#moderate your groups with an iron fist all you want

[genericpuff]

Guess it's time for me to give the people what they asked for- (FP spoilers ahead)

Hey y'all, thanks for waiting while I got my ducks in a row to put this lil' essay together. Life's been doing a lot of 180's and I haven't had as many spoons to allocate to LO crit and all that good shit. And honestly, half the struggle of putting these essays together is finding screenshots to back up my claims, the episodes are so cluttered with nonsensically-woven events that it often has me scrolling through multiple episodes wondering if I'm crazy and if the panels I remember even exist.

BUT I just got back from work, Halloween's right around the corner, and I'm feeling like talking about one of the witchiest LO characters of all.

Yep, we're talking Daphne.

(note: there are FastPass spoilers in this essay!)

Now I know - some of y'all in the UnpopularLO and LO crit communities really like Daphne because of her willingness to hold Thanatos accountable. But if you'll give me a few paragraphs, ima tell you why she's just as if not more problematic than some of the go-to problematic characters in LO (AND ima blow your mind with something I don't think y'all have even realized but once you see it, you can't unsee it).

Daphne, like many characters in LO, started off relatively strong. Though her inclusion was a little random, I liked it as a way to show Persephone's past friends from the Mortal Realm (and also it just went to show how obsessed Apollo was with Persephone prior to the whole overthrowing-Zeus retcon).

But that's about where my compliments end because as her inclusion in the plot went on, I came to realize that Daphne is 1.) yet another character in the plot whose only purpose is to be a victim, 2.) unable to practice what she preaches and forces onto other characters, and 3.) yet another character who's used as a Therapy Speak stand-in for Rachel to try and project herself onto.

Let's get the obvious aside - yes, she's basically just another Persephone clone. And by extension that does, in a really messed up way, make her another Rachel clone, but instead of serving the DDLG function of satisfying Rachel's weird but obvious hyperfixation on being a sugar baby (i.e. Persephone) she instead serves the function of being a holier than thou "I'm gonna recite self-help advice that doesn't actually apply to your situation" person, in the same vein as people who use Twitter as their handbook for catch-all moral behavior. Y'know the word... virtue signalling.

I think where Daphne first started to fall apart for me was her first serious interaction with Thanatos, and this is one that gets called out a lot. Daphne is talking about her issues trying to get Apollo's validation, and Thanatos is mentioning how upset he is over Persephone getting special treatment from Hades, when we get THIS little schpeel:

I'm sorry to break it to y'all, but she is NOT being insightful here. She's basically telling Thanatos what Rachel wants to say to her audience - "stop caring so much that Hades is a creepy old man taking advantage of a 19 year old girl in a corporate setting where there's obvious special treatment at play - you're supposed to ship them dammit!"

Neither do we, Thanatos, neither do we.

But think about it. Thanatos is an employee of Hades, one we've found out through both previous and future interactions is often berated and mistreated by Hades (retconned to be Daddy Issues, okay Rachel...) whose job is literally affected by internships, the same way it is in most corporate settings. Internships are incredibly competitive positions, ESPECIALLY in massive mega-corporate settings like the one run by the King of the Dead. There were undoubtedly more people way more qualified for the job. Especially considering little miss Persephone doesn't even know how to operate a computer.

No, you're not required to already 'know' everything during an internship, but there's a reason most internships are only open to students with some kind of transcript showing they're familiar with the work that's being expected of them. Persephone has NONE of that here, AFAIK she's in school for biochem, she has no experience managing shades or even turning on a bloody computer, and here she is, hired to work a job that she has no connection to or interest in besides Hera telling her to (which idk why Hera's even able to do that considering it's not her domain) and the money. Which she shouldn't even be receiving but does because of Hades favoring her for being cute.

I've seen a myriad of Daphne-like defenses of this, stating "well Thanatos is the God of the Dead, his job isn't necessarily affected by Persephone so he shouldn't give a shit."

Except he literally sits next to her.

If you've ever worked in a corporate setting or any kind of industry that utilizes internship programs, you very likely also know what it's like to get an intern who's clearly been hired due to favoritism or nepotism or some other bullshit reason that has nothing to do with the job itself. Intern or not, the skill level of other employees can and will affect your own job. If Persephone fucks up, that could mean problems for Thanatos, Minthe, and other employees under Hades' care. And Thanatos/Minthe/etc. should NOT have to be responsible for carrying her weight or teaching her how to do a job that she should have been qualified for when she got picked.

And, by the way, we can give further credit to Thanatos being bothered by this because we know that Thanatos has been working for Hades for centuries and he's witnesses Hades hire not one, not two, but three employees simply due to being cute or because of some made-up superfluous reason that Hades came up with on the spot. That we know of. Needless to say, HADES HAS A HISTORY OF HIRING PEOPLE ON THE SPOT WITH ZERO REAL QUALIFICATIONS.

(there are some obvious parallels between Persephone and Minthe but we're not gonna get into that in this essay)

Needless to say, if you had a boss who treated you like a doormat despite ABSOLUTELY NEEDING YOU TO MAKE MONEY AT ALL (remember that Thanatos is LITERALLY the god of the dead and Hades is the equivalent of the dead's accountant, Thanatos is not someone who is considered subservient to Hades, if anyone is working for anyone, it's the other way around) and had a history of hiring and firing women for no reason other than wanting to bone them? You'd be pretty pissed too.

And yet here comes Daphne with the oh-so-insightful "wHy dO yOu cArE" schpeel straight from the Twitter Handbook of Life Advice as if Thanatos doesn't stand to have his own job or life compromised by Hades' shitty behavior. Thanatos is fully in the right for raising an eyebrow at his boss - and later established, his father figure - constantly hiring unqualified hot young women to help manage the Underworld.

So that alone had me kind of rolling my eyes at Daphne. She's trying to take some kind of moral high ground without taking a moment in the SLIGHTEST to understand where he's coming from or the context of his situation, even though it's literally what he does for her.

But that's just the tip of the iceberg. We ain't done, folks.

Shortly after this, Daphne shows a clear interest in Thanatos but makes it clear she doesn't wanna date him to "fix" him, she wants him to "get his shit together."

This on its own was fine, I'm all for having more female characters who don't date the first guy who gives them empathy.

But then almost IMMEDIATELY afterwards, basically by the time we see her next, she's dating him anyways and goes ahead and says this shit:

Daphne, which is it exactly? Do you have self-respect, or are you seriously gonna try and 'fix' him when you literally just said to him that you weren't gonna be responsible for that? Pick a lane, for the love of god.

Now, once was bad enough, but she literally does it again in Episode 217. When Hades shows up to speak to Thanatos (in an attempt to find Hypnos) and Thanatos obviously IMMEDIATELY writes him off (as he should!) and Daphne just ?? stomps on Thanatos' boundaries entirely? ??

AND THEN SHE HAS THE NERVE

TO TWITTER SPEAK AT HADES

TELLING HIM TO LISTEN AND VALUE THANATOS' FEELINGS

AS IF SHE'S NOT COMPLETELY DISMISSING THANATOS' FEELINGS JUST TO TAKE SOME SUPERFLUOUS MORAL HIGHGROUND-

Man, seriously, fuck Daphne. If Persephone is Rachel's messed up way of having some kink fantasy self-insert, then Daphne is Rachel's equally messed up way of having her moral high ground talk-at-the-audience self-insert.

But hoo boy, that brings us to Persephone, Hades, and the inversion of their relationship juxtaposed against Daphne and Thanatos. This is that "once you see it" thing y'all have been waiting for.

And that begins once you ask yourself, who do Daphne and Thanatos remind you of?

Oh. Right.

Pink nymph-like character from the Mortal Realm with flowing hair who acts like they're better than everyone else and constantly gets away with shitty behavior? Check.

Blue/grey cthonic god with dominion over the dead, mommy/daddy issues, and banging Minthe? Check.

Obvious gap in how the two people in the relationship are presented, treated, and behave in LO's class system compared to everyone around them? Check.

Borderline toxic relationship dynamic in which one plays the Daddy Dom role and another plays the Little Girl role? Oh yeah, check.

But in Daphne and Thanatos' case, it's inverted.

Persephone is presented as a naive, in-over-her-head character who gets into a relationship with someone who speaks on her behalf and makes a lot of decisions for her.

And here we have Thanatos, a naive, in-over-his-head character who gets into a relationship with someone who speaks on his behalf and makes decisions for him- oop.

Daphne and Thanatos may as well just be Rachel's excuse to keep drawing Persephone x Hades fluff without it being Persephone x Hades fluff.

Same petty, tone deaf virtue-signaling dialogue. Same pink x blue aesthetic. Same roles in the comic's established class system. Same character arc that's reduced to being nothing more than a #metoo victim of assault from a man (the same man no less) all just to push their love interests' character arc and make them look better by comparison. Same creepy, toxic DDLG undertones projected from a creator who's proven to be into these power-imbalanced controlling relationship dynamics.

Daphne isn't 'empowering'. She's not 'mature.' She's yet another Rachel projection - Persephone but not Persephone - to talk at the audience with generic Therapy Speak while refusing to uphold the very virtues she's signaling. It's not a good thing that her greatest contribution to the plot was being another victim of Apollo.

The proof is all there. If you've still got a hint of doubt, look no further than the newest FastPass preview for Episode 219.

That's all I'm gonna say on that.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lore olympus #lore olympus spoilers #lmao rachel only posts previews to the FB FastPass group #and says not to share it outside of the group ??? #rachel baby this is the internet #moderate your groups with an iron fist all you want #people will still get into them easily

[tommysversion]

Beastly: Raider Era Joel Miller x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: you live in a small commune protected by a strong force of raiders. Every season, your people pay tribute for their protection. After lapsing in payment, your abusive father offers you as a human sacrifice. What you don't expect is for the leader of the gang, Joel, to not be as much of a beastly man as first thought.

A Raider Era Joel fic, loosely inspired by Beauty & The Beast.

CWs: references to abuse (physical), implied fear of SA, canon typical violence, implied age gap, sexual references, coarse language, smut for later chapters. (List will update with chapters)

Chapter Word Count: 3k

Thanks to @gab-thelamb-onthemoon & @joelsgirl for being beta readers & allowing me to infodump about this idea, ILY

Index: Part 2

It’s amazing, how long it took society to peak, in comparison to how easily it fell apart. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it sure burned in one. In a short fifteen years, since Cordyceps first spread globally, society has all but collapsed. 

Oh, sure, there are the QZs, where FEDRA rules with an iron fist. There are smaller settlements where people try to strive for a semblance of ‘normality’. 

But mostly? The world outside the military strict QZs has become lawless. It’s kill or be killed, serve or rule, protect or intimidate. 

Whereas some people have banded together for the greater good of humanity, for the continued survival of the species? Others have taken advantage of the new order of things, are only out for themselves and those they hold dear. 

Joel Miller falls into the latter category. 

Maybe once, before the outbreak, he had been a good man. Had had a strong moral compass, a good ethic. He’d been a family man, loved his daughter and his brother more than anything or anyone in the world. 

Then the world had gone to hell, taken his daughter from him, and something inside him had broken. It was as though a light had gone out inside him, turning his humanity off. 

Gone was the man who had made jokes and smiled easily. In his place was a man scarred and traumatised, who was capable of enormous acts of violence and brutality, who would survive at any and all cost, not for his sake, not really, but for his brother. The only family he had left. 

Joel had always been a natural leader, if somewhat reluctant. It had come easily to him, before the outbreak. He was always the damn union rep on site. Always the one people came to for advice, looked to for leadership. Not just Tommy, or colleagues he’d known for years either. He always ended up with an apprentice following him round like a chained puppy, asking questions, looking for guidance. 

Maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise at all that he had ended up the leader of this band of people, either. Some were misfits, those who were too anxious to try and venture to the nearest QZ and survive under FEDRA. Some were miscreants who preferred the more lawless lifestyle, who needed a leader so they didn’t venture into abject cruelty. Then there were those like him, who just wanted to survive. Keep going for whatever or whoever they had left. 

Joel didn’t necessarily want to live, but he was fucking good at it. 

Without his humanity, it made him a damn good leader. His group protected several small settlements, in exchange for supplies. Weapons. Whatever the fuck they wanted. 

It was a good deal… for his people. The infected didn’t venture this far out anymore, but the good people in those settlements didn’t need to know that, did they? Their living in fear was his bonus. It kept them in line, and it kept his people alive. 

Recently, one of the settlements fell to disease. Leaving just the one small community under his group’s thumb. The occupants aren’t particularly tough, or particularly smart, just ordinary people who have had the luck to survive behind moderately well constructed walls, the wits to bow to those stronger than them for protection. 

Only, their resources are running out, spread thin with the approaching winter…

Which is where you come in. 

--

You’re old enough to remember the world before. Maybe you hadn’t been an adult, so you hadn’t had to deal with things the older folks in your community grumble on occasion about missing - work, taxes (mostly something called a tax return), good liquor, supermarkets… 

But you do remember. 

You remember the world changing overnight. Remember years of struggling, clawing for survival, until this commune had finally put its walls up and hoped for the best. 

Then the infected had come, and you’d lost half your numbers. The raiders had taken advantage of the weakness in your people, taken out the infected… for a price. 

Now each quarter, your people paid ‘tribute’ to the group of men and women who kept the infected at bay. Really, it was a bribe to keep them from taking over your settlement. Every three months the same half dozen men would show up, fill their truck with supplies and weapons your people had gathered, desperately needed, and promise another three months protection for it. 

Nobody’s been attacked since the deal was struck. You guess that’s a good thing. Or there’s something they aren’t telling you. 

Your father is the closest thing to a mayor your community has. There aren’t enough of you to need a proper governing body beyond a handful of people, but somehow the task of leadership has fallen to him. Perhaps because nobody else wants to be labeled as the one who bows to the raiders. Or maybe it’s because the last mayor your town had was beaten to death by said raiders for non-compliance, and your father was the only one brave (stupid) enough to volunteer for the job after.

You aren’t stupid. You know a bribe for what it is. Only this quarter, you aren’t sure what the plan is. 

The crop yield has been relatively scarce this season. With winter approaching, the settlement doesn’t have much to offer. You’re not stupid, but you know it won’t be enough. 

Usually, you stay home when the raiders come for their tribute. Stay inside with the few children of the commune. 

This time is different. Your father is lacing his boots, throwing on his threadbare coat, when he springs it on you. 

“You’re coming too, this time. We need to show our numbers.” 

It doesn’t occur to you until you’re halfway to what passes as the town square that that’s the precise opposite of what your father usually says. That a show of strength is what got his predecessor killed. But you know better than to question him; he won’t shout at you, he’ll just be condescending, or more likely, won’t answer you at all.

You suppose your curiosity will have to wait, and hope he doesn’t get you all killed.

--

Joel usually sends half a dozen of his people to collect the tribute from the settlement they ‘protect’. It’s a thinly veiled intimidation, closer to extortion than anything else, but it keeps his people fed and lets them bully others, which some of his people need. 

But the last two seasons, their offerings have been slim at best, pissing the most restless of his people off. Joel has no issue with violence. No issue with killing people, or intimidation. But he also knows that starting a bloodbath in their supply settlement is a stupid idea, even if some of his men don’t. 

Which has led him to here. Two men sit in the truck, shoulder to shoulder. One sits in the tray, gripping the roof bar with one hand, a rifle dangling lazily from the other. 

Two others ride beside him, a little behind, in an arrow formation. It didn’t bother Owen to stay behind with the rest of the group. There’s better things he could be doing. If anyone was surprised at Joel deciding to go with them on this run? He hasn’t heard a word of it. 

If anything, they probably think it means he’s planning some sort of punishment for their friends in the settlement. Hell, if they don’t pay up? He’s not against it. 

It never ceases to amaze him just how pathetic these people are. He hasn’t visited the settlement personally in a year or so, but the occupants are still just as miserable. Just as downtrodden and fearful, hiding behind their shitty tin walls and the hope that his folks will protect them. It’s that fear that keeps his people fed, keeps these townspeople in line.

They don’t need to know that there are so few infected out here now, that Joel and his group are probably the biggest - if not only – threat remaining to them. Fear keeps them in line, and if they step out of line? Well, he and his gang aren’t above beating a reminder into them. It’s happened before.

The truck rolls to a stop behind him as they make their way to the centre of the settlement. He dismounts his horse, steps forward to greet the leader of the place. He’s met this man once before, the season after he took out the old mayor for trying to defy him. Beating a man to death isn’t pleasant to witness, but Joel had no problem with committing the act.

His replacement is a small, round man who always wears the same threadbare overcoat, the same twitchy air of nervousness around him, the same oily obedience.

How a man like that became what passes for mayor, Joel has no idea. He’s just as spineless as the rest, just as cowardly, eager to snivel and beg for protection, offering up whatever it takes to save his own skin. It’s a way to live, Joel supposes, but he would never stoop so low.

“Morris.” Joel greets the other man with a cold nod of his head, reaches out a gloved hand for him to shake. All formality. All pleasantries. As if the six men he’s brought with him aren’t capable of gunning down this entire settlement, if he so chooses. Hell, he could probably do it by himself. 

“I’m surprised to see you.” Morris admits as he steps forward from the small group of townsfolk. Joel’s gaze sweeps over them all; a few new faces, his eyes boring into each unfamiliar one. One bears a resemblance to the mayor. Interesting.

His gaze leaves the crowd, returns to the man in front of him.

“We need to have a little chat.”

--

“You don’t say a word. Nobody will benefit from your attempts at being a diplomat.” Your father cautions you as you reach the centre of town. It’s not a long walk. The settlement is barely big enough to call a commune, but still.

You don’t dignify him with an answer, just nod. There’s no point in trying to argue with him, try and prove that you’re an asset. He’s too set in his ways, too firm in the belief that women – especially young ones- should be seen and not heard.

So instead you keep your mouth shut, take your place. Watch the convoy come in. It’s different, being out on the street rather than peeking out a window when they roll in.

The usual truck, two men in the cab, one in the tray, slapping the roof to signal to stop. You’re not familiar enough with their faces, but you assume they’re the same men who come every quarter. Two men on horses, flanking a third.

It’s the third man who interests you, only slightly. Mostly because of the way your father tenses, the way some of the others shift nervously. You vaguely recognise this man; the leader of the group of raiders. The one who had no problem with violence, with getting rid of the old mayor when he didn’t want to play ball.

He’s older, maybe late forties, broad shouldered and has a sort of deadened glint to his dark eyes. Vaguely, you catch yourself wondering what he did, or what happened to him, to put that look in his gaze.

Those cold dark eyes take stock of the place, sweep across each member of your community. His gaze pauses on you, very briefly, flickers to your father then back, recognition. Then he looks away, back to your father.

“We need to have a little chat,” the unknown man says, “your quota has been low, Morris.”

Even in the cold, you can see your father start to sweat. He’s no great hero; his leadership perches precariously on his willingness to bow to whatever this gang of raiders wants. There’s no way of fighting them, and quite frankly? There are worse things out there.

“We’ve had a hard few seasons… Maybe we can make it up in spring?” Your father suggests, trying to sound complacent, apologetic. Mostly, it just sounds desperate.

You wonder if the leader of the gang thinks so, too.

“Now, Morris, you’re already short. Have been for the last two seasons. Maybe if we’d had this little chat earlier, I’d be more inclined to accept the request, but, well… winter’s on its way. It’s hard out there, and these walls you have are so flimsy… anything could happen.”

Your father’s face blanches, clearly aware he’s stepping on toes that shouldn’t be stepped on.

“We have… some supplies in reserve. You can take from there.”

It shouldn’t even surprise you, that he offers up the town’s emergency stockpile to save his own skin, probably thinking of his predecessor. It bothers you, though, makes your skin crawl to see the men from the gang open the barn where the supplies are kept, start hauling them into the back of the truck. Those supplies are for emergencies. For the children, the elderly, the sick. Maybe that’s why you open your mouth.

“Those supplies are for our elderly. Our children.”

The look your father gives you is piercing, promising violence, a sharp retribution later, but you don’t care.

“Excuse my daughter, Joel. She doesn’t understand the way things work, likes to talk when the men are talking.”

You expect the gang leader – Joel – to agree, to ignore you. Instead, he turns that depthless gaze onto you.

“What would you have me do, hm? We have a deal, you know that.” It’s unspoken what he’s implying – he has people relying on him, too.

You’re smart enough to know that it’s a rhetorical question.

“Besides.” Joel turns his attention to the truck, shakes his head. “Even with your stockpile, you’re short. Considerably so. Maybe we should stick around. See why your productivity is so low.”

The threat is implicit. Maybe it’s the threat. Maybe it’s anger at you for speaking out. Or maybe it’s the simple fact that your father is a piece of shit. Still, you don’t expect what happens next.

--

Joel doesn’t want to stick around this small town, with its cowed population and snivelling misogynist of a mayor. He’d rather take what they are owed and go, but they’re up short once again. Not by much, but it’s the principle of the matter. Of making sure Morris knows his place, knows that he and Joel are in no way equals.

He projects the very image of an alpha male, broad and cocky, one hand resting on the pistol at his hip. Casually threatening, and he knows Morris is thinking of the idiot before him. Maybe he should just shoot him, see whether someone smarter replaces him. Smarter and less irritating.

Maybe the other man can see how easily he’s contemplating his death.

“Wait. Wait. I have another offer.”

Joel raises an eyebrow.

“And what could you possibly have, Morris? As you’ve said, you’ve had a difficult harvest, you’ve had to break into your emergency supplies. What do you possibly have to trade to save your own skin?” He makes zero effort to hide his disgust.

“Her.” Morris jerks a shaky thumb to the younger woman beside him, the one who’s clearly his daughter, the one who spoke up.

Joel is so startled by the suggestion that he almost outright refuses.

“What?” It comes out blunter than he planned, as if he’s misheard. Because there’s no way that this idiot is offering up his own daughter as some sort of human sacrifice.

“Take her. I don’t care what you do with her, she’s a complete disappointment. Maybe you can teach her some manners, beat her into submission, God knows I’ve tried. Take her and give us immunity until next fall. Let us rebuild our crops.”

Joel looks past Morris to you, small and nondescript. Then again, everyone is small to him. You look like someone’s just pulled the ground out from under you. Shocked. Horrified. He knows then what you’re thinking, what you’re assuming will happen to you. But he also knows now what happens to you if he leaves you here.

Joel Miller may have lost his humanity, but he was a father once. And he can’t imagine ever, ever offering his own child up as a human sacrifice to save his own skin.

And suddenly, it doesn’t matter about making a quota. What matters is getting you as far away from this place as possible. Away from sharp words and balled fists. Because somewhere, somewhere, buried deep down, a portion of the man he once was is stirring.

“The end of next fall. A year.” Joel agrees, tries not to watch the way Morris shoves you forward to what could well be your doom.

You’re shaking. Can’t even form a protest, for all the good it would do.

Sacrifice. Tribute. Offering. As if you’re no more than another object to be traded. Your father doesn’t even flinch as Joel seizes your wrist, pulls you towards his horse.

“Get on.” His voice is low, but not menacing. If anything he sounds almost sorry. It has to be some sort of trap; you’re certain that when you’re back at their base camp, he’ll have no problem with cruelty, with putting his hands on you. Forcing you, if the mood takes him. Maybe it’s better to just do as he demands.

Shakily, you climb up onto the horse, sit awkward and uncomfortable, tensing when he swings himself up behind you, broad arms keeping you in place as he seizes the reins, gives a nod to his men, who finish loading up and pile back into the truck, onto their own horses.

He throws a final derisive look to your father. The man who sold you.

“One year, Morris. Better get your shit together.” Then he nudges the horse, and rides you both out of the only home you’ve known for years.

