pounding on his chest with a fist as if he was a door and you the knocker, but, dammit, it’s been years and he just shows up? Like this? Ten times the size he was—scarred and torn to shreds; laced with muscles and an expression of vacancy. Simon holds to your words, hanging off of them with a down-ward turned chin and eyes that lock with yours through pale lashes. 

“Maybe I-I did, o…or pushed some things that I shouldn’t have,” you hold back your tears, but your voice still wavers, tapering off like a line without a hook, “but I didn’t deserve that, Simon.” The first traitorous sob breaks through. “I didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes shatter into a myriad of kaleidoscope bits and pieces, brows flicking from one point on your face to another in quick slashes of guilt. But he still doesn’t touch you. Not until you tell him it’s what you want.

Simon opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, unable to find any words that would even matter. You let your tears slip down your cheeks, dribbling off your chin. The man’s chest hurts, pulse thumping to mirror yours. 

“I waited for you and you broke me,” you whisper, mouth twisting with odium towards the man under your fist. “I wanted a life with you, Simon, no matter the trials.”

“I didn’t mean to…” The man trails off, clenching his jaw. You scoff, backing up a step and pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“But you did.”

“I had to keep you safe, Ember.” Simon’s fingers twitch outward, eyes frantically moving around as you sniffle and shakily walk away to the kitchen. He follows, desperately on your heels as your spine bows forward with resounding cries of anguish. “I...I wasn’t right in the head, I need you to understand I didn’t want this! I never wanted to fucking hurt you!” 

Your hand connects with the junk drawer, tearing it open and digging a hand inside as he pleads with you to listen. 

“If I didn’t leave I was worried I’d do something—!”

“Then you should have trusted me!” Your hands rip out the ring held on a small leather strap. The ruby glints where it always sits, held in tarnished gold. You chuck it at his chest and suck down breaths so you don’t pass out. “I would have listened! Gotten you help! We don’t abandon the ones we love, Simon! Not us!” 

Simon catches the object by slapping a hand to his chest, pinky finger latching through the leather cord before he jerks his limb back up. When he looks at the ring, he goes utterly still, gazing back up at you slowly. 

“We were supposed to be different,” you sob, trapping it behind your hands. He’s shaking, brows tight and lines along his face as he brings a free hand to run through his locks, gripping the strands for a moment and pulling. “Simon,” you say again, and he looks back at you with glossy eyes. “We were supposed to be better.”

“What did I do to you to deserve that,” he stares, his jaw is loose and he can’t stop clenching and unclenching it. You can see his heart working through his breast. Bloodied. Beaten by fists and slashed with knives. “What did I do to you?”

“Nothing,” he gasps, taking a step forward. “Fuck, Ember, you didn’t bloody do anything to me besides love me.” 

You sputter out, “Then why did you leave me here alone?” Your knees buckle and he darts forward, catching you under the arms as you wail out, shoving on his waist, “You never should have come back. Never should have come back.” 

He lets you push him off; lets you back up to the counter as Simon tilts his head higher to stave off the tears in the sides of his eyes. He’d known coming here was a bad idea, for lack of a better word, but after the Op went bad and all of his safe houses were compromised, he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t to say he didn’t regret his actions in the past with you, or that he didn’t punish himself for them, yet at the time it was the only thing he could do to give him the sense that you would be better without him. Safe. 

After everything that had happened, he wasn’t in the right state of mind anymore. You deserved so much better. But hearing all of this…

Christ, could he have been wrong? Everything blurred; hurt. Hearing your sobs was like a knife to his heart every time, digging and cutting with serrated edges at the veins and pumping muscle, carving away flesh to shed the pounding redness to light. You held that heart in your hand and in his he held the ring—the ring he’d given to you as a promise of love and honor. 

A pact of loyalty. 

Simon doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the blurring edges of his vision make itself known. His eyes bore harshly, prodding into you as he makes known what he’s been broken since he first locked gazes with you again. The man’s voice shakes, accent deep and tight.

He asks the first thing that comes to his head.

“What happened to your eyes?”

“What?” You ask, incredulously, brows furrowed as your hand digs into the counter to keep you upright. Simon stares deeper, the sides of his eyelids wrinkling with a not-so-hidden sheen of great concern. Unbearable pain.

“What happened to your bloody eyes?” Where had the spark gone? That flare that grew and spread like fire that was the entire purpose behind your name. An unconquerable ache for life. 

You only watch him with a parted mouth and tear-stained lashes, sniffling. Simon tries again, taking a step forward on unsteady feet. 

“Please, Sweetheart, d…don’t, don’t…” He can’t finish, the leather cord intertwined into his fingers as he comes closer. “Don’t tell me I took it away. Not my Ember. Not my Girl’s fire.”

Your eyes are so overflowed you can’t even see him as he hovers over you, fingers coming up to brush your cheeks as his mouth is open in hard pants of breath. “No, no, no. Fuckin’ bastard, not me. Not over me, please.” It’s like Simon’s not even talking to you but rather himself. 

He mutters in fast sentences, eyes panicked. “You were supposed to be better off—‘posed to move on. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you find someone else?” 

“You’re an idiot, Simon. An idiot,” you sag into his neck, nose digging into his pulse as he quivers, legs having to reset themselves. His heat melts into you as your body gives out with a final sob, “It was always going to be you.”

His arms snap around you like a vise, dragging you into him as he breaks and stifles his whimper on your scalp, breathing right by your ear; gasping for breath. 

“M’sorry,” he mutters, so silent below his sniveling stutters, “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. This is all my fucking fault.” 

You shake into his chest, face nuzzling and desperate to smell his scent again—tired from all the yelling and fighting. It was still late, you still needed to go to work tomorrow…but Simon. 

Oh, Simon. How could he be so…him?

Your sobs are quieter than his, tiny cries that make the man’s arms tighten around you every time. Hands coming up, you can’t stop the way you want to hold him; how you wish to keep him close to you and push him away all at once. How dare he? 

How dare he still make you love him after all he’d put you through? 

Simon sags to the floor with you in his hold, head bowed and trying to gasp down his vulnerability as tears stain your shoulder. It’s as if the realization that he’d made a mistake had broken him back down to when he was young, past hatred of messing up infesting his brain like maggots. A fear of it, even. 

The man presses quick, panicked kisses to your neck as his breath hitches every other second, rocking you back and forth. 

“Didn’t mean to do it,” Simon utters. “Didn’t mean for it to hurt you—” 

He breaks off and you realize that despite the years Simon’s mind was still very much fragile when it came to home life. You blink and take a deep breath, unable to get out of his unrelenting grip. 

Your hand travels up to find the back of his head, spreading through his hair and massaging his flesh. When things got bad you used to do this with him. Give the man something to focus on so he could pass through his hysteria quicker.

Simon’s ribcage bangs against yours, nearly hyperventilating with how he’s trying to hide his small grunts and whines.

“Simon,” you clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down as seriousness sets in your tone. “Simon, breathe.” 

Your ears twitch, noticing him listen to you as he takes down a long gasp of air and breathes out in puffs on your neck—hot and humid. 

“Ember…”

“Shh,” interrupting, you shush him in tiny whispers, still rubbing at his head. “Brown-Eyes, just sit here, okay?” You feel a jerky nod, his fingers squeezing your flesh off and on as he mimics your own lung pattern. 

It’s a few minutes before he goes completely still again, and you feel the burn of shame from his face in your clutch. The relationship was strained—or whatever you could call this—but you never wanted to see him in pain. Never.  

You knew he was better when he sighs deeply, completely going limp in your arms; great weight leaning into you as you lean back to the cabinets to help with the pure might of his physique. With a slow hand, you un-velcro his vest and his gear, letting it hit the floor with dull thumps and clatters. 

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t move to help or hinder. You would give anything to know what he was thinking. 

“M’sorry,” Simon whispers and you respond accordingly, softly.

“You’ve already said that, Love.” He grunts, taking in a long, deep breath. 

“Need you t’know it.” 

“...I do.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes and stave off your anger at everything happening right now. While it would feel better to yell at him until dawn, what would that even achieve? Everything had needed to be said, had been. And you’d never felt lighter than at this moment. 

You knock your head against him, the both of you panting for breath and hands vibrating with leaving adrenaline. Sweaty and twitchy. 

“You never should have done that, Simon.” Whispering, you sigh. “I needed you. I needed you here. With me.” He stays still, but you feel his lips press deeper into your pulse. You’re practically in his lap, back to the woodgrain. 

In a moment of weakness, or pure longing, you pull his head back and situate your hands at his cheeks, looking over his scars and his broken skin as he lets you move him how you wish. His half-lidded, red, eyes stare—grip around you not letting up. 

Simon doesn’t speak as, unprompted, you kiss the shattered bridge of his nose; you only feel the fluttering of his lashes as they tickle your cheeks. 

“I was scared of myself.” He mutters. “After they died…” His family. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, Ember. Not you.”

“We would have figured it out, Simon. You know that, deep down, you do.” Brown eyes find yours as you tilt his head. 

“You sure?” He asks, desperate for an answer even though he doesn’t know himself. 

Thumbs run up and down his stubble. Your face creases, “...I don’t know. But we could have tried.” 

Simon’s eyes close tightly, and his face tilts to press his lips to your palm, quivering breath exhaled with the strength of an open balloon. Your ring was still stuck in his digging grip, and it was never going to leave for the rest of the night. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, gravely voice lax. 

Studying him now, in this light, knowing he was so afraid of what he might do if he got into an episode, you were stabbed with agony in your heart. To be that afraid of yourself to that magnitude was nearly unimaginable to you.

Nearly. 

“What now?” You ask lowly, the last remnants of tears drying as Simon opens his eyes slowly, looking back at you. 

“Don’t know.” He admits. “I have to leave.”

