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angelqueef · 27 days ago

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mmmfgggh can’t stop thinking about yandere!price babying the fuck out of you | mdni

cw: drugging, hand feeding, stalking if you squint, daddy kink, coddling, infantilzation (kinda) oral f!receiving, lotsa pet names, somno, cnc, spit mention, john is creepy and sickeningly sweet, creampie, cockwarming, unprotected sex, possessive behavior, not proofread, 18+

he’s just so doting, an almost smothering cloud of sweetness. he loves taking care of you. you’re his baby and he never fails to remind you at every chance he gets.

before he swallows you whole and keeps you on his hip at all times, he lets you go out on your own (ofc he has your location). you come home to him, particularly tired from running errands.

you drag your legs to the kitchen, your nose doing most of the work to bring you when you smell your favorite meal simmering on the stove. and there he is, your big bear of a man stirring the pot, like he doesn’t know you’re right behind him.

he turns to you, all crinkly eyed and smiling, “welcome home, angel,” he walks to you, arms wide as he takes your belongings from your hands and puts them on the bar chair. he swaddles you in his big arms.

“mm. hi,”

he takes a good look at your pretty face, bringing a hand to squeeze your cheeks and turn your head back and forth, inspecting. “what’s wrong with my baby, hm?”

he tilts down and leaves the softest and gentlest of kisses ln your squished, pouted lips. you almost don’t feel it. you whine, wanting more.

“‘m so tired. don’ know why. was only gone for a couple hours,” you lean into him and he digs his fingertips in your hair to massage your scalp.

“you’re just not used to going out without me there to help. had to make so many big decisions on your own, didn’t you?” he tuts and coos, his gruff voice only this cottony around you.

of course your tired. you hadn’t noticed john grind half of a sleeping pill up and slip it in your afternoon tea. not enough to knock you out, but enough to make you drowsy.

you nod into his chest, melting against him. for some reason, your eyes well with tears. your heart aches, you thought you had fared fine on your own until you came home. maybe you really did need him there. you wanted to do something on your own for once, have some you time. but it’s hard to feel under control when he’s not there towering over you, palm on the small of your back to guide you.

he hears you sniff, “shh, shhh. i know, honey,” and suddenly, you’re lifted up and brought to the couch. he wraps a blanket around you.

“be right back. dinner’s ready, you need food in your belly.”

your hand hesitantly leaves his, “m’kay.”

in a flash he comes back with a steaming bowl and a mug in hand.

“made your favorite. and i heated up some honey milk. it’ll relax you,” he places them on the coffee table, bringing your legs into his lap.

“thank you,” your lips wobble.

“you’re welcome, girlie. come on, sit up. time to eat.”

with all your strength you sit upright and reach for the bowl. john’s hand halts you, grabbing your wrist firmly, “no, no. i’m feeding you. my sweet little girl can’t do it on her own right now.”

“what? j-john, it’s really okay. i ca-“

“open.”

you follow his command without question. shocking yourself at your automatic obedience. humiliation runs hot through you and your cheeks warm at the fact he’s treating you like a child.

he blows on your bite of food and pushes it into your mouth. he hums, pleased.

“atta girl. that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

you chew, the flavors melting on your tastebuds and the food breaking tenderly against your teeth. your eyes are close and you shake your head. after that bite he could do whatever he wants.

“good, hm?” he smiles, bringing the mug of sweet milk to your lips after you swallow your bite. you sip and he jerks the cup up slightly (an accident, he swears), causing milk to dribble on your chin and the sides of your mouth. a lewd sight for him.

“oops. sorry, angel,” he licks and kisses the liquid from your face, a little too rough. you wince.

“my messy girl.”

———————————————————————————

in bed it’s even worse. he’s leaving warm, tender kisses up the whole length of your body, admiring you. you’re on the edge of sleep. his beard tickles and make you squirm. you reach for him.

“y’feeling needy?” he brings himself up to your face so he’s hovering over you, studying your expression with those pacific blue eyes, “silly thing. this tired but you still need your daddy.”

your drowsy eyes snap open at the name, he’d never referred to himself as that before. you don’t know what to say. he huffs a laugh at your bewilderment.

he dips down, light kisses turning wet and hot as he makes his way up your neck. he suckles on your earlobe. “that’s right, angel. i’m your daddy, aren’t i?”

that one move alone makes you a puddle in his hands. you’d never called anyone daddy before, not even your own father, but john doesn’t give you a chance to protest when he’s staring intensely into your eyes, wordlessly demanding an answer. his fingers trace oh so lightly down your side, making you whine and shiver.

arousal and fear shoot through you, “yes, you’re my…d-daddy.”

“good girl. did such a good job. i know it’s new. but daddy’s gonna take care of you, understand?”

you nod, “please, want you.”

“and where do you want me, sweet thing?”

you squeak, covering your face with your hands. asking for what you want is still so hard for you.

john nips the skin on the back of your hand, breath fanning, “c’mon. look at me and use your words.”

you slowly take your hands down and look at him with drowsy eyes. tears of embarrassment well up.

“want you..in my pussy, please..”

john groans and kisses between your eyebrows, “knew you could do it. such a brave baby.”

he spreads your legs and dives down to nose at your clothed cunt, wetness darkening the fabric.

