#and was left with barely any alter egos for the rest of all the foreigner gauges

[chronologiical]

me the entirety of the ORT raid

[theveryworstthing]

(pounding fists on table) fashion, fashion, fashion, faSHION FASHION...

it is time to release the fruits of my patreon sponsored Dwarf Week to gen pop. the theme was the long awaited history of dwarven punk (furthermore known as Lunk) and woo did it become A Lot. music genres and fashion movements don’t just come from nowhere and transplanting a human genre that started from specific human times and sensibilities onto another race without thinking about why a thing ain’t my style. so! i’m gonna give you a nice chunky lore post and follow it up with some posts about Notable Lunk Ladies.  let’s begin.

A Long Short History of Lunk To really talk about Lunk we gotta talk about the rebellion. And to talk about the rebellion we gotta talk about the flood in the Mander Drop cave system.

Two Disasters. - The Mander Drop cave system was fairly small  as dwarven cities go. It was also very remote, and as far as top-sider territories are concerned, outside of the Woods. So when a devastating flood/cave-in combo forced  survivors up to the surface they found themselves in the human kingdom of Luxterra, and therefore on the land of the recently appointed King Regiis The 27th. For a while this seemed like good luck. The king welcomed the refugees in and happily provided them with housing and food. How could they be anything but helpful to the first dwarves seen in Luxterra for generations? Especially since, whether they knew it or not,  the royal borders made it so that these were clearly their people? Their brethren? It was just too bad about all the blasphemy. The King and his religious advisers all agreed that they’d have to do something about that if their newly discovered people were to be Saved with the rest.

Now religion can be a force for love and safety and a link to important cultural heritage. But also. You know. Sometimes it sucks. Rolism, which is what Luxterra had recently adopted as their primary and only religion, sucked. The Incomparably Holy And Absolutely Complete Sapient Bestiaries was a collection of books written by a young failed anthropologist/failed fantasy writer/failed(eventually successful?) cult leader  with an unchecked ego and a down right girthy god complex named Sir Adam Brightcrown (real name:Rod Flaff). They were said to contain the true and holy roles of every sapient being barring demons, who were  not in the books outside of mentions of general badguy behavior and their penchant for the perversion of nature. The series was barely older than the current king himself and had flown completely under the radar until the former king Regiis The 26th, received the books as joke gifts and  got way into them. Like, into them enough to abolish all mentions or practice of any other religions in Luxterra and turn the church over to the author of the Bestiaries/voice of god, Sir Adam.

The Mander Drop dwarves did not act the way dwarves were described in the Bestiaries (a common theme for any race described in the Bestiaries). They thought themselves all women, even as they wore long beards! There was no gleam of avarice in their eyes when they walked past the golden ornaments hanging throughout the royal gardens! They weren’t even violently rowdy alcoholics!

Scandal.

It couldn’t just be that they were survivors of a horrible disaster reeling from the loss of their homes and families as they tried to be polite to human hosts who knew next to nothing about their actual culture.

No, they had to have been Changed. Touched by demonic forces that all Good People knew lurked beyond their righteous borders.

But they would surely come around with a little instruction and the church got to it right away, sending their missionaries into the hospitals and dwarven camps to spread the word. But the word did not spread as easily as they would have liked. The word was kinda chunky. The dwarves were very set in their ways and the loss of their home had made them very touchy about altering their traditions too much. So after enough badgering, the remaining Elders decided that maybe it was best to leave Luxterra as soon as their wounded could be moved and take their chances in The Woods. They even went so far as to tell the royal council that they did not see themselves as true Luxterrans and so felt that they should not be beholden to certain church guidelines. The King took this pretty well and told them that he would respect their wishes and support any decision they made. So a few weeks later, when everyone who hadn’t passed was stable enough to ride with a caravan, they sent messengers out with pleas for help to other cave systems.

They never saw those messengers again.

A freak flash fire broke out in the dwarven camp that evening. All of the Elders and the adults most resistant to the church’s advances  mysteriously did not make any moves to escape as they were burned to death in the meeting tent. Most of the possessions and goods salvaged from the Mander Drop caves were also reduced to ash . In the end, all that was left were a few resilient trinkets and a vast amount of mostly orphaned dwarven youth that had luckily been away at the time. The king’s detectives declared that it probably was and accident, but the remaining dwarves should move to the land behind the royal monastery for a while just to make sure it wasn’t something more…unsavory.  And so the survivors were put under absolute royal protection. Which meant  a settlement furnished with everything the holy books said that a dwarf could want, entry into St. Adam’s Rolism School for the young ones, round the clock guards to ensure safety standards were met, and many other…perks.

All the king asked for in return is that they work the mines to repay him for his generosity. Since they were not actually Luxterran citizens, they could only receive a certain amount of aide without incurring debt from their hosts, and that line had been crossed long ago. But no worries! Once their debt was repayed and they felt stable enough, they could leave with the kingdom’s support and blessings.

House Arrest- The dwarves had a bad feeling about this whole deal, but weren’t exactly in a position to refuse. The initial agreement to pay for the  refugees room and board  looked completely fair despite their awful feelings toward it but like everything else in their situation, it sucked.   Hidden, vague stipulations in confusing foreign languages and weird time frames made them inescapable. The mining conditions were so hazardous that many didn’t live or stay healthy long enough to pay their due. Children inherited debt from their parents and were locked into the system as soon as they were old enough to enter the work force (an age that inched ever lower). As far as the king and the church were concerned, the dwarves had a sizable community debt not just from enjoying Luxterra’s  gracious hospitality but for having their souls saved by being shown their proper Roles. And that debt was so great that it made sense that it was impossible to pay off. Also, trying to escape the contract was as much a death sentence for you and your family as ‘consorting with demons’.  Leaving the kingdom or rebelling against Regiis’ rule was akin to stealing the prosperity they had surely enjoyed and no one stole from the king. It was rehabilitation from the church or death.

And let’s be real. It was usually death.

Besides, the Holy Bestiaries stated that dwarves lived for mining and their generations of work had made Luxterra prosperous beyond measure. Why would they want to leave?

Basic Rolism Dwarf Rules- Dwaves are masculine. Dwarves are brutish. Dwarves smith and mine but they do not craft. Dwarves only love Gold and treasure. Dwarves only take joy in fight and drink. There’s more but you get the idea. There were other random rules around appropriate use of the dwarvish language (no use. No use is what they wanted) that included acceptable names (most families got to keep their last names because they were appropriately Aesthetic but first names were changed for most people). These rules weren’t in the books, the church just decided they were for the best.

Music - music was the biggest and most freeing coping mechanism the dwarves had during the three generations of life in Luxterra.  This makes sense, as screaming rhythmic complaints is a known stress reliever for many sapient races. What culture could be recovered or remembered, which wasn’t much tbh, was used heavily in the Lunk (short for ‘spelunk’ which some dwarves did in secret to recover relics from the ruins of the Mander Drop caves) scene, and that included attempted replications of traditional instruments and songs. It was way different from classic dwarven music due to the new instruments, influence from human underground (not that kind of underground) musicians, and enhanced Angst, but like all of lunk culture it was good enough.

Dwarves were expected to sing per their entry in the Bestiary, and so were never bothered about practice during the work day unless snitch human coworkers or guards heard…less than tasteful lyrics. This meant anything treasonous or ‘contrary to their nature’. Fighting and drinking were okay subjects but critique of  religion, the social order, or the king? Literal devil music that was cause for possible arrest and ‘rehabilitation’. To be fair, a lot of human miners weren’t too fond of the king either (Rolism didn’t just affect dwarves) so they let a lot slide unless a dwarf got uppity and they were a huge bastard. Also fighting and drinking persisted as song themes long after they were freed from their restrictions because those are almost universally fun topics to scream about in a cave, but still.

While plenty of singing went on in work areas, actual concerts and events were held in deeper decrepit mines than were usually condemned for one reason or another. It was…not safe. But that was kind of the point. If it wasn’t safe for dwarves then humans certainly wouldn’t want to  venture down there, not that they didn’t. Human friends could come to shows if they were vetted by  enough dwarves, kept their mouthes shut, and brought their own safety gear. Crouched figures with oxygen tanks, harnesses, and dusty mohawks weren’t as rare as you would think. Especially when the war started and the king really kicked his religious fervor into high gear.

Strangely enough, none of these venues ever killed or injured their occupants. Future dwarven musical scholars would say that the shows tied into ancient protective ballads that are sung in unnaturally excavated areas, a bit of accidental protection magic, but at the time they just considered themselves lucky.

Music Part 2: Themes In Screams - Classic lunk was angry rebellion music, but it was also very fantastical and tended to veer into a surreal dreamy territory that at times produced echos of ancestral dwarven music. This was purposeful, as the descendants of the Mander Drop dwarves had a lot of culture scrubbed out of them, but they fiercely guarded and celebrated what remained. Lunk also had a kind of fun hopeful romanticism to it once you got through all the verses about beheading the king and pissing down the stump. Besides regicide and bar fights, major classic lunk themes were a mix of gender, identity, and love.  Lunk was a perfect medium to explore their  heavily repressed femininity and sexuality because as far as the Church was concerned all dwarves were manly men who only touched through punches and dwarven babies came from special chunks of gold and rocky debris found in mines.

Music Part 3: Instrumentals - a lot of scavenging and creative instrument construction went on to make lunk possible. The dwarves were limited to crafting weapons, tools, and armor due to their Role in the Bestiaries, but used their time combing scrap yards and dumps for forge materials  to smuggle out other interesting tidbits. Using knowledge gained from discarded manuals and spare parts hidden among mining equipment, a workshop (called the Ironing Board for its red walls and duel purpose as a place that outlaw seamstresses hung out while doing clothes alterations and fittings) was established in an empty  side tunnel, and secretive tinkerers would spend their spare time churning out strange stringed things, portable piano adjacent items, and drums that were honestly, Too Much. Some of the better sounding instruments became staples of the genre and were mastered by most players but there were a lot of funky one-offs only used by specific dwarves.

