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imgoingtocrash · 4 years

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I Want to Go

by @imgoingtocrash for @slothbeans

Rating: G

Word Count: 5,179

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker (mentioned), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark (mentioned), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) & Tony Stark (mentioned), Ben Parker & Peter Parker & Tony Stark (mentioned)

Summary:

““There he is.”

It’s Tony. Anthony Edward Stark. Mister Stark. His Mister Stark, his mentor, his friend, his could-have-been father figure if only they had more time together, if Peter hadn’t wasted it, if Tony hadn’t—

Not-dead Tony whirls around on a rolling stool, his arms propped against his knees. Peter can’t move his eyes off of the man in front of him, but he knows the space well enough to recognize where he is: the lab. Tony’s old lab at the Avengers Compound. The lab that doesn’t exist anymore. It was obliterated in the battle with Thanos and replaced with a new one that only Bruce, Doctor Cho, and Peter himself seemed to get any use out of.

This is the Tony he never got to know, inhabiting the familiar space.”

Tony Stark becomes a guardian angel after his death, and his task is watching out for Peter. After a harried run-in with the Green Goblin leaves Peter on the brink between life and death, Tony and Peter get the chance to talk about Peter's recent less-than-stellar life choices that led him to this point.

Read on Ao3

My gift for the second @friendly-neighborhood-exchange! I hope you enjoy it! Full fic also under the cut as requested by the exchange!

Peter really should have expected something like this to happen.

There are a lot of sayings about it: burning the candle at both ends, biting off more than you can chew, too many irons in the fire…he’s got melted wax all over a heaping plate of food and—okay, yep, this metaphor is going nowhere.

He’s a disaster lately, is what he’s getting at. And proving it by using too many turns of phrase at the same time in his head when it doesn’t really matter.

What even is his head, right now?

He doesn’t remember falling. Getting the tar kicked out of him…well, it’s more likely, but he still doesn’t actually remember it.

Everything is hazy. It’s like looking into his camera when the lens is unfocused. And everything is bright—oversensitive to his already wonky spider-senses, bright.

Is that a concussion symptom? He can’t remember that either.

“Karen?” he tries, but it comes out as a bit of a slur. The AI doesn’t respond, so he tries again. “Kare-bear, you up?”

Then he realizes his vision is certainly not being obscured by the lenses of his mask. He’s not wearing it.

Moving doesn’t hurt like he thought it would. He expected that gut-bombing feeling that comes with nausea, a pull of muscle against his spine or ribs, maybe the feeling of blood trickling down after a bullet or knife pierced something it shouldn’t have.

Instead it’s—fine. The blur of his vision clears as soon as he sits up and he’s…on the floor.

More senses come back with his eyes. The floor underneath him is cold. There’s a smell of oil and something just slightly burnt in the air, flaring his nostrils.

He’s not in an embarrassing dream where he’s naked, at least. He’s clothed in…no, that can’t be right. He hasn’t worn Tony’s old MIT sweatshirt in years. Not since…

“There he is.”

This is the Tony he never got to know, inhabiting the familiar space.

The older man is wearing dark jeans and t-shirt color expertly matched with the grey cardigan that completes the outfit. It’s a warm ensemble. It’s like the picture he always finds himself looking at when he visits the Stark cabin: Tony and Pepper on a hospital bed, exhausted but holding their new baby girl like she’s the only thing in the world.

Welcoming.

Loving.

Soft.

He wanted that Tony too. He wanted Tony back in any form most days, period.

Tony watches Peter examine him head to toe before continuing to speak.

“I’ve never done this before. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to wake you up or not. And not that I don’t love you, kiddo, but I’m more of a hugger than a Prince Charming type.”

Tony had hugged him. In the middle of a battle to save the universe, Tony took those ten seconds and hugged him and maybe if he hadn’t there would have been more time, another way, anything but watching Tony’s light go out.

“I am so glad Morgan’s finally growing out of her Disney Princesses phase, by the way. Aren’t you?” Tony says, like it’s just another Tuesday instead of whatever day of the week it is where Peter’s seeing things and losing his goddamn mind.

“Not that her running around screaming The Next Right Thing wasn’t cute and all. It’s just like—we all have our limits and I reached mine two Disneyland vacations ago."

Tony tilts his head.

“If you and MJ ever have kids, though.” Tony whistles. “Ben’s told me stories about your obsession with Kidz Bop songs. I hate to say it, but I think you two are in for it worse than Pepper and I ever were. I mean, at least Morgan has taste.”

“Mister—Tony, I—Ben—what?”

“Oh. Yeah, shit, sorry to spring all of that on you at once. I get carried away, you know me. Here, take your seat. We have time.”

Tony rolls over the other stool with his foot, patting the leather in invitation.

Peter keeps staring.

Tony gives a put-upon sigh. “Alright, let’s get this out of the way, then. No, I’m not one of Beck’s illusions, or one of Doctor Ocavious’ serums, or—what other reality-bending bad guys have you messed with lately. Did I cover them all yet?”

“Chameleon.”

“Oh, right, yeah. He had the gall to impersonate me and Michelle. That was rough on you, I’m sure.” Tony scratches his beard. “Though your last toss up certainly wasn’t better, considering.”

“Considering?” Peter asks. Curiosity has always been his problem. Right next to talking too much, which he’s currently doing very well with.

“One thing at a time, web-head. We’re certainly going to get to that.”

“That’s a new one.”

“Hm?”

“A new nickname. For me.”

“Huh.” Tony smiles to himself. “Guess so. Nice. I really thought I’d run the gamut. You know, that fire kid pisses me off to no end, but he’s really creative with the names. Makes me really aspirational about your generation.”

“How do you know Johnny?“ Peter shakes his head. Just another thing that needs explaining. “I think I’d really like to know what’s going on now, Mister Stark.”

“Fair enough. Alright, J, let’s get metaphysical.”

“Certainly, sir,” a prim, robotic voice replies.

With a resounding clap of Tony’s hands, the room descends into darkness before a set of holograms lights up around them, depicting a map of stars that expands around their heads.

“Let’s start with the facts: some people were right and some people were wrong. I wasn’t ever a very religious guy, but that doesn’t matter so much. All I know is that this is…whatever you want to call the afterlife part. The end after the end. What comes next, and so on. Well, an extension of it. Specifically from me to you.”

“How does that work?”

Tony snorts. “That, kiddo, is one of the few things I don’t know. There’s less all-knowing after death than I thought there’d be. Thor’s people have some theories—they call it Valhalla, theorize about their god-types—but I’ve yet to meet any kind of Grand Poobah as of yet.”

“But you did. Die, I mean.”

“Yeah, I did.” Tony sighs, placing a hand on Peter’s knee. “It was a tough choice, sacrificing myself. Strange thought it was the only one and I…” He swallows. “I would have done anything it took to make sure that you and everyone else in the universe got to live. So I made that call. And I accepted that it meant I would be out of the picture for the foreseeable future.”

There are a lot of things Peter wants to say, but doesn’t. I wish you hadn’t. We weren’t worth it. I’m not worth it.

Tony clears his throat, trying to breathe levity back into the atmosphere.

“But apparently, while we’re all here waiting for the rest of our loved ones to join in…we get perks.” Tony gestures to the room around them, an exact replica down to DUM-E and U rolling around in the corners instead of where they’re currently sitting in Tony’s dusty garage.

“It turns out the end isn’t totally the end. We get to watch and wait in style—go to old haunts, see old friends and family. Sometimes lend a hand, push away a bullet or two.” He nudges Peter’s shoulder on that one. “Specifically, I was offered the very coveted position of being the spiritual watchdog for a very special Spiderling.”

“So you’ve been watching,” Peter summates. “That’s how you know about—about Morgan and Johnny and everything that’s happened since you’ve been gone.”

Tony nods. “Your Uncle Ben had the job first. Maybe he took turns with your parents, I never asked. But what I do know is that you made that excellently unflappable man…well, stressed out to no end. We can only do so much from here, and you were throwing yourself headfirst into danger every other day. Before I entered the picture as your mentor, he was worried you’d join him sooner rather than later.”