“look at you, so wet for me. i’ve barely done anything, angel,” he licks and sucks the fabric, reveling in your taste.

you moan and twitch at his ministrations, breath hitching when he pulls your panties off to suck on your slit, tongue pushing inside you.

your mind is foggy and all you can think about is john, john, john. you gasp and dig your hands through his cropped hair, “f-fuck, feels s’good,”

“language,” he commands, spanking your inner thigh.

you squeak, “m’sorry, sorry, daddy,”

“sweet girl,” he licks, “so apologetic,” he sucks, “s’okay. you just don’t know any better, do you?” he spits on your folds.

you’re an absolute mess, his condescending tone makes you arch up against his mouth, mustache and nose rubbing your swollen clit.

“yeah, ride my face, there you go.”

he stills and lets your sleepy body do the work. you feel your orgasm building, white and hot in your belly.

“gonna c-,” you whine.

john interrupts you, eager. “yeah? you almost there? go ahead, cum on me angel, let this pretty cunt make a mess f’me,” he shoves his fingers in you with a quickness, palming himself through his slacks. he too might cum at the sight of you.

you gasp and sob and moan, shaking against him. he pumps his fingers in and out of you, riding out your orgasm.

you sink back into the bed, panting.

“fuck, baby, y’did so good. gonna keep you,” he leans up and kisses you deeply, tongue shoving in your mouth. you taste yourself on him.

“you want that? want me to keep you? take care of you forever?”

you’re in a daze and you don’t really know what he means, but his saccharine tone makes whatever he’s saying sounds delicious. so you nod furiously before slumber takes you, shallow breaths turning deep and slow.

he takes his fingers out of your sensitive cunt.

“poor girl,” he nibbles at your neck and collarbone, sweet tone shifting, “gonna fuck you now, okay? i’ll be gentle, you won’t even notice.”

you don’t respond of course, your jaw is already slack and drool pools on the pillow. he collects it on the pad of his fingers and shoves it back into your mouth, you suck instinctively, even in sleep.

“fuck, keep sucking, there you go. you’re so beautiful,” he keeps his fingers in your mouth like a pacifier as he grabs his stiff cock from the fabric of his underwear, shuddering at the cool air hitting his tip.

he lines himself up with your entrance, dragging the tip up and down your wet folds, pressing against your clit. you let out a sleepy squeak.

he shushes you, “it’s just me, sweetheart,” he finally pushes inside you, his promise of being gentle leaving his mind as your gummy walls swallow him in.

he fucks you hard, pumping in and out, making your tits bounce. he loves it, eyes rolling back as he lets go inside you right then and there.

he pulls out to watch his spend spill out of you, just to collect it with his tip and shove it back in. he turns you on your side and plops next to you, cock buried inside you.

you wake up ten hours later to him sleepily rutting into you. your whole body aches. you don’t remember having sex last night.

“good morning, angel. sleep well?”

———————————————————————————

uggghhhb i need him.

#yandere!john price x innocent reader #cod x reader #x black reader #cod smut #john price x reader #captain john price #john price #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #tw infantilization #smut #yandere

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xxsinisterbunniexx · 4 months ago

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hello!! I absolutely love you're writing it's literally so good 😭😭😭 and I was wondering, which of the creepypasta/Proxy boys do you think would most like or end up with a very sweet or kind reader? I was asking bc I think the contrast between that kind of darling and them is very interesting. 100% okay if you don't want to do this though!!

Listen I’ll do you one better, I’ll write headcanons for all of them

✮⋆˙ Creepypasta boys x sweet & kind reader headcanons˙⋆✮

Characters: Jeff the Killer, Ticci Toby, BEN Drowned, Eyeless Jack, X Virus, Tim/Masky, Brian/Hoodie

Jeff

☠︎︎ you would truly be killing him with kindness

☠︎︎ he doesn’t warm up to people easily, both because his personality is abrasive and also because he simply doesn’t want to

☠︎︎ so when you are repeatedly so kind, so sweet he begrudgingly starts to like you

☠︎︎ and he HATES IT

☠︎︎ like maybe would even start to avoid you when he first realizes it because it makes him angry how much he can’t hate you

☠︎︎then if you sought him out because he avoided you, he would defo snap at you

☠︎︎ and then you are even kind about that, forgiving him easily which makes him short circuit

☠︎︎like FUCK he can’t catch a break

☠︎︎ would take you confessing first for him to admit that he loves how nice and understanding you are

☠︎︎ still abrasive but your kindness encourages him to be kinder too, and makes him want to lash out less because he wants to be better for you

Toby

✘ at first he would 100% take advantage of this

✘ he’s always up to some shenanigans, and so if you are kind and forgiving this just enables him to be worse

✘ he would perceive it as weakness early on

✘ but over time, with you being enduringly nice to him, he would start to realize that there is a reason behind your actions

✘ then he realizes that he too wants to be kind to you

✘ his expression of kindness is… interesting at first

✘ but the more you model it for him the more he learns and tries to do things that will make you happy

✘ slowly it allows him to be more vulnerable around you, since he knows you aren’t the type to judge

✘ then he wants to be nice to you all the time, like super nice like… what is this feeling?

✘ would especially start to express that with physical affection

✘ he starts with patting your head and nuzzling your hair

✘ then it becomes stuff like putting his chin on top of your head when you’re standing and pulling your hand whenever you’re going somewhere

✘ until it fully becomes bear hugging and picking you up each time he sees you

✘ would likely not realize he is in love with you until someone else points it out

BEN drowned

⚠︎ straight up, he is so manipulative and would 100% use it against you

⚠︎ would take advantage of your kindness to get you to do things for him or give him things

⚠︎ but would play it up like he doesn’t need it

⚠︎ like “ohhhhh no no, I couldn’t ask you to do that”

⚠︎“But you’ll do it right?”

