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queen-of-gotham · 1 day ago

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😘 Third times the Charm 😘

Synopsis: in which you’re interrupted making out with your boyfriend… twice.

Featuring: Dick, Jason, Tim, Duke, Damian, Kyle, Roy, Kon, Wally, and Garth

Notes from the Batcave: for ✨this✨ request! Enjoy the little Drabbles! ❤️

Again, all characters are of age in this writing.

We subscribe to the idea that Conner is Clark’s SON on this blog, keep that in mind.

Also… excuse me for not knowing but does Garth have a canon last name? I saw one from DC Superhero Girls that it’s Bernstein? But I didn’t see that on his official Wiki but I’ve not read his comics either 😅 lmk!

Dick Grayson

You’re pressed up against the library bookshelf, the scent of old paper and cedar varnish completely drowned out by the smell of Dick’s cologne and the way his lips move against yours. Slow, purposeful, and a little bit heated. His hands cradle your hips and when he smiles against your mouth, it’s all teeth and heat.

“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he mutters, voice low and hoarse.

“Yeah? Thought you liked making me wait,” you tease, fingers curling in his shirt to pull him closer somehow.

“I like kissing you more.”

You’re halfway to melting when 💥SLAM💥 The door bangs open.

“Hey, has anyone seen- oh my god, gross!”

It’s Tim. Holding a plate of what looks like cold pizza and looking personally offended to see his big brother pushing you up against an innocent bookshelf.

You and Dick separate like you’ve been hit with a taser, but not fast enough.

“Out!” Dick yells, pointing at the door, “Go!”

Tim groans and backs out, mumbling, “I’m burning my eyes. I hope you’re happy.”

Silence settles back in. You glance at Dick. He sighs. You both laugh.

“Well,” you say, stepping back into his arms, “now where were we?”

“I think my hands were… here.” His touch settles on your waist again. Your lips meet. This time deeper, hungrier. You walk him back against the bookshelf, knocking a book to the floor. He doesn’t seem to care.

And then… CREEEEAK.

“Master Richard-“

“ALFRED!” you both shout.

The butler blinks once, “Ah. I see. Carry on.”

He turns and closes the door like this is a Tuesday. Like you weren’t two seconds from climbing your boyfriend like a tree.

You groan, hiding your face in Dick’s neck, “We’re cursed.”

He laughs, the kind that shakes his chest beneath your palms. “Okay, okay. Let’s try somewhere else. Secret passage?”

“I thought you said those were only for emergencies.”

“This is an emergency,” he grins, grabbing your hand, “My sanity is on the line.”

Jason Todd

The couch creaked beneath you as Jason pressed you gently into the cushions, his jacket already discarded somewhere near the door. The scent of gunpowder and leather clung to him, mixed with the faintest trace of cologne you were pretty sure he only wore for you.

“You’re so lucky I didn’t get shot tonight,” he murmured against your jaw, lips trailing toward your mouth, “or I’d make you wait.”

“I am waiting,” you teased, your fingers curling into his shirt.

He kissed you hard, hungry, like he’d been holding back since the second he saw you. One hand gripped your waist, the other braced against the couch as your mouths met again and again, the rest of the world narrowing to heat and friction and the rasp of breath between stolen kisses.

Until, “Jason, did you eat the last protein bar?” Roy’s voice carried from the hallway like a death knell.

Jason froze with a groan, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

“For the love of God, Harper,” he muttered.

“Dude, seriously, I was saving that!”

Jason raised his voice. “Check the top shelf! The one labeled ‘definitely not Roy’s snacks.’”

“That’s suspiciously specific.”

You snorted as Jason looked down at you, exasperated.

“I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered.

“I thought you were gonna kiss me again.”

“Oh, that I’m still gonna do.”

He dipped down, kissing you slow this time, with intent his hand sliding beneath your shirt, just enough to make you squirm-

“Hey, have either of you seen my-” Kori’s voice rang out, much closer than Roy’s had been.

You both sprang apart like guilty teenagers caught on prom night. Jason half fell off the couch, blinking as Kori appeared in the doorway in full costume, looking entirely unbothered.

She blinked at the two of you, “Oh. Am I interrupting?”

Jason opened his mouth. You cut him off.

“Yes,” you deadpanned.

Kori smiled warmly, “Lovely. I’ll be quick!”

She strode past, retrieving whatever it was from behind the kitchen counter (where of course it was), and disappeared without further commentary.

Jason stared after her, “I need to install locks. Or motion sensors. Or a laser grid.”

You laughed, tugging him back down by the front of his shirt, “Come on, Hood. Third time’s the charm.”

He leaned in again, this time slower, savoring it, lips brushing yours.

And just as things were heating up again, his hand back on your bare torso under your shirt, creeping up to your chest when- 💥CRASH.💥

Followed by, “I FOUND THE BAR! Never mind!”

Jason groaned and dropped his head into your shoulder again. “I give up.”

You smoothed a hand over his hair, laughing breathlessly. “You’re gonna have to fight for it, Todd.”

“Oh, I will.” His voice was low, dangerous, eyes gleaming as he lifted his head. “I’m just choosing violence first.”

And with that, he got up, stalking down the hall with murder in his eyes and vengeance in his step, leaving you breathless, annoyed, and way too turned on to function.

Round four was gonna be worth it.

Tim Drake

Batcave. 2:38 a.m.

You heard the faint hiss of the elevator doors before the Batmobile even pulled in.

Tim was back.

You barely had time to smooth your shirt and lean against the edge of the console before he climbed out of the vehicle, tugging his cowl off with one hand, hair flattened on one side and damp with sweat. There were faint bruises blooming on his jaw and forearm, and the scuffed suit made it clear tonight had been a long one.

He caught sight of you and slowed, “…You waited up.”

You shrugged, “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t pass out face down in a pile of data reports.”

That got the ghost of a smirk, “Tempting, honestly.”

He dropped onto the steps with a groan, tugging off his gloves, one finger at a time. You crossed the floor, boots echoing lightly on concrete, until you were standing in front of him.

“Y’know,” you said, brushing your fingers lightly along the edge of a cut on his cheek, “you could take a break without needing to almost get stabbed for it.”

He caught your wrist gently, “If I took a break, I wouldn’t get this.”

He kissed your palm.

Warm. Soft. Slow. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“Yes you would, baby.”

Then his hand was at your waist, pulling you down into his lap. You barely had time to laugh before his mouth was on yours, warm and insistent and a little too eager for how exhausted he was. But then again, Tim always made time for you. Even when he barely had time to breathe.

You fisted your hands in the front of his suit, fingers brushing the exposed part of his collarbone, and he hummed low into your mouth like you were the only thing keeping him tethered.

Until… “Red Robin. Status report.”

You both froze.

Tim’s head dropped back with a groan like the life had physically been sucked out of him, muttering to himself, “Bruce, please not right now.”

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh as his comm lit up, “I said status report.”

“I’m alive,” Tim muttered, “Bleeding. Exhausted. Busy.”

You pressed a kiss to his neck while he talked, purely for the sake of distracting him.

Bruce didn’t answer. The comm cut off.

You grinned, “Think he knows?”

“He always knows.”

He kissed you again anyway.

This time, it was slower. Sleepy. The kind of kiss that tasted like relief and like adrenaline burning out. You let him take his time, fingers threading into his hair, guiding his mouth back to yours again and again until he was sighing into your skin.

“Missed you,” he whispered, “All night.”

“I can tell.”

He smiled against your mouth.

And then, “Hey Timbo, you down here? I need the- OH MY BAD, SORRY, DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING.”

Jason’s voice echoed through the cave like a gunshot.

Tim froze.

You buried your face in his shoulder and cackled as Jason’s retreating footsteps clomped back up the stairs.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Tim groaned, “This cave is cursed. I swear.”

“We could always make out with me somewhere less public.”

“We could. But I like the risk.”

“Oh?” You tilted your head. “Cause you seem frustrated with getting caught. Kiss me again and prove it though.”

And this time, this time, nobody interrupted.

Duke Thomas

The manor is quiet, for once.

You barely have time to drop your bag before Duke pulls you in, one hand still warm from holding his laptop, the other cupping the back of your neck like he’s missed you all day (which he has). His lips find yours before you can say hi, before you can even get your shoes off, and suddenly you’re pressed against the Foyer wall, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

“You always taste like cherry gum,” he mumbles against your mouth.

“And you always smell like old books and trouble,” you tease, fingers slipping into the curls at the nape of his neck.

Duke smiles, then kisses you harder.

It’s slow at first, warm and lazy, the kind of kiss that feels like relief after a long day of lectures and lab notes. You tug him closer and he leans in like he’s going to melt into you, hand sliding down to your waist, lips dragging down to your jaw, and that’s right when…

“DUKE! You left your comm in the gym again- oh. Oh my god.” Steph’s voice cuts through the air like a record scratch.

You and Duke freeze.

“Cool. Super cool. Don’t mind me. I’ll just- walk backwards into the sun,” she mutters, already doing exactly that.

Duke groans and buries his face in your shoulder.

You burst out laughing.

“She’s never letting you live that down,” you say.

“She’s not even supposed to be here,” Duke grumbles.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re in the library, curled up together on the couch with your legs tangled and a soft, determined kind of silence between you. Duke kisses you again, slower this time, the kind of kiss that makes your pulse skip.

You shift to straddle his lap, sliding your hands under his hoodie.

“No interruptions this time,” you murmur against his mouth.

“Don’t jinx it,” he says, right before… ⚡️KSHHHHH⚡️ the intercom crackles to life.

“Hey Duke, B’s asking if you saw the security update for the east wing cams-“

Tim’s voice. Of course it’s Tim.

“TIM!” Duke shouts, glaring up at the ceiling like it betrayed him personally, “I’m Busy.”

“Oh. Are you…? Wait. Is someone else in the- okay. Yeah. Muting myself.”

Another beat of silence.

You look down at Duke, trying very hard not to laugh? “Should we just give up?”

His hands grip your hips like that’s a ridiculous suggestion, “We’ll just start over.”

You grin, leaning in again, “You’re nothing if not persistent.”

“And you,” Duke says, eyes gleaming, “are worth the wait.”

Even if you have to start over five more times

Damian Wayne

You barely heard him come in.

The manor’s too big for something like footsteps. But you knew the moment he was home, some weird sixth sense attuned to the feeling of him shedding his suit.

Still warm from the night, suit half unzipped, hair tousled from the cowl. Damian Wayne looks like trouble personified, bruised knuckles, tense shoulders, eyes sharp until they land on you. Then all that edge softens.

“Hi,” you say, like you weren’t waiting up curled under a throw blanket on the manor couch, fake watching something on TV.

He doesn’t waste time, “You should be asleep.”

“And you should be in bed instead of patrolling Gotham, but here we are.”

A flicker of a smirk. And then he’s there, standing in front of you. You tug him down by the collar of his suit and kiss him like you had missed him, Because you had. Because he made it home in one piece. Because this stupid city didn’t take him from you tonight. Because the only thing better than seeing Damian Wayne is kissing him after he’s been away.

It starts slow, his hands settling on either side of your face, like he’s grounding himself, but then it shifts. Deepens. His gloves hit the floor, forgotten. Your fingers find their way into his hair. He breathes your name like a prayer…

“-Hey, has anyone seen my- OH MY GOD.”

You both freeze.

Damian’s hand is on your thigh. Yours is halfway up his shirt, And standing in the doorway, looking like he’s stepped into something out of a CW show, is Jason.

He immediately turns around.

“Nope. Not my business. Carry on. Get protection. Bye.”

“OUT,” Damian growls.

Jason already is.

You collapse against the couch cushions, laughter bubbling out of your chest.

“He’s never letting us live that down,” you say.

Damian scowls, but his ears are red, “I’m murdering him tomorrow.”

“No, you’re not.”

A beat, then, “Fine. I’ll maim him.”

You laugh harder.

Ten minutes later, after Jason has definitely left the manor and you’ve made it upstairs (because Damian insisted this time you be somewhere lockable), you’re curled up on his bed, hoodie exchanged for one of his shirts. The tension returns, slow and electric. He kisses you again, longer, this time, hungrier.

“You were saying?” you whisper against his mouth.

“I believe I was trying to make up for lost time.”And he does. Until…

💥KNOCK KNOCK💥

“TT. If this is Todd again, I swear to-”

“It’s Alfred,” comes the most pointed British voice you’ve ever heard through the door, “Might I remind you that voices carry in this house. And that you still have a training session at 6AM?”

Dead. You are dead.

You and Damian both just lay there, staring at the ceiling like it has betrayed you.

“…Maybe we should try the Batcave next time,” you mumble.

Damian sighs, “Father’s bedroom has better soundproofing.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

But he’s already pulling you back into him, “Third time’s the charm.”

Spoiler: it wasn’t. But fourth?

Fourth might be magic.

✨Everyone beyond this point is X Batsis!Reader 🙂✨

Kyle Rayner

You don’t run to the door when Kyle lands, but you rush there. It’s been three weeks. Three weeks of radio silence, off-world mayhem, and no Kyle to curl up against at night… And now, finally, he’s home, bruised, grinning, and still dusted with cosmic soot when he steps into the manor.

“You look like crap,” you murmur against his mouth when you kiss him.

“Love you too, babe,” he says, voice hoarse but teasing, arms locking tight around your waist, “Missed you.”

You pull him in by the collar, “Show me.”

The hallway’s forgotten the second his mouth is on yours. He tastes like peppermint gum and him, and it’s all too easy to melt into him, back hitting the nearest wall with a muffled thump. Kyle presses close, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip like he’ll lose gravity again if he lets go.

“This feels very PG-13 for the main hall,” comes a dry voice from the stairs.

You freeze.

Kyle groans into your shoulder. “Oh come on.”

“Hello to you too, Jason,” you deadpan, glaring at your older brother. “Go away.”

Jason raises an eyebrow, arms crossed, “I live here.”

“You don’t hover here,” you retort, lips kiss-swollen and hair askew. “Go haunt the armory or something.”

Kyle tries to recover with charm. “Hey man, good to see you-”

“Nope,” Jason says, already walking away, muttering, “You two need a closet or a room, or better timing.”

You and Kyle look at each other, sigh, and wordlessly bolt upstairs to your bedroom.

Take Two:

It’s better in your room. Door locked. Kyle shrugs off his jacket and kicks off his boots as you pull him toward the bed. This time, it’s slower, more savoring than scrambling. You kiss him like you’re trying to memorize the shape of him again. His hands skate under your shirt, warm and eager, and he lays you back on the comforter like he’s rediscovering gravity.