Peter looks down at his lap, guilty. He can’t deny it—after Ben’s death, Peter was determined to use his powers for good instead of flipping around the streets entertaining himself as he pleased. That meant wearing himself thin on sleep, skipping classes, and being a little less careful about avoiding rather than attacking. Every robber from bank to bike thief got their punishment. Knife wounds didn’t matter, turning his skin black and blue didn’t either. Guns, he was particularly unforgiving about.

He had already faced what he thought was the worst trauma of his life at that point. He could afford an injury or two, and May was so blindsided with grief that she let him get away with leaving blood on the bathroom sink from doing his own stitches or waking up with a black eye for long enough that he got better at covering it up.

How could he have ever considered that Ben would be watching? He doesn’t want to think about all of the scrapes Tony’s now seen him get into.

“When I came up here…well, he and Nat were my welcoming party. Those two get along like old drinking buddies, actually. Weirds me out.” Tony scrunches his nose in what is likely false distaste.

He softens, though, moving his hand from Peter’s knee to cup his cheek. It’s something Tony’s never done, but Peter feels like he’s melting. Tony’s skin is warm. His fingers are still just a little callused and scarred.

Tony must get the impression that he doesn’t like it, but before he can move away, Peter traps his hand there, bristling his smooth fingers against the still-present wrinkles of Tony's skin.

Would Ben still look exactly as Peter last remembers him? Dressed in a button down with that stupid Giants baseball cap that’s still buried in a box somewhere at May’s place? Would he be fully grey now, or would it still be that salt-and-peppering brown? Does he need his glasses here?

“He’s so proud of you. Seriously, Pete, hearing him talk about you…well, he sounds like me. Just a couple of old saps between the two of us, I guess.”

Tony is smiling, but Peter wants to see it, he wants to hear it. He wants Ben and he wants to keep Tony here and never let him go again.

Tony swipes a fallen tear from Peter’s cheek with his thumb.

“He knew I wasn’t really…satisfied with how we left things. I spent five years missing you and all I got was a hug before I…” Tony clears his throat, looking away uncomfortably.

All this time and the first snap still haunts Tony. All this time, and Peter still dreams of ash.

“He offered to look after Morgan for me instead, considering it’s a bit of an easier job. I’m hoping he can coast on easy mode until she hits her teen years.”

“I still get to see her, too—and Pepper. God, all of you in the same room at Christmas is just—“ He shakes his head reverently. “That’s my day. My perfect day. I never thought.”

“She misses you,” Peter says. He doesn’t want to be mad at Tony, but sometimes he is, and he knows that Morgan is getting old enough to forget more about her dad than she remembers. He tries to tell stories, tries to explain pictures and videos but it’s just…not the same. It’s not enough. It’s not what she deserves.

“I know. I miss her too. I can watch you guys all day, but talking to you,“ Tony shakes Peter’s shoulder. “Touching you…there’s no replacement for it. I’m watching her grow up, but I don’t get to be a part of it like I used to. It just—sucks.”

Tony sighs again, but seems to rejuvenate with it, clapping and turning the lights of the lab back on.

“But that’s not important right now. We’re here because of you.”

“Me? What—?”

“Don’t what me, Pete. The only reason you’re here with me right now is because you’re close enough to death. Your body is in a hospital bed in the compound because you were reckless, and I brought your mind here to snap you out of it before you take the final step to this side of the spiritual plane!”

It seems otherworldly, the idea of his body currently being separated from his mind. Supernatural. Definitely something he’d usually associate with Doctor Strange.

As for his possible death...he doesn’t remember it. His more recent memories seem lost in a fog, and the welcoming warmth of this place makes the loss of them feel a lot less important.

“You’ve been—god, you’ve been beating yourself up for months. Ever since Gwen Stacy died—“

“Don’t.” Peter swallows back a sudden lump in his throat. “Please, don’t.”

“You’ve been running from it for months.” Tony replies. “Peter, you’ve been running from your life for months. You broke up with Michelle when I know for a fact that you have a ring made for her in your underwear drawer, you let things fall out with Harry when you never blamed him for everything that happened with his father, you don’t go see Pepper and Morgan anymore—“

“Because they’re not safe!” Peter finds himself standing, suddenly, string-tense and angry.

Tony doesn’t look surprised at the outburst, just sad.

“Don’t you get it?! No one is safe around me! It doesn’t matter if they’re heroes or civilians! It’s my fault that Gwen died! It’s my fault that you—” Peter shakes his head. “I can’t let that happen to anyone else. I won’t.”

“Peter, it is not your fault that I used the infinity stones.”

Peter stares at the ground and thinks about all of the ways he could have changed what happened during the battle with Thanos. He could have made that sacrifice instead. Anyone else on the battlefield could have. Some of them had the power to do it and survive. But it was Tony that came up with the idea to build a gauntlet of his own into his suit, Tony that made that choice with exactly one thing on his mind.

“Pepper told me about the picture. She said that you’d spent all those years caring about me, that you only considered time travel because of me. That makes it my fault.”

“No,” Tony insists. “It was my choice. That’s it. You were an influence, yes, but not the only one. I wanted a better world for my entire family—I did it Morgan and Pepper too. I wanted the rest of the world to have their families back because I finally realized how much I treasured my own. You are not to blame for my decisions. Period.”

“That doesn’t change what happened with Gwen! With Doctor Octavious! With Beck!”

He doesn’t let Tony interrupt again.

“Every time I try and do the right thing, bad stuff happens to the people I care about. So I cut them all away and according to you, I still ended up almost dead.”

“That was the Green Goblin’s fault. He escaped the Raft and went on a revenge-fueled rampage against you. You were overwhelmed. If you had help—”

“I don’t want help!” Peter shouts. Tony is always trying to fix Peter’s problems, a habit Peter knows he shares from his attempts to constantly fix New York. Tony just can’t fix Peter—who he is, what his life does to the people he loves. It’s never going to stop. Peter’s never going to stop. Not while he’s alive and has the means to keep trying.

“Then what do you want?” Tony asks, standing up himself and taking Peter’s shoulder in his hand. “I just want to make things better, buddy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Tell me what I can do.”

Peter looks at Tony, thinking of all the mistakes he could have helped correct, every missed birthday and holiday.

“I want to stay here.”

There’s a clear beat of silence. Tony’s face morphs from empathetic softness to a hardened frown.

“Peter, no—“

“Yes! Out there I can’t stop myself from—ruining my life all the time, no matter what I do. I can’t be Spider-Man the way everyone wants me to, I can’t be Peter Parker because I am Spider-Man, and everyone is looking at me to lead Stark Industries when I don’t even work there anymore!”

Working at SI had been what he thought he was supposed to do. Go to MIT. Graduate. Work for Pepper. Fulfill the legacy. Make Tony proud. Make everyone proud. Be the smartest and Spider-Man and a good boyfriend all at the same time.

But then Gwen died and he was already struggling to fill his mentor’s shoes and he’d just—surrendered to the part of himself that always doubted, that could never reconcile Tony’s belief in him and the way he often saw himself.

“Here I could be with you and Ben and my parents,” Peter reasons. “Tony, I lost them when I was five! I could finally see them again—“

Peter grabs for Tony in an attempt to reason with him, but Tony shakes it off.

“Peter, this was supposed to be a mission to make you snap out of it. You’re teetering between dead and alive right now and you need to go back.”

“No, please,” Peter begs. “Please, Mister Stark, please. I want to go. I want to go with you. I don’t want to leave you again. Ever since you died everything’s been—everything just keeps going wrong. Maybe this is a sign. I can never make the right choices, maybe it’s time for me to—“

“No.” Tony is looking down at him, like Peter is fifteen and naive and the world would be so much simpler if only Peter would listen to Tony.

“Don’t you dare try to act like your life out there doesn’t matter, like this is the better option.” Tony shakes his head back and forth. “The point of this place is to be after your life. I know that you’ve been through a lot already, but you’re not done yet. You’re not.”