“I have work tomorrow,” you relate. Your teeth find your lip, biting it. 

A small awkward chokehold captures the both of you. The reality was that both of you were akin to strangers again—such was the curse of lost years and trials you’d faced along the way. 

Brown-Eyes and Ember were dead, yet you still called their names like phantoms of sleek black fabric and chained recollections of a boy with red cheeks and a girl with muddy shoes. The walks to school were there, the dates, and the late nights spent in good company. Touches to skin and open-mouthed kisses. Fireflies that whizzed and the glinting of gold as wind ran through the willows.

Dark corruption stained the faint idea of happiness; of a good world. This was not reality. It was some joke of an existence. 

If life were fair, Simon Riley would have never grown up in that house—his father wouldn’t have latched onto his brother and done dark deeds to wrap the little brown-eyed boy in red tissue paper and barbed wire. A present and sheen of mild sociopathy; separation of any pain or torment. A fighting boy. A boy born with blood on his hands and stuck behind his eyes every time he swung a fist. 

It was a curse to love him. And it was a curse that burned your soul with his very name. 

“Are you going to go?” You ask, eyes blank but yearning for what little comfort you can grab. It had been so long.  Simon blinks, his head still in your hands; body not moving.

He knows he should. He isn’t sure if there’s anything left for him here or not. 

Simon connects his head to yours and you still. “Do you want me to?” 

“Do you love me?” You blurt, blinking at him and confused. Simon’s lips part. “Or if you walk out that door do I plan on never seeing you again?” 

You're about to open your mouth and continue before his own slots perfectly against it.

You gasp lightly, taken aback but in no way opposed. He still felt exactly the same, flesh still tasting metallic and tinged with violence down to his DNA; raised with survival instincts as his greatest ally. Until you. 

With you survival became secondary. 

Your hands go to card through his hair, latching and lightly pulling as Simon’s body shivers; growling against your lips in a dance of heated flesh and damp cheeks. Hearts hammer with the restraint of years. 

“I would never make you beg for my love,” he murmurs between lapsing passes of his mouth, open kisses and dark glances. “Tell me where you want me to be.”

You whimper against him and he goes back in, pressing the base of your skull to the cabinet as hands grip and slide, kneading your skin. 

“Tell me,” Simon whispers. Pleads through grunts. “Ember, tell me.”

“Here,” you admit brokenly, pulling him closer to you as you’re lifted and placed on the countertop. “I need you here, Simon. I need you with me.” 

Fingers capture your chin, keeping your head angled up as your eyes beg. Lips bush with every word, gazes wild as if two leopards locking jaws over a kill. 

“Fight to get me back.” Brown sparks with purpose, a small puff of air hitting your mouth as eyes darken over. In this moment, you do not know if you’re dying or living. “Make it right.”

“Affirmative.” Simon moves his head back, taking your ring and looping the cord around his neck, he keeps it there as you watch, breathless. Your face creases with question. The man’s lips flicker when he sees this, coming back and grasping your hips as you instinctually latch to his waist. 

“I’ll give it back when I’ve earned the right for you to be called mine again. Seems I have work to do, Sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, firm and true. “First, I’ll ‘ave to figure out if my Girl can get her spark back, yeah? I’ve proper gone and fucked it up.” 

That night you lay in the heap of limbs and sheets that couple the both of you together. In the morning the questions would start, and Simon knew you’d take nothing short of the truth. 

And he’d give you it. All of it. 

Because Simon Riley knows well enough that you don’t go and bite the hand that feeds twice. Certainly not when it was you. Certainly not when it offers a love he would never hope to find again, in this life or the next.

So you keep the other close and sag into a deep slumber, not to wake for a long, long time. 

And you’d both never slept better

TAGS:

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[palskippah]

Hi!

I love the Gay Dads AU so much pipipi

There's some thoughts and more drawings under the cut (and there's some mpreg wa)

-I'm not sure how the au works, but it gives me the impression that Ballister was Nimona's dad and then there came Ambrosius as a stepdad, or either they both adopted her and Nimona just took better to Ballister. But I'd go with the first option (unless there's a 'canon' option, in which case please if someone knows pipipi tell me)

-I love them so much you have no idea :'''v this is the sorta AU I create 😭 I'm having a lot of fun pipipi

-Also it makes me kinda sad that some of the drawings where Ambrosius is with Nimona he's got a >:c face on, like he doesn't know what he's doing which is very on brand for new parents but pipipi I want them to get along

-Nimona didn't talk much when she was little but one day she started talking full sentences with a big vocabulary, and then never shut up again.

>Not sure if she never talks in the drawings ND Stevenson did of this AU because she's very young or she just doesn't want to.

-Nimona loves Ballister the most and feels the most comfort in his hug, but she has more fun with Ambrosius

[Here's the mpreg YIPII]

-If they had Cyrus (the fankid I made for comic Goldenheart) it'd still be very much an accident and Nimona would be small (under four), and not very happy about it.

-She's definitely jealous and becomes very clingy to Ballister, which he finds adorable when he's not exhausted.

(The idea here was Ambrosius asking whether she'd like a brother or a sister, since she's having a sibling, but I think I phrased it wrong sjdks)

>Ballister and Ambrosius do their best for her to not feel left out, but when Cyrus' born she's not as jealous as they thought, and it seems that she actually likes him (but she doesn't let him touch any of her sea animal toys)

-Also Nimona wasn't told that her little brother was being born that day until later when Meredith was looking after her.

>She was being her toddler self and accidentally giving Ballister a more stressful time

-There's a video of a little kid with his newborn sister (I assume) in his arms and he says 'she doesn't have any arms 😦', so imagine that Nimona thought the same thing and given that Cyrus' hair is black too, she thought that her baby brother looked just like her dad 😭

-Also here's the two babies bc I love them, thinking that they'd be the sort of siblings with a small age gap that fight a lot but also love each other a lot

>Cyrus gets the smallest slice of cake, the glass with less soda, the ugliest fork in the house, and also Nimona's full support if he ever needs it.

>Also

Nimona: My pronouns are she/they Cyrus: And my pronouns are he/they The nonbinary siblings (imagine the wall of fire text)

>Also imagining them both adult or at least teenagers, where Cyrus' much taller than Nimona and her just stomping her foot in his direction and him squealing away (bc his sister is scary even if she's three apples tall)

That's it! :D

[monstersflashlight]

Day 13. Monster-kinktober: Wings + Pegging/Edgeplay

A/N: This is for @dragonsholygrail and everyone who wanted a part 2 of this and didn’t get it (so basically for myself), enjoy!

Griffin x fem!reader || pegging, edgeplay, orgasm denial, light dirty talk, dom/sub dynamic (femdom), marking (lowkey) || tw: mentions of blood

When you asked what he wanted to do for his birthday, you were more than surprised by his answer.

He didn’t really have a birthday, you decided to give him one when he said he didn’t know when he was born, and it made you so sad that you cried and he panicked. It was a very comical situation and now he had a birthday and you celebrated with all the necessities, aka: cake, presents and a birthday wish. Well, maybe in that last one you cheated a bit, because you made it sexual and decided to recreate a fantasy of each one of you each year. In your last birthday, he dressed as a pirate and you two fucked on a beach. It was great. And now you expected something similar, maybe another role-play. And well, role-play it was.

He wanted you to be a bounty-hunter again, but this time you will chase him and catch him… Just to fuck his ass and make him submit to you completely. You stared at him for a long while after he said it, until he was blushing hard and your pulse was racing so fast you could hear it in your ears. But when he was already opening his mouth to say it didn’t matter, you cut him and agreed immediately, the sole idea of having him under you as you drove him crazy was making you all wet and needy.

That’s how you found yourself running after him, both on foot to make it fair, through the forest. You were already wearing the harness with the dildo, and he wasn’t even trying to run that fast, knowing fully well your movements were restricted by your human body. He was a few meters ahead of you, completely naked and looking good enough to eat. You had a knife in your hand an a smirk on your lips, ready to play your part.

Not too much later, he slowed his running, acting like he tripped and looking behind himself with a hidden smile. You took advantage of the situation and jumped on his back, careful not to hurt his wings, and pressed a knife to his throat. “I got you, I’m going to sell you to the highest bidder,” you tried to act as harsh as possible when you pushed him forward and he fell to his knees (in a very fake movement that made you want to giggle).

He looked up at you as you threw your knife away and pleaded: “No please, please. I’d do whatever you want.” He sounded pathetic in the most hilarious way possible and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“Whatever?” You asked teasingly. He was clearly trying to contain his laughter when he turned around and lowered his body to the ground in a submissive pose. You felt the heat under your flimsy dress as he moved his tail from one side to the other.

“Whatever,” he confirmed, raising his hips in the most obscene movement ever. You looked at him with your mouth open, you were expecting a lot of things, but not him acting so playful when you were about to fuck him.

You tried to regain your composure and let out a choked breath before telling him: “I think we are going to have fun us two.” You sounded ridiculous but he wasn’t laughing anymore.

He was looking at you with hunger in his eyes and a glint of danger behind his pupils. You were so horny you could roll under him and plead to be fucked. But no. It wasn’t about you today, it was all about him and his filthy fantasy (a filthy fantasy you were more than glad to be included in).

“Is that so… hunter?” You shivered, not knowing how he could sound so filthy with such a normal word, but you squared your shoulders and walked to him.

The harness you were wearing moving uncomfortably as you positioned yourself behind him. You were more than glad that he prepped before starting the game because your hands were shaking furiously as you took your position behind him and touched lightly his gaping hole. He cursed and pushed back, a needy whimper escaping his eyes.

“So desperate already… Who would have thought the scary griffin would be just a submissive monster under me,” you continued with your role, making him cover his mouth to muffle the giggle that escaped. “Come on dude, don’t break role now,” you told him as you pushed two fingers inside his hole.