⚠︎ slowly this would turn into like full on coercing you into doing things

⚠︎ he really likes toying with people so if he can use your good hearted nature to see if he can break you then….

⚠︎ the outcome would really depend on what dynamic you are in with him (as in you are also a proxy vs you are a regular person)

⚠︎ if you’re a proxy, you fare better, because he sees you as more of his equal

⚠︎ just by being a proxy he’d see you as less naive, so if you were nice and kind, but still the type of person to stand up for yourself, then you’d earn his respect and he’d still ask you to do stuff every now and then but it would turn into sort of a back and forth banter between you two (with him asking for something fucking crazy and you saying no, I see what you’re doing here)

⚠︎ if you’re a regular person you’re fucked

Eyeless Jack

𖤐 unlike most of the others takes it very well from the start

𖤐 he’s very perceptive so he immediately can tell it’s not some kind of ruse and that you’re genuinely just good hearted

𖤐 he would be so gentle with you

𖤐 deeply admires your heart of gold and finds it almost comforting

𖤐 especially because most people view him as a monster because of his diet

𖤐 so even just you making eye contact with him and talking to him is enough

𖤐 but you’re also kind??? Like go out of your way to be sweet to him???

𖤐 he falls for you slowly but he falls hard

𖤐 very articulate and would express how you make him feel and how much he appreciates and needs someone like you around

𖤐 would always value your kindness

𖤐 especially if it wasn’t just to him, but to everyone, his heart would fill when he thinks about you

𖤐 like how can someone so darling even exist????

𖤐 he is forever in awe of you

X Virus

☣︎ shocked, flabbergasted, shook even

☣︎ especially if you are going out of your way to be kind

☣︎ like you brought him some food because he’s been working for days and hasn’t ate???? Why????

☣︎ almost to the point where he is skeptical of it

☣︎ but once he realizes there is no underlying motive behind it, you simply would just like to be kind… he’s touched

☣︎ it wouldn’t be enough on its own to make him fall in love with you though

☣︎ he’d appreciate it though and you guys would be good pals

☣︎ he’d start do nice things for you too

☣︎ like if you were feeling sick, wow he totally just so happened to whip up a medication to make you feel better, it’s totally so useless he made it by mistake, here take it

☣︎ so he’s kinda covert about it, can’t let you know you make him just a little bit soft

Tim/Masky

꩜ if it’s Tim

꩜ is super angsty about it at first

꩜ like “noooo stay away I’m too dangerous”

꩜ but it so touches his heart

꩜ and little by little he lets his walls come down

꩜ he’s subtle about it at first and a bit shy

꩜ but he starts to reciprocate your kindness

꩜ you make him softttttt

☆ Masky is almost insulted by it

☆ you think he needs your help?

☆ you think someone as pathetic as you can give him some support or something?

☆ get real

☆ but once you start growing on Tim, you start growing on him too (cuz they share a brain lol)

☆ then he’ll start to accept your kindness, but will be a little sarcastic and snarky when he does

☆ but it’s more of like you absolutely know he loves you and wants you around but he’ll never say it

Brian/Hoodie

𖣐if it’s Brian

𖣐eats it up

𖣐 it makes him want to tease you

𖣐 would start calling you angel

𖣐 really enjoys your presence and likes having you around

𖣐 like would try to bring you with him everywhere

𖣐 is not shy about how much he enjoys you either like he would directly tell you

☹ if it’s hoodie

☹ also eats it up

☹ not in a good way

☹ you are his prey

☹ it would lowkey make him HORNY lmao

☹ like I think he would want to corrupt you

☹ but once he realizes it’s just kindness rather than naivety, his reaction would be closer to Brian’s

☹ likes to tease and enjoys having you around but is much less overt about it than Brian

So like anyways to actually answer your question LMAO I think a kind person is liked by everyone. But I think your outcome is the best with Jack. It all just depends on you as a person and who you seek out

Hope you enjoyed :3

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rebelfell · 1 month ago

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Welcome to your appointment, @mugloversonly Eddie’s so happy to fit in you you in his schedule.

18+, MDNI┃1.4k

cw: drug use (weed), hand job, a little bit of begging 😈

Clouds had emerged as a theme of the evening.

It started with the rainstorm that had rolled in seemingly out of nowhere, dark and heavy clouds in the sky blotting out the sun and effectively nullifying your plans to go camping with the rest of the group. It hadn’t been all that disappointing, truth be told. The only reason you considered going was to see how poorly your not-remotely-outdoorsy boyfriend fared in the wilderness.

No matter, though. You and Eddie were good at making the most out of any night together.

You settled for ‘camping’ in his living room—building yourselves a blanket fort to hunker down in while this freak rainstorm raged outside, the sound of fat raindrops relentlessly hitting the roof drowning out the movie Eddie had put on, the flickering static TV screen acting as your bonfire.

Hazy clouds of smoke filled up the tight, cozy space as you and Eddie passed a joint back and forth, ostensibly to test out the new strain he’d gotten special from Rick for the trip. It certainly got the job done—making you feel all giggly and floaty, the muscles in your cheeks burning from smiling so much. Your body turned loose and slack, almost gooey you felt so relaxed.

And it made Eddie look especially delectable.

As if that was hard.