#my writing #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #raider joel #rue beastly

[sleepy-bunbun-ace]

in the prsk white day universe x persona au, there are two main powerhouses in the region.

the kingdom of dahlia and the mages of freedom.

of course there are many other kingdoms, but the kingdom of dahlia is the largest and strongest of them all.

it's a large kingdom with twisting roads and tall buildings. not even those who've lived there their whole lives know their way around outside of the areas they grew up in.

it's a very traditional kingdom where tradition overrules all else. especially during holidays. if you are caught breaking the traditions, you will be arrested by the guards and serve up to two years in the dungeon.

music is especially precious in the kingdom. classical music reigns supreme and none of the nobles, especially king harumichi aoyagi, are merciful whenever they find someone who breaks the rules of music.

the lower-class live in fear of ever being found breaking the rules. families have been separated and broken for many years.

king harumichi rules with an iron fist and it seems his son, crown prince ayumu, will follow in his footsteps. prince fumihito leads the training of the new guards while also being the boss of the white knights. he's also in charge of finding the missing aoyagi prince, toya.

the two major noble families in this story are the otori family and the asahina family.

the otori family is the strongest after the royal family, mostly due to the oldest daughter being married to the crown prince. they are in charge of the entertainment in the kingdom and are usually gone for days, weeks, months at a time, leaving the youngest alone. it is said that she wears a mask for the nobles, doing what they want, yet sneaks out to be with the peasants and be her true self. otori emu with her false brown hair never confirms or deny the rumors

the asahina family are a moderately powerful noble family, but asahina chiyo wants more power. as the story progresses, she becomes closer to the royal family and soon she offers the hand of her young daughter to prince fumihito who agrees. she wants her family name to become the most powerful one in the kingdom. she's so obsessed with her goal that she doesn't notice the marionette she made of her daughter is taking control of her own strings.

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

the mages of freedom are quite mysterious. nobody knows who is a part of this large group that is against the kingdom.

it's made up of multiple people from a wide variety of backgrounds. from peasants, to merchants, to nobles, to even crown princes and princesses. they all make up the mages of freedom.

their main goal is to destroy the kingdom of dahlia, the center of corruption. many of those who joined the mages of freedom joined because the kingdom ruined their lives in one way or another.

the big five have the most will to enact their revenge no matter what.

kaito- his wife was executed for breaking the rules too many times. he became an assassin to get back at the crown prince who ordered the execution.

miku- her family was a powerful noble family who were imprisoned and exiled for treason, so they say. she was the only one spared. she joined kaito after escaping the kingdom.

kamishiro rui- an alchemist who was once a white knight himself. he's seen the horrors of prince fumihito's orders and what those in the white knights do to the innocent. he'll do anything to stop them.

nobody knows the reasons as to why saki and the dragon tamer joined but everyone knows it's personal.

while they preach for freedom, it does not mean they are free from corruption. far from it, in fact.

they have committed some terrible horrors as well. the slaughtering of villages who didn't (couldn't) break free from the kingdom, the near destruction of many kingdoms, even taking away children from their families.

they are just as bad as those who they hate.

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

it is a well hidden secret within the kingdom of dahlia. a revolution is imminent. your social links will all be found helping out with the cause. be careful, wildcard, for your

world hasn't even started yet

future you composed with regret

is about to begin.

#ace rambles about aus #the fool can world build (sort of) #through mirrors and shadows au #project sekai #prsk au #it's not mentioned but mafuyu has black hair in this au #don't worry she and emu get their normal hair colors back #not saying how but i think you all can guess #kaito shion #hatsune miku #rui kamishiro #saki tenma #toya aoyagi #emu otori #mafuyu asahina #hehe hope you guys like the last part :D #if i could actually put some effort into this i could make this into a fic #but i don't wanna make it have multiple endings like the persona games do #and i'm not as experienced with full time commitment to long fics #i'll just settle on little snippets and art concepts for now

[psychicdreamsuit]

The Talk Over Dating

Casey Deidrick is dating Jahan Yousaf. Online dating has quickly change into the number one selection for Herpes singles to meet people to date. Jess' comfort movie of alternative isn't "Ghost," however "Dirty Dancing," which she watches on repeat after her breakup. Greater than you'll suppose. More than most individuals dwell on, because I can. Fortunately, most individuals do care about style a minimum of a little bit. Fernando Colunga’s girlfriends: Prior to Blanca Soto, he had not less than six relationships. Logan Lang had at the least a number of earlier relationships, in keeping with CelebsCouples. Yes, in just a few different ways. Yes, it is feasible! As little as possible. It is rather possible that he remains to be upset about a divorce and he isn't able to get severe. Greater than is sensible, given my income and the instability in my business, however nonetheless not much. Rarely. That is, even for those who placed on a plain pair of blue denims and a white T-shirt, and even when neither of them suits very effectively and has never been ironed, you're still making an announcement, even if that statement is, "I actually do not care how I look. Truly, I have given up. Fie upon society and its materialistic values!" That's why whether or not you care about type or not, type cares about you, and you're going to must face it sooner or later!

Blue jeans and a T-shirt! Think you'll be able to handle it? I don't think men's hair works that way. It feels good to know which you can dress your physique in a means that is flattering and that sends a positive and appealing message to folks round you. Because Phoenix is the capital metropolis, a business mecca, and a well-liked tourist vacation spot, it does have its fair share of crime as you realize. The second thing you could know is: it’s completely legal to search out an ideal match, to meet and marry her, no matter what services you’re using. Following a two-month American tour, Lean released his debut album Unknown Memory in late summer time 2014. On February 25, 2016, Lean released his second studio album, Warlord. Which of the following places would you like to visit? I like to speak them out. I moderately speak with my fists, to be sincere.

If you happen to were to explain your taste in trucks to us, we'd find yourself understanding your persona traits better than your siblings. In order to assist customers discover one another, EliteSingles makes use of a personality check. Games: At Heart to Heart you will see our members are critical about discovering the appropriate individual. Let's assist you find the fashion that is best for you! It's good to look good and to attract the best kind of attention. ” he added, before accusing the proper Stuff of being an asset of the “deep state”. Additionally, Ashley Madison has a journey option the place members can search their upcoming location upfront. It was a actually superb experience, and that i beloved that they had been my good travel buddy. You merely need to be somewhat motivated to venture towards those avenues that might be a clever spot for meeting anyone new. My job offers me all I want. Do you at the moment have your dream job? 1. Lastly, have fun!

Someone cool and fun who gets me. It will take a fair quantity of work for somebody to arrange a faux profile on SilverSingles. חשפניות להזמנה  The first 25 million generations in each run were discarded as burn-in, and the highest Posterior Density statistics for each parameter were calculated over a posterior pattern of one thousand states using Tracer 1.5. Moreover, as we noticed a powerful discrepancy between BEAST and the opposite strategies relating to substitution price estimations (see beneath), we also launched BEAST with the cleaned knowledge set where identical sequences had been grouped (891 taxa), and using the PhyML rooted tree topology which was stored constant all alongside the computations, solely sampling the branch lengths and mannequin parameters. Moreover, the reason for a lady to seek a international husband can be the truth that there are not any decent males left where they stay. There are lots of things to do on this lively metropolis, including enjoyable at a seaside resort, taking in a theatrical efficiency, and soaking up the sun. Unfortunately, the lack of subscription fees is not always an indicator, and there remains to be danger which you can lose a lot of time if select to rely on a low-high quality webpage. Free membership leaves a number of options for the user even and not using a paid subscription.

[betweenmuses]

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍.

knowing  your  partner  well  can  potentially  make  writing  a  lot  easier,   repost, don’t reblog !!

TAGGED BY: @trashedrps & @amourpoetique

TAGGING: I am so late to this so won’t tag anyone specifically, but seriously if you’re seeing this feel free to do it - I love getting to learn more about everyone!

▻  BASICS.

name: Heather

pronouns: she/her

preference of communication: The messenger on Tumblr works best.  I have a discord but never really got into it. 

single / taken: single mom (14 year old daughter ouch that makes me sound damn old)

▻    THREE FACTS.

𝙞. I was a child of the 90′s, born in ‘86 (if you do the math it puts me at 35 ugh), so of course I feel the 90′s was the absolute BEST decade.  I love the music, cartoons, movies, and just about everything (except some of the fashion) so it definitely is a huge inspiration to me / keeps me happy.  I’m the behavior interventionist (fun job title) who has 90′s cartoon stickers all over her binder she has to carry while collecting data.  It’s fun, the nostalgia makes me happy, and it makes the kids happy too when they catch a reference.  It’s fun and I enjoy letting that kid side of me out.

𝙞𝙞.  I LOVE attending concerts!  I usually don’t care the genre (country is my least favorite though i’ve still seen plenty of country musicians live), but there’s just something about being live with a group of people all rocking out to the same band on stage.  A few of my favorites i’ve been to are Blink 182 (i’ve been to two of theirs - the best was when Tom was still in the band), The Offspring, Simple Plan, Vanilla Ice (I actually hugged him and was front row for that concert hahah just a few years ago), Bush, MuteMath, Charlie Puth, Shawn Mendes, Britney Spears (my first concert when I was a pre-teen), and honestly the list can go on for miles.  I am attending a concert later this summer in Jersey (Sum 41) and it’s going to be my first one since covid struck so i’m beyond excited!

𝙞𝙞𝙞. Before I started writing indie rp characters I enjoyed writing in groups, but only if I moderated them.  I maybe applied and was accepted into 3-4 that weren’t of my own creation, and I hated how cliquey they were so I ended leaving them soon after joining.  At least when I was an admin I was able to handle cliquey members, and I did just that - I ruled with an “iron fist” and the groups were the absolute best!  I never wanted any member who came into my group to feel like they were left out, and kept open lines of communication with everyone.  I still absolutely LOVE talking to people, so please hit me up ever to chat / plot / whatever. 

▻    EXPERIENCE.

I started way back on proboards in a Degrassi : the next generation group (I played Spinner).  It was absolutely ridiculous, my replies were maybe a sentence long, but at the same time I fell in love with writing all thanks to that.  I moved on to create a few groups of my own on proboards, shifted to invisionfree when that became a thing, and then jcink hit the scene and I bounced on over to there.  I have been on Tumblr for a handful of years now, though I have only recently done indie writing for the last (maybe) two?  I usually stuck to groups, and if anyone remembers @islandoferos or @hausofperses those were my brain children!  I built them from the ground up and both were VERY successful on here (running years at length which was insane).  I absolutely loved those groups but after they died the first time anytime I tried to reopen just wasn’t the same, and eventually the group scene wasn’t for me so I switched to indie and fell absolutely in love with the freedom!

▻    SUB-GENRES.

I absolutely love any / all horror plots, so if anyone loves that sub-genre come at me and let’s stir some shit up.  I played @thegrillmatt for years (Matt Donovan - TVD), but have also played a few of the other characters from that series as well.  I absolutely loved Once Upon A Time and wrote under @theregalqueen and @thehookedpirate (I also wrote as Tinkerbell but that account is long gone).  I’ve done Supernatural and love it, vampires i’m pretty good with, and basically am willing to at least TRY anything once (unless I don’t know the fandom in which case I would hate to butcher it). 

▻    PLOTS vs. MEMES

I like both honestly!  Sometimes it’s fun to hash out plots, but other times it’s awesome getting to just throw up a meme and see where it takes you.  The only problem I have is when my plots sometimes go sideways - my writing partner and I will be on the same page, absolutely love what we come up with, but then afterwards we’re writing and our characters take over and just have at it themselves (which we end up loving the direction they take themselves even more than the one we tried to provide so it works out).  So yeah, let’s plot shit up, but don’t be mad if things go sideways (I swear it’s more fun that way). 

▻    LONG OR SHORT REPLIES.

I prefer replies with depth, but that doesn’t always require them to be super lengthy.  I do prefer at least a paragraph to work with, but if you’re not up to writing that I do try my best to match you (sometimes I lose muse quicker for shorter threads though just to give you a heads up).  I personally ramble and have fun doing it, so as long as you don’t mind long replies then I think we’d be a good match.  Sometimes I end up even drawing more out of people in terms of their responses (which is awesome), and then sometimes I find muns who force me to write better to keep up with their amazing abilities.  Quality not quantity is what I usually say!

▻    BEST TIME TO WRITE

Mornings right when I wake up most definitely.  Sometimes throughout the day, but if i’m working there’s only a small chance i’ll be up to writing after I get home.  My muse, and brain in general, is much better off in the morning!

#( out of chaos | heather speaks ) #this took me entirely longer than I thought to do xD I can't help but ramble even ooc #i give up

[damnusillygoose]

Somebody is jealous( jellal’s edition)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13786166/2/somebody-is-jealous

for erza’s edition:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13786166/1/somebody-is-jealous

Thank you sapphireblue2007 for suggesting me to write jellal's version.

Disclaimer: these characters are rightfully owned by hiro sensei.

Somebody is Jealous (Jellal's edition)

Well, Jellal perceives himself as a very liberal and progressive person.

He wasn't a possessive person. No, not at all- Even in his relationship with Erza, he believed in giving ample space for growth and self-introspection to each other. He certainly didn't believe in getting jealous when one's partner gets some excessive attention from the opposite gender. Nope, not at all, he was a progressive person, wasn't he? He didn't want to smother her with suffocation. Jellal was aware of the fact that his woman was a strong person who didn't need anyone to save her. She was her own person and stood up for what she believed in. That's how he viewed relationships- a sweet added bonus to one's life, separate from a person's purpose in life.

Yet,

He felt horrified, as he realised, he was shamelessly contradicting his very own beliefs. His eyes twitched in mild irritation, well not exactly mild- only slight, that's how he soothed his not so jealous soul, as he watched the scene before him unfold.

His beloved was sitting comfortably on one of the chairs kept near the bar, eating her sweet dessert in contentment, oblivious to the lusty stares that eyed her glorious exposed thighs and cleavage. There were men hovering around her, drooling repugnantly.

Erza was a beautiful woman. It was an established fact. Not only did she win various beauty pageants, but she also attracted scores of men who simped after her and bolstered her as their 'waifu'!

Jellal was fucking replete with fury when he came to learn about this obnoxious verbiage. What a derogatory term! He opined. How dare they lust after Erza and claim her as their 'waifu'?! well, typically he was doing the same. But he was her partner and it's pretty healthy in a relationship to be intimately attracted to your partner! Yep, he reasoned with his conscience.

It was no secret that men secretly/openly lusted after females who were fairly popular. Given fairy tail's reputation, they were inglorious for being rambunctious all over the continent. This shouldn't come as a surprise to Jellal that Erza was kind of a national crush of Fiore. She even got disgusting offer letters from rich officials asking her to be their mistress. Every single person, be it a man or a woman, acknowledged her regal presence. Wherever they went, people were in awe of her. She was a beautiful woman, confident and sassy, along with a splendid personality. Who wouldn't be attracted to such an amazing person?

Analysing her fan following, he was sure of the fact that Erza must have dated some men in the past. However, He gasped in utter disbelief when he got to know that despite of the attention she received; she never laid her eyes on another man. They were reserved for him. Always.

He was her first man, the first man who held her hand, the first man who witnessed her vulnerable side, her first kiss, the one who took her virginity, the one she would like to start a family with and the only one who she would devote her heart to.

Forever.

That gave him a superior complex over all those degenerates who hated him for stealing their waifu.

Her devotion made him feel extremely fortunate, to get a woman who would choose him over everything else.

But that didn't mean that he couldn't get jealous.

'Oi chad, snap out from your murderous intent, will ya?'

'Laxus.'

'What happened? Why are you in such a bad mood?', Laxus raised his eyebrows in amusement. It was fun teasing Jellal especially when he was in a foul mood.

'Jelly-chan is jealous because other men in the party are eyeing Erza ravenously!', Meredy chimed in the scene, humming a tune under her breath almost nonchalantly.

Laxus let out a nasty cackle as he smashed his beer pint against the wooden table they currently occupied. Meredy joined in with her sniggers; annoying Jellal in his misery.

'Cheer up Jelly chan, if you brood so much, you will end up getting wrinkles quickly and look almost 20 years elder to Erza!'

'Stop calling me Jelly chan, Meredy!'

'Why? I think that name suits you a lot Jellal.'

Oh no.

The trio turned around to acknowledge the owner of this sardonic comment.

Erik approached the group with a wide smirk plastered on his face, much to Jellal's discontentment.

What a great timing. Now they will gang up to bully me.

'Say Jellal, want to murder those assholes? I could feel your malignity from the far end of the hall, reverberating louder than Gajeel's singing shit'

'I wouldn't go that far, they are just harmless flies'

Actually, he could.

'Then why are you getting so hot-headed over those harmless flies?', Meredy smiled knowingly.

'I am not.'

'oh boss! Stop lying with your pathetic ass!'

'I am not lying Erik!'

Erik scoffed at his reply. He didn't even try to hide it.

'Then what do you plan on doing chad boy? Just sit in a corner like a lost puppy and watch as those men eye your woman?', laxus joined in the conversation, adding oil to the fuming spark.

'I can't pause to throw a stone at every dog that barks. Plus, Erza is a strong woman. I shouldn't stick my nose where it isn't needed. I think she is capable of handling this herself.'

But actually, he was trying his best not to jump in the scene and take her away from those bastards but he didn't want to appear as a jealous freak who had no control over his irrational aspect.

'of course, she is Jellal', Meredy reasoned,' but a woman, no matter how strong she is, would love to be spoiled by her man and feel protected. That doesn't mean you are undermining her strength. It's called chivalry.'

'…'

'What about ramming some hot iron rods up in their assholes?', laxus had no chill at all.

'Laxus your speech is so vulgar', Jellal cringed.

'Not as vulgar as your mind, boss'

'Erik, listen up- '

'it's okay Jellal', Meredy patted his back sympathetically, 'You are always harsh on yourself. You don't have to berate yourself so much. Being jealous is a sign of affection after all.'

'Really?', he raised his eyebrows in suspicion.

'Well, when exercised in moderation. Don't become Juvia though.', Laxus grimaced in exasperation.

'I just-I can't handle those people who eye her like she is their personal property!'

'Oohoohoo, finally the lover boy is being honest!', laxus slapped his hand against jellal's back harshly.

Jellal ignored his remark and chose to focus upon what Erza was doing.

Erza, unfortunately, was already surrounded by random men drooling over her assets while he was busy merry making with his guild mates.

He was pissed. He was fucking pissed.

He clenched his fist in impuissance until his knuckles turned white. He let out a shaky breath, biting his lips, trying his best not to eradicate their existence by casting sema right at this moment

'Erza-sama, I know this beautiful villa by the country side that I can rent for you. Would you like to witness that scenic beauty? I can make the arrangement just for the two of us.'

'uh, no thank you. I am not interested, I am busy at the moment with my ongoing missions but I would certainly take-out time to visit this said place with my friends and my boyfriend', Erza exaggerated the last part to make this pathetic pervert clear of the fact that she wasn't interested in his offer.

'He doesn't need to know'

'When I said I won't go, I won't go. Please learn to respect a woman.'

She was already seething at this moment, ready to requip in her armour to beat the shit out of these perverts but she held herself back. This was an important party for her guild as many magic council officials appeared to discuss some important matters with master Makarov.

'Erza-sama!', another pervert chimed in, 'what about-!

'My honeyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!'

Erza felt a shiver travelling down her spine even before she could react from the horror of hearing his voice. She didn't need to see who this abhorrent creature was. She didn't even acknowledge him as a person. Ichiya had already latched himself around her leg giving it a wild sniff, trespassing all boundaries of her private space.

This is it. This was her limit.

She was shaking wild. Her fingers were itching from wrath as she tried to remove him from her. These men latched themselves upon her despite being firmly rejected by her. She was being polite and considerate of her guild. That's the only reason she somehow tolerated their creepy remarks. She desperately searched for familiar eyes through the crowd that was bustling from the onset of vibrant ebullience. She grew impatient by every single moment when she failed in her search to find them. That's when she felt a presence behind her. The eyes she was searching for were already looking down from their vantage but not at her. She followed his eyes to find them glued on Ichiya.

Jellal got hold of Ichiya's hand and ruthlessly broke him apart from Erza's legs, not caring for a single second where his poor ass landed.

'Ichiya-san, that's a unique way of greeting someone. It could very well qualify as harassment you know', Jellal hissed menacingly, walking in front of Erza to make a defensive guard around her.

Jellal was a master at hiding his emotions and maintaining a stoic demeanour but Erza could still look beyond that very well.

He appeared perfectly placid but he wasn't.

His eyes bellowed bloodlust. He was growling with belligerence.

He was not going to let these repulsive hands touch the body that he revered so much.

The rest of the crowd started to disperse, succumbing to the impingement Jellal displayed, while laxus, Meredy and Erik watched the scene in awe. That's the impact Jellal's presence wielded.

There was a limit to which this man could tolerate bullshit after all. This was Jellal, who was fiercely protective of the woman he loved.

Erza snickered to herself smugly seeing the crowd become frail upon his arrival. These were some spineless cowards who weren't even half the man her Jellal was.

Jellal blissfully ignored the crowd that was whispering his name with resentment, something along the lines of 'their waifu'

He looked at Erza, taking in a deep breath of relief as he put his hands over her shoulders securely.

'Well gentlemen, I just remembered that my boyfriend and I have some work to do, if you will excuse us.' Erza stood up from her chair and bowed her head signalling her departure as she grabbed hold of jellal's hands, leading them across the hall through the exit door. Jellal looked at his guild mates who were giving him smug smiles and thumbs ups.

After exiting the guild, Jellal let out a sigh as they strode further away from that crowd. He still was shaking, his hysteria urging him to go back and beat the shit out of those bastards. He tore his thoughts away from the former events and looked sideways at the enchanting woman walking by his side.

'This dress really looks nice on you.'

'Thank you, sweetheart', Erza smiled and turned her face to give him a chaste peck on his cheeks. 'But I think I will opt for a less revealing outfit next time for a formal party like this'

'Why?'

'tch, didn't you see for yourself what happened today?'

'Don't fret about those assholes, just wear what you want', he snaked his arm around her waist protectively to pull her closer to him.

Jellal rarely cursed, that meant he was infuriated right now.

'Jellal', she whispered lovingly, taking his face in her hands, 'look at me'

He locked his gaze with her, facing her completely. His arms gently fondled her waist, pulling her entirely towards himself.

She leaned into him, melting like butter.

'I love you Jellal.' She brought his face towards hers until their foreheads were touching each other, 'Thank you for helping me back then. I was really helpless'.

They closed their eyes and sighed in synchronisation. She felt his arms locking her into a tight embrace, clutching the fabric of her dress.

'I just…..couldn't help myself when I saw them degrading you like that.' He felt the weight of her hands shifting down towards his neck, near his sensitive spot which only she knew about, caressing it to calm him down.

'Thank you love, but don't over-exert yourself over this issue, this isn't worth your time and effort', she looked at him tenderly. Jellal was such a worrywart but she loved him the same.

'yeah…you are right', he leaned into her, nuzzling his nose with hers, her sweet scent taming his raging heartbeat down, 'I love you too'

It's almost been a year since they started dating and obviously they never hesitated to show their love to each other- verbally, physically or emotionally, but Erza would never get tired of Jellal saying 'I love you' to her. She had dreamed about it so long, she yearned about it ever since she realised her feelings for him, she would never take his confessions for granted. It still had the same impact on her as the first time he poured his heart out to her.

Such was their affection for each other-always raging against the odds.

The hooting of the owls could be heard in the depth of the night. A sudden breeze struck her form as she shivered from the lack of her clothing, she had worn a simple flowy dress, not deemed to be fit in a chilly weather.

'it's getting cold Erza', Jellal pointed out as he draped his coated over her shoulders, 'let's go home'.

She hummed lightly in solace as she felt his lips softly touch her forehead. She entwined her hand with his as they started treading towards the path that led to their small cottage, their personal heaven.

'Can you make me a strawberry smoothie with vanilla ice cream?', she asked him tentatively, testing her waters.

'I thought you wanted to curb your midnight snacking'

'But jelllaaaaaaaaaaaal!', she wailed in desperation, 'dealing with those perverts drained my energy!'

'I can always make a bowl of fruits oats for you.'

'Noooooooo! That's way too heathy!'