He took in a deep breath, gasping at the contact. “Fuck me already, hunter.”

“Okay, okay…” You told him, as impatient as him.

You positioned yourself right over his hole, the dildo looking shiny with the lube you applied back in the cave, and pressed slowly inside of him. By the time you were bottoming out, he was panting and trying to push back, his wings flapping uncontrollably as you watched, mesmerized. You pulled back and back inside, making him cry out. The surge of power within you was unexpected, making your body heat and your brain get fuzzy. Having such a scary creature under you, submitting to you… it was more erotic than you expected. It was almost obscene, and you fucking love it.

You leaned over him, your hand pulling lightly at his hair. “You don’t come unless I tell you to,” you grunted against his back as you moved your hips harder, hitting that spot that made him whimper over and over. “Understood?” You pressed, grabbing his hair and pushing his head up until his back was arching and his wings were twitching under your chest.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” he chanted with an open mouth, eyes closed as he pushed back against you.

“Good boy,” you praised him, rewarding him with a hard bite against his jugular, making him scream your name as you kept fucking him.

You dragged it out as much as possible, changing speeds and angles until you got him to make those beautiful throaty whimpers that made your pussy so wet you were dripping. You knew he was getting desperate, his hands twitching on the ground as you edged him with the dildo. He looked so good under you, his wings moving every time you hit the sweet spot that made him see stars.

He interrupted your inner monologue to ask breathlessly: “Can I- Can I come?” His voice was needy and desperate, like he was on the edge of coming.

“No,” you answered curtly.

He looked at you over his shoulder with the most betrayed face ever. “What?”

“Not. Yet.” You punctuated with hard, long thrusts. You were in control and you wanted to have that power high for a bit more. You wanted him to be as desperate as you were every time he decided to play with you. You wanted retribution.

“But… But…” He broke in a huge groan when you pulled his hair again, your teeth pressing harder until you tasted blood on your lips.

He roared and you smiled against his skin. He looked like he was about to say something, but he didn’t finish that thought before you were speeding up your thrust, the edge of the harness caught in your inner thigh sending sparks of pleasure at every thrust. You were so close, too, the pent up tension and the sexual energy in the air, mixed with the filthy sounds he was emitting… you were almost there.

Sparks shone against your closed eyes as you chased your own orgasm and he panted under you, broken moans and groans as he tried not to come, but when you screamed your release he screamed so loud all the birds in the trees took flight at the same time, a cacophony of sounds as you exploded. You didn’t stop the movements against him, inside him, as he kept screaming.

Just then you realized he didn’t wait for your order. “I told you not to come without permission, didn’t I?” You asked him as you reached around his body to tug at his oversensitive spent cock. He whimpered and you smiled, your hips moving slowly against his sweet spot still.

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t hold it in when I smelled your orgasm,” he confessed, his head falling forward to the soft grass under his body as you giggled, content and sated.

“You deserve a punishment for being such a bad boy,” you teased and he whimpered, his dick twitching in your hand. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He nodded, his head turned to the side and mouth open, drooling over the grass and looking completely fucked out. You loved that look. “Maybe I need to fuck you some more until you are so tired you can’t even walk, maybe I need to bite you so hard you aren’t nothing but my chew-toy for a while…”

You continued the slow thrust accompanied with filthy promises and the constant movement of your hand, the combination of stimuli must have been too much for him because he screamed once again and you felt his dick twitch uncontrollably against your hand, but no come came out.

“Did you just have a dry orgasm?” You asked, mesmerized by the new knowledge. He nodded and you stopped your movements, making him whimper and fall to the ground completely, laying flat. “We will explore that later,” you sentenced as you laid next to him on the grass, his big body coming around you instantly, cradling you against his warm chest.

“Later,” he mumbled against your neck as he fell asleep.

Guess your birthday present was better than he expected… for both of you.

[lowkeyrobin]

still so disappointed that mr pennycrumb [fives dog in the comics] didnt rlly appear much in the show </3

ok ok so its the academy's birthday and the reader is insanely good at gift giving and never forgets to give presents if theres smth special happening. they hand out the gifts to everyone except they avoid five and disappear w/o them knowing where they went, only to come back at dusk w/ a larger box. obviously five went insane and rambles on how worried he was before the reader finally shuts him up by plopping the box on him, and boom. theres a puppy.

[loved the last viktor fic btw. literally bawled my eyes out]

- 🦇

OMG YES the only appearance we saw was in s3 when Luther went on a jog before he got napped :( ; and thank you!! I got bored and I couldn't extend it any further so it's kinda dumb but it's alr haha ; thanks for requesting, hope you enjoy! ; also sorry this is so short and dumb idk writers block is so picky

FIVE HARGREEVES ; mr pennycrumb

summary ; when the umbrella academys birthdays roll around, you get five a whole ass dog

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; some of the gifts are related to hobbies/interests that are more of hcs than actual canon

word count ; 738

masterlist

When you walked into Allison's with multiple boxes and bags for the Hargreeves, they all knew you were at it again with your insane yet accurate gift giving. They started with cake, then moved over to presents.

Gift giving in the family was like secret Santa in a way. Everyone would essentially get gifts for all the others, and they'd pass around gifts one by one, usually by number order. Luther was always first, Viktor always last. Lila usually snuck in around Diego, because duh. Viktor had gotten used to being last, the forgotten one. But around his family now, he knew it wasn't like that anymore. He'd rather go last so everyone else could have their special time on their special day.

So, the group sets the gifts tagged for Luther on the table in front of him. The kids halfway watch from afar, paying attention to the TV and their toys more than their celebrating parents, aunts, and uncles.

You were among the minority in the house that didn't share a birthday with them, thank God. You would've gone insane over big birthdays like this.

Five, meanwhile, was going insane over you basically ignoring him all day.

You'd gotten Luther some workout gear, knowing he'd taken up going to the gym within the past couple of years. Among other gifts were little trinkets and other things he wanted. He was a little hard to shop for, never really wanting anything, enjoying the quality time over any gift giving.

Next was Diego, and inside the gift you got for him, was a knife sharpening kit. He'd lost his old one just in time. Lila came up next, receiving a few nice outfits you found for her and a gift card to Cosmoprof, as she'd been thinking about re-dyeing her hair to white again.

Next up was Allison, grateful for the numerous acting job business cards you'd given her on top of a bunch of books that were on her Amazon wishlist. She was a serious reader who wanted to get back into acting, now.

Klaus was after her, ecstatic about a carry-around cleaning kit. You were going to go with a joint maker to make his life easier before he got sober. Now he wouldn't need a full bag of cleaning supplies, he'd have your perfect gift.

Five decided to go last, wanting to watch his family be happy more than open presents himself.

Ben was next, receiving some letters from modeling agencies. As he should.

Viktor was second to last, very appreciative for the new drink recipes you'd made and found for him atop the pile of clothes you'd gotten him.

You disappeared around dusk, leaving Five to open his presents without presence. He was physically eighteen, mentally sixty-two today.

As he looks up, seeing the lack of you around, he hides a soft frown. He noticed how you weren't standing near him all night, how you barely even spoke around him.

"Did you do something to Y/n?" Klaus asks out of the blue. "They just kinda... dissappeared"

Five shrugs. "I don't think I did. Even if I did do something, they'd talk it out with me"

Allison shrugs. "I think that's them" she comments, looking out the screen door to see you pull up in your car again. "Diego, could you get the door?"

Diego turns around, unlocking the door for you, holding it open as he sees you holding a big box.

"Why is that box bigger than you?"

"Also, why is it moving?"

You set the box on the table in front of Five, a wide smile on your face. "Open it"

He slowly sets aside the large box of coffee pods he received from Diego to the side, slowly reaching for the box flaps. As he pulls them to the side, out jumps a little dog.

"Oh my God?"

Five smiles, pulling the puppy into his lap. He looks up at you, a glimmer in his eyes. "Why did you get me a dog?"

You shrug, moving the box off the table. "You're a lonely old man, you need some company"

He chuckles, petting the pug's head.

"What're you gonna name it?" Ben asks, arms crossed.

"Him" You correct

"Mr. Pennycrumb" Five answers.

"Why?" Luther asks.

The physically younger boy shrugs. "Why not?"

"Interesting choice" Klaus mutters with a shrug.

Five smiles up at you, giddy like a little kid. "Thank you"

"I try"

[hiiikiko]

IF THATS THE CASE … would u write ellie x hikikomori reader

𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕖 𝕩 𝕙𝕚𝕜𝕚𝕜𝕠𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕚!𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

ellie w. x reader | tlou m.list

[a/n] AHHHH I LOVE THIS PROMPT SM !! (speakin as a former hikikomori <now forced to work a 9-5>) also im doin this heavily based off me bc my room is literally like the ones in the pics lolz n there’s not many other known moris that aren’t minors n i dont feel comfy roping them in 0__0 idk if this is good bc it was so hard to come up with anything lolz

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ as a hikikomori, you rarely ever left your apartment, too anxious to face the chaotic world outside but on this particular day, you were craving some strawberry shortcake from a nearby bakery; so you put on a brave face and stepped outside for the first time in awhile

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ on the way to the bakery, you passed a comic shop and decided to take a peak because it seemed to be empty, and the only worker looked too engrossed in their comic

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the comic shop was very neat! they even had the exact comic you were looking for so you snatched it up and made your way to the register

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ as soon as you placed the comic on the counter, green eyes peaked over a spiderman comic which a very pretty auburnette was reading, your face was covered in a blush as she began to scan the book and make small talk, but unfortunately you were too shy to talk

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ for days after, she would pop into your mind, the way she looked at you over the comic made you smile

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ so, you made plans to come again the next day.. then the day after that.. then day after that.. then-

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ soon, you and ellie became aquatinted, she even knew your favourite series but you had yet to know anything about her