As for singing, Lunk started as a mix of dwarven throat singing, very energetic yelling, seductive crooning, and rare operatic belting. Mostly it’s just Loud. Microphones weren’t a thing and being heard over the instruments meant positioning yourself in the cave for maximum acoustic effect while wearing your lungs out.

Some original music from the time in Luxterra still exist in dwarven museums and private collections. Recorders were retrieved with the rest of the spare parts they hid down in the tunnels, and the ones that weren’t taken apart for instruments were used to record shows.  The quality of these recordings is middling to pretty bad, but considering how few of those bands survived the war with all their members, they’re treated like the exquisite treasures they are.

Aesthetic:

Hair- Mostly bald or buzzed short with bangs but short thin mohawks or rat tails were also acceptable. Usually bleached  completely golden blond or streaked with blond chunks as a sarcastic nod towards The Bestiaries stance on the dwarven race’s supposed obsession with gold. Besides, bleach was cheap and easy to get. Hats were worn constantly above ground to prevent questions about the styles from nosy humans.  

Beards- Styled to hell. Gelled monstrosities that were sometimes bleached and often dusted with mica powder until they resembled shimmery  stalactites /stalagmites. Lunk beards are dyed a variety of colors these days, but in the past mica powder was easy to make/steal and a dusty beard was easier to explain away than a rainbow one. Beard style varied, some cut them short and shaved them into easily spikeable strips, some only  shaved the chin  and wore the rest in two braids laced with found bits of metal and ribbon, and some went with the dwarven classic: letting it grow to ridiculous lengths. It really depended on how closely they were monitored and what they felt they could get away with safely.

Clothes Makeup and Accessories- The goal was to be a visually blasphemous fuck you. Rolism gave dwarves very strict very masculine fashion guidelines that favored rugged disregard for appearance over careful grooming.  Makeup and any accessory deemed too feminine was prohibited. Colors were restricted to shades of brown with an occasional splash of white or gold. All jewelry was bits of rough blocky metal with very little detailing. Free dwarves have an androgynous style that flips from feminine to masculine and everything in between depending on cave system and activity but the Lunk style aimed for less gender androgyny and more gender discord. In the beginning dwarves turned up to shows in a mix of their least ruined set of work clothes and whatever super  ‘feminine’ items they could get their hands on.   This made for some very patchwork looks like heirloom pearl necklaces and gaudy costume jewelry earrings were paired with grungy button ups and ripped jeans. As scavengers got bolder and seamstresses got better they started experimenting with castaway human sized dresses (and the rare ballgown) that were ‘harvested’ by being hacked apart and put back together to make two or three slightly scandalous smaller dresses and taking apart discarded heels to recreate them in dwarf sizes. Patches were made from leftover scraps and either sewn over holes on clothing or embroidered with slogans and symbols to decorate vests, jackets, and bags.

And oh man the underwear.

It’s seems weird to bring up underwear as a sign of rebellion but the church only provided the worst boxer shorts you can imagine and ill fitting ‘undershirts’ used for binding chests too big to be ignored. The first seamstress to reverse engineer a comfortable bra and make underwear that wasn’t constructed of congealed depression was regarded as a goddess. And the great thing about the underwear was that unlike their other clothing which had to be stored in the tunnels 2/7, they could wear them anywhere as long as they made sure everything was covered up and washed them out of sight. That little act of rebellion carried a lot of people through and though great creativity and care was put into all the clothing made underground, underwear were by and large the fanciest and best taken care of items.

Now back to accessories where everything was spikes. the style was meant to mimic the stalactites/stalagmites and jewelry was made with random polished rocks and fabric scraps when actual pieces couldn’t be found. Makeup was little more than getting creative with charcoal for eyeshadow and lipstick (it had to be something that didn’t stain easily and the dregs of old makeup they would find caused enough eye infections and cold sores to be undesirable at best unless you were really willing to risk it for that great pop of color) but eyelashes were more important. Dwarves naturally have long eyelashes but they were ordered to trim them to prevent gender ambiguity so of course this meant that super long false lashes became a big thing.   What else were they gonna do with all that beard hair they were shaving off?

Art- Outright rebellion would have meant death for every Mander Drop dwarf, so all Lunk activity was on the down low to a degree that it might as well have not existed to humans not in the know. It was very easy to tell where humans weren’t hearty enough to work though because there was Lunk graffiti everywhere. Most graffiti was chiseled or scratched into available surfaces with re-purposed broken work tools or pocket knives. A lot of it was standard sentient species graffiti, tagging, poetry, declarations of love/hate, badly drawn pornography, puns, calls for regicide, memorials, cryptic messages, well drawn pornography, ect. But there were also a ton of illustrated instructions. Popular clothing patterns in different sizes were etched into the walls of the Ironing Board by seamstresses. Important instrument parts and building shortcuts were sketched out for crafters to reference. Tips for smuggling contraband, finding the best garbage, and lists of which humans were to be trusted (and who was to be ignored if they happened to fall down a mine shaft one day) were also present. A lot of this art was lost in the ensuing escape cave in, but now that dwarven archaeologists are allowed to venture into the mines again much is being found and displayed in Woodland museums.

Tattoos- Tattoos were very important before the flood drove them topside but the church declared the dwarves’ traditional designs blasphemous, going so far as to decree that those that couldn’t be hidden at all times be magically removed.  If they really really wanted a tattoo in Luxterra it had to relate to Rolism in some way. This meant that most dwarves did not have tattoos unless coerced into doing so to prevent punishment. So while makeup and drawn designs like the Mander’s Drop (the raindrop and circle worn on the forehead) were frequently used,  tattoos weren’t  a thing in Lunk culture until after the war. After the war, when they didn’t have to worry about hiding identifying features and they had the freedom to choose what designs they wanted, a lot of dwarves got inked up. Tbh, the result was less desirable than the absolute high of real choice but being able to get their Drops properly tattooed instead of drawing them on in secret every day helped soothe the identity problems some dwarves came out of this mess with.

New Blood - While the Mander Drop dwarves took solace in their music, King Regiis The 28th and head priest Adam III were working on plans to take their forefathers’ conversion of the demonic touched races a step further. It obviously worked for the dwarves, why not send missionaries into the Woods and actively enlarge their congregation? Or failing that, why not kidnap dwarven travelers and stick them with the tamed-I mean pious dwarves until they shape up and join the church? That should work.

It didn’t work.

The new dwarves, upon waking from the heavily drugged sleep brought on by the free food from the previously mentioned missionaries and getting an inside look at this whole Situation give a healthy internal scream and started planning their escape.  Their goal was to warn everyone in the Woods that those kind of annoying human missionaries were a vanguard for something much worse and nip this in the bud before it got (more) out of hand.

They kept their distance and didn’t really trust the Mander Drop descendants at first as they assumed that they were brain washed weirdos.  They eventually  came around after then elder, Thorgold Buckmarble (a common and ‘traditional’ dwarven name from the Bestiaries I swear) was instrumental in making sure the new blood didn’t get murdered by guards for demonic behavior within a week. With her help they were able to gain the other dwarves’ trust and realize that their pious behavior and shows of loyalty to the crown was all an act.

Thorgold was the one who introduced them to the lunk scene, and with her gentle guidance and constant threats to ‘come over there and chuck you idiots down a mine shaft if you don’t cut it out’, everyone was able to get along. Mostly. The newcomers’ insistence on escape and tales of dwarven culture outside of Luxterra intrigued the locals, and as they became more involved with each other lunk started to change from a simple music scene, to a movement.

Spread The word - The Mander Drop dwarves didn’t know any dwarven and the newcomer dwarves only barely spoke Luxterran but both sides were eager to learn. The misunderstanding were making things more difficult than they should be. The exchange had an unintended effect however. The few trusted human acquaintances ended up learning dwarven too.  And dwarven turned out to be a pretty good language to be treasonous in. And treason was starting to sound pretty cool for the small population of people who weren’t keen on what was shaping up to be a bloody crusade over a religion that they didn’t really believe. Of course the dwarves and their sympathizers didn’t want all this treason traced back to them, so they created a code to talk trash in and tentatively labeled it Lunk-Speech. This new code language was used for more than light treason though. It was also used for elaborate escape plans and HEAVY treason. With the king growing more paranoid by the day and war becoming more likely, the dwarves used their human comrades to sneak Lunk S.O.S. messages into The Woods. Lunk code was also used to make literature criticizing the king and the church, which made the ranks of sympathizers swell dramatically.

The king did not like this.

He only heard the barest of doubtful whispers. Even with the secret growth of the lunk movement, most humans in Luxterra were sippin’ the same flavor kool aid that he was. He had no real reason to be concerned about a few weird notes but paranoia sure is a thing.  The demonic forces had clearly crossed his borders. No more missionary trips. No more acclimation experiments. It’s holy war time.

The Second Jewel Towne Fire - Faking their deaths seemed as good a plan as any. There wasn’t gonna be a search for dead dwarves.

The messages did their job and rescuers in the Woods got to work. The least crushed bits of the abandoned Mander Drop cave system was rediscovered and tunnels were connected to one of the dwarven-only work areas of the  smaller  royal mine. As soon as the escape route was open the signal was sent to every dwarf. 3 days.

By the time the king got word of the flash fire at the dwarf village,  now called Jewel Towne, the flames were a wall of rainbow fury from the metallic dust burning off of the clothes and buildings left behind and the thought that anyone could survive the inferno was laughable at best. Instead they focused their efforts on saving the monastery and other adjacent human buildings.

Meanwhile, the dwarves were making their way through their escape tunnels. Their last act was to detonate their exit.

It had taken three generations, but the Mander Drop dwarves were free again.  