'Okay how about this?', he tried to reason with her, 'I'll make milk oats for you with honey and loads of freshly cut strawberries. Sounds like a good deal to me, what do you think?'

She thought about the offer for a moment. It did actually sound like a good deal. She knew she kind of gave in to her midnight sugar cravings. Milk oats were a heathier option.

She pouted and tried to act a little spoiled, 'only if you bribe me.'

'What a scandal! The great titania is asking for a bribe!', he nudged her shoulder playfully and she huffed in response to his actions, 'what are your demands?'

'You need to pepper me with as many kisses as I ask you for!'

' My, My, I was already planning on giving you a thousand kisses when we reach home, don't worry about that', he replied as he gave her a wink making her blush profusely.

If anyone heard them conversing in this manner, their eyeballs would pop out from their eye sockets. They were incredible mages, well versed with the ethics of professionalism. They completed their tasks seriously but when they were alone, it becomes a different story.

A/N: if you liked my story please leave a review and do check out my works as well.

Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Keep loving Jerza!

#jerza #fairy tail #fairy tail jerza #jellal fernandez #jellal x erza #erza scarlet #crime sorciere #fairy tail laxus #Meredy

[sasskarian]

I know you're not exactly a DA blog anymore... But... I just finished DA2 for the very first time and, and. I got myself Inquisition with all DLCs. I need to know what happens. I want the poor baby Cullen to be happy :(

Nonnie, I am still at my heart very much a DA blog (and Mass Effect; I just tend to smear new obsessions everywhere. Like finger painting). I curate my experience as much as I can due to the fandom being shit, but my love for DA is strong and steady. 

The best thing I can say is, play through the game and DLCs. (Tho suggested order is Jaws > Descent > Trespasser) I promise you, Cullen has the option of being happy. I wouldn’t write about it if I didn’t see those paths, and at least some of them are canon. 

I know what you mean, tho. Cullen is, to some of my friends’ dismay, near and dear to my heart. He’s my canon quiz’s romance, for many reasons. The truth is, I struggle with the fandoms’ interpretations of him and was just talking about this with my DA/FO/ME bestie @asaara-writes the other day. I think a lot of Cullen’s trauma is easily missed or overlooked in favor of louder plots (like Fenris’s, who doesn’t get hated on nearly so much for his hatred and distrust of mages, or Anders who hates Templars and is lauded for it. If I see another ANDERS WAS RIGHT banner, I’m gonna overclock somebody’s capacitors)

(Pardon me, I’ll throw this under a cut because wall of text, but I have some got-damn Opinions on Cullen and how the fandom treats him)

But for me, I’m neither in the “Cullen is poor bab who never did anything wrong uwu” or the “Cullen is a horrible bastard and should be set afire” camp. I walk a more moderate line, and here’s why:

I have a Cullen. 

My fiance, he’s... so much like Cullen that it breaks my heart. Military vet, disillusioned with his desire to do good in the world and the realities of corruption and power abuse. Substance abuse issues, and recovery from addiction. Said some bad things/had bad opinions when he was younger due to abuse by certain groups of people, and has since reformed and is trying to continue changing. Abuse survivor. Blood on his hands from his career. Trying his best to find his way in a world that he doesn’t understand. So I see the similarities, and I live with the reality of what that kind of history and life is like. 

Cullen was a fresh-faced 18 year old in the Kinloch Circle (however old his in-game image looks, he was canon 18-20). Which, by canon, was one of the less problematic, more lenient Circles (though you have to have Mage origin to find that stuff out). I don’t think he’d been a Templar long at that point. And he joined the Templars out of a desire to do good in the world. His examples of Templar behavior were those stationed in a small village, who had more leniency and less lawkeeping duties. Honnleath was tiny, and quiet. I’m going on assumption here, on my own history of small towns vs larger cities, that there wasn’t much evidence of power hunger and abuse an eight year old would notice.

Note that he remains kind and even remorseful at some of his duties (for instance, having to attend Harrowings) even under a hateful man like Greagoir.

When Uldred takes over the Circle and kills everyone, Cullen is the last left. He watches possessed mages and demons run wild in his home, killing and torturing his friends. If you’re a mage origin, he talks about how the demons used his feelings and affection for you, inappropriate though they were, to torment him. It’s implied through dialogue that at least some of those demons sexually abused him. 

Yes, in his panic and fresh trauma, he begs the Warden to kill any mages found left in the Circle. I wonder why. Tumblr at large acts like the only way for PTSD and trauma to be exhibited is through cowering and nightmares, but it’s well known among people who have PTSD (including myself) that outrage, hair trigger tempers, and anger issues are as common as crying jags and insomnia. 

After the resolution of Broken Circle, Cullen is reassigned to Kirkwall. Arguably, this is the worst possible Circle he could have been sent to in the entirety of the goddamn world. Not only is Kirkwall famous for increased blood mage activity (both due to history and also due to Templar behavior), which is one of his trauma-groups, but Meredith hates mages, and rules over them with an iron fist. She is fucking crazy, and whether her past makes her a sympathetic villain or not (ymmv), she downright encouraged the abuse of mages and as she loses her mind, we see her start accusing everyone of blood magic. 

Canon states that there are Templars in Kirkwall who sexually abuse mages, who torture them, and who kill them at will, and these are never dealt with. Meredith has no desire to change the way the Gallows is run, and it’s said or implied that before her reign as the overseer, the Gallows-- while still not great-- was not this bad. 

So, freshly traumatized and young Templar is sent to the worst possible place in Thedas, under the command of a crazed mage hater, surrounded by the very thing that will trigger him nigh constantly. I see a lot of the fandom say “well why didn’t he quit/leave?” And I wonder if those fans understand what indoctrination can do. Specifically, military indoctrination. You’re told that the ranks are your home, your family, the only ones who can or will ever understand you. You’re told this for so long that it becomes a life raft. It becomes your world truth. That’s the nature of emotional abuse that fosters codependency: it literally reshapes your world. 

Added to that, Templars are controlled by the Chantry through lyrium, an addictive drug that quitting is difficult and surviving the withdrawal of is often fatal. (that’s another rant entirely that can be summed up as tl;dr fuck the fucking Chantry)

The Templars were the only thing he knew. After that kind of soul-shaking trauma, do you leave behind everything you ever knew? (Remember, he was 13 when he joined into this kind of brainwashing.) No. You cleave to what you can, to what keeps you getting through the day. 

Cullen spent a further ten years in Kirkwall, watching the city fall apart under Qunari, blood magic, and Meredith’s increasing insanity. There was no reprieve for his PTSD: everywhere he turned, there was Something. And yet, we hear in Inquisition (depending on player choices, ofc) Samson say that Cullen tried to continue to be kind. He didn’t abuse mages, he tried to protect them where and how he could. 

[Samson: He arrived after the trouble at the ferelden circle. Cullen jumped at his shadow in those days, always on the watch for abominations and demons. Did right by the mages, though, never played rough with them. Not like Meredith.]

Was it limited? Yes. Was it hampered by circumstance? Yes. Should he have tried harder? Yes. 

But he still tried. 

Does he say regrettable things? Yes. Does he regret those things later? Yes. 

I had a friend, who I am no longer friends with for various reasons, tell me that “If Cullen was a good person, he wouldn’t need a redemption arc.” And... no, No, that’s not how redemption arcs work. Everyone does problematic things. Everyone who grows up brainwashed has to unlearn shit, and atone for shit. 

Cullen still struggles with mages. He still has a deep fear of them. Partly this is the Templar in him talking, partly this is trauma. And, here’s where we break from canon and go deep into psychology land: I think partly because he’s projecting. Cullen cannot imagine forgiveness for what he’s done. I wonder if part of him fears mages because he expects-- perhaps even some part of him desires-- retribution from them for his actions and past. 

And there’s things that have been retconned or that were misleading in previous games. For example, the rumor that Cullen escaped after Broken Circle and went on a mage murdering spree. That was nothing but a rumor, but the fandom levies it against him as if it happened.

But if Cullen “hated” mages, you wouldn’t be able to romance him as a mage. And honestly, that mage romance in DAI? Is one of the sweetest, most tender things I’ve seen in DA. As a mage, you can choose to help him past his fears, help him with his lyrium addiction. Help him grow as a person, and watch as he becomes a better person. As he learns that mages are more than their magic, and that Templars are so often wrong and awful in their treatment of them. 

I find Cullen to be well written. And believable as hell. The portrayal of him-- from the mood swings, to the trauma, to the shaky but steadying growth-- feels real, and I can back that up with my fiance’s own similar path. 

So. To wrap up because hoooooo, Opinions, play through the game. There’s a lot of gems there. <3 

#cullen rutherford #fandom critical #dragon age #anti-cullen #cullen critical #i have a lot of Opinions on this #also no i'm not taking opinions on this #my real life experience applied to fandom is more important to me than being yelled at for liking a character i find relatable af #Anonymous #food for thought #food for thot

[starkerisendgame]

maybe peter being able to top one night ?

I had a lot of ideas for this, so I’m so fucking sorry it took so long. I finally settled on one that I think suit their dynamic and the MCU presentations. I really hope you like it! If not, as always, feel free to ask for a re-write! This is shameless porn with minimal plot. 

TW: Daddy kink | Rough sex/rough handling | Mild choking | Probable lack of communication | Power imbalance | Inappropriate use of Peter’s powers.

The fight was gritty, ugly. Peter took too many risks, too many chances. Threw himself into the fray in a manner more suited to Steve. Tony watched it all with a thunderous expression, doing his best to keep up, keep close. Peter moved from one target to the next, dodging hits he shouldn’t have been close enough for in the first place. 

His boy still wasn’t an aggressive fighter, still only dealt out punches when he had to, but Tony could tell the boy was sour. He did his best to resist the urge to drag him away, hold his throat in some dark corner and ask who the fuck he thought he was. 

As it stood, he fought alongside Peter from a distance, controlled the fray the boy leapt into. HYDRA was still very much alive, squirming around in the woodwork, and smoke-out missions like this one were increasingly common these days. Though in some ways, Tony had to to admit they were beneficial. 

Steve got restless if he went too long without something happening. A man so used to the fight that peace made him twitchy, unsure. The missions were good for team work, for training Peter up to be a fully fledged Avenger. And Barnes, well. It was well-deserved payback and a chance to seep out some energy. 

They won with characteristic ease. The only really ugly thing about the fight had been Peter, throwing himself like a fucking football into the frantic mess of HYDRA Agents. The base had been relatively new, relatively unestablished. It was almost woeful, the way they scrambled against the sudden onslaught of superheros. Tony had almost been sympathetic. 

As it was, they re-grouped near the hellicarrier, Bucky stuck to Steve’s side like he was glued there, Clint bouncing on his toes, animated about apparent plans to hit up a sushi bar they’d flown over on the way here. Tony didn’t know when that plan had been made, though he suspected it was somewhere around the time he got distracted by Peter, down on the floor, wriggling and angry like a snake. 

Peter came padding towards them, mask flowing from his cheeks to reveal messy hair, a bruise at his jaw blooming fresh and red. Tony shifted, scowling. “Me and the kid are passing. I think his targeting was off. Gotta lab the suit and go digging” he interrupted, ignoring the surprised looks it earned, the seething expression Peter shot him in response. 

They both knew damned well Peter’s aim was perfect, both by the suit’s programming and his own eyes. “You guys take the wings, shortstack can ride First Class” Tony announced, reached up to let the faceplate slam home, a barrier to any arguments. He could see the knowing look Bucky gave him over Steve’s shoulder, the considering tilt of his head. 

Tony didn’t know how to feel about that, nodding along and returning the brief goodbye’s his team-mates offered. Peter took his sweet time about letting them go, all docile and quiet as he hugged each of them goodbye. Tony tapped his foot, impatient and clear about it as the others finally boarded, Peter stepping back to shield himself behind Tony against the flare of the thrusters.

If Tony were a petty man, he’d have stepped aside, let the kid get knocked back a few steps. As it was, he squared himself, let the weight of the suit ground him against the air-force created. When the hellcarrier was a safe enough distance away he reached behind himself, grabbed a fistful of skin and dragged Peter around. “You’re in for an unpleasant chewing out when we get home, you little shit” he informed him, crushing the boy close to his chest. He held him tighter than necessary, but not enough to really hurt as Peter shifted, tucked a leg obediently against Tony’s hip. 

It was half-tempting to drop him for a moment as they flew home at the fasted speed Tony felt was safe, but he didn’t, cradling the boy close. Peter would probably just shoot a web, drag Tony down with him anyway. And sure, it wasn’t the best idea to take a moderately long journey like this, but it was better than waiting. 

Peter was still tense in his arms when the Tower came into view, practically vibrating as Tony shifted them both, landed heavily on the balcony edge. He let Peter go immediately, pushing the boy firmly towards the door as he advanced after him, like a hunt. The suit retracted into two thick bracelets and two thick ankle-lets, hidden beneath the soft slacks he wore. 

Ahead of him, Peter’s suit is flowing freely down his back, melting like ice from his shoulders, seeping into the curve of his spine, the swell of that plump little ass. He’s striding - or rather, stomping - through the penthouse. A web snatches a banana from the fruit bowl on the coffee table, and Tony had to pace himself to catch up, following Peter through the floors until they hit the gym. 

Ah. So that’s how his boy was going to go, huh? 

“Daddy has plans for you, brat” Tony called, voice clipped as he followed through the opening doors. Peter stopped short, turned to face him slowly. Then bit off a mouthful of banana with the ferocity of a starved, angry lion. The muscles at Tony’s pelvis cringed, the clack of Peter’s teeth meeting ringing in the space between them. 

“Back there? What was that, huh? Too much time around Rogers? Should I start limiting your little social dates?” He snapped instead, watching Peter turn away from him. He knew this was the fragmented remains of their fight that morning, Tony trying to get Peter to stay behind and Peter fighting claw and fang to come with. 

Clint had ended the argument by firmly stating that they either reached a choice now, or they both stayed behind. Peter had been bitter since, silent and sticking next to Bucky for the ride over, knowing that the super-soldier was the only Avenger Tony had any real hang-ups about fighting. 

Peter ate the banana like it was revenge, wrapping his hands forcefully. The kid clearly intended to Captain America a punch bag, and Tony crossed the gym, stooping to grasp Peter’s hands gently. 

“Sweetheart. You know I just worry-” 

“You treat me like I’m different to you guys. I’m sick of it, Mr. Stark!” Peter’s voice wavered over the words as he slapped Tony’s hands away, standing. And there it was. The big, ugly monster in the room. Tony did treat him differently. Because Peter was fifteen, sweet, soft. He’d never really had to see the ugly side of the world; not really. Not like Tony had, hooked up to a car battery in a cave. Not like Steve and Bucky had, fighting in a real war, watching their friends die. Not like Clint and Natasha, bent and broken from their early days. 

“I might not be as tall as you guys. I might not have a big shield or billions of dollars. But I can fight. I was, before you decided you needed me. I’m as strong as Steve is. Stronger, even. You know that. And you still treat me like I’m -”

“Worth something? Like you mean something to me? Like you’re a kid who hasn’t had to watch his friends die, bleeding out around you while there’s nothing you can do, because you’ve gotta keep fighting? Huh? That what you were gonna say? Or maybe you were gonna say I treat you like you haven’t had to fight because the world depends on it. When you can’t stop, even though every muscle screams at you to, because other peoples’ lives depend on it?”

Tony knew he was reacting. Wanted nothing more than to stop, to scoop Peter up and tell him all the sweet nothings he wanted to say. Remind Peter that it had nothing to do with being capable and everything to do with Tony being selfish. The rage was simmering before Tony could cancel it out and he stepped back. 

“You think you’re so big now, huh? You’re so strong you don’t need your Daddy anymore, is that it, Peter? Alright then. Put on the suit” he snarled, and, fuck. Maybe they both needed some time away from Rogers. He almost blanched. But Peter was staring at him like he had three heads. 

“Put on the suit, Peter. C’mon. You’re so tough, an old man like me should be no problem” he snapped once more, rolling his own shoulders and then forcefully shunting his arms downwards. There was the soft whir and clack of metal and his suit begun to snap into place over his arms, up his calves. 

Peter stood, hurt confusion still etched across his face as he reached for Tony, but Tony took a solid step backwards. “Engage the Iron Spider” he barked, and JARVIS obeyed the command, the Iron Spider suit enveloping his body. Tony waited patiently until the suit was firmly covering Peter’s thigh, then aimed a 10% repulsor at it. 

It wasn’t enough to hurt, Tony made sure of that. But it did blast Peter’s leg out from under him, sending him sprawling face-down into the floor. The boy rolled, his betrayed look visible just before the suit wrapped around his face. Tony waited, tense and practically shaking as Peter got to his feet. 

“I’m not going to fight you, Mr. Stark” Peter responded placatingly, his hands up. It was not the answer Tony wanted, so he levelled a repulsor at the boy’s shoulder, sent him flailing backwards. Another blast darkened the flooring between Peter’s thighs, and the mask somehow managed to convey his horrified look. 

“No, Peter. You’re gonna. Because what happens one day, if there’s a Code Rogue and it’s me, huh? Or there’s a villain out there that decides to wear my face? You’re going to have to, then. And maybe not even just to bring me down. You might have to fight me and kill me” Tony pushed, advancing. Peter scrambled away, but Tony caught his ankle, lifting the kid and tossing him halfway across the training room. 

 A web breaks Peter’s landing, the boy twisting in the air to land at a crouch. “I don’t-” is as far as he got, Tony levelling him with a kick he almost didn’t dodge. Several other easy advances are rebuffed, until Tony stopped, head tilting. 

“See. This is why you aren’t an Avenger”. It was a big gun to pull, but it worked. Tony only just managed to duck the web shot his way, blocked the punch thrown just a moment after. And then it was game on. Peter didn’t advance with much anger, clearly pulled his punches the way Tony was. 

It was more a dance than a fight, the two of them aiming to down rather than hurt. Peter was all elegant flips and twisting kicks, and Tony put him on his face several times, just because he could. He could practically see the frustration rising in Peter like water filling a tub. A punch jerked Tony backwards, a web taking out his leg before his balance could regain. He shot back in kind, knocking Peter’s arm back and then hurtling him into a wall. 

Peter bounced off it like a tennis ball, thighs flexing as he launched himself at Tony, legs flipping around his neck to drag him down. It was only JARVIS’ analytics that meant Tony put a hand up, stopped his boy from locking around his neck. He shot Peter’s leg away again, both of them rolling to their feet, and webs and repulsors became kicks and fists, combat close instead of distanced. 

Tony still kept his punches drawn, though he could see Peter was working out his anger now. He was moving quicker than before, aiming for places like Tony’s face, his chest. The onslaught continued until it was suddenly no longer Tony pushing, but Peter, driving Tony backwards with every other lash of his legs or swing of his arms. 

A kick to his jaw sent Tony twisting, just managing to grab Peter’s calf as the boy spun a kick. Peter simply went with it, launching his weight forwards to wrap around Tony’s middle, dragging them both to the ground. Peter rolled, one leg still tight at Tony’s chest, landing a punch square on the faceplate. 

“That was rude” Tony murmured to himself, catching Peter’s arm on the next hit and returning it, hard enough that Peter’s head rocked backwards. It seemed a little ridiculous, two men in metal suits landing hits, but Tony knew from experience a good beating - no matter how successfully damaging - could be rather therapeutic. 

Tony kicked him away and rolled to his feet, staggering until the next launch of hits. Peter was pressing harder now, almost a flurry of movement that kept driving Tony backwards. The older man realised this was the turning point in the fight and allowed it, staggered when his footing was sure, blocked hits a little later than he could of. Peter ducked a hit, leg coming out to sweet Tony’s from under him, a web wrapping around his hip to drag him across the floor. 

“Sir, you are about to lose the fight” JARVIS’ soft voice interrupted, outside of Peter’s ability to hear it. Tony had closed off the comms and voice module. Tony rolled on the floor, hand coming up as Peter hit the ground besides him, legs locking into place around Tony. 

“I know, J. I plan on it” Tony breathed, arm straining against the slim calf that kept it pinned at his side. Peter folded into view, hand coming to Tony’s face where he gripped at the scanners that deactivated the faceplate, tearing it away and tossing it across the room. Toy blinked into the light as Peter’s own helmet flipped down. 

His eyes were wild and wet, his cheeks flushed and his hair messy as Tony twisted under him, kicked him onto his side. But Peter reacted, a web hitting Tony’s chest, dragging him across the floor until he was nose to nose with Peter, panting into each other’s air before Peter lunged, a complicated move Tony presumed was thanks to Bucky or Clint that resulted in Tony cheek-to-floor, Peter’s weight heavy on the small of his spine as the boy gripped his forearms, pinning them at his head. 

Tony relaxed, the anger sated and long gone from his system. Perhaps now, with both of them tired and no longer snapping, Tony could get Peter to listen. To understand. He let his fists uncurl, palms down and fingers spread slightly as he breathed out, Peter’s pants rocking his body just marginally. Tony allowed them both a pause for breath, Peter’s fingers flexing against the suit before he shifted, let the suit begun to melt away. 

Peter squirmed above him, rising and spreading his thighs to allow the metal to recede without catching his own as he copied. Tony could feel the metal shifting against his hips, until it was Peter’s soft thighs clenched tight around his waist. He tipped his head a little, glancing back as far as the angle allowed. Peter was bent over him, lips parted as he sucked in air, his gaze burning. 

“Okay, kiddo. You got me down. Now what?” He asked softly, making to turn and look at his boy. Except Peter sniffled lightly, his grip tightening on Tony’s arm as the movement rocked him down a little, so that instead of sitting snug in the small of Tony’s back, he was perched as a comfortable weight on his ass. It allowed Tony to take note of the fact Peter was hard, nudging against the rise of his ass. “Oh, baby. Fighting Daddy got you all hard, hm?” He cooed, a smirk slowly growing. Except Peter squeezed his arms again, hips nudging downwards. 

It meant the firm bulge of Peter’s dick pressed down, just into the line between the thick meat of Tony’s ass and he let a brow shoot up, glancing over his shoulder. Peter still looked exerted, but he also appeared nervous, avoiding Tony’s gaze, tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what Peter was trying to imply. It made Tony pause, considering. 

He wasn’t often the type to take it, though he did enjoy the practise. He wasn’t the type of male Dominant to shy away from ‘bitching’ it. In his younger years, he had been no stranger to the odd indulgence, allowing another man to put him in his place. And on several memorable occasions, a woman with a silicone cock that would put his to shame. 

So he shifted, curved his spine just enough to press back against Peter’s weight, palms down against the floor. “Oh, sweetheart. My little baby. You got Daddy down so you think you’re big enough to make him your bitch, hm? That it? Had a nice little power trip from taking me down, so now you’re all grown up?” He coaxed, kept his voice edging between gentle and mocking. Just enough that Peter would know his hinting was welcomed, but Tony wasn’t going to give up the power quite so easily. 

Peter whimpered above him, hips stuttering again as he dropped, draped himself down over Tony’s back and nuzzled at his shoulder. His grip went slack enough that Tony could twist his arm a little awkwardly, grasping Peter’s jaw and lifting his head, dragging him over his prone body until Peter was blinking at him, eyes shiny and cheeks ruddy. “You think you can make Daddy cum like that, huh? Yeah? You wanna stretch me open on your dick, ride out that power high?” He asked, his voice turning sharp, authoritative. 

They haven’t spoken about this, not yet. For a minute, Tony wanted to. Wanted to call it off, sit down and do this the proper way. Except that isn’t want Peter needed right now. Not really. It would shatter the space they’d found themselves in, would probably have Peter receding into himself, shy and fumbling and horrified he’d ever suggested such a thing. 

Peter was trembling against him almost violently, covering his body like a scared, horny, vibrating blanket. Tony took pity and squeezed Peter’s jaw lightly, thumb running over the curved bone. Peter still had that sweet, round babyfat face. It did a real number on Tony’s libido. “Go on then, baby boy. You think you can do it? Show Daddy how grown up you are” he continued, dropped his voice into a gentle murmured. Peter nearly jolted, eyes widening as his other hand squeezing Tony’s wrist so hard that for a moment, Tony thought he was about to get railed with a fractured arm. 