Peter buries himself into Tony’s chest, desperate. He grew taller in the last few years but here in this lab, in this place that doesn’t exist, he is the boy Tony remembers, the boy he misses getting to be.

“Please.”

“I’m sorry.” Tony echoes Peter’s last words on Titan, and he knows it, he must, to still be so affected by losing Peter in the first place. He keeps Peter encased in his arms, rubbing his back over and over in a soothing gesture.

“I’m sorry things have been so hard without me. I’m sorry that you’ve missed me so much, and that I can’t be there. I’m sorry that the only way I could figure out to save the world didn’t include saving myself.”

Tony pulls away slightly, enough so that he can catch Peter’s watery gaze.

“But Peter, that is no excuse to think your life should be over. You know I have always encouraged you to be more selfish. I spent so long telling you to go after the things you wanted—the parts of a normal life that you deserve—because you are an incredible, empathic, intelligent kid. But for once I am begging you to think about other people. You have responsibilities, Pete. You have people that love you down there. You know that.”

“And think of everything that’s happened to them because of me! I—I’ve given May more grey hairs than you, I’ve put MJ in danger—I’m the reason Harry’s dad went away! Without me…without Spider-Man…maybe they’d be better. Maybe this is what’s supposed to happen!”

Tony doesn’t respond to this, but Peter can read his face. He doesn’t believe Peter at all.

“Let me show you something.” It’s a complete diversion, and Tony relies on Peter’s silent surprise, leaving their loose embrace and tapping at a set of holograms in front of him until a feed appears.

It’s an alley.

Somehow, Peter knows it’s in New York. Maybe it’s all of the time he’s spent in dumpsters—both searching for old technology in his youth and getting his ass kicked into them—that allows him to recognize that.

It’s not the most interesting footage—the most activity on screen for a minute is a mangy tabby cat scampering by.

Then a masked man comes running by the camera, a leather purse in hand and darting glances behind him.

A string of familiar webbing comes on screen, followed by a lithe, masked figure whose body slams into the robber’s, knocking the man down before sticking him to the ground with a layer of webbing. The masked figure takes the purse and swings away, back toward the mouth of the alley.

“Tony, what is this?” Peter asks.

“That is Miles Morales. Fourteen. Brooklyn native. Remind you of anyone?” Tony rolls his eyes at Peter’s unamused face. “Yeah, you get it. Anyway, two months ago, Mister Morales was bit by another one of Oscorp’s freaky mutant spiders. He didn’t tell anyone, but when Spider-Man was put into a coma fighting the Green Goblin and he didn’t help…”

The clip loops again, repeating the swing and kick of Miles’ body slamming into the robber.

“He became Spider-Man.”

Tony nods. “A cheap copy, though, of course. Underoos 2.0, you might say.”

“Only you would.”

“Ouch,” Tony hums. “I’m just saying, without Spider-Man, without you, someone else is always going to step up. It might be Miles, or the Avengers, or that little group of vigilantes near Hell’s Kitchen…”

“Then you’re just proving my point, they don’t need me to—!”

Tony holds his hand up.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t still needed. You—Peter Parker, Spider-Man—are the person that knows the streets of New York’s boroughs better than anyone else. You’re the same person that helped take down Thanos and fought against Beck and the rest of his little Sinister Six friends. You’re the only Peter Parker that Michelle wants. You’re the only best friend that Ned Leeds wants. You’re the only nephew your Aunt May has. You’re Morgan’s only big brother, Petey."

The warmth that was surrounding Peter until that moment fades slightly. Here, the world that he came from seems so far away. It was easy to say he wanted to stay when the most important thing was right in front of him.

But Tony isn't the most important thing in Peter’s life. Peter's grief seemed to be important for years after. It felt heavy, all-consuming, a weight he was backpacking around on the top of all the good things because the world wouldn’t let him forget. From the murals and statues to Beck’s raging hunger for revenge, Peter felt the ache of Tony’s loss much like he had for Ben—acute and piercing his life with holes.

The thing is—Peter still grieves. All of Tony’s loved ones do. They wish he was there at birthdays and barbecues, reminisce about this story or that, tell Peter and Morgan of his love for them, his pride.

It just doesn’t hurt the same, these reminders. It doesn’t hurt as consistently. His sadness ebbs and flows, bleeds and stems, metaphors on metaphors on metaphors.

“You’re the only you that there is, kiddo," Tony continues. "You need to stop blaming yourself for everything that hasn’t worked out and start realizing that you’ve done a lot of things right. You’re allowed to grieve the past, but you can’t stay here. You need to move forward. That doesn’t have to mean letting go. It means taking us with you, and continuing to make us proud, just like you have been, even when everything is going wrong.”

Tony's eyes are expectant. He wants Peter to really listen to what he's saying, to believe it.

Peter nods, even as some part of him doesn't want to. Tony is right, and Peter is old enough to admit it, to want to believe it. Tony’s death is not as fresh as Gwen’s, and still newer than the death of his uncle, but he is allowed to hold his loss as he moves on from it. He knows that. He was trying for so long, but the losses kept piling up, and he’d forgotten because it was easier to wallow in his grief than try and recover for the umpteenth time.

It’s tiring.

As if Tony can see as much in Peter’s eyes—because he has seen it all, because he knows what Peter’s gone through without him all the time—he finishes his speech.

“Peter, I know you’re doubting yourself and your abilities. I know it’s hard. But you don’t need someone else to fix that for you—not me, or Ben, or your parents. It’s okay to miss us—you know that we miss you. But you don’t need me around to be a great hero or a good person. You’re all of those things on your own.”

Tony puts a hand on Peter’s head, pulling back his curls and looking directly into his eyes. “But if you need the assurance…you’re everything I could have hoped for and more. I love you, and I’m so proud of you, okay? No matter what.”

"I still want to stay," Peter admits, his voice quiet. There's a difference in knowing he can't and wanting. It's a childish part of himself that he's allowing to be obstinate.

Tony only smiles, though, understanding when he admits, "And some part of me wants to keep you here. But it's not your time. Not yet, okay? You have apologies to make to a very pretty girl, an aunt that would break the rules of spacetime to kick my ass if you died in your twenties, a kid that needs your mentorship…"

"What if I get him killed?" Peter asks abruptly. He hadn't even considered what mentorship would mean, in the long run. "Tony, how many times did I almost die before I turned eighteen? I did die, on an alien world. How can I promise that won't happen to him?"

"You can't," Tony chuckles. "There are no guarantees in any part of life, kid, you know that. He could get taken down by a supervillain or a car in equal measure. But one way he's fighting for the city—for the people he believes in. One way makes him the hero that he is."

Tony shrugs. "That's why I never stopped you."

"You couldn't stop me."

"That too. But that fear? That's what is going to make you better. It made me better."

Peter nods, understanding. His fear for a kid he doesn't even know is just the same as Tony's fear was for him in the beginning.

But look at what grew out of that: he and Tony freakin' Stark, standing here in the afterlife filled with love for each other, planning to continue their lifelong legacy of work to make the world a better place.

Peter would argue that alone is worth it.

Peter steps forward, bringing Tony into another hug—a final hug. "I love you."

Tony's thumb finds the back of Peter's neck, gently stroking. "I love you too, kiddo."

"You'll keep watching over me? Just in case?"

"Of course. I'll let Ben take a turn too, invite your parents into the Spidey Protection Program."

"I'd really like that." He backs up to look at Tony. "And when May gets here, could you—"

"We'll take care of her." In exchange, Tony asks, "Can you tell Pepper and Morgan—oh, and Rhodey and Happy, and don't forget Bruce—"

"I'll tell everyone that you miss them. That you're waiting."

"Such a good kid," Tony remarks, running a hand through Peter’s hair again before landing to cup his cheek again, like he’s treasuring the new gesture before it’s taken from him. "Be safe...well, as much as you can. More family vacations and less hospital visits, okay?"