“I missed this,” he whispers against your jaw, “Missed you.”

You barely manage a soft, “Missed you too-” before someone knocks.

“Y/N,” Damian’s voice cuts through the haze, “Father wants to speak with you. Immediately.”

You both freeze.

“Tell him I’m busy,” you yell back, breathless and miserable.

“It’s about the intel from Kahndaq,” Damian snaps. “He says now.”

You cover your face with your hands, “I hate everything.”

Kyle falls back onto the mattress with a groan.

Attempt #3:

You sneak back upstairs after the meeting, practically dragging Kyle into the closest guest room. No interruptions this time. You lock the door, double check it, and all but pounce on him.

“Third time’s the charm?” he asks between kisses.

“I swear to god,” you murmur, hands in his hair, “if one more person interrupts us, I’m moving off-planet with you.”

“Deal,” he grins, pulling you flush against him. “We’ll find a moon. Just you and me. No Batpeople.”

Finally, finally, you kiss him deep and slow. And this time?

Nobody knocks.

Yet.

Roy Harper

The Queen family manor was massive, grand, and most annoyingly, filled with far too many people who never seemed to leave.

You and Roy had been doing your best to behave. For the first few hours of the visit, you even kept a respectable two feet of distance between you at all times.

Then you made the mistake of catching his eye in the hallway, smirking like the brat you were, and saying, “Race you to the guest wing.”

Neither of you ever made it to the guest wing.

Currently, you were pressed against the wall of one of the manor’s many reading rooms, Roy’s hand curled around the back of your neck as his mouth moved hungrily against yours. His other hand gripped your hip, keeping you anchored as you grinned against his lips.

“Someone’s needy,” you teased between kisses.

Roy pulled back just enough to look at you with that cocky smirk, “You’ve been wearing that damn smirk all day. I’ve been dying.”

“Tragic.”

“Cruel.”

You laughed, and he cut it off with another kiss, deeper this time, rough with the promise of all the time you weren’t getting interrupted.

Right on cue, the door swung open.

“-Hey, has anyone seen my- OH MY GOD.”

You and Roy sprang apart like guilty teenagers, his hand still caught in your hair, yours awkwardly tangled in the front of his hoodie.

Oliver Queen stood in the doorway holding a mug and a deeply traumatized expression.

He blinked, “What the hell are you doing defiling my home like this?!”

You blinked right back, deadpan. “Having a book club meeting. You want in?”

Roy tried very hard not to laugh.

“Out! Both of you!” Ollie barked, pointing toward the hallway like the very offended dad he was, “At least try to wait until after dinner to corrupt my home-“

You tugged Roy out of the room with you, your cheeks burning but your grin only growing, “How’d you even know we were in there?”

“I live here! There are cameras!”

Once you were back in the hallway, Roy bumped your shoulder with his and murmured, “Worth it.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You didn’t even get one good handful.”

“That’s because someone’s very distractible.”

“I’m not distractible,” you huffed, pushing him toward a quieter part of the house. “I’m just—”

“Obsessed with me?”

You shoved him into an alcove and kissed him silent.

This time, he didn’t hesitate, his hands went right to your hips and yours slid under his hoodie, fingers curling at his waistband.

“Mmm, see? Not distractible at all-“

“Daddy?”

You both froze.

Roy groaned softly. “No.”

You turned slowly to find Lian standing there with a juice pouch and the world’s most judgmental stare.

She tilted her head, “Were you trying to eat Auntie y/n’s face?”

Roy dragged a hand down his own, bright red.

“No, sweetheart,” you managed, trying not to laugh, “Your dad wasn’t trying to eat my face.”

Lian narrowed her eyes. “I’m telling Grandpa Ollie.”

She skipped off cheerily, juice pouch sloshing.

Roy exhaled heavily and rested his forehead against the wall, “I swear the next time we get a moment alone, I’m locking the damn door.”

You grinned, sliding your hand back into his. “Third time’s the charm.”

Conner Kent

The sun had long dipped below the Kansas horizon, the sky a wash of sleepy purples and golds. Inside the Kent farmhouse, the clatter of dishes and leftover pie talk faded into the background. You’d made it through the full post-Justice League/Wayne-Kent family dinner, keeping your cool despite the constant threat of someone (cough Damian cough) outing you and Conner as… well, not just friends.

Not that it mattered anymore. Dinner was done. Bellies were full. People were distracted. Conner gave you that look across the table, the one that said he was about two seconds from dragging you outside or upstairs, and you’d responded in kind with a subtle brush of your foot against his under the table.

So naturally, you’d found yourselves tucked away in the Kent family living room, the house dim and warm, everyone else elsewhere, and your back pressed against the couch cushions. Conner’s hands bracketed his weight, one on your waist, and the other on the arm of the couch. His lips hot and slow against yours as you tugged him closer by the collar of his flannel shirt. The kiss deepened, finally, and his hand slid down to your hip-

“Ugh, come on!” Jon’s voice sliced through the moment like a buzzsaw, “We read on that couch.”

You both jumped apart like guilty teenagers, which, okay, you technically were at 19, but still. Jon stood in the doorway with a bowl of ice cream and an expression of utter betrayal.

“Seriously?” he huffed, pointing his spoon at you like a weapon, “That is Ma’s good blanket. And my eyeballs are now cursed forever.”

Conner groaned, “Jon, it’s not that serious-“

“You wouldn’t want to walk in on me making out with someone on the couch, would you?”

“…Depends on who it was.” You snorted at Conners response.

“Gross. Stop. Nope.” He held up a hand. “I’m leaving before I lose more of my childhood. Carry on- far away from here.”

You and Conner shared a laugh as Jon retreated, muttering something about bleach and therapy.

Conner turned back to you, smiling sheepishly. “Okay, that was bad timing.”

“It’s fine. We’ll just go outside,” you whispered, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the back door.

You didn’t even make it two steps.

“What exactly are you two sneaking off to do?”

Clark’s voice was calm, Way too calm, and that same deep cadence dads tend to carry in their voice.

You froze mid-step. Conner stiffened beside you like he’d been caught shoplifting.

Clark stood near the kitchen archway, arms crossed, glasses still on but definitely unnecessary. The piercing look he gave you screamed Dad Mode Activated.

You tried, “Just… fresh air?”

“Uh huh,” Clark said, “Conner, remember what we talked about.”

Conner cleared his throat, eyes darting anywhere but at his dad. “Yes, sir.”

“And you,” Clark added, turning to you, “Bruce was looking for you.”

You gave Conner an apologetic pat on the chest. “Rain check?”

“Please,” he said under his breath, following you with his eyes as you slunk off to the kitchen like a grounded cat burglar.

Clark turned to Conner once you were gone.

“I do have super-hearing,” he said mildly.

Conner just sighed, “Yeah. I got that.”

Wally West

The med bay was quiet.

Too quiet.

Well, quiet for now, until you pushed open the curtain to Wally’s corner and promptly straddled his lap on the exam table.

“Hey there, hero,” you purred, hands sliding over his shoulders, fingertips brushing a scrape on his neck that was already half-healed, “Nice work back there.”

Wally grinned, dazed and delighted, “Mmm, was it the part where I saved six scientists in under a minute or the part where I took a laser to the chest for you?”

“Definitely the laser,” you murmured, tugging his cowl off so you could see that golden grin properly, “Very dramatic. Very hot.”

You leaned in, just about to kiss him when,

“OH MY GOD, MY EYES-“

You jerked back like you’d been hit with a batarang.

“Roy!” you screeched as the archer dramatically threw his hand over his face from the med bay entrance, “What the hell?!”

“I thought you were injured!” he whined, “Bruce said you took a hit and needed stitches! Not- whatever the hell this is!”

“She’s fine,” Wally said dryly, tugging his mask back up and adjusting his seat, “We were just… post-mission decompressing.”

“With your tongue?!”

“Roy, leave or I swear to Zatanna I’ll set your quiver on fire.”

“…I’m going.”

You huffed as he slunk off, tossing a “Use protection!” over his shoulder.

Wally tried not to laugh, “Well, that was fun.”

Round Two.

This time you’d made it all the way to the Watchtower hallway, just around the corner from the Zeta tube. The place was deserted. The lights dimmed. Romance was in the air, or maybe ozone and burnt alien tech, but whatever.

Wally pushed you up against the wall with a soft thud, kissing you before he could even speak. He melted into it, hands on your waist, one of your legs hooking his hip like you were some swoony drama heroine. Finally.

And then…

“I see you’re still using Watchtower facilities for personal matters.”

You froze. You knew that voice.

Wally immediately went stiff. “…Sir.”

You didn’t even have to turn around to see the scowl.

Slowly, you stepped back from Wally, your face flushed,“Hi, Dad.”

Batman stood like a shadow at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, cape fluttering slightly despite the lack of wind. His tone was cold enough to ice over lava.

“This is a professional environment.”

“We’re off the clock!” you blurted.

He arched a brow, “That wasn’t the clock you were working on.”

Wally turned bright red. “We weren’t- we didn’t- I wasn’t even touching her-“

Batman’s glare intensified.

You grabbed Wally’s hand, “We’re adults. We were kissing. That’s it. Not even tongue this time!”

Wally made a wounded noise, “This time?”

Batman stepped forward, “Go home. Both of you.”

“But-!”

“Now.”

“…yes sir.”

Round three.

You were at the Manor this time. No more missions. No more Watchtower. No more Batman.

You kicked off your boots, still wearing your suit half-zipped. Wally sprawled on your bed like he owned the place, tugging you toward him with that same grin that had ruined your sense of self-preservation since you were sixteen.

You climbed onto the bed, lips brushing his, “If someone interrupts us this time, I’m going feral.”

“Noted,” he whispered, tilting his head.

You finally kissed him, deep and slow, your fingers threading into his red hair, and he groaned softly, pulling you closer. You didn’t hear the door open.

You did hear the growl.

“…Tt. This is disgusting.”

You ripped away from Wally with a snarl.

“DAMIAN?!”

The demon spawn leaned against the doorframe, completely unfazed. “Todd owes me twenty for this.”

You launched a pillow at his face.

“I HATE THIS FAMILY!”

Later.

Wally rubbed his cheek where the Bat-pillow had clocked him earlier, “Next time… we rent a cabin. Far away. No comms. No Bats.”

You nodded solemnly, “I just want to make out with my boyfriend without needing a tactical strategy.”

Garth

Your back hit the wall of the corridor with a soft thud, the metal panel cool against your overheated skin as Garth’s mouth claimed yours in a long awaited kiss.

You’d barely made it out of the mission intact, bruised, soaked to the bone, and running on adrenaline. Garth, with that infuriatingly calm Atlantean composure, had hauled you out of a crumbling lab, one hand on your waist, the other steadying your breathing. And now? Now he had one hand braced beside your head, lips trailing fire down your jaw, and you were, finally, finally-

“Yo!”

You flinched so hard you nearly headbutted him.

“Dick,” you groaned, already recognizing the voice before he rounded the corner. “Seriously?”

He blinked at the two of you, entirely unbothered despite your current positioning. “We’re doing a debrief in five. Try not to drown each other in spit before then.”

“Go away,” you snapped, glaring daggers at your brother. Garth chuckled under his breath, clearly amused.

Dick just gave a two-finger salute and sauntered off like he hadn’t just ruined your moment.

Take two.

You managed to find a quiet hallway on the opposite side of the tower. Post-mission gear off, hair damp from a rushed shower, heart pounding again for a very different reason.

Garth leaned into you, fingers brushing your jaw, his voice low. “Where were we?”

You barely got out, “Right about… here…” before lips met lips again.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, your pulse echoing in your ears. His hand slid down your spine, and then-

“OH MY GOD I’M BLIND.”

You screamed. Garth flinched. You both spun around to see Wally standing there with popcorn and a look of abject horror.

“Why does this keep happening,” you hissed under your breath.

“I’m just trying to reheat my snacks, I didn’t ask for a front-row seat to your mouth party!” Wally wailed, covering his eyes dramatically and bolting back the way he came.

Garth sighed and leaned his forehead against yours.

“Third time’s the charm?” he asked, smiling crookedly.

You nodded, “We are locking a door this time.”

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lomlsatoru · 1 day ago

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TOO GOOD FOR ME ★ CLARK KENT

꩜ pairing ━━ fem!childhood bsf!reader x clark kent

꩜ summary ━━ everytime you remember your life, clark is always there, and now after everything came crashing down, clark thinks he has loved you from the very start.

꩜ content ━━ 3.3k words | angst, fluff, confessions, reader is a bit oblivious, clark calls her 'honey', ma and pa call her 'peach', they grew up together in smallville, LOIS AND CLARK AREN'T DATING, lois kinda have feelings for clark but she didnt do anything with it, i just wanted to put an extra pov!

꩜ a/n ━━ HI!!! introducing my fav trope, i loved writing this so much i hope yall like it as much as i do <33

as always comments are very deeply appreciated ♡

masterlist | navi | buy me kofi <3

You and Clark are close.

No one really asks how close but even from a distance you can tell.

Growing up together is Smallville with a Superhero as a best friend has not been the easiest, but you would not change it for the world.

Because it’s Clark.

The first person who stood up for you in front of bullies, who shares his lunch because ‘sharing makes food taste better', who was your first ever best friend, who picked you up with his parent’s truck after you got shitfaced at a party, who entertains your weird ideas on how he can use his superpowers, who shows up.

Okay, maybe you are thinking twice right now considering that you almost got stuck in a portal to a pocket universe.

Your heart is beating out of your chest, staring at the portal in horror. You could hear groaning from the other side, seeing Clark laying on the floor, heaving.

“Clark,” feeling his pale and sweaty skin with black veins emerge from his neck, “Kryptonite.” you conclude, hands cradling the sides of his face as his tired eyes try to stay on you.

A lazy smile stretched on his lips, “Hi.” dazed eyes trailing over your face, “You here to rescue me?”

Scoffing you lightly shove his chest back, grin threatening to be released, “You’re lucky I like you, Kent.”

Suddenly he springs up, body still weak as you try to keep a hold on him, “There’s more people being held prisoner in there.” he breathes out, “We need to go get them.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!”

“Hey, hey,” your hands grabbing his bicep and torso, “Are you insane? You can’t even stand up.” you scold, keeping him up from falling flat on his face.

“Get him some place safe.” Mr Terrific turns to you and Lois, “Take the T-Craft.”

Nodding, Lois grabs the other side of Clark to help, the three of you walking towards the vehicle. “Krypto!” you call out, “Come on boy.” nudging your head forward.