“M-Mr. Stark” Peter whimpered, hips twitching a steady pace against Tony’s as he let go, allowed the boy to slump boneless over him once more. Tony just shushed him, squirmed under the dead weight to nudge Peter aside a little, enough to reach into his back pocket. From the way Peter stilled as he brandished his loot, he wished he could see his face. 

“It’s basic adult sense. Phone and wallet in the right, condoms and lube in the left” Tony informed him, matter-of-factly. “Except, both of those are lube. We’ve never used condoms”. Peter was either crying or laughing at this point, and Tony couldn’t help a little grin. There was his baby. Tony shifted again, nudged back against the slimmer press of Peter’s hips, and. 

Fuck. Now that he thought about it. His tiny little boy, so slender, so precious. All that superhero strength. A mental image of Tony pressed face-down, pinned by arms stronger than his own while Peter ground balls deep into him…He shifted back again,because that was an image he could do with seeing in real time. He writhed, pushing until Peter shifted, rising onto his hands and knees above Tony curiously. 

“C’mon then, kiddo. You’re calling the shots here. Tell Daddy how you want it” Tony purred, letting his spine arch into the words, still pointedly gripping the two sachets of lube that have been in the pocket of every pair of pants he’s worn since Peter first tripped onto his dick. (Quite literally). Peter shifted, the sound of the boy chewing at his lip audible in the sudden silence around them, before he sank back down, hands coming to press into the small of Tony’s back. 

“Like t-this. From behind. Please, Daddy” the boy whimpered, hands and hips shifting so he could grab a small, gentle handful of Tony’s ass. Although this is the first time Peter was going to top, the boy had never been shy about loving the fact that Tony had an ass to rival anyone else’s. Lunging about in a metal suit and working with heavy machinery does wonders for the physique, even if Tony is now verging on forty. 

Peter was fumbling so much Tony had to take pity on him, cooing at his helpless, dumb little baby as he worked off his own belt, pushed his jeans down to his thighs and let Peter take over from there. “Daddy doesn’t have all day, you precious little slut. Some people have companies to run” Tony reminded him, faux-nasty as he moved up his arms to pillow his head, looking over his shoulder and where Peter was almost on his stomach, staring at Tony’s ass like it was the answer to life. 

A quick, tiny little web snags the lube from his side, dragging it back into Peter’s grip as the boy reached out with his other hand, dragging Tony’s Valentino boxers down. Tony took mercy, inched his hips up a little to make the slide easier. He might not be giving up his power over Peter, but he also didn’t necessarily want to be particularly cruel. Peter took another moment to stare at the waxed, bare skin, thumb rubbing gentle circles into the meat before he pulled Tony’s jeans down further, tugged at his shoes, insistent until Tony’s legs were bare. 

He obligingly spread his legs, relaxed and loose and cocky as he lay there, felt Peter’s shaking hands wandering, touching. It reminded him of the time that Peter gave him a massage, hands kneading at his thighs, his hips, his ass, digging at his spine until Tony flipped them over, pounded that hot, tight little throat until Peter was raspy and had to whisper for the rest of the day. He was so lost in his thoughts that Peter squeezing his asscheeks and parting them almost made him jump. 

“Does a soft little baby like you even know what to do, hm? D’you need Daddy to tell you how to do it, your pretty little idiot?” He asked, almost conversational as Peter continued to just…Touch. Maddeningly platonic, for the fact he was about to fuck him. Peter glanced up at him, something dark and deep brewing in his eyes, and then his thumb was dipping between the thick muscle, pressing firmly against the tight right of muscle hidden between. Tony spat a curse, head dropping back to his arms. 

Peter’s fingers were small, slim. So tiny that when Peter coated an index finger in lube and pressed gently, Tony’s body took it with almost no resistance, right to the bottom knuckle. Peter’s other hand dug into his asscheek, the boy practically crying out, a whimpered “Fu-uck!” Drawn strangled from his lips. Tony shifted, hitching a leg higher and smirking privately to himself. Wondered how long Peter had wanted this, to sink into Tony, burying himself. 

Peter was tentative as he shifted, delicate little digit sliding easily against Tony’s muscle. His fingertip was soft against the plush, warm walls around it and Tony breathed out a pleased sigh, nuzzling into his arm. He hadn’t indulged in bottoming for almost…Well. Six years or longer, as it stood. The last time had been an attractive Italian man, all lined muscle and tanned skin. Peter’s finger twisted lightly, stroking along the velvety skin and just barely brushing that sweet, hidden goldmine. Tony’s hips jolted forwards, squeezing the erection he’d been studiously ignoring. 

“Daddy” Peter breathed, voice weak as he shifted, his other hand leaving Tony’s skin to work at his own zipper. The call to action had come rather early in the morning, everyone stumbling around either in jeans or sweats as they fumbled for the fitting room. Tony allowed Peter as much as freeing his pretty little cock before he reach back, smacking lightly at Peter’s head. 

“Oh, no. Bratty little boys who think they’re too grown up for their Daddies don’t get to touch themselves” he scolded, brought his arm back down. The twist of his body meant Peter’s finger pressed firm again his prostate, and he had to fight to keep his voice low, steady. Peter’s answering whine was high and pleading, but he dutifully returned his hand to Tony’s thigh, beginning a soft thrust of his finger. 

“Daddy’s getting impatient, baby” Tony announced after a short while, when the slick slide of Peter’s finger was as easy as breathing. Peter answered in the form of a soft, choked sound, drizzling lube around where Tony’s hole greedily swallowed his finger before easing in a second, breath shaky at the clench of muscle, the heat. Tony wasn’t actually getting impatient, but the longer Peter faffed, the more chance he would lose his nerve. 

Peter’s breathing was shaky even to Tony’s ears, almost in tandem with the way he slowly worked him open, like he was crafting a work of art. He was all flexible fingers and gentle, fleeting touches and it was driving Tony insane, low growls working in his throat as Peter moved inside him - good, but not nearly enough.

By the time Peter was three fingers deep he was openly mewling, draped over Tony’s thighs and back and humping into the meat of his straight leg like a desperate little puppy, temple pressed against the back of Tony’s hip as his Daddy coaxed him through it. Tony was grinding against the ground at this point, breaths short and sharp as Peter’s nimble little fingers twisted inside him. 

The low burn of arousal was too much for Tony to ignore any longer, and he snapped his fingers at Peter as though summoning him like a dog. “That’s enough, baby boy. Daddy’s all open and ready”. It came out softer than he had intended it to, but the sheer nerves on Peter’s face had him deciding it was the right tone. Peter looked set to flee, and Tony didn’t particularly fancy trying to chase him down whilst pantless and stretched wide.

(He’d watched Peter fight a gang of cracked-up criminals straight after hopping off his dick, once. It looked about as unpleasant and awkward as Tony guessed it would feel.)

Tony shifted, pressing against Peter’s weight to lift himself to his hands and knees, adjusting a little to get comfortable and grunting at the feeling of Peter’s fingers slipping out, a glob of lube sliding down towards his balls. Peter plastered himself almost immediately over Tony’s back once more, but this time his arms went tight around his waist, cheek buried against Tony’s spine. He had to shift again to reach back, pawing gently at Peter’s shoulder. 

“Hey, honey” he greeted softly, rubbing soothingly at Peter’s flank as though the boy was a startled horse. “C’mon. Where’s that big boy spirit, huh? You got this far, don’t disappoint Daddy now”. Peter gave a weak little moan in response, hips digging against the back of Tony’s thigh as the boy moved. Peter kept his head nuzzled against Tony’s hip as he worked at his pants. By the brush of denim and leather against Tony’s thighs, Peter had only succeeded in shoving them down so far. 

“That’s a good start, you precious little slut. Still think you’re brave enough to fuck Daddy, hm? Still big and strong enough to make me take it?” He prodded, voice just erring on nasty as Peter reached shakily for the remaining sachet of lube. Tony ducked his head, looking past  his arm to watch as Peter’s hands moved out of sight, slicking himself up. He knew the action because Peter moaned, breathless and high-pitched at finally garnering some relief from the ache. 

“Daddy - Daddy, please. Gonna…I want to…” Peter wasn’t able to latch onto a single train of thought, his slick hands coming to grip at Tony’s hips, nudging closer until it was doggy style, without the fucking. Tony huffed a short laugh - not unkindly - and shifted, dropping onto one elbow and hitching his ass higher to reach between his legs, feeling gently until he wrapped a hand around Peter’s slim cock. His boy was by no means small, but slimmer than Tony, almost elegantly shaped. Peter gave a pathetic whimper, hips punching forwards into Tony’s hand as he tightened his grip. 

“Poor baby. Can’t even put it in” he murmured, tugging ever-so-lightly to bring Peter forwards, hips nudging until he could feel the silky, plush head pressing against the loose rosebud of muscle. It was the barest of pressure but it still made Tony’s hips press back a little, still had Peter groaning, fingers digging against his hips. “There. Daddy did most of the work for you” he soothed, letting go. 

Peter shifted, moving himself into a sturdier, better position over Tony as he grasped himself, lining up once more where he had slipped away with the movement. Tony kept himself on his forearms, head ducked as Peter nudged forwards just a fraction, just enough to press the muscle inwards a little. There was a brief moment where neither of them moved, Tony patiently waiting and Peter seemingly gathering his nerves before ever so carefully continuing in the press forwards, the muscle straining before giving away, stretching around the head of Peter’s cock and sucking him into the plush depth with ease. 

They moaned in tandem, Tony shifting to encourage Peter further. It was like being impaled - But in the best way, his body stretching and giving around the firm heat of Peter’s cock, the length fulfilling, thick and heavy in a way his body accepts readily. Peter made an obscene sound from behind him, fingers pressing into Tony’s skin hard enough that Tony had to reach back, swatting at his hands to remind Peter of his own strength. 

He obligingly let up on the grip, hands sliding a shaky path from his hips to cup Tony’s asscheeks, sliding down to grip at his thighs before continuing to roam as he waited for Tony to adjust, the only sound in the room their already frantic panting. Tony tried to remember if any of the other times had felt like this. He concluded that they hadn’t, as the majority had been flings or one-time fucks. And they hadn’t been Peter. 

Each breath seemed to remind Tony of how full he was, of where Peter’s cock was resting within him and he pushed back with a low sound, urging Peter to move. The boy made another wounded sound, folding over Tony as though the mere sensation was enough to render him done and gone. But then Peter shuffled on his knees a little, hips pulling back enough to create a skin-on-skin drag and Tony breathed out, eyes falling shut. 

Peter’s punchy little oh-uh moans filled the space between them as he begun a stuttering rhythm, barely moving inches each way, head pressed against the back of Tony’s shoulder. His breath came in hot, wet clouds against Tony’s skin, moans vibrating through his chest. The short, sharp thrusts rocked Tony on his forearms, pleasurable little stabs to his insides that made his neglected cock drool. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Fuck Daddy real good, baby. C’mon. You can do better than this. Grown ups don’t fuck like timid little bunnies” he managed to purr over the burning desire to just flip Peter over, ride him until the boy was howling. Peter’s breathless, broken moan tingled all the way down his bicep as the boy squirmed against him, dragged out his next thrust. 

“Daddy - Fuck. Feels so good. So good, Mr. Stark. I’m sorry, I didn’t - I wanna -” Peter’s blabbling was muffled by the meat of Tony’s shoulder, huffed out between the gasps each thrust punched out of him. But he listened, eventually pulling away enough that he could brace a hand on the floor, settling into something akin to a smooth rhythm. Short but steady pulls of his hips that transitioned into firm but not rough thrusts forwards. That allowed Tony to feel the way that Peter slid through his body. 

“Fuck, yeah. Come on, Peter. Harder. Daddy can take it. Stop being such a baby. Harder” Tony coaxed, voice firm as he ground his hips back to meet each thrust, trying to encourage Peter into working harder. Peter, for his part, tried. Balanced himself on one hand, set the other at Tony’s flank and begun a faster rhythm, the wet slide of back-and-forth rocking them together as Tony ground his forehead down against his arm with a deep groan. 

It wasn’t long before Peter was folding over him again with a pathetic, high whimper, one arm wrapping around to press at Tony’s chest as his thrusts turned desperate, needy. The change in angle hitched their hips together and Tony bit out at a curse at the sudden build of pleasurable pressure, low and warm in his gut. But it wasn’t enough, wasn’t close to being the right side of too much and he almost snarled, reaching back to bury his hand in Peter’s hair, where the boy was once against mouthing at his shoulder. 

He stroked briefly before he twisted his fingers, grasping a firstful of hair and dragging Peter up, over his body until they were flush together and Peter was scrabbling for purchase, high keens filtering from his throat. Buried deep inside, Tony could practically feel Peter’s dick twitching, drooling inside him as he dragged Peter closer, pushed himself up to mouth at his temple. 

“Such a little baby, hm? Thought you could handle burying yourself inside Daddy’s ass. Thought you could be a big boy and fuck me like I take care of you” he breathed, yanked Peter closer until the boy managed a deep, slow grind that had Tony’s arms shaking. “You thought you could put me down on your dick, have me begging? You’re not fucking me half as hard as I could, baby boy. You’re so cute, so sweet. Thinking you were all grown up”. 

Peter was almost crying now, grinding desperately into the tight, wet heat. Mind spinning at the words, harsh but spoken softly and between the moans that stuttered from Tony’s throat. Peter’s mewls high and desperate to Tony’s low, controlled sounds. Peter’s head was tipped by Tony’s grip, throat bared as he encouraged him to grind deeper, harder. 

“Cum for me, Princess. Do it. Cum deep inside Daddy, paint me as yours” Tony growled, head turning to haul Peter closer, to catch those plump little lips in a biting kiss. Peter cried out against his mouth, breath hot and tinged with faded mint as he snapped his hips forwards, jolting Tony away from his mouth. “Let me feel you cum” he managed to grind out, bracing against the concrete as Peter’s thrusts became sharp, erratic. 

A hand fell flat between Tony’s shoulderblades, crushing him down so suddenly that his arms folded beneath him, trapped under his weight, ass presented high as Peter fucked into him as though suddenly discovering he could. The lewd slap of skin and the filthy, low moans filling their ears. 

And then Peter is. Thick, warm cum that Tony knows is a pretty, pearly white flooding his insides. The sensation of wet heat, soaking him from within. It’s enough for Tony to squirm against the hold, fighting until Peter staggers sideways to brace himself, letting Tony lift his his hips to wrap a hand around his cock. The touch burns, desperate relief and he wonders if this is how Peter feels after being edged. 

If his boy feels the same burning, broken joy at finally being touched. It takes four harsh, tight pumps of his fist to um, spilling across his own knuckles and onto the floor. Peter is crying behind him, tucking into the small of Tony’s back with tiny, hitching little sobs and it took some squirming before Tony was able to drag the boy up, twisting. Peter’s cock fell from his body smoothly and he gasped between struggling for breath, Tony cupping his cheek with a cum-sticky hand, gentle. 

“You mean everything to me, Peter” he murmured, sat on his haunches despite the ache and pulled Peter into his lap, cradling him. There was denim-rash at his thighs, a small cut at his hip from his belt buckle. Bruises from the repulsors blooming on pretty, white skin. “I don’t think you less deserving of being an Avenger. I don’t think you not worthy of being at my side” he continued, dragging his own cum down to the corner of Peter’s mouth, where a little pink tongue dipped into it. 

They sit like that, for the longest time. Until Peter is half-asleep in his arms, lashes clumped together and dick soft at his thigh. Until Tony moves aching legs to carry Peter back to the penthouse.

Until Tony fucks him into the wall, Peter’s cum leaking down his thighs, snarling in Peter’s ear that he is the goodest boy, so perfect, so pretty. 

#Prompt Fills #Starker #Stark Fic #Starker Ficfic #Starker Smut #Starker Prompt #IronSpider #IronSpider Ask #Starker Ask #IronSpider Fic #IronSpider Fanfic #IronSpider Prompt #IronSpider Smut #Tony Stark/Peter Parker #Peter Parker/Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Peter Parker #Peter Parker x Tony Stark

[yutaya]

Iron Fist Rewatch: 1x03: Rolling Thunder Cannon Punch

That's so terrifying. You look an entitled asshole in the eyes and say "no" when he tries to pressure you into doing something morally corrupt that would actively hurt another person - one who has specifically asked you for help - and then armed home invaders break in in the middle of the night. Ward is basically the mafia boss that Colleen has just pissed off, from her POV. No wonder she hates him.

Wow, now I want the fanfic where Colleen keeps calling Ward a mafia boss to his face. "Just because I'm under your mafia family's protection NOW doesn't make that time you put out a hit on me any better, mobster." "'Mob-' I never put out any 'hit'. I'm not the mafia." "You don't need to bother with pretence here, mob guy." (Danny helpfully does not point out that Ward definitely put out a hit on him, but the entire room is still painfully aware.)

Danny: Sorry the people trying to kill me broke your lock.

Colleen doesn't for one second find it out of the question that the cops might be in on the whole "corrupt rich white man is doing shady illegal things and trying to have a 'problem' 'fixed'" thing. Danny does, ("I haven't broken any law?") because Danny spent ten years as a rich white boy and then the next 15 in a culture completely separated from the rest of the world's reality. Or: Danny, a rich white boy, trusts the police. Colleen, who tries to make her dojo a safe space for a bunch of underprivileged majority bipoc kids living in the "bad part of town", does not.

Possibly the reason they speedrun us through Ward going up to the penthouse again is to remind the viewers how obnoxious it is to get up there before we see Danny climb the building later?

I forgot about this freaky tube thing. What is that? High tech coffin? lol. There's an implied "you should be unsettled by this" vibe to Harold's whole "it's so peaceful in here, I can't help but doze off" but when I don't know what the tube is the context is kind of lost on me.

Again with Ward calmly asking for an explanation about such a seemingly insane business choice, especially one that he's going to have to explain to people, and Harold brushing him off. Infuriating. And let's just toss in a sprinkling of "Joy has always been and always will be better than you, who can't do anything."

Harold: "Doesn't it occur to you that I'm doing this all for you?" Me: "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP I HATE YOU." He doesn't even just say "I'm doing this for you." No, he has to say "Doesn't it occur to you that I'm doing this for you?" Rather than simply lying, he just has to back Ward into that corner. Ugh. UGH.

Ward: closes his eyes, long huff of breath. I should start a count of how many times he does this.

MY SKIN IS CRAWLING. Freaking Harold. Ugh ugh ugh he's the worst.

Danny you realize you're both disrespecting Colleen AND talking about pretty sensitive subject matter right in front of her student?

Joy: "We need to do the right thing." Me: "You keep telling yourself you're a person who cares about that, Joy."

Joy used to do Ward's homework for him????

Like, what?

Seriously, what?

Was this supposed to be a cute exchange? Because my Asian American upbringing says it's NOT.

Joy: "In another life, this would have been romantic." Danny: "Gross, you're my sister."

"You and Ward, you're the only link to a life that I had. It kept me going under very difficult circumstances." ;___;

Joy talking about clinging to her dreams of Harold meeting her after school and holding her hand and smiling at her in her grief after he died is making me so miserable. To Joy, Harold means comfort.

Danny: *Starts talking about ghosts* Joy: Oh right, he's crazy.

Colleen: "You dishonor yourself when you fight for money."

Jeri, who has literally been mind-controlled, almost got murdered slowly and painfully, and brought a killer to her wife,

Young intern Jeri Hogarth calling the boss's secretary a "hatchet faced bitch" and then bribing said boss's 10yrs or younger kid not to tell is. Well. It sure is a thing.

I still want Danny inviting Jeri to Defenders friend group hangouts and Foggy and Marci both blanching. Jessica and Jeri can snark at each other and Danny can be like "You're friends too! I didn't know!! :D"

Honestly, I would have watched a whole show on the intricacies of classism issues, with the Elite like Jeri and the Meachums teaching Danny how to live and maneuver in that world and Colleen and the dojo and Big Al teaching Danny about the reality of life for the lower class, and our golden-hearted Danny in the center of it, consistently determined to do what's Right,

Joy: lol, isn't this such a fun, teasing, sibling-banter thing we do, me joking about how I'm going to close this deal and you would only endanger it?

Harold: punches trainer full in the face, then casually suggests weapons next time while the guy is still groaning on the ground

Is Gao terrorizing Harold and making him kneel on glass supposed to make me feel for Harold? No one deserves this but that doesn't make Harold magically not a monster.

Danny.... just taking over lecturing the class is not respectful to Darryl or Colleen either.

Danny: "What kind of soldier training is this? They're acting like kids!" Colleen: "That's the POINT! I am not training them to be soldiers, I am creating a safe space for them to be kids when they usually can't be in the rest of their lives." Danny's warped K'un Lun upbringing really shows here. It's heartbreaking to remember that Colleen isn't just some good samaritan either - that she was raised in a cult too and has her own warped upbringing viewpoints.

A line I need to appear in a Ward/Misty/Claire pov fic: "Colleen tends to seem normal because most of the time she's next to Danny. It's easy to forget that actually, she's completely batshit."

Colleen keeps throwing Danny out for bringing trouble to her doorstep and then not really fighting it when he sticks around anyway (Which: Danny. Danny, this is problematic behavior, Danny.) - it's when he becomes a danger to her students that she gets serious about it. Even if Danny wouldn't physically harm them again, he is now a drain on their mental health: he represents a potential danger, a reason to be constantly on guard, and a removal of their safe space.

Ward clearly has no idea what the heck Joy is doing. It's all very troubling and this family is so messed up.

The way Ward ever so slightly shakes his head at Joy as she bribes Patel with his nephew's actual life.

The blanket into snow is a great transition shot

Joy feels like Ward refuses to tell her things the same way Harold refuses to tell Ward things! But Ward doesn't actually have the ability to tell Joy anything because he doesn't know anything! Ugh!!

On Joy's desk: a photo of her and Ward toasting at some party. She also has a copy on her shelf at home.

Joy poured her blood sweat and tears into Rand. She's proud of it. To Ward, it's a prison.

Wait so their plan is that there's no record that Danny Rand ever existed? Like, besides. The city's collective memory? People know about Danny Rand, guys. You need to delete the ability to connect this adult man to Danny Rand, not young Danny's entire paper trail. I mean, anything linking them would be included in literally everything about Danny but still. Seems unnecessary and suspicious?? I know nothing about crime.

Jeri casually constantly reminding Danny that the Meachums are the corrupt villains of this story must be really messing with Danny's head. Not that she's wrong. Poor boy.

"Isn't it obvious!? I'm not your sister. He's not your brother. We don't want you here." brb crying forever

I have to appreciate that this fight moderator is actually trying to run a semi-safe tight ship behind the showmanship

"Cut the Floyd Mayweather shit." Floyd Mayweather: a former professional boxer, competed from 1996-2015. Often referred to as the best defensive boxer in history, as well as the most accurate puncher. Nicknamed "Pretty Boy" by his amateur teammates because his defensive technique left him with relatively few scars.

That whole Randy biting Colleen (breaking the rules about going too far laid out at the start of the fight) and then her climbing on top of him to keep on punching after he's down was really framed like one of those troubling "the hero loses control and it's bad" type scenes.

I am very curious about Jeri and the Meachums' history. Jeri and Ward snark at each other so much in this meeting. And they definitely seem amused while doing so. Also Joy was like "Hogarth" at Ward earlier, and Jeri described their relationship as "complicated" to Danny.

Ward slumps down in his seat so he's lower than anyone else in the room, despite probably being the tallest. This is probably meant as a show of dismissiveness: Danny's case is so insignificant that he doesn't need to respect them by sitting up straight - but it IS interesting, from a power dynamics in staging perspective.

Ward, who has a constant escape plan of stealing from his employees and running away with Joy, plus was literally talking about leaving and starting over with nothing earlier in this same episode: "It could have been easy. You could have taken the money and had a great life."