"Yeah, okay,” Peter agrees, twitching up a real smile through the last of his tears. “Goodbye, Tony."

"Bye, Pete. I'll see you soon. Just—not too soon! And I want to see any future grand-babies all the time, you hear me? No absentee fathering! And—"

The world around Peter grows blurred again, taking him out the same way he came in.

The sound of Tony’s voice echoes into the beeping of a heart monitor.

The ethereal warmth fades into the reality of cold air conditioning—a scratchy hospital blanket is the only shield from the cold. A tube is uncomfortably jammed down his throat.

The life in front of him is no more enticing than it was before, with Tony. It will be weeks spent in recovery despite his healing powers, groveling at Michelle’s feet to make up for leaving her in the first place, apology after apology to his aunt for not calling. He’ll owe Morgan at least a week at the cabin, if not more treats to be exploited from his wallet later. Most importantly—at the risk of Miles Morales’ life—he has to track down a reckless kid and try to teach him to be a better hero when Peter himself is a five alarm tire fire and a half.

But there is also a lot of life still out there that he doesn’t want to forget about:

Aunt May’s one and only good recipe—sweet potato pie. She always flits around their tiny apartment covered in flour and smelling of spices, slapping his hands away from the counter with a firm, “Don’t you dare.”

MJ’s drawings from years past taped to the walls of his bedroom, her unread stacks of hardcovers littering every empty surface, and the way she always stops reading to kiss him goodnight before he goes out on patrol.

Morgan and Pepper, the cabin, the memories he wants to forget and all of the new ones he’s made there next to his little pseudo-sister that have helped make her into the kind, empathetic kid that he would do anything for in a heartbeat.

Peter still has a lot to tell all of them, the words he promised Tony he’d relay.

Peter opens his eyes.

#irondad #spiderson #marvel #friendly neighborhood exchange #Tony Stark #Peter Parker #my writing

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leo-dooley-lab-rats · 4 years

Text

Who I am

Once upon a time, a long ago, I had a very different life. That all changed when I moved in my step-dad. That was the day I stumbled into the lab. The day I met my family. The day I let Adam, Bree, and Chase into my heart and, I have never let them go since.

Over past eight years or so, some crazy stuff has happened but, some things never change. Adam and Chase always bicker and fight with one other. Bree always try to keep the peace between the two of them. As for me, I am the one who always have their backs no matter what.

If there’s one thing about me; it’s I don’t give a darn what happens to me just as long as my family is safe and alive. Maybe that makes mad man. Adam, Bree, and Chase, are heroes. Not just any old heroes, but bionic heroes. While they are so busy saving the world and everyone in it, who is going to save them? I am. That’s who.

Anyone person can save the day. That’s easy. There are very few who can save the world. My brothers and sister are part of few that can and have saved the world. I don’t know if I could ever save the word. I am always too busy saving my family on missions.

I am my family’s backup. Someone has to watch out for them. Maybe I’m not the most qualified to do, but someone has to do it. It seems that I’m the only one that is willing. I live in their shadows because that choice. It used to bother quite a bit. Now, it doesn’t matter. Keeping my family safe is more important than any glory or praise I could get.

Before, I was lonely kid living in one bedroom apartment with only my mom. Then, in the course of one day, I gained a family. A family that wasn’t just my mom and me. I love my mom, but something was always missing when it was just the two of us.

Growing up, my mom was often busy with work. Wasn’t her fault really. She was a single mom trying to provide for me, her son. It was lonely childhood. My friends were TV shows and movies as I was branded the “weird kid” at school.

All that changed the night my mom brought home Big D. I was skeptical of the man at first. Strange for thirteen year old boy to be skeptical of his mother’s boyfriend. I know. I love my mom and I hoped that this man that brought home that night was the one. Experience told me that it wasn’t going to be easy.

It was always hard for my mom get man to actual want to met me. Most men when they found out about would just reject my mother. I hated that. It was like I was ball and chain in the way of her happyness. Why was it so hard for men to understand that she had kid? In the long run, it was for the best.

The night he came over was one filled with anxiety and fear. As night went on, that fear and anxiety would be replaced with hope for the future. I had soften to the man as left that night. As no one has ever made mom smile like Big D. Except maybe me.

Soon, my mom and Big D got married. Moving in the palace that Big D called a home was shock at first. Then I stumbled into the lab. I met Adam, Bree, and Chase then. Everything from that moment was different. I had family. I had friends. I had everything I had wished for as kid.

Sometimes, I wonder what my life would have been like, if I have never met Adam, Bree, and Chase. Where would have life taken me? At the same time, I cannot imagine a world where we never met.

I often wonder, if Adam, Bree, or Chase even think about what my life was like before we met. They never ask. Nor do I bring it up. It is like unwritten rule to never bring up my past. The past isn’t all that important. It is just a past, but I know many things about their past. My family, outside my mom, doesn’t know it.

The day I met Adam, Bree, and Chase was one of the greatest days of my life. That is fact that will never change. I made my way into the lab by accident, and I am so glad I did. I don’t know if I had as big impact on my family as they did on me. I’d like to think that I did.

Since the day I met my family, I looked out for them. Whether that be at school or in the field. I have always tired to kept my family safe. Adam, Bree, and Chase don’t seem to notice this. That doesn’t matter though. All that does matter is keeping my family safe.

Sometimes, I feel like my family doesn’t notice me at all. I suppose it doesn’t matter. They might not always listen to my ideas or take me seriously, but I know at the end of day none of it matters. I love them and they love me. That’s what really matters.

Over the years, the family has grown to include Douglas, Daniel, and Namoi. Douglas was once a villain, but I have come to realize is a big softie. Daniel and Namoi are a new brother and sister. Family changes over time as do the seasons.

One night, Big D when was stitching up a cut I had obtained on a mission. I had withstaned the injury while pushing Bree out of way of falling debris. I often get injured on missions, but I will never forget the conversation that was had in the lab that night.

“Leo?”

“Yeah, Big D, what is it?”

“You could have killed,” he stopped working on the stitch to look me dead straight in the eyes “You know that right?”

“I didn’t die.”

“That isn’t point. You could have.”

“So, could have Bree.”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean maybe?!”

“For the love of all! In case you haven’t notice, she’s less breakable than you,” silence followed that last statement.

Big D wasn’t completely wrong about me being more ‘breakable’, but my sister needed me and that’s was all that mattered. Maybe, I am crazy. I have often wondered that. I do run headfirst into danger not giving a second thought to what will happen to me.

“Leo, your my son and I can’t lose you,” Big D doesn’t often call me his son and that’s how I know he was he was upset. “Especially if it’s on stupid idea that you’ve got something to prove, because you don’t... you don’t, Leo.”

“That’s not the reason, I did it. I know I don’t have anything to prove.”

My step-dad sighed and went back to patching me up, “I don’t think I’m ever going to understand you.”

I laughed at that. I still do. I know I’m strange. I always been that way. I used to hate it. I wanted to fit in. Now, I’ve come to embrace it.

“Leo, I didn’t mean to shout,” he told me after what felt like hours of silence.

“I know.”

“I just worry about you.”

“I know you do, but you shouldn’t.”

After that statement, I swear I hear Big D almost telling that ‘I’ll always worry, so stop asking me not to.’ He didn’t say that. Oddly enough.

“Look, Leo, can you do me one favor?”

“I guess.”

“Next time you want to do something this reckless and stupid, promise me that you’ll be little more careful?”

I lied to Big D that night. I said I’d be careful. Careful is not in my nature. Not when comes to protecting those I care about. I know shouldn’t have lied, but I wanted to have some kind of peace when I went into field. If that conversation taught me anything, then I don’t want nor need the credit for what I do.

I know. I know. Sounds nuts, but I don’t need anyone worrying about me. I can take care of myself, for the most part. It might be nice after save one of them to get a thank you or something, but to be honest I don’t need it. Knowing my family is safe and alive is all I need.