Lois looks at you, surprised, “You know the dog?”

You scrunched your nose, “Kinda.” looking to see if the fur baby is following, “He’s a menace tho, so be warned.”

The three of you went into the ship, dropping Clark onto the seat, “You know how to drive this thing?” you asked Lois, leaning forward to assess the countless buttons and levers.

“Should be fine,” she looks up at you, “Right?”

Smiling, you give her a pat on the back, “I trust you.”

A shaky smile was given, “Okay, let’s do this.”

The ride was shaky but everyone is still in one piece so that’s something.

You turned to the side and looked at Clark.

He looks awful.

You don’t mean it in that way but he truly does.

His skin is all wrinkly and pale with black veins decorating the sides, his eyes tired and his body weak. The sight of him makes your stomach twist in all the wrong ways. Not the usual way it does with Clark.

Lois was still driving, every bump and swerve of the vehicle made you more nervous than before.

“I’m gonna be fine.” the man beside you croak out.

Your heart stutters, “I know.” sighing deeply. Voice betraying any sort of confidence you have.

Clark coughs loudly, body shaking in his seat. You jump up, unbuckling yourself, “What’s wrong? You okay? Do you need water? I’m gonna get you water.” your nervous rambling trails off, moving with shaky legs as rummaged through your bag.

The sick man grunts, “Sit down.” he gruffly said, droopy eyes trying to stay on you as his hand reaches out, but the kryptonite poison is still very strong and the absence of the yellow sun made it worse in every way imaginable.

His tiredness took over as his eyes shut and arm flailed down.

You sigh, listening to his movements, your own hand reaching out to hold him. He immediately intertwined your fingers together as try to find a water bottle. You gave his hand a squeeze, his fingers weak and loose around your own, “Gimme a sec, yeah?”

He grunts. You take that as a yes.

You unclasp your fingers, continuing to look through your very full bag and maybe this is your mind playing tricks but you could hear him let out a small whine with the absence of your hand.

You didn’t even realise the curious look Lois sent to you both.

“Found it.” you try to stand up but the ship swerves aggressively making you latch onto Clark’s seat to stabilise yourself.

“Sorry.” Lois said from the driver seat, guilty for being distracted by the interaction between you both.

“It’s okay!” turning around, you open the bottle of water, hand on Clark’s jaw to help tilt his head up, “Drink.” you softly said, bring the water to his chapped lips. His tired eyes flickered open slightly, and even from far away you could see how it softened at the sight of you.

Obvious to everyone, but you, apparently.

The man ended up finishing the whole bottle, gulping it down so fast that he chokes.

You chuckle, “Slow down, Clark.” bringing the bottle away, and putting it in your bag. You wipe off the stray drops of water that fell on his chin and neck, “Knew you were thirsty.” and shook your head, hands resting on his jaw, feeling his hot skin under your touch. Your heart sinks.

“’m gonna be fine.” he coughs out, weak hands still trying to latch onto you. As if he craves the contact, the feeling of you right here in front of him. Warm, soft, real. It brings comfort to him. You bring comfort to him.

“Still worried.” you say, sitting back down on your seat and buckling in. Worry never leaving your face.

“Hand.” he quietly requests.

Your stomach flutters but goes with his request, your hand reaches out to hold onto his. He’s still weak, his grip not strong but you can feel how hard he’s trying to reciprocate your grip.

You would give him your hand as many times as he wants.

The ride wasn't long but it felt like days when you finally reached Kansas. Accompanied by Clark’s shaky breaths, it didn’t make you less at ease.

The sight of the small town from the air tugs on your heart strings, memories of growing up flashing in your head. And every single one of them, Clark never fails to be there.

Him, and his shy smile, dazzling dimples and his big heart.

You didn’t even know what would’ve happened to you if he wasn't there.

The aircraft finally lands, you rushing to help Clark stand up, “Ma! Pa!” you frantically yell out, just as the door opens. You support one half of Clark as Lois helped with the other side, feet a bit wobbly with his weight, he was not light in the slightest bit and you can’t even remember the last time Clark was this weak.

You miss the way Lois turned to you, eyebrows scrunching, deep in thought. Ma and Pa? Really how close are you with Clark?

“Peach?” Martha comes rushing out, John following behind.

“It’s Clark, he’s sick.” you beg tiredly, eye bags illuminating your worry. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes as everything comes crashing down. Kryptonite is not something to underestimate.

Martha's eyes widened, as she nodded her head, “Okay, honey. He’s gonna be okay.” she softly said, guiding you both back to the house.

The smell of the house reminded you of your childhood, good memories that you don't have time to dwell on. The four of you slowly lay Clark down on his bed, his hand immediately reaching out for yours, as he started to babble.

“Ma, they sent me here to rule over. They sent me here to kill people.” he says with shaking breaths.

The sight shatters you.

You look away and turn to John, “I’m gonna get some towels and water. Is it still in the same place?”

He nods, “Yea, Peach.”

You quickly walk to the kitchen grabbing the stuff as the parents crowded over their son in worry.

Lois’ eyes survey all over Clark’s room, his childhood room. Posters, trophies, awards, pictures all filling in the space. Her eyes zeros on the Mighty Crabjoys posters, noticing the small frame picture on the shelf at the side.

It was a undoubtedly a picture of the two of you. Younger versions. You're on Clark's back posing in the famous Superman pose with one arm out like you’re flying, as the boy smiled so brightly she could see his missing teeth as he carried you with pride.

“I got it.” you come back to the room with warm water in a bucket, towels already submerged and a cup of water in the other hand. You got to work, making sure Clark is comfortable as he absentmindedly nuzzles closer to you, head already lolling out of consciousness.

Lois stares from the side, eyes softening when she realises how much stress you are in. She underestimated how close you were with Clark because this type of care must've taken years to build, to strengthen.

Her eyes stray away to Clark’s bedside table, 2 picture frames neatly placed. One is his Ma and Pa and the other one is undeniably you. Just you.

You look a bit older in this one, maybe 2? 3? years younger than you are now. Smiling like you won the lottery, you’re wearing an apron and the background looks like the kitchen she saw when walking in, your hand messy and so is your hair, there’s flour residue on your nose and you look…happy. That’s the only way that she could describe it as.

So so happy.

She now understands why Clark is so protective of you sometimes.

The morning sun feels nice on your skin.

It had been a rough night, the constant worry if Clark will wake up healthy claws in your chest, planting seeds of anxiety. You had slept on the couch, waking up at random hours of the night to make sure his chest was still raising up and down.

When Clark woke up he felt like he had been reborn. He feels stronger, lighter, his vision is clearer and he’s breathing better. His eyes immediately met with the furball that laid comfortably on his chest.

He sighs softly, hand reaching up to scratch behind his ear, “Hey bud.” after a few seconds of staring up at the ceiling, he slowly stood up, walking to the living room only to be met with the sight that made his chest ache. Your sleeping figure illuminates under the sunlight, creating a halo that makes you look like an angel. And maybe that’s what you are to Clark.

His guardian angel.

Feet pattered against the floorboard, he crouches down to be eye level with your head, fingers grazing along your cheek with such light touch you thought it was just in your dreams.

“Thank you for looking after me.” Clark quietly whispers, staring at your features for a long second, eyes taking in everything. You look peaceful, he thought. Good. You deserve it.

He kisses your forehead, adjusts the blanket layered on top of you. He recognises it immediately, it’s your blanket. The one in his house that’s stored and bought specifically for you when you would have a sleepover at the Kents.

You’re intertwined in his life in so many ways.

Now, Clark has changed into more comfortable clothes, a bowl of cereal in hand as he sits on the bench outside soon accompanied by his Pa.

“That– that Luanne, she seems nice.”

“Lois.” Clark corrected, “Her name’s Lois. Yeah, she’s- she’s nice.”

John nods, head turning to look at his son before a fond smile makes its way to his face, “You worried Peach to death you know?”

Clark freezes, guilt gnawing at his ribs, “Yeah.” he pauses, “Sometimes I wonder how easy her life would’ve been if she didn't meet me.” his voice is low and scratchy.

The older man furrows his eyebrows, “Oh, don’ be like that Clark. You guys are attached to the hip. Quite impossible to separate you two.”

Clark doesn’t meet his eyes, “I don’t deserve her, Pa. She’s too good for me.” hands nervously fidgeting as he thinks about everything he put you through.

The silence stretches, and now John understands what Clark was putting down, “You’re a good man, Clark.” he starts, “I saw you both grew up together. Trust me son, no one in this world deserves her more than you do.”

Biting the inside of his cheeks, Clark sniffles, “I don’t know what happened, she’s my best friend and then I woke up suddenly and saw her, and I wanna be more for her.”

John chuckles, “What’re you talkin’ ‘bout? Everyone knows you have a crush on ‘er.”

His cheeks went warm, “No, you guys don’t.”

The door creaked open, “Clark!” you exclaim, running towards him. He whips his head around at the sound of your voice and stands up immediately, bowl forgotten as he wraps his arms around you, face nuzzling into your neck.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” you sigh, arms tightening around his neck.

His arms reciprocated, lightly lifting you up from the ground, “I’m okay.”

For a moment you two stayed like that before the little bubble was popped by Martha’s news, “Clark there’s something on the box that you might wanna see.”

Clark furrows his eyebrows, looking at Martha and turning to you. He detach you from his grip and walk back into the house with your hand in his.

John stare at you both and roll his eyes, “Sure we don’t, Clark.” a soft smile on his face.

You’re beyond exhausted.

This whole week has been nothing short of stressful and the near-death experience on top of that made you want to curl up in your bed –that was lucky enough to survive the portal rip– and sleep for days.

You’re freshly out of the shower, hair still dripping wet, skin smelling like strawberry body wash and you’re drying your hair, towel in hand when the doorbell rings. You check your phone for any current messages, nothing new popped up making you confused. You pause the movie that was playing and look through the peephole.

Clark on the other side was sweating bricks, flowers tuck behind him as he stare down at your door.

“Clark?” your voice laced with confusion, “What’re you doing here?” opening the door for him.

The man coughs out his nerves, glasses perched up on the bridge of his nose, his hair looking soft and bouncy and he’s dressed in a sweater that makes him look huggable and warm. Your heart flutters.

“Hey.” he mumbles, soft eyes casted downwards to you, “Sorry I didn’t tell you I was gonna show up but,” he brought his hands up, “I bought your favourite.”

Your eyes lit up, only now recognising the familiar smell of chicken and pasta. Your stomach grumbles, “Oh, why didn’t you lead with that then.” snatching the paper bag from his hand and opening the door bigger.

The man chuckles, moving into your space as you make your way into the kitchen. Now he has the time to fully take you in. You're humming in joy, pajamas making you look soft, eyes pretty in the kitchen light. Clark could feel how at ease you are, and that makes him feel at ease too, “You look happy.” he teases.

You giggle, unboxing all of the meal and letting out a happy shriek as the smell invaded your nostrils, “How can I not? My favourite person brought my favourite food!” your grin stretched out so big it hurt your cheeks.

Clark swallows nervously. The flower that he’s been hiding behind him suddenly feels heavier.

“I actually have something to tell you.” he walks closer to you, standing behind as he waits for you to turn around.

“Hm?” you looked up to meet his eyes. Backing away slightly when you realise how close he was, “You okay?” the rustle of the paper the flowers were wrapped in took your attention away, “What’s that?” your smile teasing, “Is that for Lois?”

Clark groaned inwardly. For the smartest person he knows, you sure are pretty dense.

He shakes his head, “No, these are for you. Why would it be for Lois?”

You tilt your head in confusion, “Why would you get flowers for me?”

If you weren't looking up at him so pretty right now he would’ve lost it. But you smell sweet, your eyes are shining and your cheeks are round and pink. He couldn't even be mad at you if he tried.

“Honey–” his fingers press against his temples, “Just take the flowers.”

You nod dumbly, “Oh– okay.” you take it from his grasp, a small smile on your face, staring at them in awe, “They’re lilies. My–”

“Favourite.” Clark finishes your sentence, eyes softening at the sight of you.

“What’s really going on Clark?” you questioned, putting the flowers on the side.

The tall man stopped fidgeting and let out a deep sigh, “You have been the most constant factor in my life,” he starts, “from when we were kids, teens and now adults. You have always been there. You believed with me when no one else will, you stayed by my side and I can’t imagine my life without you.” a pause, “And I love you.”

You melt, “I love you too, Clark.”

He groans, “No– I mean, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Goddamn it. I am in love with you.” he pants out, frustrated, “I don't know when it changed but according to Pa, I have always had a big fat crush on you and apparently everyone knows.” he shrugs, “And you’re so beautiful, your kindness blows mine away and I want to be there for you, always. Will you let me be your boyfriend?”

His speech spills out in nervousness, the back of his neck is hot and there’s sweat prickling his hands.

You stand frozen, taking in his whole confession. A part of you cannot believe this is even real, the Clark Kent wants you. The person you have been harboring feelings for God knows how long, likes– no loves you.

“Clark, I– uhm,”

His heart drops, “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I completely understand and respect that.”

“No! No, Clark, it’s just–

“I’m not trying to push or force anything on you or–”

“I’m just new at this!” you explode, panicked eyes looking up at him, “I don’t really know how to do this, no one has ever really liked me let alone confessed.” mouth opening and closing as you try to find the words to say, “What if I’m bad at this? What if I make you hate me and you don’t wanna be friends anymore? I can’t live that life!”

Clark’s warm hands rests on your jaw, bringing your head up closer to him and he leans down, voice serious, “You’re gonna be great at it. You wanna know why?”

“Why?” your voice muffles as he squishes your cheeks together.

He kisses your nose, “Because I love you and you’re great at everything you do. Especially being my girlfriend.”

Giggling, you place your hands on top of his that are on the sides of your face, “So you made the decision for me, huh?”

He stutters, “No! I– I mean, do you– you want to? Be my girlfriend?”

“Mhm.” you nod.

“Mhm?”

“Mhm!”

Clark laughs, gorgeous dimples making an appearance, “Kiss?”

Your stomach fills up with butterflies, “Yes, please.”

“My angel.” he whispers into your awaiting mouth, groaning as your lips connects, “Wanna grow old with you. Wanna do everything with you.”

You whimper as he carries you up to the counter, situating himself in between your thighs, "Want that too."