The elevator level can be controlled by the lobby man???

Another picture of presumably child Joy on Harold's desk, as a toddler this time. How many does he have?? This is cruel set dressing.

Harold playing on Ward's loyalty again. "I need you to help me. I don't have anyone else."

#iron fist #iron fist rewatch #the immortal iron fist #my stuff #rolling thunder cannon punch

[gumnut-logic]

The Hero (Part One - full chapter)

Sorry, guys, the first few hundred words of this are the same as the previous post, but I’ve added a couple thousand words more, I promise.

-o-o-o-

Title: The Hero

Part One

Author: Gumnut

26 - 27 Oct 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Thunderbird Two, with Virgil and Gordon aboard, is hijacked and stolen. With Virgil injured, it is up to Gordon to save his brother and his ‘bird. Sequel/companion piece to ‘The Joker’. Gordon is far more than he seems.

Word count: 3141

Spoilers & warnings: Violence, WASP!Gordon, Military!Scott, whump.

Timeline: Sequel/companion piece to ‘The Joker’.

Author’s note: For @corbyinoz because she has written some magnificent Virgil and Gordon fics and is a great inspiration. Thank you for all your wonderful words.

It started with ‘The Joker’. I got interested in WASP!Gordon and decided to explore his side of the story. Then PLOT happened. Now I have no idea what is going on.

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for putting up with my crazy.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

A glass of ice and amber liquid landed in front of him with a solid thunk on the woodwork. His eldest brother followed it, his tall figure sliding around the table and taking a seat beside him.

Another glass of alcohol sat in his hand.

Scott didn’t say anything at first, apparently quite happy to nurse the drink against his chest.

Breath whistled through his teeth. “So, what happened?”

Gordon arched an eyebrow before picking up his glass and sipping the whisky. Oooh, Scott’s expensive bottle. Nice.

He took a moment to revel in its warmth before venturing into the bitterness of his report.

“He did well, you know. Put up one hell of a fight. A couple of those guys won’t be getting up any time soon.”

Blue eyes peered at him over the rim of his glass. “Virgil?”

“Kayo taught him well.” A swallow of scorching liquid, smooth as the glass holding it. “There were just too many of them.”

-o-o-o-

A ramshackle pile of a building on an abandoned farm with interference peppering the sensors. It was ironic that Virgil had accompanied him for security. AKA big brother hadn’t wanted him to go into an unknown situation without backup.

Whether the outcome would have changed in accordance with that decision, they would never know, but it led to Gordon taking lead and Virgil following. Consequently, it was Gordon who was nabbed first entering the second dusty room of the building and Virgil who had to exercise his self-defence skills.

The hands that grabbed the aquanaut were rough and for a moment the whole room went sideways. He struck out automatically, but was anticipated, his arm wrenched around his back, his knees kicked out under him, and a cold barrel shoved into the base of his skull put a very abrupt end to his defences.

“V-!”

The kick to his ribs silenced him, but his aim had been achieved.

The brother entering the room, froze for just a split second as he processed the situation. Shadows leapt from the darkness, intending on taking him down, but that second, and reflexes drilled into Virgil by his sister, gave him the power to respond.

Virgil’s massive arm swiped away the hands grabbing at him as he spun out of reach. Another shadow leapt out only to encounter an equally massive fist to its face. Virgil’s uniform did its job and protected him from impact, a hard traction boot landing solidly in one man’s guts. A padded elbow hit teeth and those huge gloved hands, usually so gentle, made knuckles as solid as steel - Gordon knew that, one slip on his part in one too many spar sessions had ended in bruises Virgil had apologised for weeks afterwards.

But there were too many, up to half a dozen assailants emerging from the shadows not including those holding Gordon.

The cold ring of metal at the base of his skull dug in deeper as he struggled to free himself and stop the inevitable.

No amount of padding could deflect the bar of steel that shone in the dark and impacted on his brother’s ribs.

Gordon heard the snap.

Oh god.

Virgil gasped and staggered. His assailants moved in.

But no, the stubborn bastard didn’t give up. His fist impacted the side of a head and a man ended up in the dust at Virgil’s feet.

But there were too many.

Too many.

“Virgil, no!” They must be getting some pleasure out of this, because there were guns a plenty, but only one deployed. Gordon didn’t know if his brother had even seen them. “Virgil!”

That steel bar flickered in the poor light and the second time it impacted on his brother, the dull thud was skull bone.

His big brother dropped without a sound.

Dust hung in the air.

“Well, so much for that.” The hot breath on the back of his neck almost overrode the chill of seeing a gun trained on Virgil’s bleeding skull. “Now, time is of the essence. I need access to your ship now, or we will finish him permanently.”

-o-o-o-

“They got me first. Virg was behind me and had that extra second to react. It was unexpected.” It had been well planned. “They...neutralised him.”

He took a swig of his drink and it caught part way down, burning a hole in his throat. “You would have been so proud of him.” It was whispered.

“I am. Of both of you.” A simple statement that said so much.

Gordon rolled his shoulders in an attempt to shake off the echoes of the incident so he could report clearly.

He was only moderately successful.

“They used Virg to get me to do what they wanted.” The words stuck in his throat and he forced steel into his spine, straightening in the chair. The image of his brother discarded and bleeding on Two’s checker-plate decking, a gun pointed at his head.

The soft crack as a boot impacted on his already damaged ribcage.

Gordon didn’t flinch. He was too experienced for that. But it didn’t hurt any less.

Another throat full of burning alcohol attempted to wash the chill away. Maybe he was just out of practise.

“We need to find a way to stop that from happening again.” His voice was parched and he found himself staring off into the distance.

“Kayo’s on it.” The tumbler was lifted from his hand. The clink of glass, the glug of pouring liquid and it reappeared full again.

Gordon took it, an eye flick his only thank you.

“I flew her to the warehouse. Virgil remained unconscious for the entire flight.” Gordon was almost thankful. “I had hoped you would be able to track us.”

It was Scott’s turn to sigh. “John was...upset.”

That snapped him out of his daze. “What?” His eyes narrowed. “What did Johnny do?”

Scott shifted where he sat. “When he lost Thunderbird Two and both your signals, he and Eos went to some lengths to find you.”

Gordon sat up straighter. “What did he do?”

“Between him and Eos, they hacked every telecommunications network in Texas...including the GDF, CIA, FBI, and the World Council.”

“Shit. Did they catch him?”

A snort. “Are you kidding me? No. Though Aunt Val has suspicions. Eos got angry at one point and let loose a virus deleting every occurrence of the word ‘intelligence’ in the GDF network.”

Gordon stared at him. “Why?”

“She found something.”

“What?” Was Scott being suspenseful for a reason?

“They knew, Gordon.”

“Knew what?” For god’s sake.

“They knew there would be an attempt on Thunderbird Two.”

-o-o-o-

It was cold fury, nasty and acidic. It leeched into his bones and swirled in his brain. As each action taken against Virgil, he lined up his opponents in his head, catalogued and assessed. There was fear, but he had no time for it.

“What do you want?” He was yanked down a corridor by one restrained arm. He had asked that question multiple times already. Again, he received as much a response as he had before.

Nothing.

The leader of the group was dressed in army fatigues, but had no identifying insignia or rank other than a simple red slash of a crisscross on one arm. It had been painted on with a brush.

Gordon stored it for later analysis.

But for the present, he was keeping track of exactly where he and his brother were being taken.

Unlike the building they had been captured in, this one was modern, clean and far from a dark, sinister lair. Endless corridors of beige and linoleum.

He memorised their route from Thunderbird Two taking note of as much as possible.

He had landed the giant cargo plane on a private runway and taxied her into a massive hangar. The impression that this had all been planned ahead became stronger. After all, Two wasn’t little. It wasn’t as if she could be stashed in some thief’s backyard.

Virgil was a mass of bruises, each welt a threat to get Gordon to do what they wanted. His heart ached for his big brother, still unconscious and being dragged alongside Gordon between two men.

Until he wasn’t.

“Where are you taking him?”

Again, he received no response other than having both his arms wrenched tighter behind his back. His shoulders creaked.

He didn’t give them the satisfaction of groaning.

Dragged down the hallway, he felt the distance grow between him and his brother.

And with that, he just got colder and colder.

By the time they punched an electronic lock and shoved him into room, he was little more than ice.

The man holding him spun him around. Grey eyes meeting his.

Ice met ice.

He didn’t say anything, but the intent was clear. We have your brother. Do anything and he dies.

We’ll see about that.

The man spun and left, taking his lacky with him.

Gordon was left restrained, in a room with a single bed and not much else, glaring at a locked door.

-o-o-o-

“They knew?” Gordon stared at his brother. “What did they know?”

Scott pulled out his phone, prodded it and handed it over to Gordon.

The aquanaut stared at the words on the screen. It was a report detailing a new terrorist group. The GDF had labelled them ‘Null’ in accordance with the symbol they assigned themselves.

A red hand-painted cross was splattered across the page. Gordon’s lips tightened.

The intelligence reported was sketchy, but the impression was a vendetta against International Rescue, the Hood and the Chaos Crew. A single statement, ‘We will end the war’, was attached to the document.

“Shit.” It came out in a breathless rush.

The document went on to theorise that the founder or founders of the group had suffered at the hands of the Chaos Crew and consequently had a vendetta against both sides of the equation.

“Why didn’t they tell us?” Gordon stared at the phone, a number of emotions roiling in his gut.

Out the corner of his eye, Scott sculled the last of his drink and dropped his tumbler onto the table. “Bait.” An exhalation. “You were bait.”

“Bait?” Gordon stared at his brother. “You’re kidding me.”

“No. I’m not.” Blue eyes were so cold, they hurt. “Eos dug up the command sequence. They didn’t know where the group was holed up, so they were waiting for them to strike next. We were the logical target as we are the easiest to find and lure.”

“Fuck.” It burst out of him in an explosion of hot air and he shot from his seat, storming out onto the balcony. His nerves itched under his skin. The images of his injured brother danced in his head.

The wind leapt off the Island and wrapped itself around him as if in reassurance, but he was not ready to receive it.

Scott walked up calmly and stood beside him.

“Did she know?” There was no need to mention who Gordon was talking about.

“She did.”

“And she didn’t tell us.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Does she know, we know?”

“No, but as I said, she has suspicions.”

“Does she know what happened to Virgil?”

Scott didn’t answer immediately. “Yes.”

“Tell me it was worth it.”

“The GDF did not succeed in capturing any of them.”

Again, Gordon found himself staring at his brother. “None? Not even those I took out?”

“None.”

“Fuck.” But this time it was a defeated exhale and Gordon closed his eyes, his hand rubbing his face. “What are we going to do?”

Beside him, Scott straightened into the sharp, commanding military man he was. “What we always do.” Blue eyes turned to focus on him. “Save people.”

And Gordon got the message. That blue gaze locked onto him, his brother’s military bearing, straight and strong.

They saved people.

And they would save themselves.

-o-o-o-

It took him an annoying amount of time, but he slipped his bonds. It helped he kept a tiny pocket knife strapped into the inside of his right boot. He would have taken that one as a credit to his military past, but honestly, it was the result of an incident several years ago that saw him snagged underwater and Virgil having to dive in and untangle him. The nagging about being prepared after that had been intolerable. The tiny penknife had been handed to him late one night with worry in those brown eyes.

Kind of ironic that now it would be helping to save that same brother.

They had taken his baldric and rebreather while they were still aboard Thunderbird Two. He would give these guys credit. They were far from stupid. No monologuing, no explanations, just purpose.

He had no idea what that purpose was other than to capture Two and torture his brother as leverage.

Yeah, well, Gordon had a purpose, too.

Get out of this room, get his brother and his ‘bird, and get the hell out of here.

Tools at hand...penknife, metal bed and associated mattress. He looked up...light globe. His eyes tracked a conduit leading from the bare bulb across the ceiling and down the wall, disappearing into the doorframe.

Exposed wiring.

He slipped up to the door, a hand touching the smooth and cold metal surface. A moment to listen for movement beyond. These guys were smart, he was pretty sure there would be a guard or two outside his door.

No sound to confirm anything.

Nor was there a lock on this side of the door, the electronic lock was outside for security reasons no doubt. But in any case, there was no way for him to see out the door or what was on the other side.

His lips thinned.

Wasn’t going to stop him.

He reached for the plastic conduit beside the door and, shoving his penknife under the sheath, pulled off the plastic channel keeping it snug against the wall.

Perfect.

He let his mouth slip into a lopsided smirk.

It took a while and aching fingertips, but he could feel his big brother over his shoulder congratulating him on his skill. Virgil was going to love this story.

Assuming it had a happy ending.

He ripped the electric cables from their mountings on the wall. It took him some time because he had to do it with minimal sound. At one or two points, he thought he had blown it as a c-clamp clattered and bounced on the concrete floor, but there was no response.

That metal door must be thick.

Some re-purposed plastic conduit to hold the cables and a little extra protection for his hands and penknife and he cut the wires one by one.

The room fell dark.

Gordon stood ready, expecting someone to burst in at the change in lighting, but instead a thin band of light from outside shone under the door.

A shadow moved across that band of light, but the door did not open.

No sound.

Exhale.

He only had one shot at this.

He touched the bared wires to the metal door.

The darkness sparked and the door sighed open just a little as the lock died an electronic death.

A sliver of light landed on his blue uniform.

A pair of dark eyes, surrounded by khaki, met his.

A gun came up.

Gordon moved.

He was out the door and the gun was flying across the corridor in a blur of motion. A mixture of WASP and Kayo took the man down, a final punch to the face sending him into oblivion.

A breath and he dragged his victim into the now dark room. A moment of consideration of the value of anonymity, and he stripped the man of his jacket and pants, trying not to cringe when he shoved them over his uniform. His blue boots would have to stay. Fortunately, or not, the pants were a little long and hid them for the most part.

But move. Time to move.

A quick glance into the corridor and he darted through the door, closing it behind him.

Hurried, but silent steps and he retraced the path that had led him here. Around that corner he had last seen his brother disappear into, ears alert, eyes tracking, body ready.

A man exited a door in front of him and Gordon reacted on instinct. Another body shoved behind another door.

The corridor ended in a T-intersection.

Left or right?

Listen.

“Gordon Tracy is a simple man.”

The words were distant and slurred, but his heart lifted. Virgil.

Left.

“I once lost him in the bath.”

Gordon didn’t spare a smile for that memory, though it was a good one. He only had eyes for the man standing in front of the door at the end of the corridor.

Fortunately, it was a short corridor.

Okay, Gordo, you gotta play this one right.

He straightened up, checked his shirt to make sure his blue uniform was hidden by khaki.

Walk with purpose and no-one will question your presence.

To the sound of his brother’s pained voice, he strode down that corridor as sure in his right to be there as he was sure he was going to go through that door.

The guard looked up in question and Gordon caught his eye. A small smile as his brother spoke about jokes and his darkest days.

The guard returned his smile.

The moment he was within reach, Gordon wiped it off his face.

He caught the unconscious man before he could hit the floor and stashed him to one side.

Virgil’s voice slurred on.

“He has seen the glassiness of death and faced down the reaper himself.”

The reason why he could hear Virgil so clearly became apparent as he realised the door was ajar.

Sloppy.

To his advantage, pushing it ever so slowly open, he peered in.

The room was dark except for a spotlight in the centre. Virgil was strapped to a chair and it appeared that was all that was holding him upright. Blood from his head wound dripped sluggishly down one side of his face. He listed sideways, eyes glazed, his words slurred but inevitable.

Gordon swore silently, his fists clenching. His brother had been drugged. What the hell did these people want?

A single interrogator was in the room, his back to the door.

From sloppy to convenient.

Gordon let himself silently into the room.

“The itching powder on the bath towel.

“The hell let loose on April Fool’s Day every damn year.

“They are but a symptom of the man you are facing, and yet so why you are going to regret what you are doing.” Virgil’s eyes were foggy, but the determination was clear and shot across the room at his tormentor.

Blood dripped from his brother’s lip.

And Gordon stepped into the light.

-o-o-o-

End Part One.

Part Two

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Scott Tracy

[msephy]

Upbringing chap 12/13

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

Cross-posted to AO3

Earth 53 - Jason Todd

The climb to Nanda Parbat was even harder than the one to Ra’s al Ghul’s stronghold and Jason could only feel relief at them being so close. Was it a coincidence or had Ra’s been looking for the place? Coincidences were rare, where he was concerned.

Only a small group accompanied them: five bodyguards and, of course, Bruce. Jason counted on Talia to insure Damian would get back to Gotham or, at least away from the League. The brat himself might be able to elude her if she tried to bring him anywhere else.

Besides, he was wearing his gear from the Cave. Knowing Bruce, several pieces had to be bugged. They’d find him alright – if they managed to get away from Ra’s.

It wouldn’t be long, now.

They reached the top of the crater where the temple laid. It was an ancient construction, looking both immovable and strangely out of place in this landscape of even older mountains. A single monk in orange robes was walking in the green gardens which surrounded the temple and made it even more unseemly in the blinding whiteness.

“The temple of Rama Kushna,” Ra’s breathed out. “I’ve looked for it for so long.”

So even he could still be impressed from time to time. Though Jason guessed he was more interested in his objective than in the place itself. Yet it had its own power, and so did the order within.

Jason let himself drop to the edge of the monkey bridge which connected the temple to the outside world. Good defense, Jason though. Even for him it would be hard to reach it from the other way, the climb being much harder from that side.

He started on the bridge before Ra’s could, unwilling to let him be the first to contact the monks. Jason might be disrespectful most of the time, but he didn’t think himself to be above those people. Ra’s thought himself above everyone.

The others followed, making the bridge swing gently from one side to the other. By the time Jason had reached the end, several monks had gathered, anxious and surprised.

“Welcome to the temple of Rama Kushna, traveler,” one of the said.

Jason bowed politely. “My apologies for interrupting your peace. The man who follows me asked for a guide to the fountain of life and so I brought him here.”

“I’m Ra’s al Ghul,” Ra’s said in an authoritarian tone. The jerk. “Where is the fountain?”

“It’s not hidden,” the monk answered in a moderate tone. “It’s right beyond the temple, in the garden. But you should know… Only the pure of heart can enjoy its blessing. It brings death to those whose spirit is not pure.”

Jason tensed, worried about Ra’s reaction. He’d known, of course, but thought mentioning it to him would be a bad idea.

To his surprise, Ra’s scoffed, sounding rather amused. “Not being straight with me, Shadow of the shadow? Do not worry, I don’t fear the fountain’s judgment. Do you know, I’ve always believed it must be the prototype of the Lazarus pits I myself use.”

“Yeah well, sorry but that’s not exactly good news,” Jason commented.

Ra’s ignored him to follow the monks’ instructions. Bruce joined Jason, looking at him intensely through his white lenses.

“If you expect Ra’s to die…”

“I expect Ra’s to be Ra’s,” Jason interrupted. “Either he’ll die, or he won’t. Either way it will be his choice. You can’t force right decisions out of people, Bruce. You know that.”

But didn’t he still wish to. Yet Bruce didn’t protest further, following Ra’s with a frown. Jason rolled his eyes. Worst-case scenario? Ra’s was hurt without dying and demanded Jason’s body. As far as he was concerned, Ra’s dying was the best­ scenario.

Still, he shadowed them, as did the leaguers.

The fountain was of the purest water, far from the toxin green of the Lazarus pits. Jason swallowed. He’d seen it before, once, yet it was still breathtaking. Not that it looked like much: just a naturally formed rock sprouting water, which was gathered in a round basin dug into the stony ground.

Ra’s removed his tunic while one of his guards unlaced his shoes, leaving him only in his pants. His state was even more visible now: his ribs showing under a fragile, gray skin.

Yet Bruce stepped forward. “Ra’s. You can’t possibly think to go inside. If what the monk said is true…”

The Demon’s Head raised a hand.

“Detective. Do not presume.”

Jason snorted, which removed some of their impact from Ra’s words. Yet, it sufficed. Bruce stepped aside, fists clenched. There would be a backslash if Ra’s did die, Jason suddenly knew. Bruce would blame himself. Didn’t he always?

Well, fuck him. People did have the right to make bad choices. You couldn’t control everybody, or else, you’d be – Brainiac, or something.

Ra’s stepped inside the fountain, sitting down under the gentle stream. He didn’t scream, didn’t start burning or melting. Was he really pure? Jason hadn’t dared to test the fountain, the one time he’d come.

He had come for it specifically, of course, like most people who reached the place. He’d found its coordinate in the Batcomputer and had thought – why not? Maybe if would clean him from the Lazarus pit’s stain, or maybe it would kill him, putting things back how they should have been.

But in the end, he had not dared. Yet here Ra’s was, sitting fearlessly in the inoffensive water.

Inoffensive, but healing. Already Ra’s skin was looking better, his flesh and muscle filling in, youth coming back to his face. He smiled, noticing their surprise.

“Do not confuse purity and morality, Detective,” he told Bruce without heat. “The values you think so highly of are very new to this world. As positive as you might think them, such a stream wouldn’t judge them more worthy than any other.”

“You kill people,” Bruce answered, tense. “Nothing can find that pure. You seek unbalance, in others, by killing them, and in yourself, by staying alive for so long.”

“Maybe it is so, from your point of view. Yet my intention is indeed to cleanse this world.”

Ra’s closed his eyes, breathing in as the fountain kept healing him, a clear dismissal. Jason moved to Bruce’s side, taking his arm to thug him away. “We should leave.”

“The monks…”

“Can defend themselves. They’re blessed by Rama Kushna, you know.”

Jason wasn’t even kidding, and it must have been apparent in his tone because Bruce didn’t resist further. They politely saluted the monks, who escorted them back to the entrance. Maybe Jason would go back, in his world. Not right away but – later. When he would have found his center at last.

They’d left the League’s stronghold at dawn and, even though the return trip was long, they managed to reach the Batplane right before dawn. To their relief, Damian and Talia were waiting for them there.

“Father!” Damian stopped just short from Bruce, clearly unwilling to behave like a child. To Jason’s surprise, Bruce ended the movement by hugging the kid. Damian squealed his protests without pushing him away.

Talia inclined her head at Jason. “My father?”

“Healed and well. We left before him but I don’t expect him to meet any surprises on his way back.”

She nodded, looking relieved, then she smiled. “Thank you, Shadow of my shadow.”

“Isn’t it Bruce who’s Damian’s dad?” Jason asked, just because, fuck, what was it with her coming into him?

As soon as he said the words, Talia’s face emptied of any expression and, from the corner of his eyes, Jason could see Bruce straightening up guiltily. Riiiight.

“Anyway, we have to go,” Jason decided. “Thank you for your help, Talia.”

“It should be I thanking you, Jason from another world. I trust the one from this one will soon return?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re looking into it.”

Bruce nodded at Talia awkwardly, then nudged Damian into the Batplane. The kid didn’t protest: the day had been a long one. They left without further discussion then put on the autopilot so they could take turns sleeping.

Even with a few hours of eyes-closing, Jason still felt wasted when they finally landed back in Gotham. He would be relieved to slip into his bed and have a real, good rest, knowing the local Batfamily was safely home.

He opened the Batplane’s door, hoping to head upstairs to do just that – and stopped dead as Jason Wayne looked up to him. He swallowed, looking around, not knowing if he wanted him to be alone or if he hoped he was.

But no: here he was, looking up at him from afar. Bruce. His Bruce.

###

Earth 53 – Jason Wayne

The first thing Jason felt when the Batplan’s door opened was relief: Bruce was there, mostly unarmed despite a few cuts he’d definitely want to check, and so was Damian, who jumped down without wasting time.

Then Jason took the time to properly look at his double and… yeah. Doppelganger might be the right word. He was wearing his own gear, the same type he’d found in the flat he’d woken up in the other Earth: reinforced pants, combat boots, leather jacket which likely was reinforced too, and way too many weapons for someone who moved like he was one.

He looked as bad as Jason had feared. Yet, from what Kal and Dick had told him, he hadn’t hesitated to follow Bruce when they’d found out Damian’s life was in danger so maybe he should take appearances for what they were.