Really, you’d have taken any excuse to lay with him like this, his lanky limbs and yours entangled, his head nestled in the crook of your neck so he could plant and dot kisses along the curve of your collarbone and run his fingertips up and down your spine leaving tingles in their wake.

You nuzzled the top of his head, blowing gently on his bangs to fluff them up and then tittering softly when they tickled the inside of your nose. He snickered along with you, belly shaking.

“Hungry,” he groaned, all rough and raspy with smoke, “shoulda foraged for berries or some shit.”

You unwound yourself from around him and crawled out of the fort, clouds of weed smoke billowing out with you as you scampered into the kitchen. Pickings were slim considering you were meant to be gone all weekend, but you struck gold in one of the junk drawers.

“Ooh!” you exclaimed, prompting Eddie to poke his head out the top of the fort like a meerkat.

“That’s not food,” he snorted at the translucent pink bottle you held in your hand.

“It’s better, it’s bubbles!”

Your face split in a grin as you twisted off the cap and blew into the end of the plastic wand. A flurry of iridescent spheres mingled with the dissipating clouds of smoke that lingered in the air, swirling over and under one another when they got caught in the draft from the slightly cracked window at the far end of the room. Eddie’s mouth fell open and he craned his head back, trying to follow their paths until all of them had popped.

“Hey, bring ‘em over here,” he said, ducking back into the fort and then scrambling out of it.

Another one of the joints he had pre-rolled sat between his lips and he flicked his zippo clumsily in an attempt to light it. Realizing what he was doing, you held the wand up for him.

He took a drag and exhaled the hit, sending a slew of bubbles filled with opaque clouds bobbing through the air. One of them hovered in front of your face and you reached out a finger to pop it, releasing the little puff of smoke inside that you sucked down eagerly while Eddie watched.

He beamed as he placed the joint between your lips, taking the bottle for himself. You took turns trading off the joint and wand, seeing which of you could blow the biggest bubble so the other could pop it, your hunger quickly being replaced by mutual delight in your new game.

At least until in one over-eager attempt, Eddie fumbled the bottle and it spilled down your front.

Clouds of steam now fogged up the bathroom mirror as you ran the hot water, not realizing that Eddie had followed you in until he slid his hands around your waist from behind. He helped you to peel off your top that was suctioned to your skin where the bubble solution had soaked through, and he rubbed his ringed hands across your bare chest, reveling in the sliding sensation.

You stood under the water for a while just feeling one another. Your hands running up and down his chest, his smoothing over your hips and arms.

Everything just felt so good like this—the hot water at his back rushing down the planes of his shoulders, your warm and slippery body pressing up against his, the cloudy feeling filling up his head like the steam filling up the room.

His cock hardened without him even realizing, not feeling it until you two squeezed together. It dug hard into your hip and he smiled bashfully, eyes rounding when yours twinkled with mischief.

You wrapped your hand around his length and his whole body jerked forward. He let out a ragged breath, slapping one of his hands up on the tiled wall in a meager attempt to steady himself.

Shoulders shaking with a shudder, he groaned at the idle flick of your wrist, your palm full of body wash slowly—too slowly—sudsing up his cock.

It lit his brain on fire, the feel of your hand moving around him, soap frothing with every sinful slide.

“Sw-sweetheart, can…fuck…can you go a little bit f-faster?” he whimpered.

Pure evil danced behind your eyes as your motions slowed even more, dragging a pained whine from his throat. Your grip on him tightened, closing around his head and swiping the soft pad of your thumb over his slit, his knees shaking under him and threatening to give way.

“I don’t know, Eddie,” you said, dragging out each word to match your pace. “M’ kinda worn out.”

It wasn’t a full lie—the weed really did a number on you. But you and him both knew if you wanted to power through, you could. And you might have if only he wasn’t so much fun to torture.

“P-please, I’ll do anything,” he gasped, letting his head fall back and giving you a pristine view of his chest flushed red from a mix of the hot water and the blood rushing under his skin. “I’ll do-I’ll do all the work—just let me have your hand, yeah?”

Honestly, you aren’t sure if you’ve ever seen him this needy. Maybe it was something in the strain.

When he tilts his head back down, he’s staring at you with round, wet eyes that pierce directly into your soul. He begs you silently, his plush bottom lip trembling as droplets of water drip off it.

At long fucking last, you nod.

He wrapped his hand on top of yours to squeeze his own dick within your grasp. Your hand stilled as he held it in place, literally fucking your fist as he carefully drew his hips back to thrust.

The pace he sets is blistering, his face screwed up in what would seem like agony if it wasn’t for all the distinctly pleasurable sounds pouring out of him. Deep grunts and growls mixed in with the wet schlick of soap on his cock that only allows him to thrust that much harder and faster.

You let your hand hang there, mesmerized by the sight of him letting his basest instincts take over, almost animalistic in how he chases his end.

And when he comes, it’s practically explosive.

“Ohhsshhh…fuck, that was…shit, that was good…goddamn…”

Eddie barked out a laugh of relief, throwing his head back again so the water hit his face and ran down his chin and neck to the top of his chest. He loosened his hold on your hand, but doesn’t drop it until after he’s brought it to his lips to kiss all the way down the inside of your arm.

“Oh, thank you,” he breathed, chest still heaving, “thank you, thank you, thank you…”

You slid your fingertips into his sopping wet curls, scratching them lightly over the top of his head.

“Ed, I didn’t do anything,” you chuckled.