My family will always be the best part of me. It always be the part of me worth protecting. I won’t ever stop. How can I? Where ever and whenever, Adam, Bree, and Chase need me that’s exactly where I’m going to be. No matter what.

I will never stop looking out for and protecting my family. I may never get a thank you, but I will always be the protector of my family. Even if it gets me killed one of these days.

My name is Leo Dooley and that is my story.

#leo dooley #lab rats #leo #adam davenport #chase davenport #bree davenport #short story #oneshot #donald davenport #douglas #douglas davenport #fan fiction #one shot

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writingfordayz · 4 years

Text

See You There, -K

Ever since Lance almost died on a mission, Keith's been on edge and more rash in his decision making. When he doesn't know who to turn to to help sort out his feelings, he starts sending messages to a dead Shiro in hopes of finding peace; however, Lotor attempts to turn the team against him by manipulating the messages into a sign of betrayal.

“That’s it. I’ve let this go on long enough. You cannot continue making reckless, unauthorized decisions,” Allura scolded Keith as he peeled off his helmet. He was barely even listening while the team gathered around him, his mind constantly replaying the explosion he’d just nearly escaped.

“Keith?! Do you have anything to say for yourself?”She pushed as Lotor took a fortifying place by her side.

“I did what I had to do.”

“What you had to do? You broke formation to fly headfirst into their battleship! The plan was to board and secure, not destroy!” Although Allura was the only one yelling, it was evident by the team’s worn out faces that they were tired of his bullshit.

It’s hard to notice little things in the heat of battle when your heart is beating in time with the blasts and your brain is on autopilot, merely trying to finish the job alive and with little recollection of the destruction, you leave behind. Keith’s usually good at tuning everything out, but this time, the formula was off.

Keith’s heart had completely stopped and he became agonizingly aware of the fact that Lance was stuck in a tractor beam with a canon about to sign his life away. Lance never radioed for help, never informed the team of the cannon for fear that he’d ruin the whole plan, and he must have struggled in the beam’s grasp for a good two minutes before the weapon was fully charged, but it only took Keith a second register what he was about to lose and decide to plow his lion into the metal mid-blast. Screw the plan. If Lance wasn’t here, then what’s the point of anything?

Even now, Keith could read the guilty expression on Lance’s face as he tried to sink to the back of the crowd and go unnoticed. Just three weeks ago, he’d confided about his uselessness to Keith, in his ability to fuck up missions. Through tears and bloodied fists beaten desperately against the wall, he begged to be worth anything, even if it were just for a moment. Keith felt helpless then, not good with words and definitely not good with knowing how to handle someone crying, so he settled on a hug that lasted several hours and a humming that brought sleep. They hadn’t talked about that night since, but Keith vowed to never let Lance blame himself for anything again.

Looking Allura straight in the eyes, Keith confidently explained, “I thought the cannon was going to destroy the castle. I had to stop it. As for unauthorized decisions, last time I checked, I was the black paladin. I’m the leader here, so I call the shots.”

Lotor sighed loudly, feigning regret. “I really didn’t want to disrupt your family, but I think it’s best you know the so-called ‘black paladin’ has been lying to you all for months now.”

That comment struck a new fear in Keith, one he never imagined he’d have to face with his closest friends in earshot. He’s lied to all of them at some point, but always because it was better than the alternative. On top of that, he knew how easily Lotor could poison them with doubt; he chose his words carefully and only attempted it if he had evidence. It had worked on Keith before, but he felt the deception internally was worth the alliances they gained throughout the galaxy. A war can be fought with six soldiers, but it can’t be won.

Allura’s loyalty to Lotor was unwavering as she gripped his arm and picked up the accusation where he’d left off: “It’s true, he’s a danger to Voltron… a danger to the whole universe. We can’t let this go unnoticed.”

Keith was beyond irritated and beginning to panic now that Allura had verified his words, but he also knew that Shiro would tell him to be patient and focus. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “What exactly are you implying?”

“We’ve seen the messages. Every few nights you fly off to do ‘perimeter checks’, but really you’re sending encrypted updates on our progress to the Galra.”

The room was now a rainbow of statues, and Keith realized for the first time that black is unnatural in a rainbow; he sticks out in a way that diminishes the liveliness of the rest. He knew exactly what they were talking about, the alleged messages, but if they really saw all of the messages… His eyes met Lance’s for the first time tonight, but oddly enough they didn’t seem confused or upset. Those blue eyes had been stuck at high tide for weeks now, threatening to spill over, but now they were a raging storm.

“I’m not sure what it is you think you read, but Keith would never betray us,” Lance declared.

Lotor shrugged and said, “Well, fortunately, we have all of them, including the ones detailing your shortcomings.”

Lance shifted in place and crossed his arms to keep himself from looking anxious. The one thing that would completely break him would be Keith admitting what Lance had feared all along.

“As I said, Keith would never betray us,” Lance repeated.

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I read a few of these out loud,” Lotor said while pulling up a holograph of the messages:

Today we liberated some hostages and were able to provide them medical treatment. In doing so, we also gained a cargo ship full of weapons to arm the resistance. Be careful approaching the castle. Next, we’ll be heading to Arus. See you there. -K

“That’s enough,” Keith insisted.

“Why stop there when there’s so many more that detail your grim outlook of the team?” Lotor questioned.

Another political alliance was made, bringing the total number of planets supporting Voltron to 13. They are all significantly smaller than the Galra Empire, and even together they probably won’t be strong enough to win the war. Making a pit stop at Balmara to rest. See you there. -K

The team has been arguing nonstop and this makes us vulnerable. We’ve lost four battles in a row, and the yellow lion is out of commission. Stuck in the Javeeno Star System. See you there. -K

“I said that’s enough! These are personal.” Keith practically begged, activating his sword.

“If you’re as loyal as you claim, then you wouldn’t have anything to hide!” Lotor declared.

Lance was assigned a search and rescue mission, but in the process, both the hostage and his partner from the Blade died. He can’t perform basic tasks and is starting to drag the team down. Not sure if I’ll be able to find someone else to pilot red before the assassination attempt on the witch. We wouldn’t make it with him. Stopping for supplies on Pollux. See you there. -K

If Keith had known that’s what was going to be read to Lance, he would’ve stabbed Lotor the moment he landed in the castle, but he didn’t and now Lance looked like a mirror shattered in its frame, trying desperately to keep himself together. All the injuries Keith had gotten in space don’t compare to the pain he feels seeing Lance become void of all life, in fact, this moment ranks in the top three worst moments of his life including when his dad died and when Shiro died.

“Lance, I swear to you that I didn’t write that.”

For a moment it seemed like he couldn’t speak, eyes trained on the ground, until Lance quietly asked, “So you didn’t write any of those messages?”

“No- well yes. The first two, yes I did. But that last one I didn’t. I would never.”

“Whether you claim to have written them or not, you are sending messages to a hidden address. You’re explaining our weaknesses...disclosing our location!” Allura yelled.

“To Shiro!” Keith couldn’t take the accusations, the prying eyes, Lance's mindset.

“I write messages to Shiro hoping one day he’ll respond! That he’ll tell me what to do because I keep failing you, and I don’t know how to be a leader! That he’ll tell me not to worry. That he’ll tell me we’ll survive this. That he’ll show up while we’re collecting supplies and everything can just go back to normal!”

For the first time since he lost Shiro, tears poured out of Keith’s eyes as he tried desperately to hold back a sob to not look as weak as he felt, but it was that vulnerability that proved he was telling the truth. Just as quick as Keith had attempted to sacrifice himself for Lance, everyone surrounded Lotor with their bayards drawn. Even Allura, as conflicted as she was, joined them as Lance took the lead.

“Hunk, Pidge, take Lotor to the holding cell,” Lance commanded while his gun burned an invisible line through Lotor’s head. Lotor narrowed his eyes at Lance, challenging him.

“You will be the one to die before the war ends. I’ll see to it,” Lotor threatened.

Fuck patience.

“Over my dead body!” Keith yelled and threw his sword directly through the center of Lotor’s back. It clanged against the ground, dust particles dissipating and floating towards the ceiling.