Smiling lips press against each other, Clark can't help himself from feeling giddy as his big hands grip your thighs, "Can't believe I can have you all to myself. Been thinking about this for so long." he backs away, taking you in, your lips now swollen and red, "You're so pretty. All mine."

reblog for a superman style kiss 😘

#⋆⋅☆ hana’s writing!#I AM OBSESSED WITH HIMMM #HES SOOO FOINEEEEE #wanna bite #clark kent x female reader #clark kent x y/n #clark kent x you #clark kent x reader #clark kent #superman 2025 #superman x you #superman x reader #superman x y/n

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thekimspoblog · 3 days ago

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This was one of the better scenes in the movie. The interview did have this McWexler-esque vibe of "this is a huge conflict of interest but we're going to do it anyway" which was very cute. But I was taken out of what could have been a very believable relationship-trouble scene, by the fact that there was some very basic shit they ABSOLUTELY should have negotiated before jumping into the interview. So when things immediately start spiraling, I'm not thinking "Oh no! Clark just wants Lois to understand the extremes his compassion for all life force him to, but Lois needs him to see that well-intentioned shows of force are still tyrannical 🙁" like the film wants me to; I was thinking "Your boyfriend flies around making unilateral decisions about world politics; you know this; if you have a problem with it HOW is this the first conversation you're having about it?! Did you honestly think you were going to get anything useful and he wasn't going to break character the second you ambushed him with hardball questions? 🙄".

And this is one of the best scenes. Superman 2025 has IDEAS but it just couldn't quite get there.

RACHEL BROSNAHAN & DAVID CORENSWET AS CLARK KENT & LOIS LANE in SUPERMAN ( 2025 )

#plus the resolution to this conflict is literally “superman can push dictators up against cacti”#the visual of Clark being pissed off and still gently turning off the tape recorder is great #but let's face it the scene would have made more logical sense as a normal conversation

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peasack · 2 days ago

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Hi Hi Hi!!! best writer on earth, im back! can i request something with the thunderbolts when you absent-mindedly hold onto them when you;re feeling frightened or scared like a hold that grounds you? thank you!

HI HI HI ANON!!!

this is such a soft idea I’m kicking my feet already.

Thunderbolts x Gn!Teen!Reader

✦ Thunderbolts Reacting To You Clinging Onto Them When You're Scared Headcanons ✦

* ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ** ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ** ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ *

✦ John Walker

The first time you grab his arm during a loud noise or tense moment, he freezes up for a second like “whoa, are you okay?”

After that, he’s hyper-aware of it. Always walking close enough for you to grab his sleeve if needed.

Lowers his voice instantly and shifts to protective mode.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m right here, nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

Stands firm like a wall, lets you hold onto his jacket, sleeve, or even just the hem of his shirt if it calms you.

Doesn’t ask questions unless you wanna talk. Just keeps you close and steady.

✦ Bob Reynolds

You could grip his wrist mid-panic and he’d gently wrap both hands around yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re safe. You’re not alone. Just hold on for as long as you need.”

His voice is the softest it’s ever been when you’re anxious, it’s practically a lullaby.

Starts to recognize your signs before you even reach for him. Will quietly extend his hand without saying a word.

If he’s sitting, he’ll pull you down next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and just let the silence carry the comfort.

✦ Yelena Belova

You once grabbed her arm during a thunderclap and she immediately went “who hurt you?”

But when she realized you were scared, she softened in a heartbeat.

Loops her arm around your back protectively and whispers something sarcastic to distract you.

“It is just thunder. I promise the sky is not angry at you.”

Holds onto you too, casually but firm. Won’t let go until you do first.

Punches anyone who calls you clingy. You’re not clingy, you’re hers. Deal with it.

✦ Bucky Barnes

Goes absolutely still the moment you cling to his sleeve, but not in a bad way.

You can feel his muscles lock like “oh god they’re scared-what do I do what do I do, oh no.”

But then he adjusts his stance so you can grip more comfortably and just gently leans into you.

Doesn’t say much, but murmurs little grounding things.

“Okay. We’re breathing. You got me? I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Holds your hand if you let him. Gloved or not, it’s warm.

✦ Alexei Shostakov

Surprised the first time. Literally goes “OH. You need hold? Yes! Yes! Come here!”

Wraps you up in a bear hug immediately. He has no sense of personal space in a crisis, but somehow, it helps.

“Little warrior is safe now. I will crush any danger.”

You could hang off his arm like a koala and he’d keep walking like nothing’s wrong.

Loudly reassures you without shame, even in public.

If anyone looks too long? “You have problem?! They are SCARED. MOVE.”

✦ Ava Starr

You grip her coat in the middle of a tense situation and she doesn’t even flinch.

She’s used to needing grounding herself, so she instantly adjusts her pace, her posture, her breathing, everything to keep you steady.

Quietly turns her body so you’re between her and a wall, keeping you protected without making a show of it.

“You’re doing fine. Just keep holding on. I’ve got you.”

If someone’s causing the fear, her death glare alone could paralyze a man.

* ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ** ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ** ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ *

Giggling, kicking my feet and smiling so hard my jaw hurts.

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ztarvokwrites · 2 days ago

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💔LaDS men realising they made a terrible mistake far too late💔

How long has it been now? A few months? A year? You lost track of time, far too pre-occupied with self-healing and regaining your confidence to keep up with it. You hadn't even thought of them since about three months after you broke up.

Now, with your new partner or your new family, you're happier than ever. But the world is truly a small place, as you meet eyes with him again after so, so long.

an: TO THE ANON WHO REQUESTED THIS. YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I LOVE YOUR BRAIN AND HOW IT WORKS. OH MY GOSHHHH!!! i was literally thinking of something similar the other day :D THANK YOU ANON and thank you everyone for being so supportive!! <33

PART 1 | PART 2 (you're here!) | ALT. PART 2 (soon!)

genre: angst, comfort (kinda?), closure, unresolved feelings/closure (rafayel)

word count (minus intro): 6.4k (6,488)

remember to drink water and enjoy! <3

⭐️Xavier⭐️

It has been about a year or two after you two went separate ways. You eventually leave the Hunters Association, siting personal problems as a reason to quit and your colleagues decide to throw you a goodbye party — in which you avoid Xavier like your life depended on it, as it hurt to look at him. After that, you decide to travel the world before finally circling back to visit Linkon City with a new life.

Arriving at Linkon City with your partner and your 2 month old son in your arms, you smile. Despite the temporary pain these familiar sites have given you, you can't help but feel relieved that you're back home, exactly where you belong. You fail to notice a familiar man exit the Hunters Association as you walk past, his gaze falling on you like he's just seen a ghost.

Blue eyes dart between the infant in your arms, your partner, then back to you. There's a sudden lump in his throat that won't go away, no matter how hard he swallows. He desperately needs to talk to you, but how can he do that when you're clearly not alone? He looks down, as if trying to gather his thoughts, before deciding to catch up to you.

As you're placing your son in the pushchair that your partner is holding, you notice someone approach from your peripheral. Strapping your child in, you straighten up and turn, only to meet the eyes of the one who shattered your heart and your pride into a million speckles of stars: Xavier. Your partner raises a brow before you gather your thoughts and gently shoo him away, placing a kiss to his cheek.

"I'll meet you at the apartment, okay?" You whisper, smiling at him. Your partner nods, placing a soft peck to your lips before leaving with your child. Once they're gone, you turn to Xavier, immediately noticing the way his eyes dart away.

"...Hey," He mutters, voice soft and barely audible.

"Hey," You respond, ignoring the dull ache in your chest.

"...Can we talk...?"

And that's how you both find yourselves sitting down in the nearby park, opposite each other on a bench as he begins to explain himself.

"So, I... Wanted to confess to Emcee, but..." He trails off, shaking his head. "I.. I just couldn't. Not after finding out she's dating someone else and...." He hesitates for a second, flashes of you handing your son off to your partner flashing in his mind. He sighs, shoulders sagging as he leans his elbows on the table. "...Not after what I did to you. I felt awful, and I still do. There's not a day that goes by where I wish I could've given you more of me."

You don't know what to say, his openness after all this time catching you off-guard. There's a silence that accompanies you, only being broken by the rustling of the trees and chirping of the birds above. A grey cloud looms overhead as you look him in the eyes.

"...Xavier," His name rolling off of your tongue sounds like heaven to him, but he knows that his name isn't the one you call every day. Even so, his eyes soften. "...You were... I loved... Everything about you back then."

Back then.

"I know," Xavier responds, voice softer now as he shakes his head. "I know and I am so, so sorry. I really wish I could've just ran after you that day and fixed everything, but..." He glances at what dangles around your neck; a locket in the shape of a heart. He purses his lips before looking away. "I know that I'm far too late."

Another long, almost emptying silence.

"...You look happy," Xavier is the one to break it this time, looking at you with a small smile that makes your chest tighten. You swallow the upcoming lump in your throat with a small smile of your own. "...You have a partner. A family... That's good... I'm actually glad to see you happy like this. You look brighter, if that's even possible..." You're taken aback by how well he seems to be taking this, considering you've seen him jealous more times than you can count.

But you notice the distance in his eyes has he smiles at you, like he's accepted whatever fate has given him. Your chest aches, yet all you can muster up is a small smile of your own as you speak.

"...Thank you..." You mumble, tone wavering just a little. There's nothing else you can say, nothing you can think of to ease the awkwardness of seeing each other again. Xavier stares at you for a little while before looking away, fishing something out of his pocket.

"I... Kept the necklace," He mutters, holding it out in his hand. You watch as his thumb gently caresses the metal heart on it, running over the words 'In the sky of stars, you shine the brightest'. You have to swallow the lump in your throat and blink away the tears that threaten to spill. "It reminds me of us... Keeps me comforted, in a way... I tried looking for you everywhere, but now that I've found you, I..." He looks at you, noticing the tears welling up in your eyes. "...I'm at peace. Knowing you're well, knowing you're happy. Even if I'm not the one bringing you that happiness anymore, seeing you smile so genuinely like that just means that you're being treated well by your partner... He is treating you well, right?"

His sudden shift in tone makes you lightly laugh, catching him by surprise.

"Sorry, sorry," You giggle, wiping a tear from your eye before it could fall. "Yes, he is treating me well, Xavier."

"...Then why did you laugh?"

"Because I almost forgot how jealous you could get," You reply, smirking slightly. "Your tone shift was crazy!"

"I'm not jealous, I was just..." He pauses, a small blush on his cheeks as he puts the necklace back into his pocket. Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs. "Okay, I might be jealous. But I'm being honest, too. I'm glad you're being treated well, you deserve it," Now that the tension has somewhat settled, you can smile a little wider. "How old is your child, by the way?"

"Almost 2 months old now," You answer, keeping your tone light as you leans your elbows against the bench table and rest your chin in your hands. Xavier smiles, relaxing a little.

"Looks like you," He remarks, chuckling softly. You grin softly, snickering yourself as you agree. "Seriously, I don't think I saw an ounce of him in your kid. I knew your genetics were strong, but I didn't think they were that strong." You cracked up at his teasing, tilting your head back a bit as you laugh.

The two of you continue your conversation, your reunion that was once sad and awkward now turning into one of cheerful laughter and smiles. Above the sound of the rustling of the leaves, you hear the wheels of a pushchair approaching. Turning your head, you see your partner returning with your now sleeping child. Meeting his gaze, you smile and he seems relieved.

"Everything going well, I see," He notes, chuckling as he plants a kiss to the top of your head. He turns to Xavier with a hand outstretched for him to shake. "Caleb. I believe you work with Emcee?"

Ah. Right. You almost forgot about that.

"Hi," Xavier responds, shaking his hand. "Yeah, I do... I think she mentioned you a few times."

Before they could carry on their, quite frankly, awkward conversation, your baby begins to stir awake, small whines and cries leaving his mouth. You look over at him and coo, parental instincts taking over.

"Looks like our little pilot is hungry," Caleb mutters, gently booping his nose before he turns to you. "We should get her home, Hon."

"Yeah," You nod, standing up. You smile at Xavier, waving goodbye to him. "Bye, Xavier. I'll see you around so we can have another catch up, yeah?" Xavier nods, waving goodbye as he watches the three of you disappear from his line of sight. He sighs softly, slouching. His heart aches, the fact that you're no longer his hurts, yes — but he's grateful that you're back in his life.

And he is not going to mess this up. Ever again.

🐟Rafayel🐟

Ever since you left, ever since he fucked it all up, he's been nothing like his normal self. His creativity has taken a severe nose dive and so has his self-esteem. Even Emcee has noticed it and she didn't have to ask why.

Because she saw you run past her and Caleb on the day Rafayel shut everyone out, tears leaving a trail on the ground. Her heart sunk that day, knowing exactly what must've gone down for you to run out so dramatically like that.

But even so, her heart aches for her painter friend, too. The way he can't look at her for more than a second, the way he tries his best to find any trace of you. You were his muse, his masterpiece, his... God, he wants you to be his Bride. But you were gone just like that.

One year passes and Thomas finally drags him over to Chansia to get him some damn inspiration because poor Tom is sick and tired of him moping around. He simply cannot find any more patience left in him to pick up after his junk-food messes anymore.

Rafayel does not want to be here. He wants to be at home, not wandering the Scenic High Street this futuristic city has to offer. It's not until they reach Chansia's beach where something catches the aggravated artist's interest.

He has to do a double- no, triple take when he sees what looks like you in the distance, walking hand in hand with a man that's not him as he holds your flip-flops in his free hand. He's still as he watches from afar, watching your face crinkle as you smile and laugh at whatever your new boyfriend said.

The Lemurian's heart stutters, then stops. You used to look at him that way. You used to laugh like that with him. He used to hold your flip-flops whenever the two of you went for a romantic stroll on the beach. But he's not him anymore, is he?

His heart yearns for you, just as the tide rises and rages against the shore. Just as dark clouds begin to roam overhead. Just as specks of sunlight try desperately to reach the ground. Time seems to cease as you look his way, your eyes flickering from the sudden raging tides to him.

Rafayel feels his heart pound in a panic, looking away immediately and staring at the ocean's stuttering waves. Without a second thought, he runs and leaps into the ocean, completely ignoring everyone and everything else as he swims and swims away. Thomas, realising the sea's tide changing yet again, turns to find Rafayel, but he is nowhere to be seen.

"...What the fuck?!" He exclaims, frustrated that he dragged him all this way just for him to disappear.

Many hours later, as the sea finally calms and the moon glistens in the waves, Rafayel returns. He ignores Thomas once he gets to his hotel room and leaves with his sketchbook, a canvas, easel and other art supplies. Thomas sighs, sort of relieved that he's got some inspiration at last. But his concern lingers.