Free Agents - So the Mander drop dwarves faked their deaths. Now what? Freedom was amazing but it wasn’t smooth sailing. They never completely fit in with the Woodland dwarves after their ordeal, and while they appreciated the help from the outsiders who freed them, they felt iffy about moves to coerce them into the Woodland army. This led to them being a pretty solitary nomadic tribe. They did their part though. It’s not like they magically stopped hating the king, they just didn’t want to give anyone else a chance to use them. During the war they worked alongside woodland forces as spies, info dealers, assassins, and Luxterra experts. They were a boon for anyone looking to infiltrate enemy ranks, pose as  slave traders to free captives, or safely escort refugees. They also served as an early warning system for different communities and provided hand transcribed copies of The Bestiary so that people could hide ‘demonic behavior’ from roving Luxterran forces looking for an excuse to go after them. These blasphemous reproductions included translations for common Luxterran phrases, inventive curses to yell at captors/raiders, beauty tips, song lyrics, and a variety of very raw comix. The info didn’t always work because if someone really wants you to be guilty you’ll always be guilty and many holy raids were just cover ups for land grabs and kidnapping, but they helped a lot and were pretty much how zines in the Woodlands were born.

You would think that trying to stay out of direct combat would mean they were relatively safe, but many Mander Drop dwarves fell during the war. They  were most often the first to warn towns of approaching Luxterran forces and last to leave, which meant they got into a lot of skirmishes. They also had a habit of always trying to rescue P.O.W.’s , kicking in the teeth of slave traders, and generally freeing anyone they could from the Rolism colonies (it seems dwarves weren’t the only people that the church had captured and tried to convert). Very touchy on the subject of stealing people those Mander Drop dwarves. Very willing to risk their lives for any opportunity to stomp on a Rolism priest’s nuts. 

And besides all that there was the fact that now that they were free, they were very loud and open about their seething hatred of Luxterra. They couldn’t let the enemy forces know that they were their former captives since they were still pretending to be dead (and in fact had stopped using the Mander Drop title in exchange for just calling themselves Lunk dwarves and adopting new names for themselves) , but they spread the tale like wildfire and turned a lot of would be allies against the Luxterra. Most of the groups that were the loudest, most widely spread, and biggest pains in the collective royal ass were led or assisted by Mander Drop dwarves. It was so much of a thing that in the Lunk scene people used bounties and wanted posters like stylish accessories. This of course meant that anyone with a heavily styled beard  and a mohawk was enemy number one.

Some Woodland forces pegged this as reckless and suicidal behavior, but they won more than they lost and their work with the goblins who created the Guides saved a lot of people so no one really said nothing to them. Plus Lunk musicians were still making tons of morale boosting music in between missions and were regarded as some of the greatest war bards the Woodlands had ever known. You came to their shows talking smack and you had better have had a good reason or great brawling skills.

End Of The War-  Stomping on slave trader necks was fine, but it was the spies that really helped bring an end to the war.

Intel from human allies still living in Luxterra revealed that the king was going to try revive his weird dwarf collection and use them as spies. This would be his downfall however, as it gave a few of the top Mander Drop spies a way to get in there and just mess things up real good.

The ladies who took on this mission were Basaltherick Boulderboar, Thorgold Buckmarble, and Brickarth Dirtraven. They posed as miners who had been trapped by  a cave in right before the deadly fire, claiming they’d been wandering the underground for over a year, surviving only on water and mud (which The Bestiaries totally said they could do in hard times). It was almost suspicious how quickly they were believed and offered the job. If there was any Divine meddling going on, it definitely wasn’t for the king’s side.

It takes another year, a lot of sabotaging the hidden camps holding the heavily guarded healer P.O.W.’s that the Luxterran forces had been using the keep their army borderline unkillable, the accidental seduction of the king’s cousin, the death of a brave comrade, a few murders here and there, and getting a real tasty peasant uprising going, but eventually the crown was scooped up off the floor next to the guillotine, dusted off, and placed on the head of King Renn. His two dwarven advisers, Ladies Boulderboar and Dirtraven, stayed in Luxterra for the rest of their lives, and  later became peaceful dignitaries. To this day they are still  a constant presence in the Luxterran courts in what totally isn’t keeping an eye on on whoever they didn’t kill/get killed the first go round. They are also  founders/joint leaders of the less peaceful secret society who totally are making sure that that bullshit never happens again.

Dwarves age amazingly but they both look very young for their respective ages. Just a fun fact.

Also they are still spiking their beards.

Post War - Everyone kind of expected the Lunk scene to die out once the war was over, but changing out a king doesn’t entirely change out the ideas implanted in his people so even today there are still pockets of Rolists causing trouble so in turn there are still Lunk girls carrying on the family tradition of stomping on their nuts. It was eventually revealed that the Mander Drop dwarves had faked their deaths, and negotiations started on declaring their ancestral cave system as dwarven land entirely separate from Luxterra. Today the system is mostly restored and serves as a dwarven historical landmark but few people took up residence there right after the war. They were happy to have access to their home again but the feeling of being in Luxterra borders was just…too much.  The majority of the Mander Drop survivors decided to spread their wings a bit and explore the Woodland on quests for insight into free dwarven culture. The bands that were still whole and didn’t hate each other toured wherever folks would have them, picking up new musical skills and spreading the Lunk sound across the land. The fractured bands did similar, banding together or training up new members from other cave systems. Seamstresses used their skills to transform the post war fashion industry into something weird and wonderful (and one has a granddaughter who’s the current talk of the non-human fashion world with her Chainmail Bikini brand). Some of them went into crafting apprenticeships. Some helped rebuild Mander Drop.

Some, maybe more than people talk about when discussing the Woodland’s victory, never recovered from Everything and it’s a shame what happened to the ones who got smothered by all that ugliness.  That’s what these things do to people though.

There are worse happy endings than this.

[richrubies]

Caviar and Whiskey (Bloo x Reader)

Genre: fluff x new things

Warning: AHHHHHH

Bloo didn’t know how to handle you.

You were bright, and incredibly smart – that was evident from the amount of work you’d done whilst completing your Masters, and while the two of you were in a strange and stagnant relationship, he still didn’t know where he stood with you.

There was no doubt that there was chemistry between you – you could see it in the looks you gave one another and the way you both behaved when near each other, and though it hadn’t gone further than the occasional holding of hands and sneaky smiles, Bloo knew he was in too deep.

‘Let’s toast to my baby cousin finishing her last paper of the year!’ Nicholas cheered proudly from the head of the table, the food forgotten as everyone cheered to your success. Bloo raised his glass of Henny on the rocks, watching as you blushed, paying him no mind.

He remembered when you’d arrived in Seoul. He’d been with Nicholas when they’d collected you from the airport and he’d offered you a shy greeting. You were someone Nic had praised highly; you were the girl he’d grown up with and while not blood-related, to you and everyone else, you and Nic were family. You were someone important to Nic, and despite you also having lived in L.A. while MKIT was there, you and Bloo hadn’t managed to cross paths until the moment you’d passed through the arrival gate at Incheon.

You’d smiled so brightly at him, hugging him tight in greeting – it was hard to forget the feeling of your warmth, so much so that he often made excuses to visit the apartment you shared with Nic to the point where he’d practically moved in.

Still.

He didn’t know how to handle you.

Or more so, how to handle the fact that you were too good for him – and that wasn’t just his own belief. Owen had told him many times that you were caviar while he was canned tuna in comparison.

Glancing over at you as you happily talked with Jinyoung, he couldn’t help the flooding of emotions that hit him. He loved you. He knew he did, but the feeling was bittersweet when he felt as if he didn’t deserve you.

With that thought, Bloo threw back the rest of his drink before pouring another.

 |||

 You grunted as you helped Daniel step into the apartment you shared with Nic, your hand tightly locked with his as you led him towards the guest bedroom, ‘Why’d you drink so much, idiot?’ you ask him with a huff. His response was to pull you in closer, a drowsy smile on his lips.

After the celebratory dinner the entire group had gone to the clubs to continue the festivities – though it was to celebrate Nicholas’ win, instead. Two birds with one stone, Nicholas had called it. It was only when Daniel had begun to get too drunk that you’d called the evening quits, despite it only being one in the morning.

As soon as you reached the bed, you let Daniel flop onto the mattress much to his surprise; ‘Come on,’ you murmur, ‘You need to get out of these clothes.’

‘It’s fine,’ he tells you with a slur, ‘I can do it,’ he says, attempting to sit up but barely moving an inch before giving up.

You ignored him, shaking your head with a smile as you began unlacing his boots, ‘You’re so drunk,’

‘You’re so pretty,’ he counters tiredly.

You smiled at his compliment while slipping off his shoes, ‘You think so?’

He nodded, his eyes shut as he did so. You turned to place his boots near the door, the smile on your face seemingly permanent. Hearing rustling, you turned to find Daniel had stripped off his belt and jeans and was working on taking off his button-up with very little success.

You wished you could say you were surprised at his stripping but it wasn’t the first time you’d seen him in his briefs. You’d learned to not look down any more than necessary despite the temptation.

‘What’chu looking at?’ he asks with a smirk and half-opened eyes, his hands paused on the first button he was trying to undo.

You rolled your eyes and helped him unbutton his shirt, revealing his singlet underneath, ‘You’re not shy, huh?’

‘Not in front of you,’ he admits as he falls back into the bed after you lightly pushed him.

You didn’t know how to handle Daniel. There was more to him than you were prepared for. His alter ego terrified you – Bad Boy Bloo had an image that you found hard to keep up with and you were afraid you’d get hurt in the process of loving him. That barrier of uncertainty stopped you from pursuing more than the longing looks and touches you shared.

‘Aigoo,’ you murmur, running your hand through his hair lovingly as he lay in the bed, seemingly passed-out, ‘What do I do with you, hm?’

After placing a bottle of water and a packet of pain-killers next to his bed, you left the room, sneaking one more longing glance over your shoulder before closing the door.

 |||

 Bloo tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable despite the amount of alcohol he’d consumed – usually he could lay on top of rocks and sleep like a baby after the amount he’d had tonight; but something about being alone in the apartment with you only two doors down, now had him wide awake in realization.

The room spun as he sat up groggily, looking over at the alarm clock that read 4:07am. He’d passed out, the last thing he remembered was your hands in his hair. Groaning, he shifted so that his feet were pressed firmly to the wooden floor boards before he pushed himself off the bed and stood with determination.

It was now or never. If he didn’t go see you now, he never would.

 |||

 The light rapping on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. You couldn’t sleep with Daniel’s compliment running through your head on replay. It was funny how something so small from his lips could give you this type of feeling.