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ finally, one day you had the courage to ask her what her favourite series was, ellie leaned over the counter, a smirk on her face as she said “Ah, i’m a bit busy right now but.. why don’t i tell you later, hm?” your soul left your body when you saw she had written her number on a sticky note tucked into your comic (little did you know that she had written that weeks ago and finally worked up the courage to give it to the pretty girl with immaculate taste in comics)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ soon, you and ellie were chatting everyday

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ you even got her into manga lol

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ even though you weren’t keen on sending photos, ellie would constantly send videos/photos of her at school, or work, out hiking, gym pics, and more (she also sends you haul videos of what she bought at the comic store and would tell you that she saved a comic for you)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ BUT when you did work up the courage to send pics (usually leaving out full body pics or face pics) she would go completely crazy and bombard you with compliments, making you kick your feet and blush

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ you decide to invite ellie over to play a game, you clean up because now you finally have motivation, ellie looks almost out of place in your room that’s filled with pink things and little figurines, she doesn’t mind it, as a matter of fact she thinks it’s cute and she loves how many comfortable things you have, your whole room is like one big pillow

⋆. 𐙚 ˚the two of you have a great time, ellie ends up spending the night which you don’t mind, it’s been awhile since you’ve had company

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ the next morning, you wake up and can’t find ellie anywhere but when you walk into the kitchen you see a little box with a note on it that reads ‘had to go to work, picked up a cake for you <3’

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ there’s no official start to your relationship, instead ellie ends up staying over days at a time, buying you comics and games, taking you out on dates, so the two of you had somehow became a ‘thing’

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ ellie even has a highlight full of pics of you (only if you’re comfy with it) and of your dates

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ when you finally open up to her about how you struggle with going outside and being around other people, she’ll try her best to understand

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ after you tell her, she’ll still plan outside dates but will also make sure the two of you have at home dates, mainly playing video games and watching movies

⋆. 𐙚 ˚she’ll also listen to whatever you’re struggling with

⋆. 𐙚 ˚she’ll accommodate you but she will NOT coddle you because she wants you to get better and treating you like a child won’t help, somedays she’ll drag you outside to go on a little walk or take you over to her place instead

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she does get frustrated at times because she wants to show you off and take you out but it’s so fuckin frustratin how often you say no, during these times she’ll sometimes lash out or go for a walk but then apologize as soon as she gets back and try her best to communicate what’s going on

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ this does prompt you to try harder so when ellie does take you out, she’ll check up on you every couple of minutes just to make sure she’s not making you feel bad

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she’ll encourage you to get a better sleep schedule and a healthier diet, even going as far to come over and cook for you or bring leftovers from whatever joel made

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she’s very nervous to touch you, her hands practically hovering over you because she’s not sure if this is okay (even if you’re practically throwing yourself at her, she’ll still be nervous and awkward about it)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ when she does realize you’re not a porcelain doll, she can’t get enough of you, she’s been so nervous to touch you for so long that when she realizes that she can, she goes feral, her hands roaming all over your body

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she punches your stuffed animals when you’re not in the room

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ if ellie’s in a band, she’ll invite you to gigs and at first you’re scared and frequently decline but when you finally do show up, ellie puts on the best show she ever has just to impress you ♡

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ overall, she loves that your geek matches hers and she wants you to get better, so she’d try her best to help in whatever way she can

[beoneofus]

“ d’aw, wook at da’ wittle baby! ” a certain blonde cooed, reaching to poke fun at the messy braids made in your hair by the little boy that left the room just minutes ago only to grab a few things to finish off his masterpiece — the masterpiece known as your disastrous hair .

you see, laddie was innocent and recently met a new friend amongst the boardwalk. this friend just so happened to be a girl, and this girl gave him the lovely idea of doing up ones hair. she experimented on his head; brushing his hair to the side with the comb she had, along with applying a clip out of her own hair, to his. laddie had loved it, so she let him play with her hair as well.

he was given a demonstration of how to braid — and, low and behold, that demonstration was brought back to the cave.

now, you have no problem with spoiling the child. you love laddie, you all do; you just... really love your hair as well and now, after it being so tangled, you're afraid you may have to cut it.

and paul's fucking teasing isn't helping-

your narrowed eyes darted onto his figure, which was crouched beside your sat one —you were on the floor— mockingly, only to growl and lunge towards him; grabbing onto the front of his jacket, golden buttons pressing tightly against your palm. “ say one more word, and I'll shave your head in your sleep. ”

paul's eyes widened at the threat — usually he wouldn't take your words to heart, he'd laugh them off, but his hair was precious to him and you looked pissed. that's why he gulped, shaking his head in a nod. “ okay, okay! ” he pulled himself away, yanking your hands off of his front. “ jeez.. saw-rry, ms pissy. ”

you huffed in irritation. marko, who was nearby reading a comic, burst into a small fit of snickers from seeing paul so scared. you were just a mere human; what real damage could you actually do?

“ I know what you're thinking, ” you shot his way, giving the other male an annoyed look. “ and if you want to find out what I'm capable of, go ahead and piss me off. ”

marko's hands shot up in surrender, the comic dropping. “ hey, ” his green-blue eyes flickered to you, lips twisting in an upwards pointed position. “ I didn't do anything, baby cakes. I'm on your side, here. ”

the nickname made your eye twitch, but you didn't say anything.

just as you were about to retort though, laddie came running back into the room, “ y/n!! ” he laughed, grinning wide. “ look! I found some of star's old hair-clips! ”

blinking, you snatched your gaze away from the diabolical duo, pinning your now curious eyes onto the two clips laddie held. paul saw that as his ticket to flea, so he did.

one was a bronze, metal clip with glittery, silver stars decorating the center. it was plain, but pretty, and definitely something you could see star wearing.

the other one was one of those snap-clips. it was black, a small paper-like butterfly complimenting the tip. it looked old, the way the black paint was chipping off the end, the little ornament barely hanging on. still, you thought it was cute — it probably looked more durable when she first got it.

“ I'm guessing you're using those in my hair? ” you raised a brow, giving laddie a playful grin. no surprise that you had quickly calmed down. despite being mad about your hair, there's no way you had it in you to take it our on the kid. he was just an innocent sweetheart.

“ yep! ” laddie chirped, only to skid his way behind your sitting form once more. you felt his small hands place themselves among the sides of your head, only to reposition your head, until you were looking forward once again. “ now hold still! ”

you sighed, but smiled to yourself. looks like you'd have to risk your hair to make him happy... oh well.

but, that smile of yours quickly vanished as you saw paul and marko on the couch, looking at you, holding in their laughter.

oh, you're definitely killing them later.

hi, enjoy this since I've been gone for fucking decades.

[follows-the-bees]

I did an analysis of the meaning of Ed touching Stede's chest, hand over heart, here.

But now I wanna talk about the meaning of face touches - and Ed's outfits - across both seasons.

Bathtub Comfort

The first time Stede touches Ed's face is when Ed is seeking comfort. After he opens up about him being the Kraken, killing his dad and his plan to kill him, Stede offers a comforting shoulder squeeze and Ed deepens it by lying his head against Stede's hand. It is an intimate moment of vulnerability for both, especially Ed and he doesn't hesitate to accept it.

While Ed is wearing his Blackbeard outfit here, he is also covered in Stede's robe, like just the thought of Stede's presence can be a shield to the outside world and Ed's internal emotional struggle. And to have Stede come in and physically touch him, his face, Ed is completely comfortable in this combination of both of them, their vulnerability.

This Is Happening

In the next episode, Stede points out food in Ed's beard and when Ed can't find it, Stede asks permission to take it out. He doesn't fully reach for it until Ed gives permission (the amount of consent between these two, especially in the second season is so special to me) and leans forward (the classic Ed leans toward Stede movement that continues throughout the show.)

Ed is also not wearing his full Blackbeard outfit here, he has stripped down to just a simple purple T-shirt and pants. And we know that purple comes out as Ed's feelings for Stede deepen. So in this moment, Ed is more Ed than Blackbeard.

This is a soft, tender moment that shows the growing feelings between them. Stede's voice is as soft as his reach and touch while Ed looks at Stede so fondly, openly vulnerable.

Beach Kiss Eins

The first time Ed touches Stede's face, is during their first kiss. As soon as Stede responds, Ed moves his hand to his neck and down to his chest. And the pattern of vulnerability, closeness, and gentleness continues.

Neither of them are wearing their normal clothes here. They are wearing uniform, tan ill-fitting sacks (foreshadowing). Their first kiss is not only bare with emotional intimacy but of their identities. They aren't Blackbeard and the Gentleman Pirate during this moment, they are Ed and Stede, two men in love for probably the first time, sitting on a beach, the combination of land and sea.

Let's move to Season Two.

Cake Toppers

Oh, the cake toppers. Those damn cake toppers. They are the embodiment of the two of them to Ed, who caresses the wedding cake topper resembling Stede so much that he rubs some of the paint off. And just like every touch between the two of them so far, Ed lightly grazes the figure in a tentative but gentle way that shows he still has deep feelings for this man no matter how many raids, rhino horn, or self abusive behavior he tries to use to drown out his pain and the Kraken persona that he has put on like a sea monster lost in the deep dark depths of the sea.

Gif credit

Stede's Dream

In Stede's dream about their reunion, the two comically Monty Python (can we call them Monty Pyrates from now on?) run down the beach and full body collide against each other rolling to get on their sides, where Ed is the one to reach forward and touch Stede's face. This is Stede remembering how Ed did the same thing during their first kiss and he is recreating this moment in a fairytale fashion.

Their clothing is once again notable. Stede is wearing a more traditional pirate costume, earring, and has grown a beard. While we saw sword training last season between the two of them, Stede does not truly start wearing one until later in the second season. This is him trying to become who he thinks Ed would want, not the bumbling semi-pirate, but the confident, killing pirate with facial hair and more down-to-earth look. Ed is not only portrayed in his traditional garb but he has his old beard is back, he is the version that Stede first fell in love with. (Stede loves Ed as Ed though, no matter what he wears.)