Rafayel arrives at the beach again, sitting down on a rock overlooking the photogenic ocean. From late night to sunrise, he remains in place, sketching with trial and error before finally painting with vibrant hues. When the sun rises high in the sky, he's finally done painting and waits for the sea's gusts to gently dry the paint to the canvas.

Thomas raises a brow upon his return, seeing a fire in his eyes that he hasn't seen in a long time. He watches as he places the canvas down, away from his manager, and sits down at a desk, writing something on paper — a letter. When he's done, he uses wax and a stamp to seal it shut before writing your name on the front. He hands it to Thomas without a second glance.

"Thomas, at my next art exhibition, I want you to find her and give her this letter," Rafayel says with renewed passion hidden behind a wall of sadness. "And that art piece will be displayed," He points to the canvas. "But it's not for sale if anyone asks. Got it?"

Thomas, with surprise in his gaze, nods, opening his phone to make some rather enthusiastic phone calls.

On the day of his art exhibition in Chansia, you arrive with your boyfriend, Jeremiah. As you're looking around, he gets a phone call and has to step out, leaving a lingering kiss on your lips before he leaves. You smile softly, watching as he leaves to go outside, the sun illuminating his figure until he's out of sight. Footsteps approach you and when you turn, you're met with the sight of Thomas.

"...Hello, Thomas. It's... Been a while," You mutter, eyes flickering from his kind face to the letter in his hand. You raise a brow, a silent question as to what he was doing.

"Yes, it's been... Far too long," His tone lacks the jovial attitude you were used to hearing during these events and you noticed the slight sweat on his brow. Was he nervous? Why? He hands you the letter before you can say anything else. "Here," He says, "This is a letter from Rafayel. Read it when you get home... Please."

Your heart stiffens. A letter from Rafayel? Is he serious? By the look in Thomas' eyes, he is. You can only nod in agreement before waving goodbye to Thomas as he left to greet more guests. Absentmindedly, you hold the letter in your hands and read the handwriting on the front: addressed to only you, in elegant handwriting. Yep. Definitely Rafayel. With a sigh, you stop in your tracks and put the unopened letter in your handbag before looking up.

In front of you is a lone piece of art, The colours blend and swirl to create a scene all too familiar to you; a woman and a man strolling along the beach, hand in hand. They're smiling, happy, and glowing. The sun's rays shine upon them like a spotlight, further emanating their ecstatic glow and enveloping the world around them in a dark blue hue. Among the sea of blue, lacoste green and suns purple, is a lone fish. It swims, just barely visible in the distance. It's light steel blue base colour stands out, tiny details of pale turquoise and uranian blue scales making the fish shimmer, in a way.

You notice the aura that surrounds the fish — an almost sad, regretful aura — and you feel as though someone has taken an arrow to your heart and stabbed it over and over again. Your gaze sweeps to the nameplate at the bottom of the frame.

Pais et Solitude - Not For Sale

The painting. The name. The fish. It all points to the day you saw him and the meaning behind his unreadable gaze that day.

Footsteps, light yet bordering on rushed, approach you and stop by your side. You don't have to look to know who it is, as his familiar scent invades your senses and leaves you almost speechless.

"...I'm sorry," Apologises Rafayel, his voice soft as he speaks those two words from the depths of his soul. You swallow thickly, hesitating as if he's going to say anything else. But he doesn't, and maybe that's worse for you. You feel a heaviness in your chest as you respond, unspoken and unresolved feelings making the tension almost unbearable.

You open your mouth for a moment, eyes flickering between all the details you've noticed on the painting, before you speak, trembling lips curving into a small smile as you quickly glance at him.

"...I know."

🐦‍⬛Sylus🐦‍⬛

Apparently, he can afford distractions.

But who does he blame? Not you. Not Emcee. Himself. He blames himself.

A week after he told you (rather rudely) that your relationship with him was over, Mephisto had come to him. After accessing his memory, Sylus felt a sting in his chest when he saw Emcee walking hand in hand with a man with silver hair and blue eyes. It wasn't hard to see how in love they seemed to be, so Sylus eventually closed the laptop and tried to forget he ever saw that.

But what he's struggling to forget is you. It's like you're haunting him every time he closes his eyes or goes to sleep. You've started appearing in his dreams, where you're holding his hand and smiling sweetly at him. He always wakes up in a cold sweat. Luke and Kieran have picked up on his sudden change in attitude, as they spot him moping around or angry most days. They don't bother to ask him about it.

You're on his mind so much that he thinks he's actually seeing you at his house, sitting on the couch or sleeping soundly on the bed. It's driving him to the point of insanity. God, it's almost like he can still smell your floral scent...

He snaps one day, when it gets too much, he sends Mephisto out to look for you — something he scolds himself for not doing sooner, seeing as it's been about a year since he's seen your face. Turning to his laptop, he opens Mephisto's live feed and watches as the crow perches himself up on a tree branch and looks down, immediately zeroing in on you through the window of a small restaurant.

You smile at something, at someone. Sylus swallows, throat suddenly becoming so dry that not even the finest wine at his disposal seems to wet it. Sitting across from you is a man, showing you what looks like pictures of an animal on his phone. Sylus can't make out what you two are saying, but whatever than man says, it makes you smile.

So, you're happy. There's a smile that reaches your eyes, a flush to your cheeks... It's an expression that Sylus wishes to see again in person. More specifically, he wishes to be the one to make you smile like that again.

...But he can't bear to ruin this for you. He just can't bring himself to do it, to find you and grovel at your feet and ask for forgiveness in hopes you'll take him back. The moment you make eye contact with Mephisto, Sylus is quick to make him return. There's a heavy thump in his chest as flashes of your smile echo in his mind. The urge to touch you, to feel you, to love you is overwhelming. But you're someone else's darling now, it seems. He can't touch.

But that doesn't mean he can't talk.

That's how he found himself knocking at your apartment door, something he hasn't done in what feels like forever. The moment you open the door, clad in your pyjamas and slippers, his mind goes completely silent. The moment your eyes meet his, your brows raising in surprise, his mouth opens.

"Who is he to you?" Fuck, he wants to punch himself in the mouth! Why the hell would he say that?! God, the way you look at him now just makes him want to turn around and leave.

"Wow, Sylus," But god, his name from your lips makes him want to stay. You cross your arms and lean against the door as you speak. "Not even a 'hello'? A 'how are you'?"

There's a silence that's unbearable, and you're looking at him as if he's grown a third head. Your mind must be racing — after all, he didn't respect your wishes of never wanting to see him again — but here you both are, hesitating. A sharp sigh from you is what breaks the never ending silence.

"Come in, sit down and shut up," You say that last part half-heartedly, curious as to why he's here and to what he wants from you. The door slamming behind him makes him visibly jolt as he sits on your couch. The moment you take a seat on the other end of the couch, he speaks.

"I'm sorry," His unusually sombre tone catches you off guard. Meeting your surprised, yet curious gaze, he continues. "I'm not here to beg for forgiveness, or to force for you to come back to me, but I am here to apologise. The way I broke up with you that day was, in fact, cowardly. The letter, the way I spoke to you — everything. I... Your face when you walked out that day has haunted me ever since... And I only realised my guilt when Mephisto spotted Emcee with another man."

You're stunned. Surely, he was smarter than that? But, you know he's serious, at least.

"...It took you seeing her in love with someone else to finally see me," You speak, leaning forward slightly, arms folded. "Is that what you're saying?"

"...Yes," He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to scold himself for his cowardice and stupidity. "It's... Shameful, really. Knowing that if I had just waited, I would've seen her with him and still had you in my life... But I pushed you away, because of the bond her and I shared many, many moons ago. I wish I had acted differently, or communicated better with you. Maybe then, I would've kept the person that made my dark, crimson world a bright pink."

You don't notice the sting in your eyes until a tear falls down your face. Your hand comes up and wipes it away, and his hand itches to do the same, to feel your skin against his. But he's always respected your boundaries.

"If you waited," You say, "I would've waited, too. In fact, after our breakup," Sylus feels a little sting at the way you speak, the way your voice slightly trembles and breaks. "...I waited for you to come back to me, to take it all back..."

"...But I didn't."

"No, you didn't..." You trail off, watching as your phone on the table vibrates with a call from your boyfriend. But you don't answer it. You let it ring and go to voicemail. Sylus eyes the name on the screen: Zayne.

"Does he treat you well?" He asks suddenly, making you stunned. You wipe your eyes softly before responding with an affirmative answer and nod of your head. Sylus smiles softly at this. "That's good. You deserve someone who treats you the way you deserve to be treated," He pauses before responding with a much softer tone, "...Like royalty."

Sylus rises from his seat, hands in his leather jacket pockets and red eyes watching as you stand up, too. Your thumb wipes a stray tear away before it could drop from your jaw.

"...I'll be leaving now," He says, staring at you. His Adam's Apple bobs as he fights the urge to pull you in and kiss you with all the passion he could muster. But he doesn't. He'll just be ruining you all over again, and he really doesn't want that. Sylus speaks as he walks over to your front door, opening it. "I wish you luck and happiness, Y/N."

"...Yeah," You mumble, giving him a brief smile. "You too, Sy..." You close the door behind him as he steps out with a small smile of his own. The moment it's shut, you watch through the peephole as he disappears out of sight, presumably out of the building. With your heart hammering in your chest, you lean your back against the door and sigh heavily, not knowing exactly how to feel.

Sylus, on the other hand, waits until he's out of the apartment building entirely before reacting. Once far enough away, he leans against a tree and lets out a deep breath, followed by a sharp hiss. God, it hurts. His soul hurts. But seeing you smile like that again and hearing your voice, perhaps for the last time, is all worth it to him.

❄️Zayne❄️

Zayne moved like a zombie stuck in a never ending cycle — especially since the break up. He didn't expect for it to hit so hard, but it hit. And it hurt. A lot.

You were his warmth in his cold, bleak world. And you were gone, just barely within reach. He saw you, yes, but you wouldn't dare interact with him. He'd check up with your doctor frequently to the point where they had to ask him to tone it down. Zayne couldn't help it, since your presence at Akso Hospital was a bittersweet distraction, but he complied anyway. He didn't want to make you even more uncomfortable, so he left you alone in the end.

Until one day, a year later, Greyson enters his office after having talked to you. He gives Zayne his papers as per usual before just... Standing there, lips pursed as if he has something to say. The stoic cardiac surgeon didn't notice until he glanced up from his papers.

"If you have something to say, Dr Greyson, I suggest you say it," He speaks lowly with an exasperated sigh, turning a page. "You know it's not good for your head to bottle up thoughts."

"It's Y/N," Zayne hears Greyson's voice cut through the air, immediately making him abruptly stand with concern in his eyes. Greyson takes a step back at this before quickly reassuring him before he could rapidly ask questions. "She's okay! I promise," Zayne immediately relaxes before glaring at him with a silent urge to continue. "...It's just... She came in to Dr Smithers' office for her checkup with another man. When she saw me, she introduced him to me as her boyfriend. She... Told me not to tell you..."

The silence that follows is both deafening and chilling. Yet, nothing is more piercing than the look Zayne is giving Greyson. It's a look of cold, silent shock and jealousy that's masked by a single glance, yet Greyson can see though that mask perfectly well. Taking the hint, said doctor swiftly leaves Zayne's office, letting the surgeon simmer in his own emotions — something very dangerous for him to do.

Zayne sits back down in his chair, hands in his head and eyes closed as he tries to pull himself together and process this information. In his thoughts, he remembers wanting to chase after you, to talk to you, to take it all back. But now, you have someone else on your tail, right by your side through thick and thin, just like he once was. That man, whoever he may be, is not Zayne.

And that's what's difficult for him to digest.

It takes him embarrassingly long for him to pull himself together and when he does, he realises that his schedule is over for the day. That fact alone makes him stand up and move with renewed vigour, taking off his lab coat and quickly changing into something more appropriate for what he was about to do.

Talk to you.

If he's remembering your schedule correctly, you should be waking up at this ungodly hour of four in the morning. One message to your old roommate confirms his memory. Putting his phone back in his pocket and taking a deep breath, he raises his fist and knocks.

And then, he waits.

You, clad in your pyjamas, sleepily opens the door without looking through the peephole. Upon realising who it is, you rub your eyes with a small, confused murmur.

"Zayne...? It's four in the morning... How'd you find me and why are you here at this hour?" You question through your haze. Hearing your sleepy voice makes him clam up.

"Your old roommate gave me your address," He hesitantly explains, knowing how bad this must look for him. "I'm sorry about this, but we need to talk."

"...Can I at least get dressed first...?"

Zayne's green eyes scanned your body before quickly looking away. He nods with a clear of his throat and a bright red blush dusting his cheeks and ears. Moments later, you re-emerge and he takes you to a café you two used to frequent for lunch dates. That's when he opens his mouth and talks, steady hands now slightly trembling as he holds his mug.

"...I went after her, like you said to," He begins, swallowing thickly and avoiding your gaze for a moment before looking at you. "I told her how I felt, but she just saw me as a brotherly figure, and so I let it be... I didn't ask much about what's happening in her life after that. So, when Greyson came in to tell me she has a partner, well I—" He cuts himself off, noticing your surprised gaze. You were sure that Emcee didn't have a partner, and that she liked Zayne, too, since they grew up together. But, apparently not. Zayne clears his throat and takes a sip of his hot chocolate. "...That got me thinking more about us... About you."

"...More?" The thought of him thinking about you reverberates though your mind, making you curious. Zayne can only nod, the flush on his cheeks returning. He continues speaking, telling you his regrets and how he oh-so desperately wanted to reach out to you again and make amends, but you kept avoiding him.

"I wanted to give you your space," He further explains. "To give you room to breathe and heal, so I gave up pursuing you." Hearing that come from him hurts more than you realise, but you have to force yourself not to cry.

"Zayne," You whisper with a sigh, feeling guilt. "I'm sorry for avoiding you like that--"

"Don't," He says, voice soft yet stern. "I don't want you to apologise for wanting space. You should never apologise for that." You nod reluctantly, looking out the window as you take a sip of your lukewarm drink.

"...Greyson talked to me today," Zayne breaks the silence, making you look at him with raised brows. "He said you came in with your partner." Although his expression is unreadable, you can sense the tension lingering in the air. You furrow your brows and groan.

"I knew I should've told Yvonne..."

"She would've told Greyson, then Greyson would've told me anyway," Zayne says, amusement in his tone as the tension shatters.

"...Maybe I should've just kept quiet, then," You respond, eyes squinting slightly in your own amusement. Zayne shakes his head with a brief smile.

"I would've found out either way, whether they told me or not," He speaks, tone soft. "...So, how is this new partner of yours?"