The door cracked up an inch after you failed to reply, and Daniel’s voice whispered into the room, ‘Are you awake?’

‘I am. But why are you?’ you whisper back in confusion – you were sure that he would have been knocked out until sunrise. You’d watched him down five shots of whiskey as soon as you’d entered the club. That alone should have kept him down for the night.

‘I…Can I come in?’ he asks hesitantly, the slur still noticeable in his tone, though this time less prominent.

‘Okay,’ you answer nervously, watching him approach, your eyes adjusting to the dark. Daniel crawled onto the bed until he was laying on his back beside you, a gap between you so that you weren’t touching.

‘You couldn’t sleep?’ he asks awkwardly, ‘Something on your mind?’

‘Something like that,’ you admit, closing your eyes and attempting to calm your heart. You were sure he could hear it pounding in your chest.

‘You’re caviar,’ Daniel tells you after a moment of silence, finding his courage thanks to the room being dark and you being unable to see his blushing cheeks.

‘Are you still drunk?’ you ask him, rolling to face him, a smile on your lips as you rested your cheek on the back of your hand.

‘No…Maybe,’ Daniel says quietly as he too rolled to face you. You could make out the lining of his face in the dark as he copied your position.

‘Why am I caviar?’ you ask him, your lips twitching at the comparison.

‘Because you’re special,’ he admits in a whisper that screamed volumes to you.

‘If I’m caviar, what do you think you are?’

‘Canned tuna.’

You let out a giggle, your arm reaching over to pet his shoulder in comfort, ‘You’re not canned tuna, Daniel. Why would you think that?’

Bloo focused on the way you gently tapped at his arm before answering hesitantly, ‘Because I’m not good enough to be with you…you’re on a whole other level.’

The sincerity in his voice had you pause for a moment before you continued to stroke at his arm, ‘I don’t think you’re canned tuna. I think you’re like aged whiskey. The expensive kind,’ you add.

Daniel shuffled closer to you so that you were inches apart. You stopped petting him and let your arm rest loosely near his shoulder; ‘Why?’

‘Because I’m always hesitant to drink it. I’m scared of the burn it’ll leave in my throat.’

‘The older it is, the smoother it goes down,’ he comments, confused. You had called him aged whiskey.

‘Yeah, but you only find that out after you’ve taken a sip,’ you remind him, hoping he got the hidden meaning behind your words.

You were hesitant of starting a relationship with him because of your preconceived idea of what could happen if you got too close to him, while he thought he didn’t match up to you as an individual.

‘Looks like we’re both scared,’ Daniel whispers a moment later, his hand moving to brush your cheek lightly before coming to a rest on your neck. You closed your eyes at the touch and nodded in agreement; so it seemed.

The bed shifted beneath you as Daniel moved closer so that you were pressed against one another, his thumb stroking at your jaw as he asked, ‘Can I…’

You beat him to the punch-line by moving your face closer until your lips were pressed against his, your arm tightening around him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against your lips playfully. He tasted like Hennessy and cigarettes, a combination foreign and yet so familiar to you. Daniel pulled back a moment later, pressing his lips to your forehead, cheeks and the tip of your nose before pecking your lips again, ‘You weren’t so hesitant then.’

You pressed your face into his chest while he encircled you with his arms and held you tight, ‘I don’t want to hold back anymore.’

With his lips pressed to the top of your head, Daniel agreed, ‘Me neither.’

‘I don’t think I’m too good for you,’ you say into his chest tiredly, ‘So you shouldn’t either.’

Daniel’s response was to caress the back of your head, petting at your hair, ‘And I won’t do anything to hurt you,’ he says moments later, ‘Not like all the other cheap whiskey out there.’

You smiled and let out a slight laugh before tiredly answering, ‘Sounds good to me.’

With a few more loving whispers to one another, your eyelids became heavy and your eyes shut tight whilst the smile on your lips remained. The last thing you heard before falling asleep was Daniel’s quiet promise, ‘I’ll love you even after you’ve sipped the last drop I have to offer.’

Masterlist || Requests

[noradarhkpalmer]

Christmas Was Always Special

Title: Christmas Was Always Special

Rating: PG-13 

Pairing: Bruce/Selina aka Batcat

Warnings: Minor swear, minor sexual references, tons of fluff

Summary/Notes: Part one of a collection of mine called “The Batcat Fluff We Deserve” this is set post the 1991 film Batman Returns where the next two terrible movies after that don’t exist and the basic premise being that Selina decided to go with Bruce in the sewers that night. This is how their lives turned out. Enjoy!

Christmastime was always special for Bruce and Selina. They first met around Christmas, discovered one another’s true identities, and made the bold choice to start their lives together around Christmas. Selina almost walked away. She was the one saying hours earlier “does this mean we have to start fighting?” The look on her face from then on broke Bruce’s heart. He wanted to make things work. He knew they could both be better for it. He didn’t have to worry about someone trying to take advantage of his love for Selina because he knew she could hold her own. He wasn’t wracked with fear each night when he crawled into bed and reached for her because he knew she’d be there, that he had seen her out and about hours earlier, heading towards the manor.

All of their milestones surrounded Christmas. They could never quite figure out why it happened that way. They weren’t religious so the holiday representing the birth of the Christian diety didn’t have any special meaning to them before or after their coupling and yet each Christmas, something new and big and exciting happened for them.

The first Christmas, Bruce couldn’t believe they made it a whole year. Sure there were days even weeks where Selina ran off because she just couldn’t wrap her head around why they worked. Why they worked despite her sometimes criminal behavior. Why he would want a nobody like her, why he would want just her when any girl would love to have the chance to be with Bruce Wayne. Even just him without his alter ego was impressive enough. Selina also hated being his arm candy. She absolutely hated it. The way the tabloids would make comments about her hair, her weight, and even ask if she was good enough for the man behind the bat.

Selina tried not to let those things bother her. Bruce would pull her close and reassure her that none of what the press said was true and that what she felt about herself was what mattered most. She usually ran off for a few days after particularly hateful press about her but then he’d find her while he was out on patrol and convince her to come home.

He had wanted to put an end to Selina’s doubts, or quiet them at least. Wanted to give her a solid, concete reason not to run. They still weren’t one for all the pageantry of the tree lighting ceremony so a year later they sat curled on the couch watching it thankfully Penguin, Shreck, and other Gotham villain free as the new mayor of Gotham and Commissioner Gordon lit the tree in bright twinkling lights. As they sat there, Bruce’s arm draped around Selina’s shoulders and she reached her hand up to tangle her fingers with his. Soon she felt something cold and metal slip around her ring finger. She looked over at their joined hands to see a diamond ring and looked up at Bruce with tears prickling in her eyes.

“Do you not like it?” He had said.

“Like it? Bruce, you love me enough to... enough to want to marry me?” She had shifted to straddle his lap so they could talk face to face.

“I love you enough that I want you to be my wife, absolutely. Will you marry me, Selina?”

Of course she had said yes.

They had married the following Christmas, both vigilante and villainy kept them pushing it further and further into the following year until they sealed their union with a kiss in a snow covered church filled with some of their closest friends and unfortunately due to Bruce’s celebrity, most of Gotham.

By the following December, Selina had let her hair grow out longer than Bruce had ever seen it, which also confused him because he knew it would make her overall suit more complicated. He had upgraded her suit (without her permission) as a six month anniversary present. It was now a sleek all black, well made leather and bulletproof rubber (because he never, ever, wanted to relive seeing her being shot four times, ever), complete with cat ears in the cowl and high tech goggles. He made the comment to her about it in passing as he twirled a strand of it while their dinner sizzled and popped on the stove. Her reply nearly stunned him.

“Well I don’t think suiting up is going to be the most practical. I know you upgraded it, Bruce, but I don’t think the leather is very expandable.”

“Expandable? Why would you need it to be?” He had asked.

Selina had taken the hand still in her hair and moved it down to her stomach. “Because I won’t be able to fit in if it’s not expandable and I also don’t think you’ll want me going out much over the next few months.”

He had to be sure he was understanding her right. “Selina... Selina are you pregnant?”

“Yes, I am.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in for a kiss. “You’re happy about this?”

“So happy, and so happy that I don’t have to fight you on not going out on patrol with me.” He chuckled and kissed her back.

Helena Wayne wasn’t born around Christmas, but their first Christmas as a family was almost their last. She was just four months old when her father went out to fight the Joker and almost didn’t come home. Her mother had waited and waited four hours past when her father had promised to be home before swiftly passing Helena to Alfred and said something about suiting up to bring him home.

Selina had stumbled in the manor barely able to hold up her husband in his mangled Batsuit. Her suit was pretty torn up as well but she hadn’t cared. She would hang up her cowl forever if it meant keeping her family in one piece. She never had that growing up. Her mother was a bitter woman who called her a gold digging whore when she had seen the newspaper announcement which featured a picture zeroing in on the ring Selina now sported on her left ring finger and her father was always absent. She couldn’t even remember his face. She didn’t want Helena to grow up like Bruce either, without parents entirely. Even without witnessing it, she knew it would scar Helena for life. Alfred helped Selina patch the two of them up, having put Helena to sleep that Christmas Eve, so she could dream of baby sugarplums instead of her parents almost dying.

Come Christmas morning, though bruised and bandaged, Selina watched as Bruce picked their daughter up with a smile on his face and she walked over to them holding her family closer than she ever had.

Now Helena was six and refused to go with Alfred up to her room since her parents Christmas party was now “grownups only”. Her wild blonde curls bounced angrily when her parents instructed her that it was time for bed.

“It’s time for bed, kitty kat,” her mother affectionately said. She had crouched down to her level, which Helena appreciated, and kissed her hair. “Tomorrow morning all these boring grown ups will be gone and it’ll just be you, me, daddy, and Alfred. Can you go let Alfred read you a story so tomorrow morning will be here?”

“No I want you and daddy. You guys do better voices than Alfred. With his accent the voices all sound the same.” Helena pouted.