Besides, it’s not like he didn’t understand where he came from.

It was also hard not to notice how this other Jason had tensed all over when he’d seen the Bruce

“Nice to meet you,” Jason said, going forward, hand raised, to cut the tension. “I’m the local Jason. Thank you for bringing back my brother and nephew in one piece.”

The other Jason – this was going to become tedious soon, thinking about him that way, he should think about him as Todd instead – looked taken aback, but recovered quickly and shook his hand almost without trying to crush it.

“My pleasure,” Todd said, his tone clearly ironic, yet… it was probably true.

Jesus. This really was like talking to a younger self. How weird.

Jason smiled his most Luthorian smile, and was rewarded by a frown. Bruce – his Bruce – damnit – rolled his eyes.

“I know, I know,” Jason said. “No need to antagonize our host. I can’t help myself.”

Forgetting his doppelganger for a moment, he went and hugged Damian, then pulled Bruce into the hug with them, because he could. Feeling their presence physically was a relief. They were there. They were fine.

Then Bruce winced. “Alright,” Jason said. “Damian, to the shower. Make sure you aren’t hurt anywhere and if you aren’t careful enough, I’ll check you myself. Bruce, to the med bay.”

Damian obeyed without protesting too much, which was unusual, but then, considering the circumstances, Jason was not surprised. Todd raised his eyebrows at Bruce, who grimaced back, removing his cowl.

“I wouldn’t have to behave like you mother if you behaved more responsibly by yourself,” Jason commented.

“Please, don’t,” Bruce grumbled.

The other Bruce – yeah, he wasn’t going to call him Wayne, that would be just too weird – almost smiled.

“If it makes you feel better, he did the same with me, and I’m ten years older than him.”

Jason’s brother didn��t seem to know what to do about that comment. “I’m not sure if I should be reassured, or worried that he’s going to do that my whole life.”

“That’s what older brothers are for,” Jason sing-songed, nudging Bruce into removing the top part of his armor.

Cuts everywhere. That’s what he’d though. He started cleaning them.

“Todd, can I ask you to go tell Dick you’re all back and fine? He’s hard to wake up and might just mumble something but he’ll remember in the morning.”

“Sure.”

The tone didn’t match the answer. Was he hurt, too? The other Bruce was checking on him from afar but Todd’s movements only broadcasted discomfort, which could be largely attributed to his adoptive father’s presence. Or was it because of Jason himself?

Nevertheless, Todd removed his guns and knives then the most obvious parts of his armor before heading back upstairs. The other Bruce raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment. Todd didn’t look in his direction, which wasn’t quite the same as ignoring him successfully.

“Bruce, a hand?” Jason called, mostly to distract him.

This brother grunted at having two people stitching him back up at the same time, uncomfortable himself with this unknown person being so close, but that’s what he got for getting himself cut like that.

“Ra’s?” Jason asked while working.

“Alive and well.”

“Mh. Talia?”

“Helped us,” Bruce confirmed, to Jason’s relief. “She says hi.”

“She doesn’t.” She never did.

“She doesn’t need to.”  No, indeed.

Jason finished working alongside the other Bruce. When he was satisfied, he nodded and let his brother take his own shower, his wounds taped with waterproof bands. Damian had finished in the meantime and headed upstairs to his bed, not without Jason hugging him one last time. Damian didn’t even protest.

Jason sighed when he found himself alone with the other Bruce. “What a family we both have.”

“You take good care of them all.”

“Thank you,” Jason answered. “I’m mostly sad about how Damian has been treated by Ra’s, though. Even Talia… I like her, but even though she protected him this time, I’m never sure she will next time. Oh I don’t think she’d kill him, even to save Ra’s life, but manipulating him into doing what she wants?”

He shrugged. That’s how she’d been raised. She didn’t see the wrongness in it.

The other Bruce sighed. “I know what you mean.”

“Yeah, I guess you would. Sorry but I can’t believe two of you were stupid enough to sleep with her. I mean. It was obvious she tried to seduce because Ra’s wanted her to.”

“She did?”

“Well, she did like us, I think,” Jason amended. “It wouldn’t have been quite that effective if she didn’t. But still.”

“Don’t underestimate her,” Bruce tempered. “I slept with her after having had a vasectomy and she still managed to have Damian.”

“Huh,” Jason said, very intelligently. Maybe he should have enjoyed the sex, then. He sure had wanted to, back then. Though the idea of her showing up with his son… It has been hard enough to have her show up with his nephew.

“Yeah well,” Jason sighed. “I’m still glad to leave that particular worry to Bruce. Besides, I get to enjoy Damian’s charming personality nonetheless.” He grinned.

The old Bruce smiled, likely understanding that he was only joking. They sat there in companionable silence for a couple of minutes, then Jason’s brother finished his showered and joined them, wearing the dark grey fatigues they kept in the Cave for such occasions.

“I’ll head upstairs, have some sleep before starting the day. How’s Dick?”

“Asleep, I think,” Jason said. “I just sent Todd tell him you were all fine, so you can head directly to your bed.”

“Hmpf.”

“If you try to hack into the computer from your room to fill the files today, I will see it.”

“Maybe I should prevent you from going to the office when you didn’t sleep either tonight.”

Jason yawned at the thought. “I might actually stay at home, today. I mean, I’ve been off for a few days, I assume you pretended I was sick?”

“I did. Take your Friday off, too. I’ll give you a hand to catch up on Monday.”

“Noted. See you, then.”

“See you, Jay.”

Jason smiled as he watched his brother go back upstairs. The other Bruce titled his head.

“You don’t have to stay.”

“You sure? Todd might go to bed right away too but if he comes back downstairs…”

“Then I’ll handle him.”

Jason looked at this older Bruce, who wore so many traces of the hard live he’d lived, and who didn’t seem remotely tired despite the lack of sleep.

“You’ll hold the fort?”

“I will. Go to sleep.”

Jason stretched, getting up. He knew he could rely on his little brother, of course, they’d both risk their lives for each other – and they did, numerous times. But he felt responsibility toward him, like he didn’t toward this other, older Bruce.

It was nice.

“Alright. Don’t kill each other, if Todd comes back down.”

“No corpses where Alfred can find them. Got it.”

Jason grinned, then, after a short hesitation, went to this other Bruce and hugged him like he’d hugged his brother. He felt him startle but then Bruce recovered and closed his arms around his adoptive son’s doppelganger. He was a very good hugger.

“G’night,” Jason said, letting him go.

“Good night, Jason.”

###

Note: comments are very welcome :)

#byme #my fics #upbringing #jason wayne #jason todd #bruce wayne #batfamily

[kathrynmaslow]

Love Lies 15/15

Summary: Ever since Emma was 13, she knew she had the ability to destroy people if she wanted to, and some days, she really wanted to. After being forced to go to Greenwood Academy following a traumatizing event in her childhood that brought to the surface her ability to manipulate fire, she never thought she would be free of the place. So for nearly 10 years, she lived a solitary existence with the exception of her best friends, but that was all about to change.

Killian Jones had just been sentenced to attend the university campus at Greenwood Academy after an accident at sea caused him to be dishonorably discharged from Her Majesty’s royal Navy and lose his hand. He doesn’t know what to think about these newfound powers and what they spell for the rest of his now not-so-normal life. But a chance encounter one day has the ability to change all of that.

A story about love and redemption between two people that shows, if you have the right person beside you, you can find a light in the darkness.

Rating: M

Content Warnings: Mentions of Violence/Death, Brief mention of Childhood Abuse/Sexual Assault, Mild Sexual Content.

Chapter Notes: I can’t believe the end is here! This journey with CSBB2018 has been nothing like I would have ever expected, and I am so glad that I did it. I have never finished a single multi-chapter that I have started in my life, and thankfully BB gave me the support and deadlines that I needed to finally be able to do it! I have so many people that I have to thank for following me on this journey, thanks to the moderators, for running a great FF writing group. Thanks to all the ladies on Discord, your words, stories, inspiration and oversharing will stay with me forever. You all gave me the kick in the butt I needed when I needed it and all those long nights sprinting to get words in by the deadlines were amazing. I can’t thank you ladies enough. Even though it is cliché (and she will never read this) but I have to thank my mother, for telling me to do something for myself this year that I enjoy. I found BB and took the plunge, and have enjoyed the experience right from the start.

I would be remiss to not thank @daveyjacobsthepotterhead, for being my beta reader. You and I were kind of thrown together at the last minute and we worked tirelessly together to make this weird idea that I had into something amazing. Our chats on tumblr and in the comments of this document were able to get me through this thing and turn it from something that I wasn’t quite sure about something that I can say I am so proud to have written and put out there.

Also thanks to @princesse-swan, for your gorgeous story art that you put together for this story. We were also thrown together at the last minute, but we made the best of the thing and I felt that our collaboration together worked out wonderfully on both sides. Thanks so much for your commentary on my story as well and giving me feedback when I needed it most.

Thanks to all my readers, especially those who took time to comment on every single chapter of this on FF.net, your comments meant the world and certainly made up for all the stress of writing this without any feedback at the time. You Rock!

Now, here it is! Enjoy!

Read on FF

Catch up on Tumblr: One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven    Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen

Art by @princesse-swan here, here and here

Chapter 15

3 months later

Emma and Killian woke to pounding on the door.

Emma groaned, pulling the blankets further over her head and burying her face in the pillow. She felt more than heard Killian laughing from his place next to her in bed.

Ever since they had made up, they had been working on getting more comfortable with each other again, as well as working on some of their individual fears that lingered from their pasts.

The one they were currently working on having a breakthrough with was Emma’s fears of intimacy.

She loved Killian, had told him so many times in the intervening months, but she had struggled getting over that barrier of being comfortable with a lot of physical and, their current struggle, sexual contact.

Not that there was anything wrong with that, as Killian kept assuring her, he was more than comfortable moving at her pace.

But Emma was frustrated with herself. It had been so long since that incident with her stepfather and she wanted to be over it, she truly did so she didn’t feel like she was holding something back in their relationship. But anytime Killian put his full weight on top of her for an extended period of time she still felt that fear rising out of her, and her flames flickering awake to try and protect her.

She hadn’t burned him again since that one disastrous night, but she didn’t want to risk doing it again.

Killian’s wrist rubbed along her back as he rolled over and leaned into her side, his face buried against the back of her shoulder.

He clearly didn’t want to wake up and see who was at her door either.

The pounding became more insistent. “Emma, Come on, wake up!” She heard David call through the door.

Her and Killian both groaned at the familiar voice. They both probably should have moved faster at getting out of bed though, forgetting that David had a key to her room. The door swung open unexpectedly, causing Killian to bolt upright, lobbing the pillow he had been using in the direction of the door.

David caught it with ease, his eyes widening comedically as he caught sight of a bare-chested Killian in her bed.

“Uhhh, is Emma here?” He asked, sounding completely uncomfortable with the state of things.

She extended her hand out from under the blankets and grunting before dropping her hand back down to the bed. It was too early in Emma’s opinion for this to be happening.

“Are you dressed under there?” He asked, sounding even more uncomfortable than he had previously.

Killian laughed, causing the bed to shake with the force of his laughter.

“Yeah, I am.” She groaned, still not moving.

“Good, because I have some news for you.” He said, “Riggans was fired.”

That got her attention. She bolted upright in bed, shoving her hair out of her face as she fully started waking up.

“What do you mean Riggans was fired?” She asked, disbelief coloring her voice.

“I mean, he was removed from his position as Headmaster of the lower and upper campuses here at Greenwood, pending an investigation into his possible involvement with the attack that happened a few months ago.” David explained.

She looked over at Killian in disbelief. He looked just as shocked as she felt. Emma couldn’t believe that Riggans would have been involved with the organization of the military style attack on their campus that got both her and Killian locked down.

Then again, she had remembered August and Graham commenting about how it was unusual that she was the one who was punished for protecting her campus while Gaston hadn’t been sentenced afterwards besides being sent off campus to a different facility. Not even a more secure facility, one that had less security than the one they were currently attending. That had always struck her and Killian odd whenever they had talked about it.

“Bloody hell.” Killian intoned next to her.

She could tell that he didn’t know how to react to the news either.

David pointed towards the window, “As you can see, not many people are mourning him getting fired.”

She and Killian shared a look before darting off her bed and pushing aside the curtains on her window.

Normally, she had a nice view of the courtyard between all of the high risk buildings. The courtyard was normally pretty quiet as not many students lived this far out on campus and the only traffic was high risk students getting to and from their buildings.

Now it was packed, full of students chanting and cheering and celebrating the loss of the man who had ruled this school with an iron fist for the last two years.

Emma had the strong urge to join them.

But there were more pressing thoughts on her mind.

“Do you know who they have selected to replace him?” She asked, not taking her eyes off the scene in front of her.

“I don’t know him, but they announced that someone named August Clasen would be taking over until they could appoint a new Headmaster. Apparently he used to be the head of security.” David said.

Emma’s knees went a bit weak and she dropped her hand down onto the windowsill while the other went to her chest in shock and relief.

“Emma! Hey, what’s wrong.” Killian asked, his thumb brushing through tears she hadn’t known she was shedding.

“We get to leave, we are going to get to leave.” She said, hope shining in her eyes at the prospect of finally being able to leave this campus for good.

.o.O.o.

One year later.

Emma’s hands were shaking as she walked into the administrative building. She was finally doing this.

Not long after August had taken over as interim headmaster of Greenwood Academy, Edward Riggans, former headmaster, had been found guilty of conspiring to lead an attack against the gifted students at the academy in hopes of eradicating them.

The nail in his coffin had come when they called August onto the stand during his trial, and he had revealed his powers to the court and to Riggans for the first time.

Riggans had blown his lid in response, throwing out all kinds of slander at him and accusing him on manipulating him into doing all of those things that he was being charged for.

The only problem was that August could only read thoughts, not plant them. And the Judge knew that from first hand experience, because he had asked August to apply for the security job after a number of complaints had come in about how students were being treated at Greenwood that an investigation was launched while he was still headmaster.

The Jury sentenced him to life in prison for endangering the life of the minors on the campus and for targeted hate crimes.

Emma had never heard better news in her entire life.

At least, she hoped the news she was going to receive today would be better.

August had been selected as the new Headmaster for the Academy after the trial since no new candidates had applied for the position, and he had said when he took that office that he would listen to any case that came across his desk for a student requesting to live off campus.

Killian had held her when she cried after hearing that, because while Riggans had been headmaster, and the man who had held the office before him, they had both stated that High Risk cases wouldn’t get a hearing. They would get moved to a community that was assigned to them when they outlasted their stay on the upper college campus.

Now Emma, and Killian as well, would get the opportunity to apply to live off campus in the community of their choosing, and if they were lucky, without any of their suppression gear.

Killian had been working hard all year with a new trainer who had been brought in to help him with his abilities. It took August some time, and he called in a personal favor to do it, but he made sure that everyone who didn’t have a trainer before, or who wasn’t getting trained, was getting the care that they needed to become good functioning members of society again.

After a couple of sessions, they had finally figured out what was triggering Killian’s flares when he wasn’t wearing his glove, and had created a plan to help him contain the flare before it created any kind of an issue wherever he was located.

It took a few months, but he was able to tell her three months ago that he finally stopped having flares that he couldn’t control, and was able to use his powers with intent instead of it being a random explosion of darkness from around him.

And last month, she had applied to move the the community just off campus since she was graduating with her fine arts degree.

Killian wasn’t going to be that far behind her, since he was graduating in the fall instead of in the spring. But he had also applied to live off campus with her, pending a final review from the trainers on campus. August was willing to let him finish his last semester off campus, so Emma hoped that would mean good things for her as well.

As she walked up onto the floor where the hearings were held, she headed over to where the secretary was currently typing away at her desk and cleared her throat.

“Emma Swan to see the Housing Review Committee,” she said.

The woman looked up at her and nodded, gesturing to her to sit down in one of the empty chairs.

Emma tapped her hands against her knees restlessly. She was so nervous that her request was going to be denied.

“Emma Swan,”  A gentleman called from the doors.

The 5 other students who appeared to have been waiting before her scowled in her direction as she made her way back, smoothing down the edge of her cardigan nervously.

As she made her way into the room, she saw a table seated in the center of the room facing the committee panel lined up along the far wall. August was sitting in the middle of them, shuffling papers around to find what she presumed was her case file.

The gentleman who had called her back gestured for her to sit down at the table, calling out her name and case file number one more time for the committee .

There was another flurry of activity as everyone moved papers again to double check they had the right case number before they all turned and looked at Emma.

She resisted the urge to shrink down in her chair a bit.

“It’s very nice to see you again Ms. Swan,” August said, still leafing through her file.

“You as well, Sir. I don’t think I ever got to thank you.” She said, folding her hands together in an effort to keep from fidgeting.

“Whatever for child?” He asked, looking up at her surprised.

“For having the mercy to remove my suppression bracelets and the gloves before locking me on ICE two years ago. If it hadn’t been for that kindness, I likely would not be here today.” She said.

“Think nothing of it. Anyone could have seen what was happening to you was unjust.” August said, returning to the files in front of him. “Now, it says here that you want to live in the community just off campus here, without visitor restriction, is that correct?”

Emma nodded at him. She didn’t say that she really wanted to live there without her bracelets, but that would be a request for another time. “Yes, My brother, his wife and daughter would like to come and see me if approved. I haven’t seen my brother in over ten years.”

August’s eyes crinkled behind his glasses.

“Yes, I see. The committee has taken the time this week to review your case and court files, and will be making a ruling today to either deny or accept the request to move off campus to the community.” August started, looking down at her.

She nodded to show that she was following the formal language of the proceeding.

“I move that we accept the request to move one, Ms. Emma Swan, off campus to the Greenwood community, allowing her full visitor privileges and the ability to live without the suppression gear that has been provided to her by this academy.” Emma’s jaw dropped in response. “The committee will review the case in 5 years time to determine if the suppression gear needs to be reinstated or she can begin to assimilate back into normal society while maintaining residence in a community. All in favor, say aye.”

Tears filled Emma’s eyes as one by one the committee members voted to live off campus without her bracelets. As the last committee member cast his vote, August turned his smiling eyes on her.

“Congratulations Ms. Swan, the committee has moved to approve your request. You will be assigned a housing location by the end of the week and will have a months time after the end of the spring term to move in. Case closed.” He said, hitting his gavel once on the desk.

Emma walked back to her dorm where Killian and the rest of her friends were waiting in a daze.

She was going to be free.

.o.O.o.

Killian groaned as his alarm clock went off. He rolled over and hit the offending device a few times before finally getting it to quiet.

Rolling back over, he reached his hand across the bed towards where Emma should have been laying, only to encounter empty sheets instead. He could hear the sound of the shower running in the other room.

Killian sighed. He knew Emma would be stressed out today, it was understandable considering the circumstances, but he had at least hoped that she would have gotten at least some sleep before she got up in the morning.

She had been turning over and fidgeting restlessly next to him for a good portion of the night, until he had reached over and pulled her body into his, tucking her back against his chest. He had hoped that stilling her movements and feeling the heat of his body would at least relax her enough to allow her to sleep, but it seemed like he was the only one who got some peaceful sleep out of the arrangement.

Pushing his hand through his hair to try and straighten it a bit, he pushed himself up and out of bed. Killian grabbed a shirt from off the floor and shrugged it on as he made his way downstairs towards the kitchen.

He thought it was the least he could do to make them breakfast.

Killian grabbed a box of pancake mix from the cabinet and set to work, grabbing the eggs and milk from the fridge. On a whim, he also grabbed the cinnamon from the cabinet as well, throwing a dash into the mix before whisking it all together.

Emma came pounding down the stairs just as he began to  pour the first batch out onto the skillet.

“Morning Love,” He said, turning to look over his shoulder at her.

She gave him a half smile in return as she continued to rub a towel through her damp hair.

“Do I smell pancakes?” She asked.

“Of course, with a secret ingredient thrown in for good measure as well.” Killian said, flipping the first pair over.

“Color me intrigued.” Emma replied, leaning next to the counter next to him. She was distractingly clad in his black robe, and nothing else from the looks of it, and it took all of his focus to make sure he didn’t burn the pancakes.

He flipped the finished product out onto a plate, turning to pass it to her. Emma surprised him by wrapping her hand around the nape of his neck and pulling his lips down to hers, kissing him soundly.

He grunted, wrapping his left arm around her and pulling her as close as the plate between them would allow.

He broke away first, not wanting to get overly carried away. “What was that for Love?”

“Can’t I thank my boyfriend for making us pancakes?” She asked with a smirk on her lips.

“Of course, whatever was I thinking.” He replied sarcastically, even though he knew it was more than that in the kiss. She was still nervous. “Sit down and enjoy your breakfast Swan, I’ll join you shortly.”

Emma nodded, turning and sitting down at the kitchen table.

Once Killian finished the pancakes, he joined her at the table to eat. She still said little, pushing the pancakes around on her plate and not really eating them.