And that's how you ended up talking about your new partner, blabbering on about his occupation, how it's still early in the relationship but he treats you well, so on and so forth. Zayne actually finds himself smiling, as seeing you smile as you talk makes the ice in his soul melt. You notice him smiling at you and clear your throat.

"...I'm happy that you're happy, Y/N. You deserve every morsel of devotion that man gives to you," He says honestly, making you blink.

"Zayne-"

"You know I mean it."

And he really, truly does. Even as you two part ways with promises to catch up, you know he really, truly means it.

🍎Caleb🍎

The moment he could meet up with Emcee again was the moment he also told her about how you two broke up. The look that she gave him will forever haunt him — the look of pure rage. Caleb knew he was screwed the moment Emcee started chewing him out for how he behaved with you. As if he wasn't feeling bad enough after watching you storm out of his apartment, she told him to go after you and apologise for being a dick or else she will refuse to see him again.

And so, he began looking. But not because of Emcee's ultimatum, but because he knew deep in his heart that he wanted to find you. However, there's one problem.

Why the fuck were you so hard to find? You were no longer on Skyhaven's database, which means you most likely left Skyhaven for good, and you either changed your phone number or got a new phone entirely because he can't trace you there either. It was driving him insane, but the chip managed to keep his emotions at bay.

Regularly, Emcee would check in on Caleb to see how he was doing, but months pass with no luck. Until one day, about a year later, they meet up again and Emcee lets him know a little something.

"She works at the Association now," She whispers, as if she wasn't supposed to tell him. Caleb looks at her with an unreadable yet shocked expression as she continues. "I know, I should've told you, I''m sorry! But she told me to promise to keep it a secret from you. She's doing really well now and--"

"Really? That's good to hear," Caleb interrupts with a smile that doesn't quite meet his eyes. "I'm glad she's doing better. And don't worry about it, Pips," He sighs. "I understand why she would want to keep this to herself."

"But there's something else I need to tell you," Emcee hesitates. "...She's dating someone else." Caleb stares at her for an uncomfortable amount of time, his smile dropping and eyes darkening.

"She's what." He mutters, his tone immediately shifting. Emcee feels a chill roll down her spine, and she gives him a warning glance.

"Caleb, don't," She warns. Caleb's eyes flicker. "Please tell me you're not gonna do something stupid the next time you work with the Hunters Association. Y/N is happy, Cay. So please, don't ruin this for her."

Caleb can't argue with Emcee when he knows, deep down, she's probably right. He sighs, nodding, giving in.

"...I won't do anything, Pipsqueak," He smiles softly, ruffling her hair. "I promise. You have my word."

It's not until two weeks later where he finds out that the Farspace Fleet and the Hunters Association are working together on a mission. To say Caleb is interested to see how you are is an understatement, but he must keep his enthusiasm to himself.

Arriving at the Hunters Association HQ in Linkon, he greets Captain Jenna accordingly and begin some obligatory small talk, until his eyes land on someone approaching. You.

You seem to meet his gaze and freeze, watching as he stares at you, his pupils dilating like a cat smelling catnip. You quickly look away, fully intent on turning on your heel and strolling back to your office, until Jenna calls you over.

"Ah, Captain Y/N, there you are," Jenna's voice pierces through your thoughts and you force yourself to look and smile at her as you approach. "Perfect timing. Both of you, follow me to my office and I'll give you both details on our upcoming mission."

After leading you both to her office, she's just about to take a seat when her phone rings. She lets out a disgruntled sigh before stepping out to take it, leaving you two alone in silence.

Almost immediately after she leaves, Caleb turns to you, facial expression unreadable. The way he turns makes you stuck to the ground, feet refusing to move as you stare him down. The thing is, he's not using his Evol at all, so your nerves are solely to blame for you being frozen right now.

"I'm sorry," He breaks the silence, catching you off guard. Your feet finally turn as you face him. "For treating you like shit, for making you feel as if you were insignificant in my life when I was supposed to love you. You didn't deserve that." You take a small step back as he continues, sitting down on one of the chairs in Jenna's office.

"I told Emcee everything. How I felt about her and what happened between us. She chewed me out and I deserved it," He doesn't break eye contact with you, allowing you to see the turmoil beneath the stoic façade he has on almost all the time. "...I'm not here to ask for forgiveness, 'cos we know that I don't deserve it. I'm not here to ask for you to come back to me, either — because that won't be fair on you. I just want to apologise and then leave you alone for good. I don't care how much it'll hurt me as long as it keeps you happy. That's all I care about."

He breaks eye contact after that, taking his hat off and placing it next to him. He runs both of his hands down his face, dry skin coming off on his gloves. You grimace slightly at the sight of him wiping his hands on his pants. You always disliked any type of dry skin, which was why you always insisted on doing your skincare routine with him when his skin got too dry for your liking. Remembering that, you sigh.

"...I don't want you to leave for good, Caleb," He immediately looks up at you as you speak, his stoic mask fading away. "But I do want you to go back to using that moisturiser I left behind." He can't help but laugh at your words, glancing at his gloves before back to you.

"We can stay in contact, that's alright with me," You eventually say after clearing your throat. "We can have a proper talk and I can tell you about my boyfriend-" Caleb's face immediately darkens at that, but you glare at him in response. "Don't start." His face changes, apologetically looking at you with puppy-dog eyes.

"Sorry..." There's a pause after his apology, and then, "He is treating you well though, right?"

"Yes, Caleb."

"Are you su-"

"Caleb," You warn, glaring at him again.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll shut up about it now," He says, putting his hat on and standing up. "But if he ever hurts you in anyway, I will know about it."

"Emcee will tell you, I know," You roll your eyes, crossing your arms with a smirk. "Don't worry. I've grown thicker skin over time. He won't have the balls to hurt me." Caleb chuckles at that before Jenna walks back in, closing the door behind her.

"If you two are done, then let's get down to business. Take a seat," She says, sitting down at her desk. As you two sit, you fight back a smile, knowing that now — no matter what relationship you may have with him — Caleb will be by your side... Sort of.

note: THIS TOOK SO LONG I'M SORRY :'((

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headspace-hotel · 8 hours ago

Text

a lot of the Bucky Barnes fanfics deal a lot with Bucky not having the words or terminology to express what's going on with him, express desires, feelings, etc. because he was conditioned to be a weapon and purely concerned with functionality.

somehow this connected in my head with, okay, i love found language poetry (my Wikipoems are still some of my favorite art that ive made, ever) and i thought of an example of this artform, the poetry book Zong! by M. NourbeSe Philip.

so basically in 1783 there was a court case about an incident where the guy in charge of the slave ship the Zong murdered 150 enslaved African captives to get insurance money. The poetry book is found-language poetry using only words from the papers pertaining to that court case.

The found-language convention is, in this case, a source of impossible and painful strain that screams through the poetry. The poems become incoherent and mangled as Philip tries to force the words (which are rather clinically speaking of human beings as though they are 'cargo') to honor and acknowledge the humanity of the captives, but the source text simply breaks under the demand. The words are not given, the text cannot communicate this meaning and survive.

The idea this gave me is not actually a poem, but something web-based and interactive. I had the idea of clipping fragments of sentences out of a book, scanning them into a digital format, and using them as dialogue for a character that the reader/player(?) can talk to by inputting text.

The concept is of a character that is painfully limited in the way they can communicate. Their words are not theirs, they are cut from another source.

The reader/player would be able to input whatever text they want into the dialogue box, instead of selecting from pre-determined options, but since the character's responses are very fixed (literally being scanned clippings from a book) the chat could simply match basic key words or combinations of words to relevant "found language" clippings that are given as "responses" and return a confused or noncommittal response to everything else.

This would work because the character can't precisely tailor their responses to questions, and possibly can't understand the questions at all and is just responding to words they know. So it would not be necessary to anticipate every single thing a player/reader might type or all possible formats to questions, and it would not detract from the story if the chat function returned seemingly irrelevant clippings. The painful limitation of speaking in "found language" accounts for all of this.

An important part of this would be selecting the book the character's responses are cut from. Found language is about the limitations created by the original text. So, the original text chosen would express the character's mindset and the worldview they are forced to exist within. The original text would haunt the work by setting the limitations to what Character can think, feel, and understand context for, literally providing the only words Character has to communicate.

Found language is also doing violence to the original text. So the medium of clippings would represent Character's attempts to express feelings and thoughts of their own.

I would be selecting a book to literally tear apart, and I would have to consider what kind of themes and ideas I want to represent Character's oppressive inner mental "world" in order to select the book. The ideology present in the chosen book would become the ideology that oppresses Character.

My first thought was to use the book How Should We Then Live by Francis Schaeffer. I consider this book to be somewhat of a proto-Christofascist text, and it has personal importance as a book I read, partially agreed with, and later rejected.

My second thought was to use Old Yeller, yes the book about the boy that is forced to kill his dog, because that book has a lot of (often unacknowledged) ideological implications about violence and manhood.

I have been thinking a lot about AI art and what human-created art has to offer that AI art cannot. This artwork could help be an answer to that question: an important aspect of this artwork is that I have to actually, in real life destroy a book, and each piece of Character's dialogue will be a scan of a real physical object (a clipping from a book). So it is an artwork that depends on the real, physical world and the artist interacting with that real, physical world.

I think I have to learn some coding to tell the stories I want to tell, and I don't know how to get started with that.

#storytelling #stories #ideas #webcomic #? what would this be #games #art game

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thelazydetectivecat · 2 days ago

Text

I became the mayor and the protector of this town as well as the ghost king. what do you even have to offer?

okay so I have an idea what if Amity park doesn't have a city spirit.

So everyone in Amity park already knows that Danny is phantom and they made sure that they have enough resources to fight ghost in case of emergency because having Danny being their only source of protection is not smart especially considering he's too young and basically a child soldier. The anti-acts have been repelled by Danny after much legal fighting and everyone is ready to move on out of Amity park.

Danny please now the ghost king and about to go to Gotham university with his daughter Ellie who got de-aged to her actual age and the city spirit is just suddenly born. She's a baby who took the form or a similar form to Danny. Danny adores this baby as soon as he saw her and decided to stay in Amity park and to become the mayor instead it's not like anyone's against him overthrowing Vlad.

So Sam and Tucker also stay because let's be honest there's no way they're letting their friend take care of their city spirit alone.

As soon as everyone finds out it becomes an annual celebration for Amity park they still have an information blackout but it's only for the rest of the world so how many park can be kept secret because they don't exactly feel safe with others especially with the justice League who has ignored their calls.

So Danny who overthrew Vlad and becomes mayor it starts renovating the town buying land and expanding it making it into a natural city but close enough that you would still recognize Amity park.

There are different types of buildings some are modern some are white and old the looking. every part of the city has a different aesthetic but buildings are not the only thing Danny does for the town.

He makes more hospitals , homeless shelters , soup kitchens , funds the police and fire fighter departments make sure there's a secure line for social workers and makes sure to make have apartments and houses at reasonable prices and affordable ones. funds orphanages for them to have better care for children makes laws for his town that protect children adults single woman children from abusive parents and it keeps on adding with every new situation.

With every new tourist that comes to Amity park they get amazed they read the NDA about not talking about ghost and keeping Amity park a secret and after reading the NDA they realize it's not much of a big deal so basically more people come into Amity park and ghosts and humans coexist peacefully.

Danny is managing both Amity park and the infinite realms and at this point Amity park is considered a part of the infinite realms or at least the in between like Danny so sometimes meetings in negotiations happen in Amity.

Everyone who lives in Amity park is pretty happy with their life and are more than willing to keep it a secret from others. Since when it comes to terms of accidents and crime rates it's not that high.

Meanwhile with Danny he's taking care of both his daughters while handling everything. Sam has a job of opening and listening to suggestions as well as making sure the greenery in Amity park is vibrant making sure justice is served. Tucker is in the coding department making sure security is up as well as making apps that help the people of Amity park and people from different cultures coming in.

Jack and Maddie are spoiling their grandchildren rotten with gadgets and toys and jazz is in Gotham university desperately waiting for winter break to meet her new niece.

So when someone from the justice League has amnesia and find Amity park to which they take them in (maybe it's one of the younger heroes since they're usually pretty caring to them and don't blame them for the actions of their mentors)

For now I'm going with Tim and he stays there for about a year and ends up dating Danny (they are the same age) when he slowly regains his memories and is questioning if he even wants to return (this is an alternative universe where the bats don't appreciate Tim and often take him from granted and often forget to include him in family activities)

He contacts Kon and his friends and telling them about Amity park after he got permission from Danny and they come visit.

One thing leads to another and sooner or later some of them decide to live there and some of them decide it's a good vacation spot they made sure to inform the justice League that Tim is not messing anymore and he had amnesia but he just doesn't want to go back.

So I imagine the only ones who know about Amity park now are young justice and maybe some magic users who helped Danny repel the anti-ecto acts

(someone please add on to this because I have zero ideas now)

#danny fenton #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #good parents jack and maddie #young justice #dead tired #Bain dead #jazz fenton #tucker foley #sam manson #danny is the ghost king #Amity park looks like phantom #danny x tim #Danny is doting father #He's doing more than Vlad during his first year of mayor

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heldbybarnes · 3 days ago

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Hey! Can you imagine Bucky with someone soft?

Like, his girl is probably the least dangerous person in the world: she’s a teacher and she stress-bakes. He goes to work smelling of sugar and her perfume and he brings cinnamon rolls because she had to exorcise a bad day. She works in a tough district which worried him at first, but he knows she loves it.

(There’s absolutely no pressure in writing this, I’m just getting the idea out of my brain! I hope you have a great day.)

this is everything to me. I love the idea of dangerous man × soft woman — especially when she’s not soft because she’s weak, but because she chooses to be. This turned into a big pile of warm fluff, domestic comfort, and protective love. No warnings here except that Bucky Barnes is down bad for his sweet girl.

----------

There’s cinnamon in his hair again.

Sam catches the scent before Bucky even walks into the room, because of course he does. It’s sweet and warm and unmistakable — sugar and spice and that damn vanilla perfume that always clings to Bucky’s collar like a secret.

“Did she bake last night?” Sam asks, not even looking up.

Bucky grunts in response, setting a Tupperware container on the table with one hand while rubbing at the back of his neck with the other. He doesn’t need to answer. The rolls speak for themselves — spiraled with brown sugar, flecked with pecans, and frosted within an inch of their lives.

She always overdoes it when she’s had a hard day.

“Let me guess,” Sam adds, peeling the lid off, “middle school girl fight in her classroom again?”