“I’m sorry baby but we have to stay down here.” If it were up to Selina NONE of these people would be in her house past nine. And even after being married to Bruce for eight years it was still so foreign to call the manor her house. She had moved in with him after that night in the sewers, never looked back at her crummy pink apartment. Bruce had offered her her own room even her own wing of the house, but she just wanted the safety of him in his room to fight off her nightmares of killing Shreck and being shot, so she gave her cats that entire wing instead.

Bruce finished talking to one of his investors and saw his wife and daughter in one of their famous staring contests. Bruce valued his life very much and never once vocalized just how much Helena was like Selina. The great Bat being brought down by his wife’s wrath. Yeah he was good. He walked over to them and put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“Helena, you really have to go to bed for mommy and daddy. We promise that if you still can’t fall asleep by the time the grown ups are gone we will come read to you, how does that sound?” He watched as his daughter’s face lit up and she nodded.

“Okay daddy! I’ll wait up for you! I love you both!” She hugged both her parents and skipped over to Alfred who was patiently waiting in the doorway.

Once Selina and Bruce both straightened up, Selina gave her husband one raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“She’s just like you, you heard her, she’s going to fight Alfred on sleep even more now, even though she’s left the room. These “grown ups” won’t leave until at least one and our six year old should not be up that late and now you’ve challenged her to stay up that late.”

“I did not!”

“Oh bats, you old softie, you have that little girl wrapped around your finger. You’d compromise on anything she wanted. If not cave in.” Selina began to walk away but Bruce pulled her into his arms.

“That’s only because her mother already conditioned me that way.” He growled and kissed her deeply.

xxxx

The “grown ups” all filed out around midnight, most were tired and the rest were tired of Bruce constantly pointing at photos of his family and explaining the circumstances of each photo right down to the last detail. Once the party cleared, Alfred informed them that Miss Helena was still awake and demanding they tell her a story before promptly excusing himself to reach his own slumberous state.

Bruce and Selina climbed the stairs and made their way to their daughter’s room. Since black was Bruce’s favorite color and Selina hated the color pink since becoming Catwoman, they had taken the longest time picking out a color for Helena’s room. Black was too depressing for a baby room and white was too sterile. Pink was out but Selina still wanted something moderately feminine while also something Helena could grow into as she formed her own person. They settled on different colors of purple. The walls were all a lilac color and the accents were dark shades of purple. Bruce had just finished painting a large “H” over where her crib would go when Selina had came rushing into talking about contractions.

Their daughter’s room had matured over the years but still stayed purple. Helena loves the color, still unaware of the gravity of her parents nighttime jobs, Helena said she wanted her costume to be purple when she got big and pretty like mommy. That had warmed Selina’s heart but she also desperately wanted Gotham to be safe enough by the time Helena was older for her not to need to don a cape. Because of her dress she more slid rather than sat on her daughter’s bed. She settled next to her and wrapped an arm around her. Selina was still in her cocktail dress from the party which was incredibly hard to sit in but “fantastically showed her curves” as Bruce stated. What curves? She loves Helena and loves that she and Bruce produced something out of their love but Helena wrecked her body. Her catsuit never fit the same again. 

“Kitten, why are you still up?” Selina asked and stroked her daughter’s curls.

Bruce settled onto the other side of his daughter and loosened his tie. 

“Because you guys tell the best stories. And it’s Christmas. I want to know the best Christmas story you know!”

Bruce and Selina both thought for a minute, sure they had seen most of the Christmas specials their daughter made them watch on television, and there were the classics such as Miracle on 34th Street and White Christmas but what could be a Christmas story easy and short enough for their seven year old to digest?

Bruce cleared his through. “How about one where a lonely prince fell in love with a sad princess on Christmas?”

Selina raised and eyebrow. She hadn’t heard this before. Maybe he was making it up as he went along.

“Okay!” Helena clapped happily. “Tell me, tell me!”

“Once upon a time...” Bruce started, “there lived a sad and lonely prince who mostly spent his days in his castle wishing he had someone to share his life with. He longed for just one person to fill his life with a joy he hadn’t felt since he was a boy. Then one day, the prince was meeting with an eeeevvviiiilll sorcerer, though the prince didn’t know that at the time, and in walked the saddest but most beautiful princess. She was the sorcerer’s slave! The prince desperately wanted to court her but she was always serving the sorcerer...”

This story felt weirdly familiar to Selina, she shifted after getting a cold chill and continued to listen to her husband’s crazy fairytale.

“But one night on, Christmas Eve in fact, the lonely prince, disguised as a valiant knight saved the sad princess from being harmed. But she didn’t know it was him. Soon enough the princess was able to defend herself. And even fought against the lonely prince when he was dressed as the valiant knight! And then on Christmas Day, the evil sorcerer had a ball, and the prince knew it was finally time to confess his true feelings to the sad princess. They realized who each other were. Really and deeply, on the inside. They fought one last battle not sure if either would survive but then they both did! And they ran away to live in the prince’s mansion... I mean castle and lived happily ever after.”

Selina tried to hide her tears in her daughter’s curls. She remembered all those years ago describing a life with Bruce as a fairytale. How it would be too good to be true. He convinced her that no, it wouldn’t be a fairytale, but life him would still be good. Great even. And now holding onto her’s and Bruce’s daughter, while they sat in their home, she realized they were both half right. Life with him was a fairytale. And it was pretty great.

Selina looked and saw her daughter was on the verge of sleep. She stroked her hair hoping to coax her finally into a REM cycle but she asked one more thing.

“Were the prince and princess happy forever? Sometimes grown ups say happily ever after but they don’t mean it. Did they get married and stuff?”

“They sure did,” Selina said, “and they had a beautiful princess of their own who they made sure was never lonely or sad a day in her life.”

“Oh good. I was worried.” This made both of Helena’s parents chuckle. “What? I was!”

“Goodnight, sweetheart, we love you.” Selina said. She stood up with Bruce’s help.

“Merry Christmas, mommy and daddy,” Helena said as she yawned, finally drifting off to sleep.

Selina and Bruce shut their daughter’s door and made their way down the hall to their own room when Bruce stopped them. He pointed up to one of the many pieces of mistletoe that hung up in the house. It was such a pivotal piece of Christmas for their relationship that Bruce took great delight in setting it up everywhere.

“You know that this means...” he grinned.

“We never actually researched if eating mistletoe can kill you.”

“We’ve done plenty of research on kissing though, haven’t we?” He grinned and pulled her even closer.

“Yes and I’ve found... kisses give life. They don’t take it away, at least not when a lonely prince kisses and sad princess.”

“You figured it out?” He turned his face away, sheepish.

“Once it got to the part about the valiant knight I knew it was about us. I never thought that our life being a fairytale was actually going to be a good thing. I was angry and sad and deluded into thinking my life couldn’t be this wonderful when I said those things to you. I’m sorry that I ran away for as long as I did. Mentally, emotionally, sometimes physically. I love being your wife and I love being Helena’s mom. You framing our life as a fairytale made me just feel so grateful for those things. Thank you.” She leaned in and kissed him deeply. She stopped being afraid of taking off her mask around him a long time ago. She could just being Selina Kyle around him. Cat scratches and all.

“I think that given how special this time of year is for us, I knew that was the perfect story to tell Helena. We’ll tell her it’s actually our story one day. But for now, she has this childlike hope that I want her to hold onto for as long as she can. I’m sorry that I pushed you at the beginning. I know I did. I was all in, I had fallen so hard in love with you so fast, Selina, that I didn’t want you to slip right through my fingers like so many others in my life, romantically or not, had before. I wanted this. I wanted this day all those years ago. Us retiring to bed on Christmas Eve after tucking our children into bed and making love until the sun came up rather than fighting crime until the sun came up.” He kissed her once more.

“Well then come on then, big fella. No hard feelings, I needed the tough and intense love to realize that I could let myself want this life with you.” She tugged on his hands and led him into the bedroom. Bruce immediately put on music from his one and only piece of technology in his bedroom. That was how he kept his boundaries in life. The only addition had been the baby monitor when Helena was small and now that she was six it was gone.

“Really, you want to play music while we have sex? Bruce, that has been and always will be tacky.” Selina started to unzip her dress but Bruce stopped her. “What?”

“I didn’t get to dance with you at the party.”

“It wasn’t that kind of party.” She chuckled. “But if you insist.” She wrapped an arm around his neck and took his other hand. They swayed gently to the soft jazz music over the speakers.

“I do insist, Mrs. Wayne.” He pecked her lips.

“That has been and will be by far the weirdest thing I have ever been called and I was called a gold digging whore by my mother when we got engaged.”

“Are you still not willing to accept that we’re married and in love even if sometimes we suit up and fight each other.”

“I do accept it. We have to keep our marriage interesting somehow.” She winked.

“I’ll show you interesting.” Bruce picked her up and carried her over to the bed and promptly threw her onto it then covered her body with his.

“It’s only the best way to ring in an anniversary.” Selina said and pulled him in for a hard kiss, ready to spend her anniversary and many more with this man, just like this.

[fairdrea35-blog]

Words Can Wait

So....I did something...and fandom hopped again. I keep getting suckered into the shows my kids watch!!! And Adrienette...is so very yummy. :)  Being a superhero wasn’t supposed to feel hopeless.

It was supposed to be inspiring, exciting, fulfilling and a million other optimistic words ending in “ing.” Being a superhero was something almost everyone, at some point in their life, wanted to be - living an exciting life, fighting crime and being an inspiration to millions.

And yet...here he was, living that life, chosen to protect, and feeling hopeless.

Cat Noir sighed, leaning against the railing of the widow’s walk on an old Victorian he’d stumbled upon one night when he’d chased an akuma outside the boundaries of Paris. The house itself was old and abandoned, holding its structural soundness regardless of the fact that no one was there offering any kind of upkeep.

Chat had no idea how long it had stood empty. No one was ever here when he was but he’d only been coming for a little over a month, finding an odd sort of comfort in distancing himself from the city he continually protected which also held him an unwilling captive when he wasn’t scaling rooftops as his superhero alter ego.

Here, he could be silent. Puns could take a back seat and he could reflect on his life as Adrien Agreste without feeling trapped by the solid walls and floor to ceiling glass surrounding him. He could watch Paris without hearing it, far enough away to enjoy the lights of the city but close enough to return to it if he was needed.