Killian sighed quietly and reached his hand over, stilling her fingers where they were tapping on the table top. “It will be fine Emma. I’m going to go up and shower.” He said, squeezing her fingers and leaning over the table to press his lips to hers, a chaste comparison to the kiss over pancakes earlier.

~~~~

Emma watched as Killian made his way up the stairs towards their shared room and sighed. She knew she was worrying him, but she couldn’t seem to relax. She hadn’t seen Sean since he was 16, and so much had changed in the last 11 years.

She also didn’t know what he thought of her and her powers, which made the fact that he was coming over for his first visit today the more nerve-wracking for her. For all she knew, their mother had changed his views of her over the last 11 years, which would make this all the worse.

But he agreed to meet, so that was at least something.

She pushed the rest of her half eaten breakfast into the trash and left the plate in the sink for them to clean later.

Heading up stairs, she began shifting through her dresser and half of the closet for something to wear. What did you wear to meet with a brother you hadn’t seen in 11 years? Not that, she thought as she passed on one of her short, red dresses in the back of the closet.

Finally, after a lot of indecision, she settled on a comfortable pair of jeans and a light sweater. She heard the shower shut off as she finished dressing, and she smiled softly as she heard him humming a song.

She was just as proud and excited as he was when he found out that his trainers had approved his request to be off campus for the remainder of his time at Greenwood. He still had to wear his glove, he wasn’t that in control of his powers yet, but that didn’t take anything away from the day they both found out. And it was a no brainer that Emma asked him to move in with her as well.

A good choice, she though as he stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung low across his hips and his hand raised to towel off his hair.

They still hadn’t taken that last step, but Emma was certain it would be happening soon. She was finally reaching that point where sexual contact wasn’t sending her into a panic attack, but it wasn’t entirely comfortable either. Her therapist, who she had started seeing to try and help things out, because she had a serious case of PTSD when it came to this even in her childhood, said that it would take time. And Emma was happy with the way things were coming along, it made her feel like maybe there wasn’t something wrong with her.

Killian walked over to her and pushed her still wet hair back from her face, “Feeling better Love?” He asked, kissing her briefly on the lips.

“Surprisingly, yeah,” She replied, standing up. “But you should get dressed, Sean is supposed to be here soon.”

She kissed him once more for good measure, and then moved around him out of the room.

Only, once she was away from him and by herself again in the main room, her nerves came back ten fold.

A loud knock on the door forced her out of her thoughts.

Killian came bounding down the stairs, fully dressed if barefoot, and moved to get the door for her.

The sun shown through the open door, obscuring the features of the person at the door.

A throat cleared. “Uh, does Emma Swan live here?” A deep voice asked.

“Yeah, come on in. Name’s Killian by the way. I’m Emma’s boyfriend.” Killian stepped back and let the gentleman in.

“Sean, Though you probably already know that.” The voice held a faint trace of a smile.

Killian’s response was lost to her as she took in the figure in front of her.

The face wasn’t that different, though he had shed the last of the teenage softness and grown into the gangly shoulders. Sean stopped short, mouth open in what would have been a response to Killian when he caught sight of her. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Emma?” He asked, of course she would have looked different to him.

She nodded her head, “Hi.”

Tear welled up in his eyes as well and he moved suddenly, pulling her into a crushing hug.

Her arms went around him and gripped him just as hard, both of them shaking with built up emotion.

“I missed you so much Bug.” He said, gripping her tighter.

“I missed you too.” She said.

Finally, everything in her life was perfect. And she could begin to leave behind the horrible things that happened to her at Greenwood for good.

Fin.

#csbb #2018 csbb #Love Lies #My writing #Emma swan #killian jones #Captain Swan #Emma x Killian

[lady-dinah]

Children of Gotham  (Chapter 1)

A series of one shots and stories from the life of one, Grandpa Bruce Wayne. FT. The Batkids as badass parents, and a lot of 'self-help parenting' guides.

(Stems mostly from DC comics/young justice)

Find the series on Wattpad here

CH1: The Small Manor (Dick Grayson's Children) 

Summary: No matter how old you get, sometimes it just takes your children, to make you feel young again.

OR Dick Grayson spent a whole week alone, beaten, and too busy saving Bludhaven. Now all he wants is a hug from his dad, and affection from his kids to feel whole again.

Set in DC comics

No edit, we die like mne (I mean I tried, but I'm shit at editing)

"No Barbara, I already checked the cave."

They had been going on like this, back and forth, for almost ten minutes. Don't get him wrong, Dick loves Barbara, she's his anchor, the mother of his children, his partner in crime, but she can be as stubborn as Bruce (and that's saying something). Speaking of his guardian, Dick wandered around the Manor looking for any sign of life or even anything besides this eerie silence. In all honesty he's never noticed how big the mansion was, ironic as it is, the place actually felt pretty small. Back then, when everyone lived under one roof, there was constantly some commotion going on. Whether it was Tim and Damian threatening to kill one another for the 20th time of the day. Or Stephanie blasting her hip hop music, while Cass argued she wanted to play her Mozart playlist instead. Even with Bruce and Jason just grumbling at one other still filled up the bleak noise of the manor.

Now everyone had grown up, moved on. Only Bruce, Alfred, and Damian were permanent residents. Even then, Damian was mostly off world these days. Playing Batman with the Justice League. A pang of guilt gutted his stomach, he didn't want to be that kind of kid who just leaves their dad high and dry once they've moved out and made a life of their own. But these days things have been insanely hectic. Bludhaven had a mass breakout which kept Dick busy all week. The Justice League almost had another invasion on their hands, meaning both Damian, and Barbara, as Oracle, were busy running things. Wayne Enterprises stocks were dropping due to some insider trading, so there goes Tim's time. And God knows what Jason is even doing these days, but even he was clearly occupied since he hadn't called or even texted for the past week.

"Dick?" Barbara called again. "I think I found them."

A sigh of relief escaped his lips, after everything that has been going on. He couldn't handle the onset anxiety of his children possibly missing. Before Barbara and him left for their respective duties, knowing it would be all hands on deck with the situations around them. Dick dropped his kids off at the Manor, hoping Bruce could look after them. The old bat was hesitant at first, at his age caring for a baby and a rambunctious toddler was out his depth. But Dick assured him that his kids would behave, and if Bruce could handle five batkids he could handle anything. Still, he could never forget the nervousness and hesitation as his father held his baby boy for the first time. The eyes of a guardian and a protector instantly taking hold, as the old man carefully held the child like it was made out of glass. And that was the last of Dick seeing his kids and Bruce for almost a week. His heart ached when he slept alone in his bed, all the warmth gone from his wife's cuddles and his children's laughter.

But, the mission came first.

So here was, finally the escapees were back in their respective prisons, those injured taken to a hospital, and Bludhaven was back to its moderate levels of crime. Barbara was on her way back too after being cooped up in the birds of prey tower all week. At least she was in contact with Damian, and her girl group, not to mention the whole of the justice league. Dick was basically all alone for his mission. After the dust settled, he immediately headed towards the manor, desperately wanting a hug from his dad, and just to relish in his children's presence, but when he walked in, no one was home. No noise, no screams, just emptiness. He had called Barbara right after he entered, terrified that something had happened.

After all, it just takes one night...

"They're in the east wing, I think the third room on the left. The hallway with the ugly wallpaper."

Dick chuckled as he made his way up the stairs, his phone warm against his ear. "I'll have you know I chose that wallpaper."

He heard his wife scoff, could tell she was rolling her eyes. "No wonder it's shit. You're sense of style has always been awful."

"I never heard you complaining about discowling."

Barbara let out a breathy laugh. "Of course. That deep V showed all the good parts hunk wonder."

Dick knew where this was going, heat rising to his cheeks as all the tension left his shoulders. "It's been a while since we did play with my suit, hun?"

She hummed in response, making promises of midnight love when she came back. Dick grinned, knowing he would hold her to that oath, but he said his goodbyes and hung up when he finally came to the room where they were supposed to be. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the creaking door, light creeping into the dark room. Dick tensed for a second, the shadows playing tricks, making him see the monsters he's dealt with all week, but then the rumbles of snores and quiet huffs instantly put him at ease.

The room was littered with toys and drawings, crayons thrown about and stuffed animals put into a makeshift tea party. Not to mention a toy batmobile and batman thrown haphazardly on the floor. But the best sight of all was seeing the three people snuggled up on the large king size bed. His baby boy lay on top of Bruce's large chest, a pacifier slowly moving to each inhale and exhale. His plump fist held a fist-full of the old man's shirt, desperately clinging on to the old man. Then beside his father, lay his daughter, curled up and tucked into his side. Sleep lines marred across her pink cheeks as her dark hair sprayed all over Bruce's face. The elder bat had his strong arms wrapped tightly around both the children, daring anyone to try and pry them away from his grip.

Dick couldn't help the warm feeling blossoming in his chest. He quickly pulled out his phone getting ready to send pictures to Barbara, wanting to keep this memory forever. It was a miracle to see Bruce, and his kids, fall asleep. This two in one had to be a gift from God. The residing click of the camera is what jolted Bruce awake, instantly tugging the children into chest and snarling at the shadows in the room.

"Relax B, it's just me." Dick smiled, finally switching the lamp on. It took his father a second to recognize that it was just his son, not some intruder trying to take away the children he loved.

"Dick." he said, as if unable to believe he was standing before him. Dick nodded, reaching over to wrap his arms around his father's neck. The familiar smell of expensive cologne, leather, and sweat swept over him like a wave, calming him down as he unfurled from his father's hold.

"Morning B, or I guess, night."

Dick watched as his daughter began to mumble, then slowly rise out of her sleep. Rubbing her bright green eyes to take in the room. Her gaze instantly fell to Dick and all sights of grogginess vanished as a smile exploded across her features.

"Dad!" she screamed, and then leapt over Bruce and into his arms. Thank God for years worth of reflex training, because he would have dropped his daughter if he hadn't.

"Hello my princess," he chuckled, holding her tightly as his fingers made their way into her hair. "I missed you so much."

"Dada!" his son shrieked, pacifier falling from his lips and discarded onto the ground. He stumbled his way over to him, tripping over Bruce's leg. The old man gave a soft smile as he helped the boy walk over the mess of limbs. Dick scooped up his second child, nuzzling his nose into the baby's chubby cheeks as he let loose a shrill of giggles. Dick spent the next few minutes sitting and peppering his kids with kisses, his heart finally feeling whole again. He finally glanced over at Bruce who was quietly watching the exchange of affection with a soft look in his eyes. It wasn't exactly a smile per se but it was still Bruce's way of showing that he was happy.

"Get over here old man," Dick said, reaching over and wrapping his arm around the elder. Bruce stiffened at first but then melted into the embrace, Dick's kids instantly shifting to make room for their grandad.

"Dad, dad, daddy, dad, da-

"Yes Mary." Dick answered. His daughter pulled herself out of the embrace and jumping off the bed, a little too dangerously for his taste.  Barbara was going to kill him once she learned that their daughter has taken to making deadly jumps for fun, just like a certain someone he knows.

Mary gathered all the drawings that were scattered on the floor, then threw them all on top of the bed. Most of them fell on Bruce's legs.

"Grandpa Bruce and I drew all this stuff 'cause he told me that Uncle Dames likes to draw and I want to be just like Uncle Dames 'cause Uncle Dames is soooooo cool, and Uncle Dames draws really well so I wanted to draw really well so I practiced with Grandpa and then Grandpa Bruce told me I draw as good as Uncle-

"Mary, sweetheart." Dick chastised, "slow down."

His daughter inhaled almost comically, ready to speak again, but she  didn't even bother slowing down, trying to jam a week's worth of activities into one sentence. Dick just shook his head and smiled, knowing all too well where all this energy was coming from. His son began to imitate his sisters voice, squealing out his own stories even though most of it was baby talk that no one, but Mary, could ever understand.

"Wow Jimbo, really?" Dick said, pretending to converse with the baby. All it did was make the child more enthusiastic about his babbles. The young father turned to the elder, who was making his way out of the bed.

Dick put Jim on the floor beside Mary, as he rushed over to help, but Bruce just brushed him off with a wave of a hand. Slowly easing himself onto the floor, with more effort than it would usually take. Dick knew Bruce hated it, to feel useless and old. To have a weakness, to have the need to be dependant. No matter how many times Dick and many others told Bruce that it's okay to ask for some assistant, that it's not a sign of failure. All they would get in return would be angry eyes and a sneer, as the batman would attempt to stomp away but end up hobbling instead.

"Grandpa!" Mary yelled louder while Dick winced. As much as he loved his kids, they were a noisy bunch. "Are we gonna make pancakes! You promised!"

Bruce just chuckled, warm and deep. Rare too. "Of course baby, I'll race you downstairs."

Mary instantly stood up and bolted out the room, her footsteps echoing off the walls.

"Her stealth training needs some improvement," Bruce said, a little too seriously to be a joke.

Dick gave him a raised brow, picking up his son who was about to stuff a crayon into his mouth. "Please tell me you have not been training my children behind my back." he exasperated.

He just got a shrug as an answer, which really didn't ease him at all.

"Whatever, we'll talk about this later" Dick sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How were they? Mary and Jim."

Bruce leaned over, Dick expected he just wanted more room to move towards the door, but instead he plucked Jim right from his hands and held the boy protectively in his arms. Then proceeded to shuffle out the door. It was probably pathetic and petty, but Dick really wanted to hold his son. Like it was unfair that Bruce got to spend a whole week with them, not to mention how happy Jim looked being in his grandpa's arms right now. So yeah, maybe he was a little bit jealous, but what Bruce didn't know wouldn't kill him.

"They were... They were good Dick." Bruce started, as Dick followed out behind the pair. "No. They were better, amazing. They made me feel... made me feel... I..."

Dick rolled his eyes, even years after being with five kids, not to mention mentoring young heroes and saving millions of lives, Bruce still had trouble expression emotion. Thankfully, Dick was here to translate.

"They make you feel alive don't they. Younger, energetic, you just constantly want to impress them, be their hero, give them the world and then some more."

Bruce stopped, dead in his tracks. He turned to look at Dick, grey eyes with years worth of experience, pain, joy, all flashing at once.

"Now you understand how I felt about all of you."

Dick stumbled, he never lost his balance. Never. But at this moment, this moment right here was all it took to make him choke. To wet his eyes. He spent a whole week getting beat up, cursed at, and all alone. But just one sentence of pure heart from a man he called father, is what broke him.

"Dada?" Jim whispered, his bottom lip jutting out, concern marking his little features. Dick wiped his eyes, leaning down to kiss his sons red hair.

"I'm fine buddy, don't worry about me."

"Grandpaaa! Daaad!" Mary shrieked. "You're taking so looooongg!"

"Are you sure she's not Canary's child?" Bruce questioned with a smirk.

Dick snorted, but then reached out and yanked Jim back from Bruce's grip. The boy screamed in excitement as Dick ran down the stairs.

"Come on old man, I'll race ya!"

Bruce smiled, but what Dick didn't see was that things had never changed. That he was still Bruce's little boy and always will be.

Hey babes, 

Hope ya’ll liked Ch1. I’ve already posted CH2 on Wattpad if ya’ll wanna check it out, but I will be posting CH2 here later on (Spoiler! CH2 is all about Jason Todd’s kids). 

Anyways hope ya’ll enjoyed!! Let me know what ya’ll think! 

- Lady Dinah 

#batman #damian wayne #bruce wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #barbara gordon #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #duke thomas #robin #nightwing #red robin #red hood #batgirl #spoiler #grandpa bruce wayne #granda bruce #children of gotham #gotham #mama's tryna get famous so she's using hella tags #dickbabs #dick grayson x barbara gordon #jim gordon #mary grayson #jj grayson

[dante-carrington]

dark necessities || dante/clove/alex

For at least ten minutes, Dante had been staring down at his PDD, brows wrought together in a look of pensive frustration. Meetings, he could organise with ruthless efficiency, but this couldn’t look like a meeting. Nothing formal. It had to look like a social gathering, and Dante was far less practiced at organising those. He didn’t want to be accused of conspiring - perhaps Quinn wouldn’t even care about this proposed chat, but it felt right to keep it private for now. Better safe than sorry, after all.

After much deliberation, he’d settled on Clove as the third member of their trifecta. His first instinct had been Percy, because he had already discussed a more moderate perspective with her, but it had to be Clove. She was closer to Quinn than anyone; if there was someone in the Colony that could convince him to open his mind, it was her. And in any case, though he couldn’t claim any friendship with her, he did admire her efficiency and professionalism. Hopefully, he could also depend on her discretion. The first hurdle was organising a chat without seeming suspicious - or lewd. If Clove thought Dante had planned on making a move - perish the thought - she’d certainly not come.

But then, if he sent a message framing it as a professional meeting, and Quinn caught wind of it, he’d want to know what two members of his group were doing having a meeting without him, with an Infected no less.

Dante sighed. He was overthinking it. He always overthought it. 

Clove. Catch 22 at 7.30. Something to discuss. Dante.

He hesitated for a final moment before sending the message. Then, a quick message to Alex with the time of their meeting. The whole thing seized him with a feeling of wrongness, and he didn’t like it. It felt necessary even so; Dante had put himself on this path, and he wasn’t likely to leave it. He had long thought that the NWRF were too harsh, too iron-fisted, but... he hadn’t wanted to be the one to do something about it. It was becoming increasingly apparent that nobody else was going to take action, however, bar the Infected pulling some silly stunts. After receiving confirmations from both parties, Dante spent the rest of the day in a brooding bad mood. His patients, no doubt, couldn’t tell the difference.

When he arrived at the pub, shortly before their meeting time, he bought a drink. Dante didn’t typically drink much, but he was an unusual enough sight at the pub without sitting empty handed. Several groups that had been chatting animatedly quickly grew somber and quiet with him in the room; members of the NWRF weren’t a welcome sight in social areas. Whisky in hand, he slid into one of the empty booths and tapped his fingers against the sticky surface of the table, staring darkly into his glass. Each time the door opened his gaze snapped to it; he wanted very much to get this over with.

Eventually, Clove arrived and Dante raised a hand to get her attention. “Thank you for coming,” he said crisply, adjusting his collar in a practiced motion he performed a dozen times a day. “Alex Donovan will be joining us shortly. We recently discussed an issue that we would very much like your input on.” Hopefully Alex would be punctual; he wasn’t sure how long he was willing to make small talk with Clove for. Not for the first time, he did wonder if this was the right place to do this. He thought it would be safer talking somewhere loud like a pub, so being overheard was less likely - but the presence of two NWRF reps had a way of quieting people, and the fact that they were socialising with an Infected was going to draw attention.

That, or it might make Clove and Dante look a little more favourable in their eyes, being willing to sit with Alex- it seemed unlikely, though.

#para: dark necessities #clove #alexander

[sophygurl]

WisCon 42 panel MCU’s Black Superheroes

The full title of this panel was Show Me My Respect: A Critical Look At The MCU’s Black Superheroes

The panel description:

Has the MCU done its black characters justice over the last 10 years? Did Disney allow Ryan Coogler to give Black Panther the respect and nuance it deserves? Did the Russo Brothers f*ck up everything in Avengers: Infinity War that the black and NBPOC writers and directors established in building complex characters and storylines? Let's explore this decade-long journey into Phase IV to see how the MCU has and will continue to treat us.

The moderator was Jennifer Cross, with panelists Aunterria Bollinger and K. Tempest Bradford.

Reminder that these panel notes are only my own recollections and the things I managed to write down - my notes are incomplete and likely faulty in places. Corrections and additions are always welcome. Especially please do correct me if I get names or pronouns wrong!

Also I name panelists as that’s publicly available information but not audience members unless requested by that person to have their named added.

[I came into the panel a little bit late, so missed intros and probably some other stuff.]

Tempest was talking about the black best friend trope and that DCTV does this a lot. Rhodey is very underused, and Civil War turned him into the disabled black best friend. 

Jennifer said Don Cheadle deserves better! Iron Man 2 gave complexity to Rhodey and Tony’s relationship and Civil War messed a lot of that up. It also made Rhodey disabled in a super questionable way [I missed some of this statement]. It was a literal cheap shot and felt like Joss Whedon saw him as an expendable character to use to elevate white man pain. Also the fact that Rhodey just automatically sides with Tony - what happened to the tension between them and Rhodey holding Tony accountable for his actions?

Jennifer made an aside to let the audience know that the panelists were going to be using a lot of code switching and AAVE references. She then went on to say “Fuck Infinity War - Russo brothers, take your white man pain to Ralph Lauren and buy some more polo shirts.” (lol)

Jennifer brought up that two black American men go to Wakanda for the first time and said nothing about it. Also they made Wakanda look “dank as shit.” 

Tempest said the amount of Cumberbatch she had to stare at in Infinity War was too much - she skipped a whole movie to avoid him! (me too) One problem with IW was that there were just too many people in it, so they couldn’t properly focus on anyone. 

Tempest added - why didn’t they just ask Shuri to fix things from the start? She was finally going to fix it, but she got interrupted by more man pain! Jennifer added that she loved the “you tried” moment with Shuri. 

Aunterria talked about IW’s short shifting of Wakanda as if they were saying “well we gave you a whole movie - what else do you want?” But also how much worse it might have been if that had been the first introduction to Wakanda instead of coming out after Black Panther. 

Jennifer brought up Winter Soldier and how Sam got to have a whole back story about his PTSD. In IW, we see him helping other people with their trauma but they never address how events are affecting him. She talked about how PTSD varies from person to person, and about how it can affect black people differently, especially.

Tempest brought up the gaybaiting of the series. Jennifer adds that she hates shipping, but she loves Sam and Bucky. 

Tempest said that Sam has more back story than Rhodey in terms of story that isn’t tied to a main white character. She will also never forgive Tony for shooting him in the face in Civil War. Marvel tries with regards to race, but their attempts are inadequate. 

She went on to talk about the character of M’Baku in Black Panther. She has a friend who was initially very upset about the inclusion of this character because in the comics the portrayal is very racist. Then he saw the movie and saw how great the character was. This is what happens when you give black people agency. Ryan Coogler had a lot of freedom in how he made BP.

Tempest added that white directors may try, but when trying to fix race in one area, they often make it racist in a whole other way. She brought up the Mandarin, for example. Why don’t you just ask an Asian person?

Jennifer said she wanted the panel to primarily focus on black people. The MCU fucks up all people of color, but the panel is specifically about black characters. 

She added that she loved watching Rhodey kick Tony’s ass. When he said “you don’t deserve to wear this suit” - it was a calling out of his privilege. She also found it suspect that Rhodey didn’t notice Tony’s PTSD in Iron Man 3. He’s a veteran and a general and would be trained to look for those signs. She said “we’re 10% of the population in LA - find one of us and pay us to fix this stuff.” Especially important to find a black veteran officer to inform Rhodey and Sam’s characters. She no longer trusts white people to write black people. 

Jennifer moved on to Valkyrie. She said she does love Thor because Chris Hemsworth. Also Taiki Watiti did surprisingly well. She loves Tessa Thompson. 

Aunterria talked about her love for Danai Gurira as both Michonne in The Walking Dead and Okoye in the MCU. However, she still falls under the trope of the exceptional black woman giving it all up for a man. 

Tempest countered that saying that Okoye fights for Wakanda over a man. She and T’Challa fight alongside one another and it’s clear that she would do the same for Shuri if she was queen. BP is not just about awesome black men, but black women too. There isn’t enough complexity in the other black characters in the MCU with the exceptions of Heimdall and Valkyrie. Asgard also had random Asian and black characters walking around that are never addressed or explained.

Jennifer loved Valkyrie drunkenly stepping off the ramp. Also the quietness of Heimdall’s character even when had more to do than just standing there. She talked about being a big Norse Scandanavian folklore nerd and said Asgard looks the way it’s supposed to look - it was actually diverse as shit. It took a man of color to finally make it look almost accurate representation-wise. She references the show The Almighty Johnsons as a show about Norse gods living in New Zealand. 

Jennifer wonders if it’s going to take only poc behind the scenes to give us proper treatment. Way down in her soul is an optimist that “no amount of beating with Lucille can shut up” that wants to know if it can happen any other way. 

Aunterria said she’s not optimistic about this. She can’t think of a poc character written by a white person that’s done anything meaningful or purposeful or accurate. 

There is much collective groaning about Iron Fist.

Aunterria talked about making Luke Cage bulletproof but not talking about police violence. Giving black characters powers without engaging in the social issues around them. 

Jennifer said she is mixed about Luke Cage. It’s the embodiment of respectability politics. But there is an effort to show Harlem and the gentrification of it. There’s this idea that poc don’t have any room to make mistakes. BP did so well that Kevin Feige is begging Coogler to come back. 

Jennifer said that she loves the women in LC - especially Misty. There are lots of women who are all different people, all unapologetically black but in different ways. She’s watching it for the women. Praises Alfre Woodard. 

Tempest uses headcanons to make movies better.

Jennifer addressed how Tessa Thompson was the one out of the women in the MCU cast to ask Kevin Feige about them wanting their own movie. Why did the black woman have to be the one to ask for what all these white women have been wanting? Why couldn’t ScarJo take her white appropriating ass up there and ask about it?

Tempest talked about the TV part of the MCU technically being in the same universe. TV shows have to include the big events of the movies but not the other way around. She said she stopped watching Shield when Daisy’s transformation killed the black male character (Trip) for one episode of white pain. Jennifer also stopped watching it in season one.