“Where’d he go-”

That’s what Keith last asked. That’s all he keeps muttering as the ringing in his ears intensifies, and the smoke from the explosion clouds his vision. There’s someone yelling, but it seems distant and indecipherable. His eyes focus on a drop of blood that runs down his nose and falls to the ground, joining the small pool of red that had already formed. A lot of red is usually an indication of an injury or anticipated death, but it’s also a representation of Lance: passionate, fierce, and inspiring. Lance who stood up for him when no one else did. Lance who never questions his decisions. Lance who loves his family with every ounce of his being. Lance who can see the hope in all of the despair. Lance who has the most uplifting smile. Lance who currently doesn’t have a smile.

Keith was pulled back to reality as pain split through his head. Hands gripped him roughly in an attempt to stop the bleeding, and his eyes had shifted from the pool of blood to the red of Lance’s suit to the black behind his eyelids.

Several hours later after the fires were put out and the castle had been put on lockdown, Keith sat on his bed going through the messages he had actually sent to Shiro. Lance sat across from him quietly; he hadn’t talked since the explosion, but he wasn’t about to let Mr. I’mFineIDon’tNeedAHealingPod with a slight case of traumatic brain injury go unmonitored. Keith peered at Lance over his screen and finally spoke, “You know, you can probably put your bayard away now.”

Lance didn’t look up, tightening his grip on the gun; “I thought you were gonna die. Not gonna let that happen again.”

Keith frowned, knowing the feeling all too well. “I thought you were gonna die when boarding that ship earlier.”

“So you did crash into that cannon because of me!” Lance snapped, finally glaring at him, “And what was that ‘over my dead body’ bullshit? You can’t just die for me!”

“I can, and I will if I have to.”

“Why?! I get hostages killed. I get partners killed. I can’t perform basic tasks-” Lance was getting so worked up, his knuckles were turning white around his bayard.

“I told you I didn’t write that.”

“Then what did you write?” Keith could see how desperate Lance was to know for certain it wasn’t true, and he knew right then that whatever happens after he reads it is worth it if Lance can believe in himself. He slowly reached across the bed and slid his hand on to Lance’s. Rubbing his thumb lightly over his knuckles, he whispered, “Please put the gun down first.”

Lance stared at their hands for a moment, and considered not listening to him; it would mean this could continue, and oh boy did he want Keith to hold his hand forever. Reluctantly, he leaned the gun against the wall, but as he brought his hands back to his lap, Keith reclaimed one and held it tightly in an attempt to steady his voice before he spoke:

“Lance was assigned a search and rescue mission, but in the process, both the hostage and his partner from the Blade died. I assigned him this mission because I believed he was the only one who could successfully complete it, but after those losses, I never want to assign him a rescue mission again. I never want to assign him any mission. I’m so terrified of losing him. He’s my right-hand man, and I wouldn’t even be able to attempt to lead this team without him. He’s the only person who’s made me smile in years... I know this job is dangerous, and we all run the risk of getting hurt or killed, but I’ve already lost two of the three people I love, and I don’t think I could handle losing him too. That’s so selfish of me. I know it is, and that’s why I need your help. He’s hurting Shiro, and I don’t know how to fix it. You know I’ve never been good at this. Please help me...We’re still near Olkarion. See you there. -K”

Keith let out a nervous breath and looked back to their hands locked between them, trying to decide if he was unnaturally cold due to nerves or if Lance was always this warm.

“There’s more, a lot more, about you. I promise they’re all good, and you’re more than welcome to read them,” Keith said through a slight smile as he held the screen up for Lance to take, but as soon as it was in reach, Lance shoved it away. He leaned up to rest on his knees in front of Keith and carefully wound his arms around his neck.”I don’t want to hurt you more than have been...but I also never want to let go again,” Lance whispered.

#klance #voltron #klangst #keith and lance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #lotor #allura x lotor #klance fic #sad lance #friends to lovers #voltron fic

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emperor-of-blood · 5 years

Note

Hi! I was wondering if you could compare a Knight of Void and a Knight of Doom. Like comparing powers and how you would expect them to act based off of aspect and class. Thank you, your blog is amazing!

Knight of Void, I have no master! I turn invisible, sneak behind my enemy, and strike them down with nothing but my bare hand. Nothing personal, kid!

Actually tho:

I imagine a Knight of Void to be specifically versatile. Wielding nothing comes across to me as someone who can use anything effectively. And one who protects with Void would be someone who protects by doing nothing. Someone who even though they aren’t doing anything special fills you with confidence. It could be that friend who you really don’t want to let down. I imagine a Knight of Void fighting next to you in your session and he grabs a rock and starts beating imps with it. You look at them and realize if this weirdo can do it, so can you. After all, you’ve got a alchemized weapon right? They aren’t doing anything special, you know? But when they’re nearby things are just easier. It’d be less about protecting your party from physical threats and more about protecting from them from the mental ones like doubt, cowardice, depression, etc. They’re probably pretty humble, completely forgetting about the times they’ve been completely competent.

A Knight of Doom would probably protect their part by getting into a lot of shit. By diving headfirst into trouble, they’d be sparing their party the danger. The Knight themselves could perhaps have a “Hero complex” where they need to be in the spotlight saving people as much as they can. I’d fear that wielding Doom would mean that they themselves start causing the destruction, perhaps going to far in their efforts to save their party. Or perhaps they seal the parties fate by some sort of fatal error, maybe even killing a party member. Being around the Knight of Doom is likely pretty stressful. They’re probably restless, the type of person to always want to prove themselves, even when there’s nothing to prove. Its because they respect you though and that they want you to respect them too.

One who protects with [Aspect]/wields [Aspect]. At first look, one who wields Void is likely to make you think that the Knight doesn’t get a weapon and ends up as either a shitty Knight or something like a shittier version of Equius just running around punching shit. But from grimdogbark Jade’s convo with Roxy about her mastering her own Void powers we know it goes a bit deeper than that. It’s not actually nothing but instead the concept (Of nothing). Other than generic Void powers like going invisible and phasing through shit, I’ve a few guesses as to how the powers would manifest. The ability that keeps coming to mind is the ability to disintegrate but I don’t really think this is super fitting. Perhaps instead they negate healing. So if you were hit you might lose sensation in your arm and no matter what you did, it would never return (Along with your health bar literally being lower). Or perhaps the ability to send someone to a pocket dimension. You aren’t ‘doing’ anything to them, they’re just not here anymore. Second as the ability to, remove thing from themselves. This is pretty roleplay based more than power but w/e. By removing fear, pain, hunger, distraction, maybe even personal connections they are able to better focus on a fight or protect their friends. Or in a similar way, nullifying mental effects. I imagine a Knight of Void being able to cut through Sollux’s psionic abilities as if they weren’t even there or being immune to Vriska’s mind control.

Comparing that to a Knight of Doom which I’d say is more synonymous with fate or death specifically than destruction. So I’ve got a few ideas for how this could work. I think the powers would have to manifest as the Knight seeing his opponents Doom, sort of like a “Short range future sight focused specifically on their opponents death”. So they know what to do in order to reach the future where they kill a specific enemy. Or maybe it’s the reverse where they see their allies death and use that knowledge to avoid it. Although perhaps this is leeching to far into Seer of Doom territory. Perhaps the Knight is short term visions specifically, so useful for fights or avoiding immediate danger but does shit all for planning. So the difference between “Hey hold my hand as we cross jump this gap so I can pull you up when you inevitably fall” vs. “You’re going to get gonorrhea in a week when you finally snap and fuck one of your consorts so make sure you don’t do that OK.”. The only other thing I could think of is them using powers of those they’ve killed or perhaps their fallen allies? Practically speaking, I’d imagine it working functionally something like this. This last one feels like the least likely version of the powers but possibly still worth considering as it is hella cool.

Now that I’ve analyzed both I’d say that the Knights of Doom and Void are very different from one another. They protect different things, their powers are very different, and the people in those roles are likely going to be pretty different.