Luckily tonight, he wasn’t needed. Or at least he wasn’t needed at the moment. Whatever quiet he could get, whether it was short-lived or not, he would take.

A cold breeze, whispering the coming of fall, teased the curtains of the open french doors leading out to the widow’s walk from a wide turret. They’d been open every time he was there but he’d never been curious enough to trespass and find out what was behind the doors.

Tonight, he wasn’t exactly curious. More reckless.

It was that recklessness that had him walking towards the doors, pulling them wide open.

The turret housed a simple room with large windows overlooking Paris. The floors were bare wood, scuffed and aged. The floral wallpaper was starting to peel away from the walls and dried leaves were scattered over the floor, small piles building in the corners.

The damp scent of mildew hinted from underneath the crisp burn of the autumn leaves, tucked into forgotten corners. Wind caught the few that remained in solitary confinement, gently pushing them with their fallen comrades, their dead corners scraping quietly over the hardwood. In the middle of the room sat a grand piano that had clearly, at one time, been gorgeous. Now, a layer of dust had settled over it and with the fallboard closed, the beautiful instrument looked sadly abandoned. 

Oh, how I can relate, Chat thought as he approached it. 

Who kept a grand piano in a desolate turret of a house? He thought the house had been abandoned for a few months. He could now clearly see that he had been wrong, however. The house had been left alone for years. Opening the fallboard to the yellowing keys spoke almost as loudly to the houses lack of inhabitants than the failing wallpaper did. 

Chat pulled the bench out with the toe of his boot. He stared at it for a moment, hesitating, then sank down and spun to position himself at the keys, his fingers finding middle c by memory alone. He hadn’t played a piano since his mother had disappeared. Sure, his father instructed Natalie to make him practice. Natalie never stood over him to ensure that it happened, though and you could convince people of anything as long as it was done behind a locked door and the sound quality on your cell phone was good enough. But actually playing a piano...that he refused to do.

The piano his father bought was nothing compared to the modest upright that had belonged to his mother. The grand piano was an eyesore that took up too much space and made him extremely uncomfortable. He did everything in his power to avoid it. What he wanted to play was his mother’s piano, but his father had made certain that would never happen. Not long after she disappeared, so did anything that would serve as a reminder of her. All that remained were pictures - pictures of the perfect family, of scripted shoots and instructed poses...and cold detachment from a man that Aiden could only refer to as “father.” Sometimes...sometimes he wondered if his father really cared that his mother was gone. Or if he only cared that the woman who fed his powerful image was no longer around to keep a constant flow of interest and influence flowing into the business.

His fingers ghosted over the keys, pain etching itself deeply in the recesses of his heart where his mother’s spirit existed as strongly as if she were still-.

Adrien closed his eyes against the bitter sting of tears, hanging his head. 

She was alive. Somewhere she was alive. 

He just didn’t know where.

By memory and will alone, his fingers found the keys to a song he would never forget. He didn’t need to practice it to remember, didn’t need it ringing constantly through his head to know what keys followed the ones before them. It was her song. Christophori’s Dream...he started slow, not entirely sure how he felt about playing something that was so significant. It was painful, devastating and yet there was a comfort there in the in the notes as they drifted into the stillness of the night. A freedom that no one was around to take away from him or reign in. He kept his eyes shut against the tears, trying to force them back, to lose himself in the poignant melody. The tempo steadily increased as he poured his anger, fear, desperation and frustrations into what he was doing, letting them be swept away, willing them to stay away so he could breathe. So he could stop forcing smiles, stop living through the pain and escape it just for one damn moment. He lost himself to it all, not noticing the soft tread of footsteps behind him or the blue eyes that watched him. 

His fingers flawlessly  pounded over the crescendo. Tears tracked steadily over his mask, down his cheeks. He didn’t care. He just wanted it out...wanted every draining emotion, every hopeless thought gone. But as the last note drifted into the stillness of the night...it was all still there. Like his father, he couldn’t escape it. He couldn’t escape any of it.

And apparently, he couldn’t escape her. 

“How did you find me?” he asked, feeling her presence behind him. “You know how,” Ladybug murmured. 

Of course he did. Like he was drawn to her, she too was drawn to him. It had nothing to do with emotions. Nothing to do with how much he loved her. It was their Miraculous. One couldn’t be active without drawing the other out eventually.

She joined him on the piano bench, sinking down beside him and facing the opposite direction.

“Chat-.”

“Do you ever wish that who we are now was who we were always?” he asked, not looking at her. He couldn't. Not if he wanted to say what was hurting him so much.

“Stay Ladybug?”

He nodded. “And Cat Noir. Some days...some days I just want to stay...like this and not go back to being who I am.”

She inched closer, keeping that cautious space between them. That “just friends” space that left no room to really hope for something different. Where he had always disliked that space, today he hated it with a deep ferocity.

“What’s so bad about who you are?”

He sighed and looked away from her, watching the dried leaves tucked against the wall twitch restlessly as a breeze whispered over the floor. “Everything,” he snapped, standing abruptly and slamming the fallboard closed. He walked away from her, into the shadows on the opposite side of the room. To her credit, she stayed where she was, unflinching, watching him cautiously.

“Who I am, who my family is, the way I’m forced to live this life without making my own decisions. There’s nothing about my civilian life that I actually want to return to. Ever. And honestly, every time I transform, it gets harder and harder to give a damn about returning to what a joke my real life is.”

He felt her gaze slide away from him.

“I guess...I never really wanted to get away from real life that badly. Or...at all, really...”

Chat sneered a little at that. He wasn’t angry with her. Funneling that emotion into anything regarding Ladybug was pointless. She had a better life than him. Most people did. “Lucky you.”

“You have friends though, right?” she asked. “People who actually understand what you’re going through and can help?”

“I have...friends-.” He hesitated on the word, still slightly foreign to him. Yes, he had friends - Nino, Alya, Marinette...even Chloe on occasion, he could stomach when she wasn’t acting entirely stuck up and looking down on the rest of the general population. “I don’t really talk about what they don’t see. It’s not something I want to talk about.”

She was silent for a moment, then rose and closed the distance between them, her fingers hesitantly brushing his shoulder. “If you don’t talk to anyone about it, how are they supposed to help you through any of it?” she asked, her voice so careful and cautious, plucking at a sense of guilt.

He looked at her then, searching for answers in the comfort of her gaze. “I don’t want help through it. I don’t want it. I haven’t been able to escape it for years. How is talking to anyone supposed to get me out of it?”

“I’m your friend. You could talk to me. I could-.”

He shrugged her hand away, feeling the cold bite of injustice. He wanted so much more from her that friendship. Her reminder of that, though not intended to come across as hurtful, made him feel even more alone in the world. “You could what?” he bit out. “I can’t tell you a damn thing without outting myself. Aren’t you the one who’s always pointing out how we can never know who the other really is? You can do about as much to help as anyone else can which is nothing. Just-,” he took a step away from her, shaking his head, “Just forget I said anything.”

He started to leave. Ladybug grabbed his hand. “Chat, wait-.”

“I have to go-.”

He pulled his hand away and felt the give of his ring, felt it slide over the fabric of his gloved hand and made no attempt to stop it. He could have clenched his hand, could have curled his fingers to ensure the safety of his identity. It would occur to him later that he hadn’t really wanted to - that deep down he needed her to know who he really was.

She gasped, he stumbled and in a sweep of green, he stood before her as Adrien Agreste.

Neither of them spoke. Even if he knew what to say, he wouldn’t know how to say it. She stared at him wide-eyed and he stared back, his lips set in a firm line, panic riding the edges of silent defiance.

Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore and had firmly convinced himself that her silence was some form of rejection, he held out his hand. “I need that back, please.”

She blinked and looked down at her hands, her brow furrowing, like she couldn’t quite understand what she was looking at. Then, those wide blue eyes were back on him and she dropped the ring in his open palm.

Adrien slid it back into place, clenching his hand. “Well, I guess you get to keep your secret at least.” “Tikki,” she whispered and he went still, caught off guard. The air around them shifted, electrified with the impact of that one simple word. “Spots off.”

Glittering pink and white swirled around her. Red lycra gave way to denim, a rose colored top, a purse he would have recognized anywhere because it was an original, designed by the one who wore it.

Gone was Ladybug and in her place, her cheeks a vibrant pink, was Marinette.

Ladybug was Marinette.

Silly, wonderful, always so kind to him Marinette who tripped over her own feet, created beauty effortlessly, owned anyone who dare challenged her in video games, and couldn’t string more than a few words together around him.

Marinette who now knew the hell he was living in.

Marinette who knew the secrets he kept.

The relief he felt brought a new wave of tears, a gratitude that went so deep that it left him feeling weak.

Of course it was her. Moments of familiarity suddenly made sense. Every friendly touch, certain looks, the conviction that ran so strongly whether she was herself or Ladybug.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “If I would have known...or even understood what you were going through-.”

He caught her around the waist with one arm his other hand cradling the side of her face and effectively stopping the flow of words. They would have plenty later, he was sure of it. Secrets to put to rest, lives to reveal. But words could wait.

He ran his thumb over her cheekbone, traced the curve of her jaw with his fingertips. “I’m...so glad it’s you.”

He wouldn’t allow her to question why he was glad. Instead, he caught her mouth with his, kissing her tenderly. She gasped and he curled his hand around the base of her neck, deepening the kiss. She turned fluid against him, the tension melting away as she clung to him. It was empowering to know he could do this to her, just as empowering as it was humbling.

“I love you,” he murmured against her lips. “Love me? Or love-.”

He pulled away and used his hand to stop her words, grinning and shaking his head. “You Marinette...Ladybug...you’re the same person. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.” Her mouth twitched at the corner and he kissed the very tip of her nose. “But I see it now. I think that needs to count for something.”

Instead of agreeing with him, her expression turned serious. “I love you too, Adrian. I’ll help you through this. I promise.”

He believed her.

Nothing seemed as bleak anymore. Nothing about life seemed to hard to overcome. Not with his lady by his side in every aspect of his life.