“You did everything,” he insisted, slowly yet surely catching his breath. “I wa…I wanna get you back, but I think the hot water’s about to run out.”

He gives you a patented, adorably forlorn look as he glances over his shoulder, the stream hitting his back steadily turning lukewarm.

“You can owe me one,” you giggled, making him laugh back with a shake of his damp hair.

“For that?” he smirked, “I owe you like twenty.”

Thank you so much for visiting the spa, we hope your services were satisfactory 🌿

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie stranger things #stranger things eddie #eddie munson fanfiction

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thatrandomidiot182 · 2 months ago

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Weddings and Funerals

Chapter Warnings. unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage drinking, arguments, reader downplaying other peoples trauma, reader is an unreliable narrator.

The couple of days leading up to the funeral are a blur.

You call out of work for the weekend, needing the time to just... take a break and gather your thoughts. Sift through your emotions and prepare yourself to go back to the manor and see everyone for the first time since you left.

God knows what shit you're gonna have to put up with when you get there.

You hoped you would also be able to get some rest since you didn't have to worry about your horrid work schedule, but that was just wishful thinking. You haven't had a proper, relaxing, eight hour sleep since before you were bitten by that damn spider.

Alfred's death only fueled the nightmares that already plagued your life, and the few times you did manage to pass out, you woke up within minutes, screaming and drenched in your own sweat.

You honestly felt bad for your neighbors, especially the new one. What a great first impression you were making on the guy. You two haven't even met yet, and he's already having to deal with your bullshit...

The fact that you and Dick were arguing loud enough for the whole building to hear probably didn't help either.

That night, Dick didn't end up leaving your apartment until nearly two in the morning. With the two of you spending nearly three hours in a heated back and forth about whether or not it was appropriate for you to attend.

In the end, Dick threatened to bury the letter with Alfred if you didn't go.

So, because you felt an obligation to him and yourself, you caved.

Which is the only reason you're currently sitting in a cab, paying the absurd fare to travel from your place all the way up to Wayne Manor with a tumbler full of stolen whiskey and a knockoff brand of cola.

"Jesus, you sure picked a day to come all the way out here, huh?" The drivers voice calls out to you playfully, eyes carefully trained on the muddy terrain as he skillfully maneuvers through the rain and fog.

He had a point though, Gothams weather is notoriously bad, but today it seems like even the city itself was mourning.

Rain had been pouring down since before the sun rose, with thick fog following not long after, making the roads slick and dangerous, which is why the ride was so expensive.

Apparently the Gotham taxi cabs charge an extra, 'extreme weather' fee, who knew?

At least someone was getting something good out of all of this.

You respond with a small, polite hum, eyes glued shut after having spotted one too many shadowy figures hidden in the passing scenery.

"Well, here we are, creepy ass Wayne Manor. You got the code to the gate or you want me to drop you off here?" The man's accented voice rouses you from your thoughts.

"Here's fine, thank you." You pull out a wad of cash from your pocket, swiftly counting out the ridiculous amount, seriously, ninety bucks for a fourty five minute drive!? Before handing it over with a frown.

The man offers you an unbothered shrug in response to your irritation, handing you the receipt after quickly snatching the cash from your hand.

You exit the car with a huff, pulling the collar of your coat higher in an attempt to keep dry as you rush towards the gate, wincing at the sound of screeching tires behind you.

"I hope he gets robbed today." You grumble irritably as you punch in the code, brow furrowing as it blares a bright red 'INCORRECT.'

You try again, thinking maybe you put the number in wrong, only to get the same result.

You try once more, a disbelieving smile on your face as the number is once again rejected.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" You let out a frustrated growl, moving to push the intercom button instead.

"Dick Grayson, you gave me the wrong fucking code, you asshole! Let me in!"

You shiver as your clothes get more drenched the longer you stand in the rain. Moving to pace the length of the gate to keep your feet from sinking into the mud.

Five minutes goes by with no response, and you're just about ready to turn and walk back to the city when a car pulls up behind you, blinding you with the bright led headlights.

You squint through the pain, trying in vain to see who the hell just pulled up on you, when the sound of a car door opening breaks the silence.

Your name is said through a shocked laugh, "Holy shit! Is that really you? I didn't believe Dick when he said you were gonna show up." Stephanie Brown's high pitched voice is easily recognized by your trained ears, and you have to prevent yourself from immediately snapping at her.

"Yeah, well, don't go thinking he's Mr. Reliable. Dude gave me the wrong gate code." You roll your eyes as she lets out a sympathetic groan.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that. Here, why don't you hop in the back seat and we'll drive you in?" Her offer is about as tempting as a can of sardines, but you take it with little hesitation, wanting to get out of the rain that had finally made its way to your inner layers.

You huff quietly as you plop into the backseat of the sleek, black suv, blinking in surprise at the other occupants.

Cassandra Cain stares back at you through the rear view mirror, offering a small nod of acknowledgment that you ridgedly return.

Duke Thomas then gives a small, awkward wave, occampanied by an equally awkward smile as he inches away from your soaked figure on the seat next to him.

"Hey." You repeat the greeting stiffly, swiftly uncapping your tumbler and taking a large gulp of the mixture as Stephanie makes her reappearance, slamming the drivers door shut behind her as she starts moving forward.

"It's been a while, huh? You look good. I like your hair!" Her grin is forced, and you snort at her attempted small talk.

"Thanks."

There was a million other things you wanted to add onto that, things like;

'It's the exact same as it was two years ago, but you wouldn't know that, huh?'