“Eighth grade,” Bucky mutters. “Someone called someone else a backstabbing cow and then apparently someone’s mother got involved. I dunno. She was icing these while venting about it for like... two hours.”

“Did you offer to help?”

“I offered to break the principal’s kneecaps.”

Sam hums, like that answer is expected. “And she said?”

Bucky exhales, slumping into a chair. “She said that’d be a misuse of my tactical training and I needed to ‘go sit down and not touch the good Tupperware.’”

He doesn’t sound bitter. He sounds in love.

And it’s kind of a thing now — the cinnamon rolls. Or cookies. Or banana bread. Or some new Pinterest recipe she stress-tested because her kids were testing boundaries again or because funding got cut or because someone cried during reading comprehension. There’s always something.

She bakes to cope. He shows up to work smelling like frosting.

Once, Natasha lifted his collar and sniffed. “You smell like a Bath & Body Works exploded.”

Bucky shrugged. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Truth is, he loves it. He lives for it. The way his sweaters carry the faintest trace of her perfume, like a whisper of home. The way her soft, flour-dusted hands always tug him closer when he gets back from a mission. The way her hair always smells like brown sugar and apples when she hugs him goodnight.

She’s warm, like a candle left burning.

She’s safe, even when the world isn’t.

And she is, without question, the least dangerous person Bucky has ever loved.

She teaches reading in a district no one wants to teach in. She drives a beat-up sedan with a cracked bumper and keeps a bat in the backseat, just in case. She drinks coffee out of mugs with literary quotes and keeps Band-Aids in her wallet. Once, she told a kid who threw a desk that she still believed in him.

Bucky doesn’t understand her softness. He doesn’t get how someone can be so gentle and still be so damn strong.

But he respects the hell out of it.

He used to worry. At first, he worried constantly. What if someone found out where she worked? What if a Hydra remnant tried something? What if some pissed-off teenager started something they couldn’t undo?

But he knows her now.

She keeps her head down, heart open, and eyes wide. She’s got her boundaries, her rules, her quiet fire. She’ll spend her last twenty bucks on glue sticks and go to war over classroom libraries, but she won’t let him walk her to work anymore — “Bucky, you’ll scare the kids—”

So he walks her to the corner and watches her disappear through the doors with a thermos in her hand and a little wiggle of her fingers.

And then he goes home and bakes with her on Fridays.

Bad day? Snickerdoodles.

Good day? Lemon pound cake.

PMS week? Chocolate chunk anything, and a foot rub.

He’s learned the pattern. Memorized it like he’s memorized her favorite pajama pants, the way she pulls her sleeves over her fingers, the soft little hum she makes when she’s reading a book she likes.

“You’re smiling again,” Sam notes, elbow-deep in frosting. “You got it bad.”

“I do not smile.”

“You do when she texts you pictures of her cat in a bow tie.”

Bucky flushes. “He looks dashing.”

“Uh huh.”

He has a folder on his phone called Miss Sugar’s Chaos and it’s filled with blurry selfies, photos of sloppily written student essays, snapshots of half-eaten cupcakes, cat memes, screenshots of her trying to decode eighth-grade slang, and—yes—pictures of her cat in tiny, handmade outfits.

The last image she sent was a photo of a handwritten note:

“Miss S, you my favorite techer even if you be giving homework. You have pretty hair and you smell like cinnamon. Plz don’t quit when we be loud. We love you.”

Bucky stared at that one for a long time.

Sometimes, when the noise in his head gets too loud, when his nightmares pull him under, when he doubts whether he deserves any of this softness, she holds him in the kitchen and lets him fall apart.

“I made blueberry muffins,” she’ll whisper against his neck. “You wanna eat one on the floor?”

And so they do.

They sit there in the middle of their tiny kitchen at 2 a.m. eating warm muffins and breathing through it. She never pushes. She never runs. She never treats his damage like something that needs to be fixed.

She just loves him anyway.

He once asked her why she picked teaching — especially where she teaches.

“Because I believe in second chances,” she said, curling into his side like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “And third chances. And fourth. Because someone once gave one to me.”

He didn’t ask what she meant. He just kissed her hand and made a silent vow to be worthy of that softness. To protect it without ever trying to harden it.

He thinks about that now, listening to the guys tear into her cinnamon rolls like wolves. He doesn’t stop them. She’d want him to share.

“Think she’ll make those pecan bars again soon?” Sam asks, mouth full.

Bucky leans back, his metal hand flexing slightly at the thought of her — apron tied crooked, hair in a messy bun, music playing in the background as she dances across their flour-dusted tile.

“Probably,” he murmurs.

And when he goes home, she’ll be there — curled on the couch with a book, probably asleep under a blanket she crocheted herself, smelling like vanilla and kindness.

And when he wakes up the next day, he’ll go to work with sugar on his fingers and love in his bones.

Because she’s the softest part of him.

And he wouldn’t change that for anything.

#bucky barnes x reader #soft bucky #fluff and feelings #teacher!reader #bucky is whipped #comfort fic #cinnamon roll energy #reader bakes to cope #protective bucky #avengers found family #bucky in love #cat in a bowtie #hbb blurbs

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dcxdpdabbles · 2 hours ago

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What would the fake department be? How did they not notice?

Honestly, I'm thinking something independent. He initially applied for a job opening in Research and Development in terms of building computers, but something went wrong and was placed in Development.

Since it was okayed by Bruce, who was suffering some kind of head injury from his night job, this placement passed through Lucius' fingers who thought Bruce had a big plan for a new department and gave his okay.

That means HR was in charge of setting up an entire department with the vague instructions to get Danny his own floor, his own office, his own budget, and to use Research and Development policies as a base for him to start off of.

He basically had an entire department built for him with a fill in the blanks kind of reason for it existing. Danny is allowed to hire a team or run it himself. He wasn't told what he was developing because Lucius thought it involved the bats in some way and needed to keep the obvious genius from asking too many questions.

So Danny winds up with a department head paycheck instead of entry level. Has to identify what Development does because it's not research and development, and it doesn't have a clear description. Has an entire floor - complete with lab space, kitchen, bathroom, changing rooms, and oddly a pool (they didn't know what he needed) and after orientation just got dumped there and told to get to it.

When he asked what "it" was, everyone just shrugged and said if Mr. Wayne personally sought him out then he would know what to do.

He choose not to hire anyone else until he knows what he needs a team for, at least at first. So for three years he is the only memeber of Development, and rumors of what he is up to in his private floor fly through the company that tries to figure out why everyone else needs to have such a high clearance level to get the elevator to even stop on his floor or the door to open from the stair way.

The cleaning crew can only send someone up there once a week after signing the NDA. No one knows what's going on in development, not Bruce, because he thinks Lucius is overseeing it. Not Lucius because he thinks Bruce is watching as Batman. And not Danny, who got way more than he was told he was getting in the interview.

He winds up just, turning in gadgets for household settings since he has nothing else to do and goofing off most of the time.

Unknown to Danny, his household gadgets are all but revelationary, and Wayne Stocks rocketed since he started. He was just using things his parents created for around the house chores cause they lazy.

Of course, he checked to see if they were okay with sharing their design and got them some funds with patent request through WE law that thought it was part of Development.

A rumor starts that Development is to take ideas that already exist but fail and develop them into successful inventions, thus giving the product creator a small fortune for all the revenue they earn. It's like selling your ideas to inventors.

Danny is doing such a good job he actually starts getting requests from outside his parents to futher failed designs and keeps making WE money that no one realizes what happened until five years later.

By that point, Danny is too much of a value employee to fire or disband his department. He also has a team by then, so they would lose like ten people if they try to go for Development.

But the rumors before that comes to light is crazy.

There were even people that whispered Danny was doing witchcraft under the request of Bruce to Danny be in charge of secretly tracking down illegitimate children that Bruce had around the world and keeping then under wraps. The department gets so much attention for its tight security it becomes a meme online that its actually a second area 51 location.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #mun speaks #from a fic i never wrote #poll post

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dufferpuffer · 19 hours ago

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-crawls ontop of this like a dragon on a hoard of treasure-

There's small bits I disagree with or think are not fully explored, but fuck this is good. This is delicious. Finally some good fucking food - looking at the classism, inequality and 'racism' of HP through a British colonial lens rather than the fucking 'nazi fascism' and 'american slavery' angles that don't fit

Small yaps, but overall I don't want to nitpick this masterpiece much:

I think the look at Dumbledore is flattening him a little. 'We don’t know what Dumbledore’s answer would be if a young goblin wanted to apply as a student at Hogwarts.'

I think this is a little unfair to Dumbledore as a character - understandable, as the authors voice is so loud that it does taint every positive thing the characters do. I think it comes from the assumption that Dumbledore has power over the Wizarding World, which is an idea dismantled in literally every single book as part of the individual and overarching narrative. He is tricky and slippery specifically because he doesn't have power and won't accept power due to personal trauma (he is frightened of his thirst for it, seeing himself as unreliable and unfit).

But his approach to other creatures does not come across as equally segregationist to the rest of the WW but as respectful of rights he thinks they should have. Which, unlike Hermione's forced-freedoms and lack of respecting the needs and feelings of the people she is trying to help, is framed not as ridiculous but quietly revolutionary.

He doesn't only care about the Centaur when they are useful to him. His slight ownership of the Forest for the school seems to be the only thing keeping the Forest from being further claimed for Wizards, yet he never asks anything of them. Instead the culture of the school is to not go into the forest, as the Centaur don't like it - and they seem to respect him and Hagrid for that. It isn't that he is using the Merfolk for the Triwizard tournament. He communicates with them in their own language and made agreements when most of the Wizarding world would have just taken from them. He offers Dobby a good wage and bows his head when the Elf makes his own terms, because he respects his autonomy.

I think we would know what Dumbledores answer would be if a young Goblin wanted to apply as a student - because he has already hired a part-Goblin as a teacher. He fought to keep a 'violent' Half-Giant on the grounds of the school, just so he wasn't an orphan, before he was even a Headmaster. He sneakily changed layout of the school and local town just to help the needs of a werewolf child getting an education.

He is a big "help will always be given to those who ask for it" fan, and if a Goblin asked for a chance he would likely use every trick up his sleeve to make it possible. He's done it before without even being asked to - even when it harms his own reputation with the majority - because unlike the rest of colonialist Wizarding society, he gives a shit. And is framed as correct for that.

That doesn't mean the criticisms here aren't valid. All of this reeks of noble-savagery, non-humans having to play Wizard just to be in the narrative and open mockery of different cultures that is never addressed or commented on. The Author is evidently confused about what exactly constitutes as 'good' when it comes to colonialist shit - but Dumbledore takes the closest step, based on vibes the Author feels while not understanding. And that the role of the UK is more complicated than 'is globally important' (almost in a self-aware take of UK's self importance and self-division - we get hints that there are massive Global events that the UK doesn't seem interested in, and aside from some individuals the outside world isn't that fussed with the UK... But I also think the author writes that based again on vibes rather than clear intent. But that means there is a lot of depth to pick apart there, too.)

And the small point that Arthur is far better with Muggle things than people give him credit for. (People do him so dirty for being enthusiastic and from a different culture i stg) He gets words wrong because he lives amongst people who don't use those words often - more a dialect thing than ignorance. He mistakes the word Telephone for Fellytone - but he knows how to use it. He knows how to drive a car. He has a collection of plugs? So do I. Got drawers full of wires and plugs and adapters and shit. Excited about electric fireplaces? Idk what an electric fireplace is either because I come from a very hot place - fireplaces in general are rare here. His job isn't 'Muggle Affairs' in terms of like... understanding Muggle things. He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts specifically: Tracking, investigating and collecting enchanted objects, with an optional side of soothing the Muggles they have startled and upset - and he is quite good at that. Also the rubber duck thing was a movie addition, it's not in the books.

Please share the receipts about Harry Potter being a colonial fantasy! Reading stuff like that is so interesting 🙈 have a good day

I’m glad you both asked!

This argument will be divided into threemain parts. The subject of magical creatures in the wizarding world, thesubject of humans other than English wizards, and the subject of Harry’scharacterization in the novels. But before I can discuss the novels andRowling’s (probably mostly unintentional) colonial fantasies, we must look atthe background information of those colonial fantasies. To do that, I willoutline and explain certain elements of the 1800-century cultural and politicalsituation, reflected in the literature of the time. (See! This is why you don’tdismiss history as the unnecessary boring subject Rowling!!!!)

(In this text, I use the word wizard akin tothe universal man, as in mankind. I do this, because Rowling herself does this,referring to unisex groups of witches and wizards as “wizards”.)

Racial thinkingin the British empire was heavily influenced by pseudo-scientific theories likephrenology and race classification theory. Humanist sciences like sociologywere heavily influenced by “hard sciences” and there was a strong demand tofind a scientific justification for the existence of the empire. Thisjustification came with race classification, that was divided into twodifferent equally racist branches of theory. The idea that different human races were actually subspecies inside the human main species, and that these subspecies had evolved to fulfill different functions and behave in different ways. Roughly divided, the Anglo-Saxon subspecies had evolved into a rational thinker and a natural leader, the Asian subspecies into servile and effeminate role, and African subspecies into manual labourer. Now, in order for society to live in perfect harmony, that society has to be built in a way that each human species can follow their natural predilections and follow their species-natural behaviour.

The other branch of scientific sociology argued that all humans had the same potential for civilization, but that all human societies were also in different evolutionary stages. Human societies were seen to evolve in a neat line, from promiscuity-matriarchy-transitional patriarchy-patriarchy. All human societies therefore started from hunter-gatherer tribes and would eventually turn into enlightened British style modern societies. As the British already had reached the top of the societal evolution, it was also their right and burden to protect the societies that had not yet reached this top evolutionary form. It is very important to remember that while the British empire was filled with straight up hateful and vile racists that saw genocide as a fun past-time, there were equally many people who condemned the mistreatment of the empire’s subjects and fully believed that the empire was in truth necessary in order to help their less-evolved human compatriots.