They could face any demons together, the invisible ones that haunted him included.

“I know, my lady. Thank you.”

And he kissed her again...because really, those words could wait.

[mangled-dreams]

Dealings with a Devil (Part 26)

Dealings with a Devil (Part 26)

Reader X Darkiplier

You, Reader, have made a deal with what you believed to be a fantasized version of your favorite YouTuber’s alter ego, Darkiplier after he’d visited you in a dream. You believed Darkiplier to only exist in your dreams and on Markiplier’s YouTube channel, but by some impossible way he’s real and he intends on collecting on your debt to him.

Where ever Dark is he can't respond to your callings. He would have come for you if he heard you. You try calling out to Anti as well but no one answers you. With a sigh you change your clothing to a pair of form fitting jeans and a slight blouse before doing to the sea side and walk along the lapping water. The light of the full moon gives you enough to see a clear path.

You walk along the shore and simply take in the scenery. You tried to teleport like Anti and dark have tried to explain to you, but it just never works the same way as it does for them. But it makes sense to you. You're not like them. You have similar powers, but you are no where near like them.

You're still human. You'd researched it on the computer, read forums and text you'd found at the library, but it lead you to the same conclusion. You'd have to shed your mortal life for an immortal one. Essentially it's like becoming a vampire. You will have to die in order for the blood contract Anti forced on you to be completed.

With a sigh you stop and look out at the sea and wish you could understand Anti better. His previous lover's death had scarred him form making genuine connections with others, you see that now. He has a type of kinship with Dark, it's the only think you can come up with to explain his actions. The way he always turns to Dark. Dark won't die so easily, Dark will stand the test of time just like Anti.

Closing your eyes you get the feeling Anti is crying, maybe not in  a physical sense of crying, but you can feel his soul crying out. Pressing your palms into your chest and—not really wish—will yourself to be with Anti. You want to be someone he can turn to when things are tough..

“Let me help you.” you whisper softly. Your eyes close tight as you imagine being with Anti—wherever he's currently at, or at the very least in a spot you can see him and make sure he's okay.

You don't feel it at first, but then your feel weightless and like you're suspended in air. The feeling lasts for a few seconds before you stomach drop, along with the rest of your body. Eyes snapping open you see you're about 100 feet in the air and dropping to the ground. A frightened scream rips from your throat as you plummet to the ground.

“Fallin' fer me, eh?” Anti chuckles as he catches you midair, landing with ease on the mossy, moist ground. You're whole body shakes with fear as you wrap yourself around Anti for dear life. “Hey, you're safe, I have you now.” Anti tells you a few minutes later when you still hadn't fully recovered. You'd been close to death before, but not like that.

“I thought I was going to die,” you whisper continuing to cling to Anti.

Anti hesitates to do anything, he racks his brain for what to do to for a few seconds before hugging you closer and gently run his palm over your back. After a few passes of his hand against your back you feel your nerves calm down.

“Thank you, Anti.” you tell him relaxing in his arms. With a soft sigh you're thankful Anti didn't just left you fall to your death. Dropping your eyes to look at the ground you say, “Anti, I'm sorry I made you tell me about your past. I didn't mean to upset you. I...I wasn't thinking.”

Anti pauses, watching the fog curl and drift along the ground. It's still the twilight hours, but the moon is full and bright, and he can see just fine. If he's being truthful, which is rare, he felt relieved telling you about his once love. He'd held on to so much regret and anger and sorrow over her death.

“Don't worry so much. You'll die before your time.” Anti jokes his voice a little tight.

“I don't regret asking the question. I got to know a little more about you. You're like an enigma and it's interesting, but if you're going to be apart of my life now, it's nice to know a little bit about who you are as a person. I get that it's a foreign concept to you and Dark, and I have patience. If you're stuck with me, you should probably....get...used to it....” When did you get so sleepy? Did you use to much energy? Did you scare yourself so badly? Maybe it's a combination of the two...you're not completely sure but sleep is taking you.

“You're falling asleep?” Anti asks looking down at your half hidden face.

“So...tired all of a sudden..” you tell him, looking up at him with hooded eyes. You give him a lopsided smile. Your eyes droop down just as Anti dips his head down to yours. You briefly feel his rough lips touch yours then nothing. Anti just kissed you!

Dark is waiting when Anti brings you back home and lays you in your bed, changes your clothing with his abilities and tucks you in to bed. He sits down on the edge of your bed and watches you breath evenly as you sleep.

“I did not say you could kiss her.” Dark growls, his black eyes flaring red with his anger. He had been keeping an eye on you and Anti the whole night, planning to take you home if Anti had not shown back up in Italy. Dark had warned Anti from taking you out of the country again, but the green electric pain in the ass never listens.

“She's not yours, Dark. You may have branded her flesh, but not her heart. Even you can see it, she's falling for me.” Anti says  leaning forward to brush your hair from your face when you shift positions.

Dark growls at Anti's words. He doesn't want to admit it, but there is a noticeable difference in your attitude with Anti. Hearing you tell the green goblin that you want to get to know him better, that you already expect him to be apart of your life for the long haul it's lucky no one was around him.

You stir from you sleep, you can feel hatred and sadness rolling in waves over your skin, waking you from your sleep. “Dark? Is everything okay?” you ask barely able to life yourself up or even to open your eyes. You've never felt this tired before.

“Everything is fine, dove. Rest. You've over worked your body transporting from Italy to Ireland. You're be out for at least half a day.” Dark explains walking to the other side of your bed and sits down. “Did you have fun?” he asks knowing the answer.

“It was nice. I made Anti upset, but I think we're okay now.” you tell him. Your eyes stay half closed at you smile at Dark. “Is everything in the Void okay? You said you were busy.” you add taking your time to pronounce every word correctly. You don't like this feeling of being sluggish.

“I felt you over exert yourself and came to check on you. The Void can wait.” Dark tells you and you can feel the truth to his words, but there something else. A lingering sadness you hadn't felt before.

“You're sad..” you tell him. You know you can't ask this demons if he's sad, he'd never admit it aloud. “I can feel it.” you add touching a few finger tips to your breast. “I could feel it with Anti too...I've made you sad.” you whisper fighting against sleep.

Anti and Dark simple stare at you, unable to properly comprehend your words. You can feel their emotions? Other than anger, lust, and annoyance, the pair didn't think they had any other emotions.

Anti's lips against yours flash though your mind and you wonder if that's what upset Dark, or if he knows. “D-Dark?” you call after a  long stretch of silence. You'd almost fallen back asleep. “I...tonight, Anti kissed me...” you tell Dark wondering what kind of expression he may be making if any. You don't have to guess on his emotions. There is a burst of anger, then sadness followed by a eerie calm.

“I know, I was not in a position that I could come to you when you called, nor could I respond, however I connected with you in case you were in danger and needed me urgently. I stayed with you until Anti brought you back home.” Dark tells you honestly. You try to bob your head but you don't know if it comes a cross properly.

“A-are you upset with me?” you ask softly. You hear Dark sigh at your question.

Dark looks at Anti, he's surprised the demon has stayed so quiet throughout the conversation. Dark truly wonders how much you'll actually remember when you wake refreshed. “No, Anti had expressed already an interest in you. I invited him to compete for your affections, your heart, It is something I do regret,” Dark says cupping your face with his larger hand. He likes the way you lean into his touch, the short quick nuzzling you down without thinking about it He doesn't want to share this with Anti. If possible he wouldn't share you with anyone.

“He likes me?” you asks more than a little surprised.

“Just as I do.” Dark admits before placing his hand over your eyes and gently influences you back into sleep. “Rest my dove.”

“That's a dirty trick, Dark. You know she won't remember a thing.” Anti accuses angrily.

Dark ponders that for a moment. He even thinks you won't remember much, however, you have a habit of surprising him. “She is a wondrous woman, I would not be surprised if she remembers everything.”

It's nearly a day later that you wake up. You're dreams had been relentless and very soul shaking. Dark and Anti both made their appearances and it only deepened the confusion. You know you'd talked with Dark the night Anti brought you back home...but...

Sitting up on the edge of your bed you try to not let your thoughts get the better of you. You look down at your left hand. Dark's mark is still there, still just as noticeable as the day he put it on you. You sigh and flop on to your back, more confused now than ever.

Anti's always been so...ugh! What is he thinking? What are either demons thinking? What kind of game are they playing at? You don't like the thought, but are they simply messing with you? Could it possibly be that everything you'd shared with Dark a big joke?

The thought hurts. It hurts a lot. Shaking you head you try to force the thought away. You know Dark wouldn't do that, and as you get to know Anti, you doubt he'd be that cruel to you. With a sigh you open your eye sand look at your ceiling.

“Fuck!” you shout in frustration before sitting up and look around you room. Why the hell are you putting yourself through this torment? You frown, you know why. It's because of your goddamn dreams... “Ugh! I why am I having such conflicting dreams?” you groan. You blow air out, pushing your bangs away from your face for a few seconds.

You blame Anti for your disturbing dreams.

Part 27

[my-imagines-moonlight53]

Inked | Part 2

Peter Parker x Reader

soulmate au: you and your soulmate have tattoos that represent the others interests that tingle when you two are close to one another

Word count: 2,439

Part 1

Peter. The simple two syllable name that belonged to person that made your arm tingle and spark like no other, the name of your soulmate. It felt nice to finally put a name to the person that your tattoo sleeve was based on. But you strongly wised that you could meet the face of your soulmate, but when he was Spiderman you can partly understand why he didn’t want to.  

You still couldn’t believe that you had met Spiderman, and to top it off…he was also your soulmate. The only way you could even believe that last night truly happened, was the small peony and gardenia that showed up on your wrist.

You mindlessly traced over the small tattoo, still remembering the tingles that you felt by just being near Peter. Your soulmate’s interest was inked across your skin, science and Spiderman was his, but now seeing these small flowers made your heart race. You wanted to believe that it meant that Peter had gained an affinity for flowers, like you, but you deep down these small flowers were meant for you.