Or, 'Wow, I'm surprised you actually noticed I cut it!'

Or maybe, 'I'm actually shocked you realized it's almost double the length it was when I left because I doubt you even realized what it looked like before!'

However, once again, you decide to be the bigger person and keep your thoughts to yourself, content with the visible cringe she adorns after your dry response.

Thankfully it doesn't take long to reach the driveway, and you don't bother hiding the smirk of amusement as Duke all but jumps out of the car as soon as it rolls to a stop.

Cassandra is expectedly silent as she waits for Stephanie before making her retreat as well.

You take an extra second to gather yourself before you follow their lead, slamming the car door behind you as you begrudgingly stalk up the brick walkway.

The silence surrounding the area is sufficating.

Not in the usual, 'creepy old manor that's almost always empty despite the nearly dozen of inhabitants' way. This silence was heavy, and you can tell by the way their shoulders tense that the three people with you also felt the weight of the moment as you all stand before the front door solemnly.

"He'd usually have the door open by now..." Stephanie's voice is smaller than you've ever heard from her before, and it's then that you take the moment to reprimand yourself while coming to a sinking realization.

You've been so caught up in your own grudges and emotions about the people here that you've overlooked the fact that they're all mourning too.

However, despite you, who has been through something like this more times than you'd like to think about, this was the family's first time loosing someone so close, so brutally. That you knew of at least.

So far, the only thing that's prevented you from breaking down and crashing out on everyone this long is the fact that this isn't your first rodeo.

You fiest had to deal with it when you watched your mom and step-dad die.

Then, you dealt with it when you had to watch Gwen's funeral from afar, hidden in the branches of a tree.

You dealt with it when you cradled Henry in your arms during his dad's own burial.

You dealt with it when the responsibility of planning your tia's death rites fell onto you.

This was actually the sixth funeral you'd been to in the last decade of your life.

But right now, you have to remind yourself that they aren't you. They haven't gone through, seen or dealt with all the shit you have in the past nine years, so it's unfair of you to bring your personal issues into this when they're struggling during such a time.

Although, it'd almost be poetic justice to give them a taste of their own medicine.

You'd keep that in mind for later, right now, the sudden epiphany leaves you squaring your shoulders and cracking the door open as you make a promise to yourself.

Today was about Alfred, and you won't be the one to draw away from that.

"He'd also be scolding me about coming in like a wet cat and getting his floors dirty." Your remark gets a shocked wet laugh out of Stephanie and a small, grateful smile from Duke. Cassandra's eyes soften as her lips quirk ever so slightly.

You quickly split from the trio with little more than a nod of farewell as you make your way to the kitchen, pausing at the entryway as a lump forms in your throat.

Besides Bruces office, this was where Alfred spent the majority of his time. Between cooking, cleaning, and teaching you how to cook and clean, his presence was more often than not somewhere in the kitchen. Either rummaging through the cabinets for ingredients, placing leftovers in the fridge, preparing plates on the island or rinsing dishes in the sink.

Your hands shake as you watch him turn away from the stove, his aged face meeting your eyes with the patient smile he always wore whenever you'd mess up a recipe.

You blink back tears as you eagerly brush past him, avoiding looking at him as you sling a web to grab the fancy whiskey off of the top shelf of the cabinet.

You hastily yank open your tumbler, refilling the canister with the expensive liquid and scoffing at the disapproving stare you see out of the corner of your eye.

"Don't look at me like that. You used to do the same thing when Bruce and the boys had a rough night." You roll your teary eyes, taking a swig straight from the bottle before moving over to the trash can to remove the web.

"Thought nobody knew about your little habit, but I could always smell it on your breath–" You laugh, "I don't blame you, of course not. This family could push even an angel to alchoholism–"

A whisper of your name has your mouth snapping shut, arm moving behind your back in a shotty attempt to hide the bottle from whoever had entered the kitchen.

Bruce looms in the entryway like a shadow, blinking in surprise as you stare back at him with wide eyes and pursed lips, looking very akin to a child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Your face is quick to fall into a scowl once you meet eyes with the man, turning your back on him in order to place the bottle on the counter, berating yourself for being so jumpy.

"I... didn't think you'd show up... Who were you talking to?" His voice is meek, and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep from making a sparky remark.

He's grieving.

You repeat the sentiment in your head as you lean against the counter, hands busying themselves with closing your tumbler as you avoid looking at him.

"Yeah, nobody did, apparently." You scoff. "Just... talking to myself..." You glance at the stove wearily, heart dropping as the space before it remains empty.

Any response Bruce may have made is prevented from seeing the light of day as another gruff voice interrupts from behind him, "Why the hell are you here?"

You roll your eyes, scowl back with a vengeance as you glance over Bruces shoulder to meet the sickening green eyes of Jason Todd.

One of your top five least favorite people in Gotham looms over Bruce menacingly as he glares back at you, face mirroring your scowl with equal ferocity.

"I was invited–"

"You have no right!" He cuts you off with a shout, easily shoving past Bruce to crowd you against the counter.

"Jason." Bruces warning tone is ignored.

"You have got some fucking nerve showing your face here after what you did!" Your posture is tense, body effectively roused from its slump as you square your shoulders, raising your chin to meet Jason's stare head on as he jabs his finger in your collarbone.

"Jason!" Bruce snaps at the contact, eyes darting warily between your face and hands as Jason continues to ignore him.