Moonlight Serenade

Their first kiss under the moonlight is tentative and is a mirror of the moon scene in season one.

This is the first time that Stede touches Ed's face during kissing of his own volition. Even when he was trying to bring Ed back to life in episode three, he held his hand and pounded on his chest, over his heart, trying to shock it into fully beating to life.

He's been dreaming of Ed as touching his face again like the first kiss, but instead Stede is the one who moves his hand to Ed's face, and deepens the kiss. Because Stede is ready for this, and he wants to show Ed that he is here, he is committed to them. It is Ed who pulls away and asks to take it slow, because he is the one who has to heal in this scenario. This is his season, his season to heal, grow, and learn to reconcile all three sides of his being.

When Ed pulls back, Stede immediately responds, taking his hands off Ed to respect his wishes. And he only touches him again after gaining consent to hold his hand. Once again, we are treated to their gentleness, hesitancy, but the underlying love they have for each other is present in every cradle, fingers through hair, consent.

Instead of like the first season where they walk away in different directions, looking back at each other while trying to puzzle out what happened, they walk away together, toward the captain's cabin, still talking about their day and playfully playing off each other.

Once again they are not wearing their normal clothes, particularly, Ed is not wearing his Blackbeard outfit. He is wearing a light-colored onesie made from a potato sack as well as a cat bell. A bell he purposefully makes ring in an adorable shoulder shake to let Stede know that he is coming in for a kiss - unlike their first one, where he almost surprises Stede with it. We don't see it, but I bet Ed thought that maybe if he didn't surprise him, if he hadn't kissed him but kept talking, Stede wouldn't have left him. He probably blamed himself for that, so he made sure this time that Stede knew what was happening beforehand.

Calypso's Birthday

They are both physically injured from Ned Low's torture as well as in mental distress here. Stede is having flashbacks of his childhood and blood on his face because this is the first time he has purposely gotten blood on his hands. Ed is upset at seeing Stede take this step, thinking that he has corrupted him. But once again, they both consent to this, Stede does not even move forward or kiss Ed until Ed nods his head and then physically pulls Stede against him. This kiss is a combination of the first two. Ed's hand wraps around and on Stede's neck like the beach one, while Stede's hand snakes its way into Ed's hair when he deepens the kiss. This is the first and only time we see their bodies align and touch at more than just the contact of hands and lips.

Later on we see both of them in a different state of undress. Ed's hair is completely down, and he's once again in a t-shirt, stripped down emotionally and looking at Stede like he's the center of the world as the colors of their love - red and purple - surround them, until Ed looks directly at Stede and the burst of yellow - his lighthouse - shines bright. Stede is already shirtless at this part, his vulnerability bared skin-surface level.

Beach Kiss Zwei

And of course, we reach the finale, where In general the number of touches has escalated; they have chosen each other, chosen to give this a try. Ed emerges out of the ocean and all three themes (the Kraken, Blackbeard, and Ed) play all in a row, because he took what Pop-Pop said to heart and embraced all three of his identities to save and protect his loved ones.

One hand is on Stede's face almost the entire time they are reunited on the beach, and after the first kiss and apology, Ed moves both hands to Stede's face, using that leverage to pull him in for a kiss, holding onto him for dear life. He doesn't let go until Stede responds to his "I love you" reassuring Ed that he knows that, and Ed can drop his worry about Stede not knowing/hearing those words before that moment. Ed smiles and moves his hands down, and if they weren't in the middle of a battle, he would have wrapped his arms around him, pulled him in to align with his body, and kissed him again.

I particularly love this one because we can see the desperation, especially for Ed during this moment. He clearly doesn't want to stop touching Stede, only doing so out of necessity at the end. Stede is quiet, that calmness that Ed needs, just enjoying being in Ed's presence "breathing the same air."

This is the first time that they are wearing their full identities while kissing. Covered in blood, having just dropped weapons used to kill soldiers to get to each other, only to touch and kiss each other with softness and love but also desperation.

This is also the first time they openly embrace each other. All season, things have been slightly off while they take it slow, try to figure out their status together and separate. They stand apart, but still facing/bodies turned toward each other, only a few inches away. And they never touch in the presence of others, instead only kissing in the candlelight of the captain's cabin and under the moonlight. But now they are under the bright sun in front of The Pirate Queen and countless red shirts, two who were making fun of the letter Stede wrote Ed before Ed dispatched them. And Ed even reaches over later to put his hand on Stede's shoulder in front of Zheng, offering him comfort and saying yes babe, I see you, don't worry.

They kiss on the beach!! combining the sea and the land - the lighthouse, kraken, merman, flightless birds now grounded- they are the MERMEN.

Gif credits

Overall, the touches exchanged between Ed and Stede are all laced in emotion, vulnerable. And as their relationship progresses, these touches also evolve enough that by the end, kissing or touching each other's face no longer needs a pause and explicit consent because they are comfortable enough to know each other and their boundaries.

But there is something particular about the face touching between them. It shows a higher level of intimacy and romance that is at the heart of our mythical beings who have finally found each other and met in the middle, combining land and sea.

I didn't include the touches previous to the bathtub, like Ed hugging Stede after the lighthouse fuckery, or during the party, first moon scene, because I wanted to focus on the face touching primarily since it offers more depth to their relationship. I did this from memory, so I apologize if I missed any.

[lexi-the-demon-69]

Can we get more info on Dark Choco’s 5th B-day?

Oh absolutely! So, one random headcanon I have for Dark Choco and Cacao is that Cacao forgot his son's 5th birthday. I like to think of it as a genuine mistake that Dark Cacao still regrets to this very day, while Dark Choco was left with another reason to not like his father or kingdom.

When Dark Choco turned 5, no party was held for him like he hoped for. All of the watchers were, as usual, quite busy with keeping everything under control, and so were the servants. Which left him alone like any other day, but he just couldn't understand why no one was wishing him a happy birthday. It was supposed to be a day all about him! He completed all of his chores, he didn't interrupt his father's meetings, he was good throughout the week! Then, how come he was being so... ignored?? Why were his efforts so ignored??

As the hours passed by that day, things didn't get any better as he continued to feel worse and worse. Dark Choco was left to celebrate his birthday, all alone with no one but his toys as company. He even had to throw himself a birthday party in his room. No gifts, no cake, nothing. Only sadness and his toys as guests.

Meanwhile, Dark Cacao was left with mounds and mounds of important kingly duties that couldn't be ignored, leaving him with no time to see his son. Once the moon arose from the mountains, he finally went to see his little boy, only to see two warriors in his room, celebrating his birthday. Two little warriors had found out that it was Dark Choco's birthday through the cries of anguish coming from his room and decided to join his little party... even though they weren't invited. As they sang happy birthday to his only son, Dark Cacao's heart dropped... he had forgotten his own son's birthday...

However, he waited until Dark Choco's party was over because he knew his son would yell at him to leave when he wasn't invited. He didn't want to induce more pain than he already had... Once the party concluded, he walked in to see his son, smiling from ear to ear that no one had truly forgotten his birthday... but that smile fell and twisted into a look of anger and sadness once he saw his father.

Dark Cacao tried his best to explain that he never meant to forget Dark Choco's birthday, but his son wasn't having it. He yelled at him for what he did, screaming that if it weren't for his kingdom, he would've had a big party, with eyes and attention entirely on him. After a good few minutes of screaming, Dark Choco broke down into his father's arms as Dark Cacao promised that he would never EVER make the same mistake again... only time could tell if he ever kept that promise...

To this day, Dark Choco still remembers his 5th birthday and will never forgive his father for what he had done. Left hating his own birthday because of how it was forever ruined by his father. He also blames the watchers and servants who were too busy to even notice his cries that day. All except for two little warriors who celebrated with him... (If you're wondering, it's Carrow and Crunchy lol)

-----

I think this helps explain why he hates not only his father but his kingdom as well a bit more. Fuck, I'd hate the place I lived in too if this had ever happened to me. Thanks for the ask! I'd love to discuss my headcanons a lot more with you guys while you wait for the next comic page!

[farshootergotme]

Oh you and your friend make some interesting points about why Bruce adopting Dick so late in his life was a problem. It’s something writers clearly didn’t take into account when the trying to make this scene work while also not letting go of the not being adopted thing plot line while also trying to have their cake too by having Dick and Bruce makeup and finally having Dick be adopted by Bruce.

I know the writer writing Protugal wanted it to be a touching moment between the two of them. But the problem is it isn’t about what Dick wants and it written in a way where Bruce while has good intention offering him the adoption papers, he doesn’t own up to the fact he caused this issue in the first place if I am remembering correctly although I will have double check and reread that scene so take my statement with a grain of salt. Poor communication is truly the worst emery of them all and cough comic book writers loving to hammer in unnecessary drama and conflict even if makes no bloody sense at times or take into account how it effect the characters going forward. 

The thing about what is a good Batman writer is not necessarily if they nail Bruce Wayne and Batman as a whole but rather if they care about Robin as a concept or even like characters Dick Grayson in general. Same goes to Nightwing writers as well you can absolutely love Dick Grayson but do you actually understand Bruce Wayne as a character and are you willing to explore that aspect of their relationship Ie father/son. (Then again some of Nightwing writers do him so bloody dirty it’s honestly mind boggling to me.)

Another thing to think about is how most modern day writers and even some of older best writers from back in day of Batman is that they refuse to let him be wrong or admit he has messed up. Like my god, I like Bruce as character I really do but it’s so frustrating to see how he is treated in modern books like my god just stop the drama already with his family, I’m tired of Batman being regressed to his younger less mature self mentality and acts like he has learned nothing. Why is it so hard to just let him be a flawed but well meaning dad who yes messes up sometimes but is willing to get better and grow as a person because at the end of the day he truly cares about his children.