That thought alone, made your face heat up and heart race like as if you had ran a marathon. All day at school you wanted to find your soulmate, but you needed to respect Peter’s choices, you knew that the reason that he kept himself away was because of his secret identity, but that still didn’t shake your temptation to finally meet your soulmate, not when he was so close to you.

You were lying on your bed still trying to process everything. When you heard a small pat against your window, you thought nothing against it, thinking it was just the typical Queens prank, but when the small sound repeated itself, you finally turned, greeted by a beautiful bouquet that was set in your fire escape.

A bouquet of red and blue peonies, with beautiful gardenias and forget me nots. It was beautiful arrangement. You went to your window, opening it to pull in the bouquet, already getting the scent of freshly picked flowers. A soft expression grew on your face, as you realized who sent these flowers. You let out a small giggle, failing at hiding your smile.

Your arm started to shoot small tingles, feeling the tattoos spark to life, letting you know that Peter was close. You looked up seeing none other than the familiar white visors of Spiderman, startling you taking a step back, causing you to lose your balance in the process.

You were already expecting feeling your bum to hit the floor; however the only thing you felt was a warm hand encase your wrist as he pulled you back, letting you regain your balance. You were face to face, or rather face to chin with Spiderman as he was hanging upside down from the stairs of the fire escape. Spidey let out a soft chuckle.

“glad you found this amusing,” as a small huff left your lips, you tried to look annoyed at him, but you knew that you were failing since it only made him laugh a bit more.

“Hey is that anyway to thank the person that just saved you from your fall?” his face leaning closer to yours, but you weren’t going to back out, not wanting to see how much of an effect he had on you.

“Thanks by the way,” smiling up at Peter, holding the bouquet closer to your chest.

Peter almost promised himself to get you a bouquet daily if it meant that you would look this beautiful and pure every single time. He shook his head trying to remove the thought the head, because right now he was Spiderman not the easily flustered and shy Peter Parker.

“Your welcome, I mean I couldn’t let my soulmate fall,” the term sounding so foreign from his lips, still not believing that he was able to talk to you.

Soulmate. That word made your insides fill with what felt like butterflies, making you further hide into the flowers, wanting to hide how flustered he was making you. You looked at anywhere but him, memorizing the various hues the petals, trying to calm yourself by looking at the thing that never fails to center you, but it wasn’t working when you remembered that it was Peter that gave these flowers to you.

“I meant thank you for the flowers,” you whispered for gaze still on the flowers, because you knew that if you looked up at him, may not have been able to speak without stuttering.

You heard the thud against the stairs, the sparks going crazy on your arm. His gloved hand traced up your tattoos, the skin underneath feeling like fire, but you couldn’t push him away, in fact you craved to feel his bare fingers against your skin. His fingers traced down your arm, landing on the new flower tattoos that appeared, the sparks now running through your whole body.

“This one is new,” bringing your hand up to further inspect it, “I don’t remember seeing this one the other night.” The white eye visors zoning in on the tattoo.

“Because it wasn’t,” you whispered, almost thinking that maybe he hadn’t heard it.

Your breathing became more shallow and quicker, everything about Peter becoming overwhelming. You didn’t think someone that literally came into your life just the other day, could make your heart feel like this. You could honestly admit that there was something that drew you to him, but you weren’t sure if this natural connection you felt with him was because you knew that he was your soulmate or the reason it felt so natural to see yourself with him is what made him your soulmate to begin with.

His gloved hand, lifted your head, letting him fully see the aftermath of his presence, “I woke up with spider webs and a small spider on mine,” he whispered. You touched his arm wondering what his arm looked like; wanting to see the tattoos underneath, but the need to see his face was greater.

“I bet they look beautiful,” you whispered.

“They are, I mean, only makes sense, since they take after you.”

This time it was Peter that looked away, not sure where he got the courage to say that out loud, but he was telling the truth.  He knew that he was taking too long, he only really meant to drop off the flowers and leave, but he couldn’t pull away from you, not when you were as entrancing as hidden forests and meadows that you hear in fairytales. This made sense because he felt that should he ever be with you it would be like a fairytale come true.

He really wanted to meet you as Peter Parker, then he could keep his Spiderman secret from you, but things were not in his favor. when you had met his alter ego first. That would be a regret he would have to carry, because it was his fault for not doing something sooner and purposely avoiding you at school.  

“Do you have time to talk?”

Your face quickly shot up, not expecting him to actually stay longer than just a few moments. You nodded, taking any chance to be with him longer.

“But do you mind if we talk on the roof?” knowing that it was a safer, since you went sure if the walls would be able to hide his voice.

“I’ll meet you up there,” already swinging up to the roof to talk to you.

You quickly changed into something warmer and told your parents that you were going to tend to your garden, knowing you wouldn’t get questioned over it. You ran up the stair and through the door, your lungs and thighs burning, to spot peter sitting against the ledge, much like the previous night.

You slowly approached; wanting to calm down your racing heart, that you knew wasn’t from running up the stairs. Taking a deep breath you sat next to him, not sure what to do next.

“Did you put the flowers in vase?”

“Yea, they are really pretty Peter,” playing with your hands, trying to keep them from touching him again, “but why did you get them?

“I wanted to apologize,” eying that Peter hands were fidgeting with his web shooters.

You turned to look at him, a puzzled look on your face as you tried to think of what he could possibly be apologizing for, “you don’t have to apologize for your small patch up the other night,” it was the only thing came to mind.

“That’s not what I'm apologizing for,” his voice soft, showing how vulnerable he really felt.

“Then what are you apologizing for?” turning your body to face his.

Peter balled his fist, unsure of what do to next. You wanted to ask so much, but right now you needed him to break the silence. You placed your hand on his fist that immediately loosened and relaxed. His hand slowly turned, letting your fingers slip between his, the sparks now lighting up your whole body by just his simple touch. The bustling sound of the lively city muted around you, everything focusing on this moment and him. You intertwined your hands, expecting him to pull away, but he didn’t, instead he gave your hand a light squeeze.  

“I'm apologizing for everything, for never talking to you as Peter, for avoiding you at school, for not being able to give you the relationship you want. I'm apologizing for everything that comes with me being your soulmate,” his hand squeezing yours needing something to anchor himself. He was hurting because he knew that despite wanting to be there for you, this was as close as he could allow himself to be, and he yearned to be closer.

“Peter I told you, you don’t need to apologize,” resting your forehead on his shoulder, instinctively placing a small kiss on his suit.

“No you don’t get it. I had many chances to talk to you, to get to know you as Peter, but I never did. And now…I can't,” his voice cracking in between words.

Peter’s arms brought you on his lap, pulling you into a hug. Your world becoming scented with shampoo and a hint of sweat, memorizing the scent that belonged to Peter, you just wanted to burn every detail about him into memory. You hugged him back, making him feel even smaller in your arms, and even more vulnerable than ever, hinting you that he was one that rarely showed his true emotions.  One of his hands lifted the bottom portion of his mask, letting him press a kiss to the top of your head.

“I'm not mad at you Peter, I can't get mad at you because given your situation right now, I would probably do the same thing,” nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, seeing stands of curly brown hair, that you couldn’t help but toy with. “But can I ask you something Peter?”

He nodded, his hold on you not loosen, wanting to hold you as close as he could, because right now you were what was keeping him from breaking down even more.

“Why did you never approach me at school, especially if you knew I was your soulmate? Did you not want me with you?” your hand clutching his suit, making Peter feel even more because you felt hurt, and he was the reason for it.

“I did, I still do. I wanted to talk to you so many times, but I didn’t think you would’ve liked me?”  He admitted, biting down his lips to keep himself from saying anything else.

It was getting harder to breathe, and it wasn’t because of his hold on you, but rather by how overwhelming his raw emotions felt. You could feel how exposed he was, his heart was on his sleeve letting you peak at the person that resided within the suit and you knew there was still so much more he was hiding.

“Peter, why would you think that? We’re soulmates for a reason,” you whispered as your fingertips brushed against his exposed skin of his neck, making Peter’s own heart beat faster.

“Because I'm not cool or important like Spiderman. I'm a nobody; I'm a nerd that gets made fun and bullied constantly, I only have two friends, and constantly outlasted, I'm not like you (Y/N), I'm not popular or well liked, I'm just nothing. I didn’t want you to know that your soulmate was a loser or worse, that you wouldn’t want me because you deserve so much better,” his voice slightly chocking at the last part, and trying so hard to keep his lips from quivering.  

Your heart was breaking, this was too much raw emotion for you to handle. You cupped his face, before leaning to press a kiss against his soft cheek. Your single kiss became kisses, feathering his face with small kisses. You felt the underneath tense up as his jaw tightening, almost to keep himself from tearing up.

“Count your blessings, not your flaws,” each word punctuated with a small chaste kiss before pulling away, “I told you, you are deserving of a soulmate. And no matter what you say, I could never be ashamed of you or anything, even if you weren’t Spiderman,” you forehead pressing against his. “Did you really think I would reject you Peter?”

“No, but I couldn’t help but think about it over and over. You deserve so much more (Y/N),” he whispered, his hands covering yours, pulling down to press a kiss in the center of your palm.

“I wish you could see how wrong you are, because when it comes to the two of us, I think it’s me that got lucky, not you,” your thumbs caressing his face, toying with the edge of his mask.

You weren’t sure how long you two stayed like that, it could have been minutes or hours because time didn’t seem to matter, not when you were in his arms. Being either Peter felt as easy as breathing, it didn’t require any thinking; it didn’t require effort, it just felt natural. You thought it was ridiculous when you heard stories when soulmates meeting and instantly falling in love, but right now, it didn’t seem so ridiculous. Your heart never once slowed down since it was in his presence, the butterflies you felt never stopped, and in fact they felt that they were more alive than ever.

“Peter, can I please know who you are, can I see the person underneath the mask?”

so yea this is part 2, really hope it wasnt that bad. so yea, really know what you all think. i honestly didnt think that people would have liked it as much as they did. i was honestly expecting a few notes but i saw that it finally hit the 1k mark i was like ‘woah’, so thanks it really helped me push through. hope to have part 3 up by the end of the week but not for certain. also sorry for any grammar mistakes

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