Aunterria is still watching Shield. She wondered if Trip had been killed because of the possibility of his entering into an interracial relationship. She said there is a new black male character (Mack), but his arc is all about suffering. Last season had a storyline about aliens enslaving white people, which was interesting. But the people of color come to save the white people. Jennifer interjects “Killmonger wasn’t wrong...”

Tempest adds “Joss is the most fuckassed fuckass to ever fuckass.” Jennifer asks what about Stephen Moffat? Tempest said - he’s second.

Aunterria said Shield did make the black man the team leader at the end of this season. Jennifer said - so he has to suffer for his reward now and his reward is to parent a group of white people? That’s even more fucked up!

Tempest said that BP gave her hope. Jennifer said - see, she’s not the only one with optimism. Tempest said that Coogler has some power right now - maybe he can bring in some friends and fix some more stuff.

Aunterria said that being a black writer right now is also hard because there is so much to fix. There is so much shit to work on before you can even focus on your craft - so it’s more work for them.

Tempest said her hopes are with the movies over the TV shows.

Jennifer said - “especially fuck babyvampJessica” (Karen from Daredevil). It’s like the paler you are, the more people will die for you. 

Tempest said - as far as cleaning up, BP didn’t have to do that work because they were starting from scratch. There must be other characters that can be brought into the MCU movies that can be written by black writers.

Aunterria said those do exist, but the funding isn’t there. Tempest - but Gods of Egypt somehow got funding!

An audience member asked about Heimdall and if he would come back. Jennifer said that Idris Elba has said no on that. 

Tempest talked about actors being semi-responsible to the narrative of their characters. RDJ even saying - maybe it’s time for me to go? Jennifer added - and then they throw more millions at him and I can’t be mad about that. Tempest said that we know all those people who were turned to dust are coming back. It was a bold decision to kill some of them - but we need to sunset one story in order to have a sunrise on another. Also - “fuck Thanos.” 

Tempest said that something that ruins a narrative almost as much as white supremacy is the irresponsible choices of actors going on and on - except for all of the cast of BP - they can stay as long as they want.

Jennifer said that with Disney owning Marvel, Deadpool is now officially a Disney Princess (lol).

Tempest said she sat through all of Wolverine Origins just to see Hugh Jackman naked and she is done with Deadpool now.

An audience member asked about the character Cottonmouth on LC. Jennifer talked about him as a complex character bridging socio-economic status’s. She added that if you put trauma in a black character’s history, you need to do it in a way that is not just for show. She said the opposite of the example would be Zoe Walsh.

A member of the audience asked about Lash’s purpose on Shield. Aunterria said he filled in May’s backstory and explains things to us about her that we weren’t getting just from her side. But he was mostly there for gratuitous pain and suffering of a black man and Asian woman. 

Jennifer said the MCU is allergic to black love. “Tweet that.” She wants to see a black male character saving a black female character - not just everyone else.

An audience member asked about Miles Morales. Jennifer said - we’ve had four Peter Parkers in fifteen years! Tempest said Tom Holland is at least finally a good one. Kevin Feige has said there is space for Miles, but she wonders who is going to write him? 

Jennifer closed the panel with a firm statement for the white members of the audience, especially. She said - you will take everything good from our culture and appropriate it, but not our pain. You’ve taken our stuff for fun value and for show, but you don’t address our pain. 

This panel was also livetweeted pretty extensively with #blackmcu if you want more/other perspectives from it. 

[For context, I’m white.]

#wiscon #wiscon 42 #mcu's black superheroes #black mcu #mcu #black superheroes

[almighty-avenger]

Waiting - Peter Parker

Relationship: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: The reader is concerned about Peter coming back to her after fighting crime all day. This causes her to think of the night they started talking and forming their bond.

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, a sweet kiss

Words: 4480

A/N: This is my first imagine so please be kind. It is a bit long but PLEASE bear with me. I worked hard on it.

KEEP IN MIND:

The regular writing is present time

The slanted writing is a flashback

Enjoy my loves <3

+++

Waiting. It’s an agonizing feeling. To expect outcomes of situations that you have no idea how to decipher or understand.

You weren’t patient, you never were and you couldn’t be now. Especially not now, at a moment like this.

But, yet, here you were, still waiting.

The remaining question: How will this all end?

11:37 p.m. the clock presented.

Exhaling a frustrated sigh of defeat, you roll over on your mattress, eyes burning of fatigue. Your body craved desperately to drift off, into the land of slumber where you could escape your thoughts, your worries, your fears but your stubbornness remained tall and strong-like a cement wall.

How could you sleep when he was still out there?

You gaze out the tall window that was feet away from your bed, its glass sprinkled with raindrops from earlier precipitation. Outside, it led right out to the fire escape where he would usually arrive to slip into your room. Gazing out the window now, you reminded yourself to buy some plants and flowers to add some beauty outside your window. You’ve been meaning to do it for weeks now.  

As you kept staring, you search for a looming shadow or listen for a delicate tap against the glass, anything that signaled that he was here. That he had come back to you, that he was safe. You could never truly sleep soundly unless you knew for certain that he was okay.

Who were you waiting for?

Peter Parker, that’s who.

A.K.A Spiderman

A.K.A your best friend    

A.K.A the love of your life

Your head buries itself into your soft pillow as you think of him, your cheeks warming as you picture his tousled chocolate locks, sparkling brown eyes and heart thumping smile. The damn kid made you feel like the zoo escaped in your stomach whenever you locked eyes and you hated/loved him for it.

You both met last year, when you moved to Queens as a sophomore. At the time, Peter was identified as “The Dude You Had 30 Second Small Talk with in Chemistry Class” and those “conversations” you two shared were rare, usually right before your teacher started her lecture.

Like, the occasional: “Hey, did you read the chapters last night for Chem?”

Or: “Your poem in the literary magazine was real good, Y/N!”  

Or, ironically: “I saw Spiderman swing above me on my way to school… coolest thing I’ve seen all week!”

But, sadly, you both merely classified as acquaintances to one another.

Until…

+++

Last Year, Halloween at 11:37 p.m.

Your eyes bore into the back of your friend, Jess, her lengthy golden hair whipping from side to side as she sprints to the door ahead. You didn’t bother to keep up with her, no matter how freezing your body felt in the frigid wind. The brisk air whips against your stockings in a brutal manner and it was then, that you wish you wore pants to this party instead of your moderately short black dress. It was practically November. You trudge through the decaying grass as you cut through the lawn, arms crossed over your chest, crunching leaves under your Doc Martins.

Reaching the door, were are welcomed with a gust of warmth along with the scent of sweat and weed.

“Ah, refreshing…” you mutter under your breath, while rolling your eyes.

Scanning the perimeter for Jess, you spot her by the stairs, many feet away, chatting with her other friends. Anxiety kept your feet planted by the entrance as you watched them speak to one another. Her friends were not your own, only strangers that you glanced at politely in the in the hallways or had exchanged three words with during your month at Midtown. Despite your discomfort, you walked on toward them, mentally giving your anxiety the middle finger since it had kept you from doing so many other things in your life.

You’re only two steps into walking forward until Jess turns and dashes up the stairs, as if she were the roadrunner and you were the coyote.

What the fuck…

Huffing out in frustration, you make a beeline to the snack table close by, not in the mood to follow her again. You didn’t even want to be here in the first place, you weren’t going to follow her around like a lost puppy.

She’ll be back. She can’t leave me alone at a time like this…

Your mind attempts to reassure you but it didn’t ease the rapid thud of your heart.

You could do this, but not alone.

Fifteen minutes later, you were still attached to the table as if it were your best friend. You occupied your time by looking down at your phone, chomping on chocolate pretzels and frowning at anyone who gave you an amused smirk.

Right then, a group of upperclassmen made agonizing eye contact with you a few feet away. The girls attempted to be discreet about their staring but failed, the giggles they tried to hide with their hands giving them away. You glare into their posse circle until they get intimidated and look away, embarrassed.

You sigh out sadly as the last stare glances away. The brave face you masked on before the party was faltering into a look of pure insecurity.

You thought you could be brave.

You thought you could handle this but the anxiety was overpowering you.

Why the hell where you still here? What was the point?

You had your doubts coming here but Jess had begged you to come, had encouraged you, had basically dragged you here and then left you alone. Alone. At a party. After she promised to stay with you all night. It was social suicide, especially due to the situation you were in now. Clenching your fists in anger, you started for the door until a familiar face stopped you.

Sweet relief seeped within your chest.  

“Hey! Curly Twirly!” you call, grinning, as you spot Michelle’s curly, wild hair from afar. That was the nickname you had given her yourself. She was the first friend you made at school, having been assigned together for an activity in one of your classes. She always managed to make you laugh in the dullest situations and although she’d never admit it, the walls she built over her exterior seemed to crumble whenever you two spoke.

She was wearing an orange shirt with the word ‘COSTUME’ printed on the front. You smirk at her irrefutable wittiness. Why the hell didn’t you think of that?

Her head turned toward you at the sound of her nickname and that was when you noticed the unsettling look of agony in her eyes. You only caught a slim glimpse of that look until she masked it with a plastered smirk. Something was up, you knew because the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Y/N, thank the Black Widow you came to this lame ass party…” she calls.

You widen your eyes at her sentence, getting caught off guard. Even though you two were friends, M.J. never said something like that to you before or…anyone really.

She approaches you, gazing at your outfit with extreme focus.

“Spectacular costume, Wednesday Adams is one of my role models.” she smirks.

You were dressed in a black dress with a peter-pan collar, black stockings, Doc Martins and had tied your hair into two braids. Boom. Behold, your costume.

“Shocker…” you say, the sarcasm clear in your voice. If Wednesday Adams were a real person, she and M.J. would be BFF’s.

“I’m surprised you’re here…” she admits, swiping a plastic cup from the beverage table and filling it with punch. The punch was obviously spiked, the cup she filled reeked of alcohol- vodka probably. You cringe as the cup comes too close to your nose for comfort, the intense scent still making you sick to your stomach.

“I thought people were still giving you shit?” she asks, sipping her beverage.

“They are,” you admit. You roll your eyes but not at her, at the assholes around you who continued to talk about you in front of your face.

“Yet, you still came?” one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows arch.

“I wanted to prove that they couldn’t get to me, but I don’t think I’m fooling anyone…” you truthfully confess.

You wished so badly to not give a shit, but you did.

“Hey…” she nudges her shoulder into yours. “You fooled me…”

You smile graciously. She had been one of the few people who didn’t judge you based on that stupid video.

“Besides,” she huffs, frowning. “Fuck what other people think. They don’t know jack-shit about you…” she continues. “This is just another ‘Midtown Mini Drama’. It’ll be forgotten in a week.”

“Thanks M.J…” you mumble. “God, I’d so rather be in bed with a book right now…” you admit, shamelessly to her. You knew she would understand, the girl had her nose in a book 24/7.

“Amen, sister.” she mutters as she tips her face back, draining her drink down in a one gulp. You cringe instantaneously, again, nearly tasting the bitterness in your mouth as you watch her. You were glad you were sticking to you lemonade and pretzels tonight.  

“What the damn hell?” M.J. bluntly utters, causing you to snort in amusement. Your eyes followed to where hers were fixated- the entrance of the party to where Ned Leeds and Peter Parker were standing.

WTF?

“Twice in one month? That’s monumental.” you murmured in her ear as you both continue to gaze at the spot the two boys were standing. It was true that they didn’t come to many parties, only attending one bash weeks ahead of time that a girl named Liz had hosted.

You study the costumes of the two boys and notice both dressed as Star Wars characters. You recognize Ned to be Obi Wan Kenobi with his white tunic, white pants, belt and brown robe along with Peter as Darth Vader, dressed black from the neck downward and the iconic mask he held in his hands.

You smirked at their choice of attire, these dudes where hella cool.

As they linger throughout the monumental house, they came upon the snack table several minutes later where M.J. and you were still standing. They approached you as M.J. was gulping down the spiked punch as if she were dying of monumental thirst while you were inhaling the snack table like you were a vacuum on supersonic mode. (Especially the chocolate covered pretzels. Yum.)

Peter locks eyes with you and graciously delivers a soft smile when you have about six pretzels in your mouth. Embarrassed, you cover your mouth with the back of your hand and give him a wave with the other. You realized at that moment, under the neon flickering lights how cute he really was. Why you noticed now? You had no idea.

“Evening, ladies…” Ned suavely greets as he approaches MJ and you with Peter by his side. You swallow the pretzels painfully, not having the chance to chew every single one as you prepare to speak.

“Hey guys,” you smile, brightly. “Having fun?”

As the two boys begin to reply, M.J. cut them off.

“I wouldn’t decipher this party with the word ‘fun’.” she quips, her tone laced with boredom.

“That’s because you’re still sober…” you tease, mimicking her past action by bumping your shoulder with hers.

“This is why I keep you around…” she smirks, once again.

She turns away from you and the boys, back to the table to refill her cup, yet again. You stare at her, growing even more worried and mentally cursing yourself for the sentence you had just said. This was already her fifth cup.  Why was she drowning herself in alcohol? You wouldn’t be as concerned if she was a regular partier but this behavior wasn’t normal.

“What are you doing?” you ask, stepping slightly closer and setting a hand on her shoulder.

“Getting shit-faced.” she responds, blankly. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do at parties?”

“She has a point…” Ned adds, from the side. You spot Peter hit him in the arm with your peripheral vision.

“You know what I mean…” you whisper in her face. “Why are you drinking so much? Are you okay?” 

“Fine,” she bites, her eyes narrowing. “Leave it alone.” she harshly whispers.

“MJ, talk to-”

“I don’t need a babysitter, Y/N.” she barks at you over the music, glaring at you with so much intimidation it made you feel small and insecure. “Just, leave me alone.” she continues, the same cold tone latched within her words. She never spoke to you that harshly before.

Usually, for you, whenever you got into an argument with someone, you were quick witted and decently sly but as for right now, you were speechless.

It was harder to stand up to your friends rather than your enemies.

Before you had the chance to regain the strength to argue back, she whips around and stalks away to another room, taking her drink with her. You watch her back until it disappears and release a sigh. You desperately wanted to go after her but you didn’t want to smother her and possibly get her even angrier at you. She obviously didn’t want to be near you, hence her walking away…

The music begun to kick in to a louder beat, muffling the voices of other party-goers surrounding you. You could barely hear yourself think, the pounding music thumping throughout the walls was distracting. The room felt even more clustered and full, causing you to sweat and pull at the collar of your dress.

“–Okay?”

You whip your head to your right to where Peter was standing, closer than he was before. He was staring at you, pure curiosity swimming in his orbs. His eyes- so gentle and welcoming, looking at them had you feeling calmer. He was the warm fire in a rainstorm.

“What?” you dumbly utter. The damn music was causing your hearing to dysfunction, it was drowning everything out, even your own damn thoughts.

“You–Okay?”  

The words were hard to understand over the bumping but you could read his lips. You smile sadly at him. He was such a sweet guy, he barely even knew you and here he was, asking that question. He could have easily walked off moments ago, escaping the awkward banter between you and Michelle but here he was.

“Yeah, thanks.” You nod, smiling gratefully. “I should probably just give her space…”

He mimics your nod, agreeing with you. You glance at your surroundings and realize Ned was nowhere to be seen. Huh, where the hell did the dude go?

“–Seventy three?” You heard the number he mumbled but once again, you didn’t hear the full sentence.

“Sorry, what?” you laugh, awkwardly.

“Did­–? Seventy three?”

Ugh, this fucking music. It wasn’t even a good song either…

Clenching your jaw in frustration, you exhale. You wanted to chop the DJ’s head off.

“WHAT?” you yell, leaning in closer toward him, so close that you could see the purple and pink hue of his lips. (They looked soft…)

“DID. YOU. DO. CHEM. YET?” he bellows. His voice and face was still friendly even when he was screaming in your face. He was talking about the chemistry homework that had been assigned. You were to read page seventy-three in your textbook and complete the five paged packet that was due Monday. You haven’t even started yet.

“Oh!” you realize. “Uh…no, not yet.” you confess, yelling, slightly ashamed since Peter probably already finished it. That kid was an absolute wizard with anything science related. He had the highest grade in class, no doubt. He nods in understanding, looking away then back to you again, as if he wanted to say something.

“I–I can give it to–”

“Do you want to go outside?!” you yell, interrupting him. You would be able to hear everything he said to you out there. Besides, the pot in the air was getting stronger, giving you a headache.

He only stares at you, blankly.

“WHAT?” he shrieks.

You already get the answer you need. You turn around, latching onto his wrist and lead him out the door with you. You felt your cheeks grow hot at the sudden gesture, you just grabbing him and leading him away but you couldn’t deny the giddy pound in your chest.

+++

Lifting your head up from the pillow with sonic speed, your eyes blink rapidly. You zero in on the time displayed on your cable box that rested on your dresser.

2:34 a.m.

Shit.

You had fallen asleep.

Breathing heavily, you struggle to remain calm. You stumble out of bed to your window, leaning your head against the cool glass. You gaze out, scanning the fire escape as if he would magically appear in that moment. Peter has never been this late, ever.

What if something happened?

You stand motionless for a moment, the light patter of rain against the roof and the pounding drum of your heart the only noises you could hear. Scrambling for your phone seconds later, you dial the digits you have ingrained in your brain.

+++

Last Year, Halloween at 12:41 p.m.

“So?” you ask, leaning in slightly closer towards him in curiosity. “How was your first drink?”

“Terrible…” Peter winces, scrunching his face up in the cutest way possible as he crumples the plastic cup in is fist. He gulped down the whole drink in one sitting and you were impressed since this was his first time drinking. He had gotten some punch in the house before coming outside with you.

“Tastes like piss, right?” you ask.

“Like piss…” he agrees.

You giggle like a child as he stares off into space, blinking slowly and gazing off in wonder, a dazed look on his face. One of your eyebrows arch.

“Oh my god…” you breathe. “Are you already buzzed?”

Silence.

“Maaaybe?” he gets out, his voice slightly high-pitched at the end, making you cackle like a hyena.

“You are such a lightweight, you’re adorable.” you gush.

The words sprang out of you and it caused a small blush to ignite across his cheeks. Peter glances down at his high-tops bashfully, a tiny grin lacing his lips. While looking at him, you painfully resist the urge to leap in front of him and squish his cheeks with your fingers. God, he was so cute.  

“Um–I–I…uh…” he stutters.

“Peter, calm down.” You smile. “I’m just teasing.” Your body shakes with laughter again at his painfully awkward stuttering.

You and Peter were currently sitting side by side against a tree outside the house. Although there was still a slight chill in the air, the temperature outside had gotten slightly warmer, leaving you refreshed and cool.

Some others from the party even came outside as well, one pair came out to lay on the lawn to stare at the stars or some came just to walk around in the cool air and drink with their fellow friends.    

It had been about half an hour since you two had been hanging out with each other. You talked about school or the randomness of your daily lives. During those 30 minutes, you came to learn that Peter was a total cinnamon roll and you adored the way he talked to you.

As you glance toward the monumental home, you are reminded of M.J. The agony in her eyes, her strange behavior, the excessive drinking.

“I should check on M.J…” you say, out loud.

“Good idea,” Peter nods. “I’ll come with.”

You rise from the grass quickly and look down at Peter in amusement, who seemed to be struggling to stand. You giggle painfully to yourself as you help him up, both of your hands gripping on his surprisingly muscular biceps. Damn, what was he hiding under all those layers?

You steady him as he rises.

“Thanks, Y/N…” he flushes.

“Anytime,” you grin.

As you start to walk up the lawn, toward the door, a heavy arm slings over your shoulder, halting you. The monstrous weight nearly pushes half of your body downward and a horrid stench of body odor slaps you like whiplash as it emits from the strangers armpit.

“What the fu-” you speak out, scrunching your face up in annoyance and disgust. You nudge the body off you and turn to face the unknown male.

He’s stocky and much taller than you, with dark hair and a lazy smile. He held a beer bottle in his big fingers and was dressed as a Yankee baseball player.

“Can I help you?” you angrily spit. You didn’t like being touched by guys you didn’t know. Who the hell does?

“You don’t remember me?” the tall boy grins, taking a step closer toward you.

You take a grand step back, too grand however, because you collide into Peter’s chest. With this amount of proximity, you get a whiff of Peter’s scent- laundry detergent, pine and deodorant.

Sweet mama, you could sniff that boy all day like a flower.

“You really don’t remember me?” the random tall boy asks again, snapping you back to reality.

“Clearly.” you snarl, not in the mood to deal with any self-righteous pigs tonight.

“Y/NNNNNN!” a girl shrieks into the air in excitement, causing you, Peter and the stranger to jump in horror. Seconds later, two arms sling over your shoulders in a crushing hug, forcing Peter to back away from you. Hot vodka breath fans in your face and you shut your eyes painfully, cringing.

“Where have you been?” Jess laughs in your ear while she squeezes you painfully.

“You tell me,” you flatly reply, frowning at your friend that had abandoned you all night. You shrug her arms off your shoulder. “You’re the one who ditched me.”

Her eyes roll in annoyance, making you even angrier. “Don’t be so dramatic…” she mocks.

More people linger around the tree that you and Peter once occupied alone. Most of these people were Jess’s friends and some were random strangers. They all circulate around you, making you uncomfortable. You catch Peter standing side by side among them, looking timid himself.

“Whatever,” you huff. “I’m leaving.”

“What? No!” she begs, her manicured fingers latching onto your arm. “I got Brandon to come and see you!” she explains, excitedly.

“Who the hell is Brandon?”

“That’s me, Hot Stuff.”

You glance over to the stranger who had put his arm around you. Brandon gives you a wink as he nudges Peter to the side as he steps closer to you and Jess. You only stare at him, unfazed by his comment but suddenly able to recognize him.

You remember who he was and it made you want to slap yourself with a cactus.

Because you were such a drunk idiot last weekend.

“What are you anyway?” he utters, looking at your costume up and down. “Some goth bitch?”

You don’t even try to hide the irritable glare on your face.

“I’m Wednesday Adams, you moron.” you bite.

You see Peter grin shamelessly behind Brandon. In attempt to hide the laughter that lingers behind his smile, he covers his mouth with his sleeve.  

“Woah, chill.” Brandon’s thick eyebrows raise in shock. His stunned reaction only lasts a fraction of a second until that annoying, careless smirk appears on his face again. He stares down at you with interest, giving you the impression he’s most likely wondering what you look like without your clothes on.

“You’re kinda feisty, aren’t you?” he slurs.

“To self-absorbed assholes? Yeah.” you swiftly reply. “Keep testing me and I’ll get even meaner.”

Everyone around you snickers at your snark. From the sidelines, you see Peter’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets in flabbergasted shock. He doesn’t care to hide the laugh as he lets it out with ease. It was a lovely sight to him, watching you roast this drunk buffoon in front of you. You were so sassy, so…irresistible.

“Y/N!” Jess bellows.

“What?” you ask, innocently.

“Stop embarrassing Brandon…” she scolds.

“He’s embarrassing himself, I’m just mocking his stupidity.”

Holy shit, you needed to be stopped.

“Um, okay…” Peter pipes up, stepping to the side of you. Everyone in the group whips their head towards him in shock, they didn’t even notice he was there.

“We should get going…” he mumbles as he grabs onto you elbow and leads you away from everyone and to the house.

“She’s my DD!” Peter awkwardly calls toward the group.

As the two of you walk across the lawn to the door ahead, you realize Peter still hasn’t let go of your elbow. His face leans in close to yours.

“You’re dangerous…” Peter whispers into your face, only he’s smiling when you look over to him.

“Am I scaring you, Parker?” you beam, unable to hide the amused smirk from spreading across your face.

“A little.”

“You still have time to run away, right now.” you teasingly warn.

“I–I don’t want to…” he manages to reply, fumbling with his thumbs as he looks down toward the ground.  

The two of you stop in front of the entrance of the party, both of you standing on the doormat, your shoulders touching.

“So,” you start, “We grab M.J. and I drive you both home? Sound like a plan?”

You don’t bother for a reply from him, your fingers latch onto the door handle but his voice calling your name stops you.

“Y/N…” he sighs, finally making eye contact with you.

“Peter…” you tease, breathing out his name like he did yours.

“If–If…I wasn’t drunk right now…” he states, slowly, looking down at his feet. “I’d kiss you.”

“O–Oh!” you squeak, squeezing the door handle in bewilderment. That was absolutely the last thing you expected him to say. You knew it may be true because there was no way in hell Peter Parker would say something like that to you sober.  

“W–Would you?” you attempt to joke, grinning ear to ear in excitement and closing your eyes, making sure this wasn’t a dream.

“Yes…” he breathes next to your ear, you could practically hear the soft smile in his voice.

Without thinking, you lean in, capturing Peter Parker’s lips in a sweet peck.

+++

“Hey,” you speak shakily into the phone, your voice trembling erratically and embarrassingly. “Call me as soon as you get this, okay?” You squeeze the phone in a deathly grip as you struggle to keep breathing. You hang up before you get pathetic and start crying like a goddamn baby on the phone.

The tears start to roll down your cheeks with speed, similar to how the rain slides down the glass of your window outside.

Maybe you were getting worked up for nothing but how were you supposed to know? How were you to know what happened out there?What happened to him?

You stare outside the glass motionless, blankly, numbly.

There was nothing you could do now, only wait.

+++

Part 2???

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker spiderman #spiderman #spider-man: homecoming #spiderman imagine #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker imagines #peter x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker fluff #tom holland fluff #spider-man #spiderman homecoming #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #avengers x reader