Another important note to make about the imperial mindset is how these rational leaders were created; in boarding schools. The future leaders of the empire were all sent to a boarding school, somewhere around the age of 10. These schools, rampant with bullying, pressure and straight up rape, were not places that a young boy was supposed to become a scholar or an athlete; his job was to make connections and learn to become charismatic. Doing too well in your subjects was not desirable, as a book-worm is not what the empire needed. Being good at sports was good, but not if you had to sacrifice time to practice too much. Sports and sciences were there to support the student’s growth into a proper English gentleman, not as an educational goal themselves. Debating, public speaking, and aggressive confidence were much more important skills to master for the future overseer of a colony. Your job as a student in, for example Eton, was to network and grow a stiff upper lip. A terrible educational system for sure, which caused damage to the British psyche that people today are still trying to understand; with Boarding School Syndrome and its consequences important when trying to understand the problems in British politics today

How do these facts then relate to Harry Potter? Well, let’s start working our way through from magical creatures. In the Harry Potter universe, the world is filled with creatures with human-sentience that however do not, at least in Britain, mix with the dominant human population. We know that there are house-elves, working as servants, goblins, working as bankers, centaurs, keeping away in their forest, as do merfolk in their lake. Dwarves were employed as cupids (entertainers) in Hogwarts by Lockhart, and there are veelas that work as exotic dancers in the quidditch world cup.

At first glance, you might think that Harry Potter and Dumbledore are on the side of the creatures. Dumbledore is noted for being a great advocate for non-humans when defending their right to exist, as opposed to the more genocide-minded goons at the ministry. Voldemort is happy to employ creatures that he deems “dark” and ignore the rest. At first glance it would even look like the narrative is advocating for tolerance, and it is, but it is not advocating for equalitybetween humans and non-humans.

The centaurs and the giants have lost their native lands to humans, and have been forced to live in reservations, as most notably pointed out by Dolores Umbridge in Order of the Phoenix. “Ministry of magic permits you certain areas of land.” (p.665) At the same time, the books do not portray either the giants or the centaurs in particularly sympathetic light. Centaurs are shown to be violent and even unreasonable towards any humans who would want to have contact with them. Giants are shown to be simply so stupid that they are killing themselves into extinction. (Order of the Phoenix p.377) Meanwhile, the races that do mingle amongst wizards all have something to offer to humans who allow them in their society. Goblins are useful to have around because of their hold over the banking industry and their superior metal-working. House-elves are useful as domestic servants. The creatures that wizards label as “dark” are all creatures that do not have any filled role that they can perform for the benefit of humans, (vampires, hags, werewolves), segregated from the wizarding society proper, and are therefore shunned as undesirables. Veelas on the other hand are blatantly fetishized, and they are only shown in two roles in the books. Either as entertainers or as married to wizards. The narrative does not even hint that a veela might have any non-sexual role in the society. It would seem, that all the magical races have either been pushed out of the wizarding community, or they fill some niche purpose in society that the wizards find useful, and that the wizards themselves do not want to perform.This structure of society, built upon the assumption that there will always be creatures fulfilling certain roles for the society, is not questioned by any of our heroes.

Dumbledore is happy to advocate for tolerance, but not inclusion. He is happy to create a dialogue between humans and centaurs- aslong as it is not humans who have to make any concessions in theirrelationship. Same goes for merfolk. Dumbledore advocates for their right toexists in their own segregated patches of land, and in return they will helpDumbledore. Merfolk will allow themselves and their home to be used as obstacles in the tri-wizarding tournament and the centaurs will let wizardstraipse through their forest. Inside the centaur society, we are supposed tosee territorial Bane as the “bad guy” and the meek Firenze, who argues thatcentaurs should take sides in a human war, and eventually accumulating into the human society (by becoming a teacher in Hogwarts, but only after he has been banished from the Centaur society and therefore is not a centaur culturally anymore), as the “good guy”. After all, Firenze placed the needs ofhumanity above the needs of his own species.

The same happens with goblins. They are at every turn shown to be unpleasant, unreasonable, and impossible to work with, and when Harry Potter shows the bare minimum of respect- acknowledging that goblins have their own legal system that defines ownership of an object differently than a human would, it is framed as the greatest height of progressiveness that anyone could ever show towards a goblin. Never-mind the fact that the books explicitly mention that goblins are denied the use of a wand by the dominant human government, which is neither an interest nor a concern to any of our heroes. Note of interest is also that most non-humans taking action against the status quo are antagonists. There are no creatures in the order of the phoenix fighting against the dark lord, (Remus Lupin identifies as a human with an unfortunate condition.) but there are several under the command of Voldemort. (Order of the Phoenix p.88) The most positive attitude towards non-humans comes from the heroes who show tolerance towards non-humans, but who also do not try to reach any deeper understanding about non-human experiences in the wizarding society.

The house-elves are the most blatant piece of yikes when it comes to the issue of creatures. The enslavement of house elves is explained away as a natural order of the world. At the end the series, even the protagonist Harry Potter accepts this natural order and becomes himself a master of the house elf Kreacher (Half Blood Prince p.55). Harry’s slave-master position is accepted,because we trust Harry to treat his slaves decently, there is never anyquestion what the condition of being a slave-master can psychologically do tothe master, or that slavery as an institution is too immoral to accept, nomatter the conditions. The reader is shown that the elves are not capable oftaking care of themselves without a master by examples of Dobby and Winky, the only freed elves shown in the books. Winky, after being freed, becomes an alcoholic. (Goblet of Fire, p.564) Dobby, while enjoying freedom, would be unable to support himself without the help of benevolent Dumbledore, to whom Dobby works in the same way as the other slaves in the castle, even if he is namely free. (Goblet of Fire p.400) (Both alcoholism and “frivolity” were anti-abolitionist talking points in the southern states in the antebellum era). Theimplication is that some races are simply born subservient, and the morally decent thing to do is to keep them in slavery but treat them kindly.

Hermione Granger, who in the books argues that slavery as an institution is by itself something that cannot be accepted, is presented with her views as ridiculous and misguided. On the other hand, those who argue for the institution of slavery appear as rational and reasonable. There is no way for anyone to think of her S.P.E.W badges as anything but childish and stupid. In Chamber of Secrets, the readers do see Harry freeing the house elf Dobby, after Dobby has personally helped Harry. However, the implication is that Dobby suffered from an unfit master, not from the slavery itself, and that his freedom came as boon after he had done a personal favour to Harry Potter. In the world of Harry Potter, slaves are happy to be slaves, as long as their masters are decent masters.

But if you stop and think of all this, it should not be rationally possible for a society like this to exist. If the giants truly are so stupid and violent that they are accidentally killing themselves to extinction, they should also not be sentient enough for humans to breed (and even create emotional bonds, as Hagrid’s family) with them. If these creatures have a society, they are sentient enough to realise the peril they are in and who their true enemy are. Same with the centaurs. Segregating an entire culture to a small reservation is not pretty, and it does not happen peacefully. Still there is never any indication that the centaurs would be actively fighting back to regain more land or that the wizards would be actively curbing their numbers in order to keep them in check. No creature segregated in their little reservation wants to leave that reservation, choosing to rather waste away amongst their own kind than pushing for their species to be integrated into the wizarding culture, or gaining more land from the wizards. The mythical tale of the noble savage who quietly goes into the good night, is real in the wizarding world.

Those creatures who do live and work alongside wizards are equally content with their narrow roles. No goblin wants to work anywhere else expect the bank, no house-elf wants to open a business, no veela wants to study in Hogwarts. Half-breeds might be allowed in, if the headmaster is eccentric enough, and as long as they are able to “pass” as humans. The fact that their creature parents would never have that change is not even acknowledged as the tragedy that it is. It is easy for the heroes to appear as progressive, when the only thing the creatures want is to be allowed to exist in their pre-ordained roles and be treated with the most basic decency.

We don’t know what Dumbledore’s answer would be if a young goblin wanted to apply as a student at Hogwarts. We don’t know what any of our heroes’ reactions would have been, if the centaurs demanded compensations for Hogwarts’ rights to use the Forbidden Forest. Or if Dobby would have been competent enough to actually start campaigning alongside Hermione for abolition. We don’t know, because the wizarding world is in perfect harmony, as long as the creatures are allowed to exist peacefully in their roles, without corrupt, dark wizards abusing them needlessly.

What about humans then. Not all humans are created equal either. We don’t really see about the state of the wizarding world outside of Britain, but we are given the implication that the political situation in Britain is equal to the fate of the world. Harry Potter is not fighting for a political cause in UK, he is saving the world. British politics are world politics. The international wizards we do see, are also almost as much stereotyped as the creatures are. The French boys and girls from Beauxabatons are vain and frilly, while the girls and boys from Durmstrang are brutish and coarse. And in the European stage, UK and France gets their own wizarding population, while the eastern Europe is apparently lumped together in a way that makes you suspect that the Soviet Union never fell in the magical world. (considering when Rowling was creating these stories, that is not impossible. Rowling started writing Philosopher’s stone a year before the Soviet Union was dissolved). In the world politics, these three are the only ones important enough to be included in the tri-wizarding tournament, (tournament that the British dominate easily in book four), and therefore clearly hold the political cards of magical Europe. What we do know is that British wizards have no trouble finding work overseas, while we do not see any foreigners living or working in the British wizarding world. Britain’s importance as the centre stage of magical world politics is simply a given fact of the world.

(Note that I havedecided to omit all nonsense that Rowling has added to Pottermore in her effortto world-build but rest assured that it makes the situation simply much worse.)

There is also the clean divide between muggles and wizards. The wizards once again are honour-bound from their superior position to protect the muggles. The books make it clear that it was not for the safety of the wizards that the worlds were divided. It was simply that muggles in their ignorance kept burning other muggles during the witch-hunting times. The idea that muggles, if confronted with an existential threat like the death-eaters and their genocidal tendencies, were to win the fight, is not even floated as an idea. The moral implications ofkeeping the muggle world ignorant about a part of UK population that wants to kill them, and has succeeded in several terrorist attacks against the commonpopulation, is not discussed at all. The wizards simply have the right to sacrifice the lives of muggles in exchange of keeping their society hidden from the “common folk”. The wizards who do show any interest in muggles, do it in the most condescending way possible. Arthur Weasley, who has spent years working in the ministry of muggle-affairs, cannot pronounce the word electricity or know what a rubber duck is. How exactly does someone work for muggle-affairs if one is completely ignorant of said affairs? Why are muggleborn’s not automatically working for muggle-affairs? How is it, that muggleborns all simply choose to embrace the wizarding culture without there being any underground muggleborn culture running counter the pureblood establishment? Hermione Granger wants to be seen as one of the witches, not as someone whose cultural knowledge of muggles could in on itself be a strength. Rowling really wants you to believe that the British wizarding culture is naturally so desirable that no counter-cultures have born inside it, or that there ever could be any other problem expect that muggleborns are restricted from accumulating into it.

And then we come to Harry. Our hero. At first look, he appears to be the underdog fighting against the unjust establishment of the wizarding world. However, if one takes a closer look at the story, Harry Potter is not an underdog at all. In the beginning of the story, he acquires a great inheritance from his exceedingly wealthy parents. (Philosopher’s Stone p.85) In every other character exceeding wealth seems to be a negative trait, but curiously Harry’s status as an heir to a fortune is never properly addressed in relation to Harry’s moral character. Harry is also a son of esteemed and powerful magical parents, both highly regarded in the wizarding society. From his father’s side, Harry can claim a connection to an old pureblood house, making him part of the purebloodwizarding establishment. Both the wealth and the bloodline inherited from thePotter family guarantees a place in the upper class of the magical society foryoung Harry. Even the extremely racist Draco Malfoy in the first book seemseager to make friends with Harry. (Philosopher’s Stone p.120). It is only Voldemort who has robbed him of his natural heritage and privileges and forced him in to hiding with his brutish and cruel (muggle) relatives.

The story of Harry Potter is not of someone who fights for acceptance, but of someone who returns to his rightful place on top of the wizarding society. characters who do not naturally have this privilege, gain prestige by being helpful and loyal to Harry. It is a deliberate choice by Rowling to make Harry a pureblood fighting for the rights of muggleborns and those lower than him in the wizarding societal ladder. He is the archetypical English gentleman hero, because he has both the privilege and the proper character to carry that privilege. Voldemort, Malfoy, and other “dark-siders” from the pureblood establishment have abused this privilege and are therefore unworthy of it.

Another important part of Harry’s character is that all his powers and abilities that help him champion against Voldemort are either inherited or inherent. Harry does no need to labour for his victory. His mother gives him “blood-protection”, his father and mentors give him magical items to help him on his journey, and he simply has skills that others don’t. His flying abilities making themselves known the first time he hops on a broom, and his inexplicable talent to resist the imperio-curse is never explained expect with “a strong heart”. What he is good at, he doesn’t need to work for, and what he is not good at, he never improves on. If there is something he doesn’t have the innate talent for, he has friends who will do it for him. When Snape claimed that all of Harry’s successes were due to luck and more talented friends…he wasn’t wrong. And the kicker is, that that’s the point. Harry’s main strength is the fact that he is good at networking and having a brave heart. That is the ideal that thousands of young Englishmentried to mould themselves into during the imperial days. Harry doesn’t need tobe the “smartest wizard of his age”, he needs to be charismatic enough thatothers will follow him into the battle. He doesn’t need to be shrewd, or ambitious,or smart, or even kind, he needs to know how to apply his inheritance correctlyand how to manage those in the lower position than him, in order to return thestatus quo into the wizarding world.

When both Harry’s already existing place in the magical society, and the question of how the books treat the magical creatures are considered, the main conflict in the book seems to be reduced to an inner struggle between the higher classes of wizarding society. Voldemort and the death eaters are evil because they misuse their power over the lower classes, and because they discriminate against other witches and wizards. Therefore, it is the duty of Dumbledore and Harry Potter to return the wizarding world to its former and rightful order. The narrative supports the idea that now that the proper people, the naturally noble-minded heroes, are once again in power all the social issues of the wizarding world will disappear. Those on the top of the social pyramid will treat those under them with tolerance, and those at the base of the pyramid will stick to their place.In other words, the world of Harry Potter has fulfilled the colonialist fantasy of the British empire, where everybody has their place in society, and theinferior races truly are without ambitions or nuances.

The wizarding world has the structures that the British empire had, but none of the problems that come with those structures. In the end, the wizarding world returns to peace. “all was well.” The house-elves are given laws that punishes a master that mistreats their slave. The goblins continue in their segregation. The centaurs and merfolk are given a promise of no genocide. The British muggleborns are promised a place in the dominant society, as long as they perfectly emulate their pureblood peers and don’t bring muggle culture with them. The superiority of British wizardingkind has been proven, and they benevolently reside over their less evolved subjects, making sure that they are allowed to fulfill their roles in the society, as they naturally desire, in peace. There are no troublesome creature-rights activists causing havoc on streets. There are no muggleborns who would wish to side with muggles against the wizards. There is no empire, there is only the natural order of things.

Bibliography

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#hp #hp meta #wizarding world #ww #ww colonialism

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