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akaiikowrites · 7 years

Text

bruise me up a chastity belt

Notes: blame @stargazershiro for encouraging me. this is absolute size kink trash about Keith Suffering (TM) for That Dick. i regret a lot. i regret nothing.

Also On: Ao3

They’re in a pause in the endless fight against the Empire and Pidge asks Keith to try out the new training AI she installed in the gym. It’s meant to learn from their techniques, like a real opponent, and maybe finally give Keith a challenge after he started consistently beating Training Level 8. Put all of them down for scared and horny, when that happened, but no one’s gonna say shit because Keith is forever armed. And anyway, what’s important is they’re all there to witness this momentous occasion when Keith beats the shit out of yet another piece of machinery while Pidge holds back tears.

Fifteen minutes in and there’ve been no tears—yet. The AI is well programed and it’s picked up on Keith’s signature move. Namely, throwing himself headfirst at his opponent and rolling through the blow. There’s a reason it’s his signature and now that he can’t use it, Keith’s got this gleam in his eye, something part calculating predator and part manic joy.

Behind them, the door to the gym hisses open. None of them look. Shiro and Allura had been in some kind of miniature conference with a new planet that planned to join the coalition. It’s probably just them coming to check in on the progress with the AI.

Who are they kidding? They still wouldn’t have looked even if they didn’t know who it was behind them. For one key reason:

Keith, blocking a downward swing of the AI’s sword with his own bayard. Sweat stains the back of Keith’s shirt and clings lovingly to the hard line of his jaw. Every muscle of his body is flexed. The light does filthy things with the curve of his biceps. Intensity outlines everything about his expression and it gives a dangerous edge to the grin that tugs up one corner of his mouth. In a single, smooth motion he ducks out of the way of the sword and brings one leg up in a vicious roundhouse that catches the AI right in its nonexistent stomach. Plastene crunches and the AI folds.

They’re ready to congratulate him—Pidge’s eyes are already filling with tears as a Sarah McLachlan song plays in the distance—when the AI gets one last unexpected hit in. It catches Keith across the hips as it goes down. Like it’s trying to drag him down with it. There’s an audible grunt from Keith as the blow lands and he loses his balance.

Rather than try to catch himself Keith deactivates his bayard and rolls clear. Comes to his feet. Reactivates the bayard and readies his stance. Steady indigo eyes focus on the no longer moving AI. “Is it down?” he asks Pidge after several long seconds.

Pidge blows out a long huff that’s not quite a sigh. “Yes.” Everyone pretends the light sheen to her eyes is just the reflection of the gym lights off her glasses. They’re good friends that way.

The next minute and a half is business as usual. Pidge quizzes Keith about reaction times and prods at the AI’s exoskeleton mournfully. Allura congratulates him sincerely on his improvement under the Blade’s guidance and suggests he teach her that last move. Hunk and Lance argue about the appropriate sound effects in recreating the fight. And Shiro gives Keith one heartfelt, brotherly, extremely platonic clap to the shoulder and says, “That was quick thinking, Keith,” while Keith looks up at Shiro with heartfelt, brotherly, extremely platonic adoration.

Finally there’s a pause as Keith pulls up the hem of his shirt to wipe at his sweaty face and they all take a moment to eye his whipcord strong body. It’s always great when he does this because his training pants are slung low on his hips and it’s— It’s fucking something. Only today, in addition to the sweat trailing down his defined stomach muscles and the suggestive trail of hair disappearing into his waistband, there are bruises.

“Is that from the training robot?” Allura asks. There’s real concern in her voice and she’s already reaching toward the ugly purple marks.

Hunk leans forward but doesn’t try to touch. “Um, yeah, buddy, that looks pretty bad.” Then he looks over at Pidge, still crouched over the AI, and adds, “We don’t have to go against that thing right?”

Maybe Pidge wouldn’t have said anything if the half mangled AI hadn’t been brought into things, but her shoulders stiffen as she snaps, “It wasn’t the AI. It only caught Keith’s right side but those bruises are around his whole waist. And anyway they wouldn’t be that color if he had just gotten them!”

Allura finally makes contact and pokes one index finger into the mottled edge of the bruise that comes right below his belly button. “Does it hurt? We should get you to the healing pods. This could slow you down if we have to—”

“It’s fine,” Keith says. His voice sounds normal. Rough with vague irritation and self-assured pride in his ability to not give a fuck about blue-black bruises ringing his hips. It’s his face that isn’t normal. A flush covers his cheekbones and his eyebrows have scrunched together like some demented caterpillar. Plus, he’s released his tee shirt in order to start waving vaguely with his hands like that will punctuate how fine it is.

To think, only ten minutes ago they were all thinking about how stoic and badass and handsome he was.

Dodging out of the way of his increasingly desperate gesturing, Allura puts her hands on her hips and presses her lips together in a considering line. For a good three seconds it seems like she’ll be the one to call him on the bullshit. Like she’s just figuring how exactly she’s going to deconstruct it for maximum effectiveness and efficiency.

Lance beats her to it. Smugness infuses his voice as he rocks back on his heels. “I bet he got them last night,” he says. All of them whip their heads around to look at him as they remember that yeah, he does share a hall with Keith, he might’ve heard something. Credence is lent to this theory by the way Keith’s hands slow and stop. “There was an awful lot of moaning and grunting happening. Get stuck in the shower again, Keith?”

First off, Lance was the one who got stuck in the shower months ago. And he’d gotten a few bruises for it before he managed to squirm his way out. And Keith may have brought it up at an inopportune moment when Lance was being obnoxious as a way to shut the conversation down. Second off, let it never be said that Lance couldn’t hold a petty grudge if it suited him.

“I...” Keith’s eyes dart from face to face. There’s a twitch to his hands like he’s seriously wishing he could throw a smoke bomb and run. If they weren’t his best friends in the universe and also blocking the exit there’s a good chance he would. “Um...”

“Mm, don’t think so,” Hunk says. He’s barely paying attention to Keith now. “Your bruises were more on one side, remember? Because you got stuck against the wall.”

An inarticulate noise of betrayal escapes Lance at this. For the moment he’s headed off by his own embarrassment, but Pidge pushes her glasses up her nose and finally focuses on the conversation instead of the AI. They all know Pidge is a far more dangerous opponent. Which she proves by making eye contact with Keith and saying, “So how did you get those bruises, Keith?”

“I got...trapped...” Ignoring Lance’s abrupt crow of victory, Keith rushes onward, “Between my bed and a...” Only the especially observant would notice the flicker of his eyes toward where Shiro stands behind the rest of the group. “A hard thing.”

Important to note here is that Keith cannot lie for shit. He can evade, he can stretch, he can imply. But he’s made up of nobility and spite and truth and it goes against every fiber of his being to outright lie.

Bless Allura, she’s the one who goes in a slow, almost confused way, “A hard thing? You mean the wall?” When he doesn’t answer, she says, with a little more animation, “You got stuck between the bed and the wall?” Like she’s solved the puzzle. Which, since Keith’s refusing to meet any of their eyes and has crossed his arms defensively, it seems she has.

For the first time since this whole mess started, Shiro speaks up. “It’s lunch time and Pidge has tested her AI. Why don’t we take a break?” The mystery’s been solved and they all have better things to do now. No one really notices the irritated look that Keith shoots toward their fearless leader as they all tumble out of the gym in pursuit of space goo or the way Shiro mouths stay with the kind of command he usually reserves for the battlefield.

This time when the gym door hisses it’s as it shuts behind the rest of the Paladins. They’re alone. “Locking sequence engage,” Shiro says. It’s a formality. One that makes Keith shiver.

Feeling like prey—fuck but he loves this feeling when it comes to Shiro—Keith stays still as Shiro prowls toward him. Discontent illuminates Keith’s face as he struggles not to turn his head to keep eye contact as Shiro steps behind him. It’s worth it when Shiro pushes his hands under the sweat soaked tee to press deliberately against delicate purple bruises. Hot breath teases the shell of Keith’s ear as Shiro asks, “Still like them?”