My problem with Richard getting adopted as an adult is well mainly with how it was handled. It never about what Dick wants if it was the writers would have made Bruce apologise for his failing as a father to him and make it so it’s up to Richard if he decides to forgive him or not because let’s be honest Bruce hurt his eldest son by his selfish actions but Bruce should also just be honest with him about he has always seen him as a son maybe not at first but it grew into that overtime and that he was wrong for assuming how Dick felt about being adopted and should have done sooner in fact he should have done around the same time as Jason. Again he should have done the minute or at least offered it when he and Dick had a heart to heart in the Marv wolf man run at Donna wedding but I don’t know. You know what amusing about his run is before this story was made he refer to Dick as Bruce adopted child early in his run which is an interesting thing to think about or maybe I misremember and it was a different writer altogether. OvO’)

Or maybe we can just skip all the stupid drama of adopting or no adopting bs and just have Bruce adopt Richard as a young teen which gives Dick enough time to think about it and probably change his mind. It also gives them time to bond as father and son, now I am not asking for Bruce to be a perfect father figure mistakes will happen as he learns what it means to be a father figure to Dick. Like come on give me fun and compassionate Batman please I miss him like geez why are the writers afraid to just let Bruce grow and move on from his past to some extent. 

Another to get off my chest with DC is well isn’t time to just retire the whole ward thing because it not really used anymore and might as well change to Dick being a foster child because that is what he is. Like the 2004 cartoon The Batman made this change to just that. Like I get Ward is historically important to Richard but I don’t know. Another thing I wish for is just to let Dick be adopted earlier at this point because the drama of not being adopted is just hurting both Dick and Bruce as characters at this point. 

When you could instead be focusing on why Dick wanting space and independence from Bruce like how his parenting style can be quite old fashioned the strict yet overprotective father figure and how he shows his love through his actions rather then his words. You could also explore how Bruce being a dad with a mental health issue aka ptsd, being kind of a control freak and suffer from self loathing issues and how he thinks he never be a good enough parent to his adopted soon. Effects Dick development and how Dick felt like over-coddled and suppressed by Bruce being overprotective and at times being super critical of his decisions as a young teen and young adult.

Honestly what frustrating about Tom Tyler run of Nightwing is that the scene with Dick and Bruce in the bat cave is so good but the problem is it is not earned because Tom Tyler hasn’t really taken the time to explore Dick’s and Bruce’s relationship as father and son or having the balls to actually explore the nuances of it and gasp let Dick call Bruce out on where he has hurt him and that Bruce needing to take responsibility for his actions as father. 

This is why I hate when people say they aren’t father and son or god damn family because one it makes it out Bruce actions aren’t as bad because they’re just “coworkers/partners” which just gross to me and also takes away Richard agency and why he repels so heavily against Bruce and why he is so upset about not being adopted you can’t just sit there and tell me they’re not family because it’s simply not true because this effects Richard heavily because in his mind he thought he wasn’t good enough to be Bruce’s son and felt replaced. Literally Eldest feeling replaced by the new baby sibling coded right there.

Another thing, I feel people will have come and accept about superhero comics mostly by Marvel and DC is well they’re kinda like fairy tales in a way, writers giving their own spin and takes on the world and the characters that function within it. They only things that keep them connected is how characters themselves and if they develop and grows carries over or sticks within that part of the lore. I also feel that writers are afraid to take big risks like changing how Dick Grayson became Nightwing even though they’re already one or two versions where it doesn’t lead to him fighting with Bruce and getting fired.

Now I am not saying ignore canon completely but I feel you’re at the mercy of the writers or eras of comic book runs and I think people should pick the writers they like rather try to stitch all these different takes and continuities together. Then again, I guess it doesn’t help that most media has Batman alone and completely disregard the concept of Robin or his found family in general and that honestly such a shame because Robin aka Dick Grayson is the reason Batman comics stayed alive for so alive for so long, hell he was created even before blooming Alfred.

Which leads to final point this whole thing about Dick Grayson not being adopted, has made so that is all is ever talked about. Who Dick Grayson the character like what are his goals who he is like yes he relationship with his father figure is important as it what lead him to this pathway and wether he likes or not he can quite similar to Bruce in terms of his beliefs and parts of his personality but also what about his friends the titans or his journey into adulthood and he finds himself that’s more interesting to me. Modern writers what are you doing with Richard he has so much potential and yet it feels like they have no idea on what they want to do with. No more Tony Zuuco no more changing to his backstory leave it alone please it’s fine how it is there is no reason to make it more complicated and by doing that you take away how the parallel between Bruce and Dick backstories 👏👏👏Hot take I know. 

Also, there is nothing wrong with wanting to write Dick and Bruce patching up their relationship as father and son, I love Bruce being a good dad that is trying to best despite being mentally ill himself. But keep in mind how you go about writing Bruce and make sure he faces consequences for his decisions and actions as a parental figure to  Dick Grayson and his other children. 

Oh wow sorry for making another kinda essay in your ask box again. 😅 (Hmm, I could talk about how Dick parents and his lifestyle at the circus effect his personality and how his flaws were already there before Bruce took him in but that probably for another time ha ha.

Anyway, that is enough of my rambles and inner never ending thought of this complicated father and son duo.

Hey, thanks for sharing your thoughts! I personally can agree with a lot that you're saying.

The problem when it comes to writing Dick and Bruce is that their characters are so old that many of the things from the earliest comics would be very different if one wants to write them in a more modern era. But many writers seem to choose to keep things (despite also changing things that are actually alright and should be left alone, but, oh, well...)

I mean, I don't think the drama of Bruce not being able to adopt is all that bad. For example, in one of the origins, there was woman, Sister Mary, who took care of Dick during his time at the orphanage. She mentions doubting Bruce's capabilities as a father because of his reputation as a womanizer, but that she was convinced she'd be good for Dick after talking with him in private.

They could still use this conflict in modern era and how his image as the playboy billionaire could influence the jury's decision to only give him custody of Dick as his new guardian rather than his adoptive father. Plus (I don't remember if it was in the same origin or not) Dick at the beginning wasn't fully ready to have a 'replacement' for his dad, so Bruce would respect that and accept the responsibility as his guardian.

However, here's where I'd say that they screw up; they let the years pass, no mention of adoption whatsoever (despite both clearly growing to see each other as father and son, respectively) and they just leave it at that until, check this out! Jason is adopted! I would assume now the jury is okay with letting him adopt a child because he's proven himself by taking care of Dick all these years. But, yeah, actually, back to Dick, what about him, then?

I don't believe for a second nobody would bring up the adoption issues. Like, if not Bruce or Dick (maybe because they're both afraid of being rejected by the other if they bring it up) why not Alfred? He's not shy about voicing his thoughts to Bruce, and I'm sure he could convince him to have a chat with Dick about a possible adoption because Dick is only getting older and one day it'll be too late to ask.

(Except not apparently because DC wrote Bruce asking a Dick in his early twenty's if he can adopt him which is definitely not late at all! Not to mention they had the first real conversation about adoption years ago, but Bruce just ignored Dick clears desires to be adopted and only brought it up when he thought it was the right time because why make a father that cares also about his son's emotions, am I right?

It just feels like a cheap compensation for all the years they (specially Dick) waited to become an official family. So what if the bond is more important? Maybe Dick wanted the reassurance that no matter what he would still be Bruce's family without meaning the end of their relationship everytime he left the manor to make a life for himself, is that so wrong?)

And it just makes Bruce look so bad when someone comes up with the excuse that "Dick didn't want to be adopted so Bruce was only respecting his wishes". Well, of fucking course he didn't want to get a new father a few weeks after he saw his dad's bloody corpse laying on the floor of the circus! But years later? When he's already learnt to deal with the grief and has found a new family in these two older men that chose to take care of him? What excuse does Bruce have then to not have ever brought it up again? The only 'excuse' I could think of is that he was insecure that he wouldn't be a good father to Dick (or as good as Jhon Grayson) or, as I mentioned before, afraid of being rejected. But this isn't just about him!! And as the adult in the situation he needs to save those feelings for later and communicate with Dick first without coming to any assumptions. What will change from the current relationship, anyway? Other than the security that Bruce can't just get rid of Dick whenever he wants since he's just his guardian and he can pass the responsibility to anyone else which sounds a lot more like a plus to me than a negative change.

And Bruce himself said "it doesn't really change anything" when he gave Dick the papers, so it really was a non-issue since the beginning.

I get he can have doubts and insecurities, but when it's between putting your feelings first or the ones of the child you're raising, I think the decision should come pretty easily. (Not to Bruce, apparently)

So, yeah, if DC really wanted, they could just change the early years again (we know they can, they've done it enough times already) and make Dick Bruce's officially adopted son during his Robin years and fix the whole issue very easily.

Now, I wanted to address the part about Bruce's parenting and DC not letting him develop and grow as both a character and a father, but I don't want to make this too long and you already said enough about the topic, so I'll leave it at that.

(also, would definitely love to hear about your thoughts on Dick's upbringing at the circus and how his issues began from his early childhood and not everything was for Bruce's influence. I have my own thoughts about that and it'd be great to discuss them with you)

[distort-opia]

*bursts through your window at 4AM wearing bloodied Hamlet costume* Hey Tort beloved i got you a whole chicken and an egg for breakfast:

Batman VS. Bruce Wayne— which one, in your opinion, is the person and which one is the persona? Realistically, when hell breaks loose on a good god abiding gotham day, which one could Bruce lose and still have his identity remain somewhat intact? I know different comics and media take complete separate parts of him as what makes him, but which one do you think makes Bruce Wayne who he is at heart?