"You didn't even know Alfred! You're probably just here because playing the big bad adult got hard, and your little minimum wage day job isn't paying the bills–" Your lips curl into a snarl, unnaturally sharp canines bearing defensively as you shove him out of your face, effectively sending him stumbling back into the island.

"You don't know shit about what I've been doing! And I'm willing to bet that I spent more time with Alfred then you did these past couple of years–" Bruce swiftly rushes to stand between the two of you, placing a hand on Jason's chest warningly as he mirrors the action on your shoulder.

"That's enough! Both of you!" You give a disbelieving scoff at his reprimanding, mentally beating yourself over the pang of hurt that rolled through you.

"Sad to see nothing changes in this fucking house." Bruces appearance is almost enough for you to feel a bit of remorse for your comment– if it weren't for his obvious favoritism in the moment.

His skin was pale, even more than usual with a pallor closer to a corpse than a living man. Sunken cheekbones and purple eyebags have his face nearly unrecognisable if it weren't for the unmistakable steel blue gaze that glared at you. His graying hair was neatly combed back, but your enhanced eyesight has you catching the clumps of dandruff and grease that hide in between the strands.

He dons a black blazer with mismatched cufflinks over a black turtleneck, with black slacks that were wrinkled to hell and back. His oxfords are scuffed and dull, and it's obvious he didn't bother to prep them beforehand. Not like Alfred would have done...

He looked smaller than usual, and you can only assume he hadn't been eating well, if at all, since Alfred's death.

However pathetic he may or may not look only further enrages you as you can't help but draw the similarities between your appearance and his.

You've never looked so alike before.

The Wayne genes are strong, but your mothers were thankfully stronger. You'd never had to confront the fact that you looked like your father because he was never around during your youth, making it easy to hate him without gaining a sense of self-hatred as well. However, ever since coming to Gotham, you've been harshly forced to face the reality that you do look like him.

And right now, the matching scowls, eyebags and exhaustion only solidify the fact as you feel like you're looking into a fucked up mirror the longer you stare at one another.

"Bruce? The-uh, security guys are here..."

Tim's meek voice breaks the tension, and works to bring you back to your senses.

Based on Bruces tense shoulders and Jason's guilty face, the same could be said for them as you all turn away from one another.

"Thank you, Tim. We'll be leaving soon, I suggest you get yourselves together before then." With that, Bruce takes his leave, sparing you and Jason one last stern glare before following Tim out.

Jason scoffs but says nothing as he harshly bumps your shoulder on his own way out, sparing you annoyed glare when you don't budge.

"Alfred, there better be a gold coin in that letter..." You groan quietly, rubbing a tired hand down your face and grabbing your tumbler before silently padding behind them.

Hushed murmurs make their way to your ears as you reach the foyer.

"–come out of his room–"

"–don't even know if he's dressed!"

"–hasn't said a word for three days..."

Bruce and Barbara are engaged in a heated discussion at the bottom of one of the staircases, the rest of the family loitering around the room awkwardly as the security team waits by the front doors.

"I'll go talk to him–" Barbara hurriedly moves in front of Bruce, placing a gentle hand on his forearm with a nervous frown, "We've already tried, he won't even open the door... Dick's up there right now, I think we should let him handle it."

You snort at her words, gaining a sick sense of amusement at Bruces hurt, confused stare.

"Why don't we just get the cars arranged while we wait–" Barbara's voice goes quiet at the sound of footsteps, everyone's attention moving to the top of the stairs where Dick and Damian make their appearance.

Dick gives everyone a small, relieved smile as Damian stands there silently. Arms crossed over his chest with a tear stained face and puffy, red eyes.

His cheeks were glistening in the dim light, and you could see him becoming more uncomfortable the longer everyone stared.

"Damian–"

"I call shotgun." Your words work to break everyone from their stupor, eyes snapping towards you as you interrupt Bruce by strutting towards the exit, stopping only to confirm the decision with security before walking outside.

The ride to the cathedral was so awkward you ended up downing half of your drink before everyone gathered back together.

The family big enough that everyone needed to split between three cars, not including the three additional decoys that were empty and filled with the security team.

Bruce, Dick and Damian were in the first car, and you could only imagine what they were saying to the poor kid.

Barbara, Jason and Cassandra all occupied the second, a smart decision on Bruces part, as placing Jason with either you or Damian at the moment is an instant recipe for disaster.

Your car followed last with Tim and Stephanie, and you spent the entire ride trying not to bash your head through the window from Stephanie's attempted small talk. You assume she was just trying to distract Timothy from his moping, as he looked almost as bad as Bruce, but still, her inauthentic prodding into your life was unwelcome.

So, to entertain yourself and fuck with them, you answered all of her questions with the most ridiculous answer you could conjur on the spot.

'How have you been?'

Fine, you know, besides the incident with the hotdogs.

'Where do you live?'

You rent a room in the Iceberg Lounge. Yeah, it's pretty great besides the occasional gang war in the living room.

'Where do you work?'

You train pigeons for local magician shows.

The best part was that you knew that they already knew the answers, which made it even more hilarious when Stephanie finally gave up and stopped trying to talk to you.

When you finally arrived at the steps to the building, you were horrified to see the sidewalks flooded with paparazzi, civillians and reporters. And because Bruce has an image to uphold, you were all forced to walk right through the center of the crowd, being blinded by the flashes and deafened by the shouts.

The security guard to your right ends up tugging you forward with an iron grip on your bicep after you attempt to lunge towards a photographer who shouted at you to walk faster.