“Yes,” Keith says. Moans, really, letting the word drag out over too many syllables as he arches into the touch.

Because Shiro’s hands fit just so around the slender curve of Keith’s waist. His thumbs brush one another as they settle into the hollow dip of Keith’s spine and his fingers flare possessively over the hard line of Keith’s stomach. It’s a perfect fit. A perfect, aching, bruising fit.

#you thought i had shame?#i have no shame #this is nothing but thirst #kaii writes sheith

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lokeanrampant · 5 years

Text

Feeling Maudlin about Hawke

So, I was thinking about Hawke’s survivor’s guilt (SG) and how MASSIVE it must be. This is not a happy post, but it’s been lingering in my head for days and if I don’t get it out, it will drag me down with it. Mind you, I LOVE Hawke and they show incredible resiliency and strength, but there is depth there and their family life is far more realistic than many I’ve seen in the gaming world. Which is why I can see this behind whichever personality we give Hawke.

No one can hurt you more than those you love.

SG #1: Given Leandra’s multiple responses and accusations towards her eldest, I am surmising that no matter how Malcolm died (events leading to, the actual cause, etc.), Hawke feels responsible for not doing better. And, of course, having to be in charge of how the family survives alongside Leandra. No pressure. But not like Hawke hadn’t been tasked with that probably all of their life. All the keeping the twins out of trouble, all the moving around to keep the magic out of sight, all the times they were tasked with keeping a ready eye and watching for signs of trouble because they were the eldest. Hawke was trained from the get-go to be the protector and to take that burden.

SG #2: Hawke is outright accused by Leandra of not doing more or not dying in their stead when a sibling undergoes death-by-ogre. Cause...damn. Harsh.

SG #3: Being a merc/thief and living with Gamlen in the slums. Leandra is constantly going on about being an Amell and living in a mansion and getting that back. You KNOW that just digs at Hawke who is seriously doing their damned BEST under the shittiest of circumstances.

SG #4: Then there is the whole Deep Roads expedition, which can be death-by-blight or removed-to-wardens, but either way, mama ain’t happy and takes it out on Hawke. If that course ISN’T taken, you still get blamed for Bethany going into the Gallows Circle or Carver into the templars, neither of which make Leandra particularly happy, I’m sure (but I don’t recall her exact reactions - still, they aren’t IN THE HOUSE WITH HER and now she’s ‘lost’ another child because of Hawke’s actions/inactions). But hey, mama got her house back.

SG #5: Holy fuckballs, Leandra’s death. Not only do they feel guilt over the situation where they were investigating it earlier and nothing came of it (SG #5a), the fact that they didn’t realize the flowers until late (SG #5b), that they were obviously late (SG #5c), but that after all is said and done, Hawke is still blaming themselves and knows Leandra would lay blame as well (SG #5d)...

Hawke: I didn’t try hard enough to save her. Anders: She wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. Hawke: You don’t know my mother.

People have shattered under less weight than this.

And here’s some fun stuff. Because I can’t seem to stay away from the pretty feathermage...this is for a romanced Anders. There’s angst and MORE. Less survivor’s guilt and more...something else.

#1 - The whole fun quest for those questionable elements to separate Anders and Justice and the whole go BOOM. I know. Anders wanted to keep Hawke from harm, both physical and political and well, everything. ESPECIALLY if romanced. But if romanced, this is one more time that Hawke wasn’t good enough, especially to be trusted with something so very dear to Anders’ heart. When you’re already running hard from the near-collapse of a mountain of survivor’s guilt, to have the person you love and who claims to love you feel they are unable to come to you with this? That’s gotta leave a mark. Just what do you need to do to prove yourself? WHY do you constantly have to prove yourself?

#2 - That. Damned. Box. Now, I HC this as the hardest and final test that Justice would ever throw at Hawke, romanced or not, but especially romanced. If you don’t drive that blade (UGH) and or exile him (preferably, you throw your controller/mouse at the couch and just NOPE outta there because it’s EVEN AN OPTION), Justice has no cause whatsoever to say you don’t support Anders or the cause of mages and freedom and justice for the wronged and a beer at the end of the fucking day. I also HC that no matter what course of action is taken, Anders lives because Justice is a badass and has proven he can and will keep Anders alive through some pretty lethal actions against his person. THAT SAID. Holy fuck, dudes.

Not only could you not trust Hawke with the whole ingredient grocery list, but this? Will they or won’t they support Anders’ actions and mage rights over all? It’s clear that Anders doesn’t expect to live. He’s given up on himself and Hawke. There’s no trust there, no faith, barely even a glimmer of a shred of hope that Anders could be worth saving (which says a ton about Anders, but this is a Hawke post). Hawke has let someone they care about down again. They have to prove themselves worthy again. On top of the rest? On top of all that guilt and not being good enough to matter how hard they try?

Hawke spent years running around Kirkwall, running from one nightmare to another, trying to fix what was going wrong because people kept asking, kept begging, kept needing someone to be there, and because Hawke is ever practical enough to know that you need money to survive. Hawke is a merc, make no mistake. You can bet Hawke has always picked up odd jobs here and there to survive and keep the family going, especially when they had just gotten into a new town and needed funds and you bet Hawke learned how to charm their way into jobs with the best of them. You can see it in Kirkwall.

And that’s what Hawke DOES. Hawke makes the best of bad situations and chooses the best of the worst options because there IS no good option so frequently. Hawke is there, no matter how bad the situation, no matter how much it hurts them. It’s throwing yourself headfirst into action because inaction means you have time to think, to dwell on everything you should’ve could’ve done. And after a certain point, Hawke is mired in the political trappings and pulled into even more dangerous predicaments, has more weight on their shoulders with every choice. What if the choice is wrong? Hawke can only do what they think is right (player-wise), but with a lifetime of guilt, there’s always that what if hounding you. You have to ignore it and keep going, keep moving.

So when you reach that box and all is still? When the rush of blood and wind and fire is so loud it is deafening and quiet all at once? When you look down at someone you called friend, called lover, and know that once again, you couldn’t prove yourself worthy to be trusted to be there before it came to this, that nothing you did was enough to stand beside him? That now all you can do is stand behind him as he waits for the axe to fall and wonder where it all went wrong? You know the logic is all there, but that doesn’t make the heart hurt less.

It’s the cruelest of tests. All of the choices you had to make where there were no good choices boil down to this. You’ve lost so many loved ones because you weren’t fast enough, weren’t good enough, weren’t strong enough, weren’t skilled enough. And more than that, other loved ones openly blamed you for not being enough. And Maker, Anders? He expects you to kill him. He expects that your love isn’t enough, that his love isn’t enough. He expects you, ultimately, to fail him and the cause of mages as he expects to die. It’s the outright rejection of everything he is and he expects that from you. He may be hoping otherwise, but what he presents to you is his back, his head hung low, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Even if Hawke doesn’t plunge that blade into Anders (and I desperately hope a romanced Hawke/Anders DOES NOT), Anders drove a dagger into Hawke’s heart just as surely. I know the logic is that he was trying to save you from his actions. I know that; I accept it; I even understand it, as I would want to protect those I love from an action that could cause them immense pain. This isn’t to say that what Anders did to protect Hawke is wrong. It’s so very, VERY human, especially when one is as compassionate as Anders, a man who gives so much of himself for the betterment of others.

But in that very same moment, Hawke had to wonder why they weren’t enough yet again and how many times they’d have to prove themselves before they simply couldn’t do it any more. It’s always those closest to you, those you love most, who have the ability to leave the deepest wounds. How many times can the wound be ripped open before it simply won’t heal?

Hawke is so strong. They’ve had to be. It’s not just a physical strength, but inner strength, strength of purpose, strength of passion and compassion. They are a protector, gathering up those who are lost and need family.

But even the strongest elements can be worn down over time.

#da2 #anders #hawke #hawke's survivor's guilt #it's a fucking mountain and a landslide #oh anders #it hurts

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