Hi! You're not the first person to ask, so I'll put these two together. Thank you for the hearty breakfast and please accept these cakes as apology for how delayed this answer is (you and Anon both).

To be honest, I consider the question of "which one is real, which one is fake" as a bit overdone... and needlessly complicated. Especially because many times when people bring up the debate, they're thinking of "Brucie Wayne" and "Batman", with arguments of Batman being the real personality seemingly always correct and almost obvious. This oversimplifies things, because there's "Brucie Wayne", there's Batman, and then there's just Bruce.

Is the persona of "Brucie Wayne", the ditzy womanizing playboy with half a braincell, fake? Yes, absolutely. That one's a mask which serves the purpose of hiding the existence of Batman. But is that the same as Bruce Wayne, the man we see joke around with Alfred in the Cave, interact honestly with Dick and the Family and Talia and Selina and so many others-- the human underneath Batman? No, it isn't. That Bruce Wayne is very real. And Batman is not a separate persona or a mask, it's just another facet of the same person, borne out of Bruce Wayne's trauma. Batman is so many things... a coping mechanism, a way to commit suicide, the fantasy of who Bruce would like to be; but he's got roots within Bruce to such a fundamental extent that calling him a mask, or a persona, feels wrong to me. Batman is both the worst and the best of Bruce Wayne. There's no separating them... no matter how badly Bruce would like to make it that way.

Because Bruce has struggled (and still does) a lot, both with admitting to himself that there's more to him than the existence of Batman, and with maintaining a balance between the many personas he wears. "Batman is the real one, Bruce Wayne is fake" is something Bruce desperately wanted to believe and make real himself, in multiple stories. This is where this long-standing fandom belief probably stems from: from Bruce having convinced himself that "Bruce Wayne" is dead, and that there isn't anything left to him but Batman. Hell, Bruce has literally tried to "kill" Bruce Wayne and only be Batman in Bruce Wayne, Murderer? and Bruce Wayne, Fugitive; this is probably the story arc that dealt with this divide in Bruce's psyche in the most depth, I absolutely recommend giving it a read.

However, the more important thing is the why. Why this constant struggle? And it's a simple reason... maintaining ties to his humanity versus giving himself over entirely to the Vow. Batman was forged out of Bruce's pain, and is a response to loss. Batman is how Bruce channels his emotions into purpose. Batman will always want to never go through the loss of loved ones again, and the simplest solution to that is to never care again. Never have romantic relationships, maintain a distance from all the people in his life. But humans can't live like that. Bruce can't live like that, he needs grounding by the many relationships he does have, despite how much the side of him that's Batman pulls in the other direction. That's why Bruce Wayne, Fugitive ends like this:

And the thing is, we keep having the same story, over and over. Bruce nearly being consumed by Batman, and then finding his way back, most of the time with the help of his Family.

Here's another instance:

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #140

And another one, which so beautifully illustrates how Batman and Bruce Wayne are the same, but also how Batman contains a suicidal and self-destructive side of Bruce too:

Batman: Ego

(Lol. Yeah this is your life, man.)

But you could find an equal number of examples in which Bruce declares that "Bruce Wayne" is useless and disposable, and that Batman is the only thing that matters (e.g., Robin 1993 #125). Because again, this is comics. There's no finality in sight, no traditional ending that everything we read is heading towards. Bruce will keep doing this dance, will keep having to learn how to balance these two sides of himself. Most recently this happened in Zdarsky's Batman run, with the conflict between Bruce and the Batman of Zur-en-Arrh... but don't even get me started on that utter disappointment.

Actually though, @psalmsofpsychosis, this part of your question is quite interesting: "Realistically, when hell breaks loose on a good god abiding gotham day, which one could Bruce lose and still have his identity remain somewhat intact?" Because there have been times of crisis in which this has happened, in comics. And what Bruce did is probably not what you'd expect. This answer got long enough though, so I'm putting the rest under the cut.

Bruce has gone through a lot. There's been many catastrophic-level events he's dealt with. And at first glance, you'd think that he'd consistently fall back on Batman, if that's who he "really" is. But when his will genuinely breaks, that isn't what always happens. In Batman: Cult, a story that takes place towards the end of Bruce's first decade as Batman, after Jason became Robin, shows that Bruce can give up:

Batman: The Cult

Bruce abandons Gotham, and with it, Batman. Obviously, he eventually comes back. But it had to be Jason dragging him around for half this issue just to make him fight, just to make him function. (Much earlier than this, in Going Sane, he also considered just leaving Batman behind. But that story is deeply intertwined with Joker's identity as much as his, so I'm just mentioning it.)

And then Barbara gets shot, Jason dies, Bane goes after Batman in the Knightfall arc... it's just one thing after the other for the poor guy. Knightfall and its continuations are very extensive and many things happen, but after Bruce's spine is broken, he leaves Jean-Paul Valley in the role of Batman. And even after Bruce's injuries get healed, making a previously proclaimed goal of becoming Batman again much easier, he tells Tim that he doesn't want to come back. That he wants to stay retired, and "rejoin humanity":

Batman: Knightquest

Tim has to tell him of a crime that Azrael as Batman did, which is impossible to ignore... and Bruce has to confront Jean-Paul and see the truth of him having gone mad himself, before he decides to retrain and "become worthy" of his Batman identity once more.

Then, in a much bigger and well-known storyline that follows the Cataclysm event, Batman disappears for months. No Man's Land starts with a world in which Bruce has been away in Monaco trying to be someone else, instead of in Gotham, being Batman and taking control of the wrecked city which had been abandoned by all. Oh he comes back, but still...

No Man's Land: Ground Zero

So. Batman isn't his "real" identity, it isn't the core of him. Many times, he's wanted to run away and leave Batman behind, just like in some stories he was ready to completely destroy the "Bruce Wayne" identity and only be Batman. But in times of crisis, he repeatedly tried to leave and find happiness outside of Gotham and carrying the mantle of Batman... without succeeding.

Sometimes, Bruce hates Batman, and tries to run away. And other times, Batman hates Bruce, and tries to destroy him. It's a constant give-and-take, and neither facet of him has managed to succeed so far, because Bruce is Batman. There's no one without the other.

[ariseur]

THE ROCK IS BACK‼️‼️‼️ And has brought you… Cloud Strife x Baker!reader. Imagine teaching him how to bake and he’s just standing there like “huh?” After you just reread him the instructions for the millionth time, which results in him being covered in flour.

-🪨

“then you just mix them in like,” you paused as you whisked the thick batter around, cloud noted how your tongue poked out in concentration, “this!”

cloud’s eyebrows furrowed, mako infused eyes flickering between the mixing bowl and you as he cocked his head. you simply grinned at him, hand still mixing the thick cake batter. your hand looked comically small against the big silver bowl.

you had decided to bust out one of your old recipes, chocolate cake with some raspberry mousse on top. simple but definitely one of your favorites. you had offered cloud to try some, even if he wasn’t so much a dessert type person. but then aerith found out. and then tifa. and then biggs. and suddenly—you’re making a lot of chocolate cake. you decided that you underestimated how much help you would need and the duration of time it’d take you to just bake these cakes. so who else to call but your trusty mercenary boyfriend?

“wha—?” with another tilt of his head, cloud watched you curiously as you grabbed his hand, having him hold the whisk while you let out a singsong, “keep it moving!” while you twirled your way to the cupboard and grabbed some cocoa powder along with some various other ingredients.

you giggled as you watched cloud hesitantly stir the mixture, big eyes following you while you walked back up to him and held the ingredients out to him. you beamed at him, “do it just like how i said, ‘kay?”

cloud let out an unsure, “okay.” while you held your hands behind your back and watched as he scooped some cocoa powder out with a tablespoon. mako eyes hesitantly darted between you and the cake batter, unsure if he was doing it right. his worries melted away though—when he saw that your smile never faltered. to be honest, cloud hadn’t been listening to a word you said, only focused on the way your lips moved and how you seemed so sure of what you were talking about.

“i still don’t know what you find fun about this, though. it’s so many..” he trailed off.

“steps?”

“yeah.” was all he said. he watched as you put a hand up, signaling for him to stop as you stepped closer, mixing all the powders and liquids together in one big, chocolate-y mess.

a small silence fell over the two of you as you could feel cloud’s presence behind you, watching each of your movements intently to try and find some sort of meaning behind it. you were doing so many things at once, it was hard to keep track of. a soft smile rested itself on your lips, watching cloud through your peripheral try and lean his head over your shoulder to get a better look.

“have i ever told you how cute i think you are?” you said. your eyes never left the whisk, watching as it created swirls and ripples in the thick chocolate. you heard cloud make a small noise, clearly taken aback as his eyes widened and his posture became stiffer.

“what makes you say that?” he finally asked.

you simply giggled and pointed at the mixture that lay in the bowl below you, “because you put way too much powder in this.” you finally put the whisk down, it making a clank as the metal hit the cool countertop, littered with an assortment of packages containing ingredients.

cloud tipped his head over to get a better look, his face trying its hardest not to redden as he felt your fingertips graze his jaw, softened with the flour that covered them. you were right, he thought, as he saw the clumps of leftover powder that wouldn’t break down. the corners of his mouth quirked downwards as he felt your gaze on him, almost shrinking like a dog that’s been caught red-handed.

“‘s alright, cloud. we can just try again.” you gently guided his gaze towards yours, watching as his eyebrows knitted together once you made eye contact. you rubbed your thumb along his cheekbone, peaceful grin still painted on your face when you looked at him. cloud had wondered how you could be so soft, sometimes. your hand slowly fell, the pad of your thumb making sure to run itself along the entirety of his cheek.

“did you just smear chocolate on my cheek?”

“sshh..” you said, bringing a finger to his lips. you closed your eyes as you took in the moment before you, removing your finger and giving cloud a chance to actually lick his lips and confirm it really was chocolate. it also gave him the chance to grab a pinch of flour from the counter behind you, except instead of a pinch, cloud more so grabbed a handful. and perhaps he dumped it on your head, too.

you gasped, watching as he narrowed his eyes playfully at you. backing away with his hands in a smug surrender motion, before you grabbed a handful and threw it at him, too.

“you’re on!” you shouted, and then began what would soon be referred to as ‘the flour war’.

[thehollowprince]

I've already said before how much I can't stand Screenrant, and yet I fall for this clickbaiting rage bait every time I see it among my Google recommendations. Seriously... every time.

And I don't make posts like this because I think it's going to change the minds of anyone who irrationally hates the Jedi because someone in the fandom convinced them too by using guiding terminology. No, I make posts like this so that when someone goes looking, they'll find opinions that differ from what's popular, as well as using facts from the source material to back up those opinions.

So we're just going to go through this, point by point, and highlight the flaws in this "argument."

The only question I have for this is Why?

Why would an organization dedicated to defending peace and justice throughout the galaxy not have a base of operations? This is a question I'll repeat later on for one of these other "points," but it just bears repeating. How is the populace of the galaxy supposed to reach out to these new Jedi for help if they can't find them?

And while it sounds nice on the surface to travel the galaxy and train padawans as she goes, it's totally impractical, considering she's the ONLY Jedi doing this. Like, do you have any idea how long it would take to train new Jedi this way?

Like, I'm all for Jedi traveling the galaxy to bring peace and all that, but to do that, you have to have Jedi to travel.

I know this point has been talked about repeatedly, but let's once again hash this out.

The Jedi did not forbid relationships!

Relationships happen all the time, from romantic to familial to friendship. The Jedi frowned upon attachment. And before anyone hops on this post or jumps into my inbox, please look up the philosophy of nonattachment as it pertains to Buddhism and Eastern Philosophy.

Also, look up the difference between an attachment and a connection.

A Jedi's whole purpose was to put the needs of others first. That's their whole schtick. And if a Jedi couldn't put their commitment to the Order and the Republic above their own wants and desires, they were always free to leave. There are plenty of other Force-based groups in the Galaxy that didn't frown upon attachment or relationships. I don't understand why so many people think that the Jedi should have to change their entire philosophy to account for a few selfish individuals.

Go back and read the books and comics from over the years. With very few exceptions, every time a Jedi tried to have their cake and eat it too, they fell to the Dark Side. So Rey's Order actively encouraging relationships (because that's what Fandom is about anymore) is just going to continue the cycle of the Jedi Order falling because "how dare this ancient organization follow its rules and not throw out their entire philosophy" and thus starting the cycle all over again.

Yes, because having multitude of voices with differing opinions and viewpoints is bad. They should all just do their own thing, Lone Ranger style, regardless of how such chaos defeats the entire purpose of the Jedi.

Side note: what movies was this author watching where they came up with the idea that the Jedi Council thought they owned the Force?

The ranking system was there for a reason.

Can you imagine a new initiate coming to Rey and saying, "Hey, I know I've only been training here for two weeks, but I deserve to look at that Sith holocron because I'm a Jedi and we're all equal members with no rank."

You want them to be vigilantes.

Just say you want them to be vigilantes.

The entire point of the Jedi being such a prominent part of the Republic was to avoid bias in justice. We've seen how Senators and politicians and law enforcement could be bought off, but that wasn't the case for the Jedi. They were impartial peacekeepers and their place within the Republic was a vital part of that.

To me, this feels like the author wanted the Jedi to say, "Since you're mean to us, we're not going to help you," which is the complete antithesis of what the Jedi stand for.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I know your toddler is Force-sensitive, and your house falls apart every time they have a temper tantrum, but I can't help you. We don't offer training until they're older and have already caused massive damage. Best of luck."

Yes, absolutely. Because the defenders of peace and justice throughout the galaxy who should strive to remain calm and keep a level head in the heat of the moment should have LESS training. We just want cops with lightsabers, right?

The Jedi did not join the Republic as a military unit. All the times they acted as military commanders throughout their history was at the insistence of the Republic. Hell, they were drafted to lead the clone armies during the Clone Wars.

The Clone Wars, which I'd like to remind everyone, were orchestrated by several Sith Lords over the span of a decade, after decades more of destabilizing the galaxy. The Jedi specifically tried to stop the Clone Wars from happening, but the deck was stacked against them.

All of this blame on the Jedi for the failures of the Senate and the direct machinations of a Sith Lord who chested his way to the highest office of the Republic.

I highly recommend these people look up what George Lucas has to say about the Jedi and the Force. He specifically says that the Dark-Side is unbalance.

I'd also like to point out that the first mention of "the Light Side" was in The Force Awakens. There is no mention of "the Light" in the Original Trilogy or the Prequels. The "Light" is the balance.

This has been discussed multiple times by multiple people, but apparently it bears repeating.

When did they not "pay attention" to Force visions?

Because in both Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith, when Anakin has dreams about his mother and Padme, respectively, he doesn't tell Obi-Wan or Yoda the full extent of them. If he had told Obi-Wan what his dreams were about, they probably would have gone to save Shmi. And it was Anakin's own actions that led to Padme's death, the very thing he'd been dreaming about.

Hell, even when Luke had his Force vision in Empire Strikes back, if he'd heeded Yoda and been more cautious, he wouldn't have lost his hand. I want to remind people that when Luke showed up, Han Solo was already frozen in Carbonite, and Lando was able to save the others without the Jedi. All Luke being there accomplished was him receiving an ass-whoopin' and the revelation that he was Darth Vadar's son.

I don't know why people are so dedicated to trying to smear the Jedi at any and every opportunity, but it's getting boring. Especially when all one needs to do to refute these claims is to just watch the movies.

Like I said in my earlier post, this author wants Rey to create an entirely new organization and just slap the name Jedi on it for branding rights.

[qvrcll]

college melodrama — IV.

summary: with the party a few hours ahead, ellie’s plan to pursue you is in motion. what is just a few hours of light hearted pining is soon to divulge into uncanny violence and incoherent whispers.

warning: cursing, couple stuff LOL, pining, violence, fighting, alcohol

a/n: they post again!! hurrah!! okay but seriously, i missed u all so much :,) this was so fun to get back to, so lmk how this was!! make sure to vote at the end: remember, each choice affects how your story with ellie goes!! :-)

It’s only a matter of hours before Naomi’s party — the thought of spending just enough time within that sweaty, frat-infused hub makes Ellie’s gut churn. But the freshness, the silver lining of your presence being there makes the decision worth-while. Makes it makes sense. She can’t help but be selfish — maybe ask for more of your time, already on your chat before she can compromise.

But things go off the roster when she actually sets her brilliant plan in motion. It’s almost comical, how bad she is at this… thing. This thing you make her feel, make her carve promises and broken breaths like some bony cartilage lodged jam-shut into her throat. She’s nervous, and her body thrums with questions, with feelings, with the emotional strength of a love-struck teenager. This is not a good look, she thinks, but it’s worth it.

You reach the party before you can complain again. The scent of sandalwood and poorly struck alcohol bottles meddles with the edge of your nose, pricks your senses with the promise of fun. Ellie looks over to you enthusiastically, something dancing in her eye when the two of you huddle over the threshold. Meanwhile, Dina makes something clear.

Ellie loses you in the crowd: no biggie. She’s had tougher situations. Her daydreams are convoluted in the image of you, so what tough luck is holding back this simple thing of following the trail of you like a blinded fox? But before she can keep up this agenda, she feels her phone buzz too hard for its own good.

It is not in Ellie’s best interests to panic. She’s reconfigured herself to not care. College has been tough and with its monthly roll of fresh shit to deal with, she’s grown bone chillingly stoic to the oddities that drift past her. But you — you’re far from odd. You’re of interest, a clear viewpoint she can pin against a storm of blue and brown and a haze that is prickly sweet. So, when she rounds the corner and sees you occupied with the fairly familiar Abby Anderson, with your lips etched with a frown and the onset of an argument forming, she launches herself into it. Head-first, unforgiving in her rudeness, pardon her.

“Excuse me — Y/N, there you are,” Ellie grins, a cheshire smile caked beneath that unrelenting gaze of hers. She approaches you like something of worth, of substance, and the mere action of her hand ghosting against the lower part of your back makes Abby’s eyebrows twitch with mirth.

“What, you got yourself a new girl to play with?” Abby means as a joke but it comes out harsh, words pressed with hate. You flinch, not meaning to but finding yourself disliking her tone — you’re not hers anymore and the crudity of her gaze makes you wither, rather than jump.

But before you can manage anything, Ellie finds it in herself to not toss the bullshit as play anymore.

“How about you fuck off?”

It was simple, something vulgar but straightforward in its essence. There was nothing standoffish about Ellie’s demeanour — even as she was standing here, collected in her converse and washed flannel that scratched the catch of her wrists as she balled them up, she appeared bigger than you felt. The pit of you stomach opens, gaping and squelching like a disgusting thing, truly, before Abby smirks, though there’s no humour in her air.

“Or what?”

“Wanna find out?”

There’s a pause, palpitation in the form of silence. And then, with no wait, a rude awakening is shredded in the movement of Abby’s fist, which makes its percussion clear against Ellie’s jaw, which sends the both of them flying for the rose coloured wood beneath.

By the time Dina rushes past the herd of bodies that have begun to collect in mitigated whispers, in tell-tale beginnings of videos and pictures, Ellie is laying on the floor, mouth watering with the scent of her own blood. She’s laid damage on Abby but only barely, who picks herself off of the girl and looks at you pathetically. Her mouth opens and sews itself shut, before her exit was as unfortunate as her entry, and you’re left with little air in you.

THE DECISION IS UP TO YOU: YOUR ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

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