Once you're safely enclosed in the building, hidden behind the thick, wooden doors, you turn around to see Kate Kane, Harper Row and Selina fucking Kyle all awaiting your arrival. You ended up taking a large desperate gulp of your drink at the sight of Bruce melting into the latter's embrace.

The absolute rage that overcame your being at the view of them being all lovey-dovey had you denting the steel canister in your hand in frustration over the fact that you didn't feel even the slightest bit tipsy by now.

Every day, you find more reasons to curse that spider to hell. Your ridiculously high alcohol tolerance is only the latest to be added to the list.

The only reason you even bother drinking anymore is because the sting that follows a sip of alcohol has become a soothing sensation in your toughest moments.

The burn is grounding, and you find yourself itching for that sensation whenever you start spiraling.

Concerning? Perhaps.

It's not like you got anyone to worry about it, though.

They're all dead.

The entire three hour service was excruciating.

Not only were you stuck sitting the entire time, but you were also still in semi-wet clothing, and you finished your drink during the first half hour.

Which made sitting through the entire ordeal so much harder...

It was painfully obvious that the whole thing was planned just to upkeep appearances.

From the way Bruce and Dick had basically caged Damian in-between them with a steel loving grip on his shoulders to the way Jason sat alone in the very back, carefully placed away from the 'hidden' cameras and journalists that littered the crowd...

It was obviously all just a show.

Of comraderie, solidarity, love and family...

It made you sick.

It made you furious to the point of nausea.

The way Tim, Dick and Bruce all had a generic, PR-approved speech to go up and deliver for ten minutes...

The way Selina clung to Bruce like a wet napkin and whispered in his ear with an exaggerated pout...

The way Stephanie and Cassandra spent the whole three hours whispering and giggling back and forth like it was a fucking wedding and not a funeral.

But most of all, it pained you, watching the way little Damian Wayne had to sit and grit his teeth and bear it all in the front row. Trapped between his keepers like an animal who's expected to lash out at any moment...

It had you setting aside your grievances the moment you began to see yourself in him.

Had you hiding the bent remnants of your canister in your coat after discreetly taking your super powered frustration out on it once it was sufficiently empty.

The salt in the wound was the fact that the man leading the rites had blatantly never met Alfred before. He spent the first two hours droning on in vague metaphors and dramatic readings, with the last fifteen minutes of his time being dedicated to rambling on about nothing relevant to the man or occasion.

The last fourty five minutes were then reserved for Bruce to make his final comments and lead everyone in a joint, 'moment of rememberance.'

Fucking bullshit is what it all was, and you were regretting ever letting your guard down and allowing Dick guilt you into coming just to end up playing the part of the perfect family.

The ride back to the manor was swift and silent, thankfully.

You don't know if it was because Stephanie finally caught a hint or they caught onto your foul mood, but either way, you were grateful for the chance to mellow out.

Or, try to, at least.

Because as soon as you stepped out of the car, you were greeted by Damian and Bruce glaring at one another, Dick and Selina standing between them with a grimace.

"Damian, he didn't mean it–"

Dick didn't get to finish his sentence before Damian took off into the manor, slamming the doors open and closed hastily.

You rub the crease in your brow with a heavy sigh at the sight, ignoring everyone's concerned murmurs and strolling inside quietly. Quickly making your way to the second, unused, living room and straight towards the dusty fireplace.

Where, once again, you were greeted with a familiar smile, a teasing comment accompanying the sight, "Finally done being stubborn? Shall I fetch the matches?" His accent bleeds into your ears with an ease similar to the way your aunts would, and it has your heart sinking.

You decidely ignore the phantom this time, brushing past his nonexistent form to spark the fireplace to life.

Plopping down on the couch, you immediately slump into the cushions, closing your eyes and forcing all of your attention to the roar of the fire and the warmth seeping into your skin.

You take the moment to breathe through your emotions. Imagining all the anger, frustration and pain flowing out of you with every exhale, solitude and silence replacing the adrenaline and regret.

A choked, shuddering breath suddenly brings you out of your haze, eyes snapping open at the noise. You strain your hearing to the best of its ability, before your spider senses finally kick in and alert you to the additional presence in the room with you.

You can hear their heartbeat.

Loud. Strong, but irregular... Erratic. Like it was struggling to decide between speeding up and slowing down.

Their lungs follow a similar pattern, breaths catching and pausing in a sequence of stutters and sobs.

What had the hairs on the back of your neck raising, was that if it weren't for your spider senses, you wouldn't have known they were there at all.

Slowly, you drag your eyes along the wall before you, from the top corners where webs were beginning to form, down over the portraits and decorations littering the wall paper and all the way to the bottom trim– and the body huddled in the left corner of the room, furthest from the entryway.

Damians green eyes met your own in a defensive glare. The light of the fire reflecting off his glassy irises with a sickening glow, reminiscent of a cat in the night.

Not a bad comparison, for at the moment his defensive posture, forced scowl and weary eyes are similar to a cornered kitten.

You stare back at him in silence for a long moment, your own tired gaze eyeing him in the dim lighting with conflicting emotions.

You only speak when Damian shuffles slightly, muscles tensing in what you assume is the intention to flee, "Pretty shit service, huh? Alfred hated The Beatles." You snort, head slumping back onto the couch with a weak laugh.

You hear his shuffling stop. "I imagine he'd be strangling your dad right now for letting them play that song. If there was one thing he never played about it was his taste in music." Your lips quirk at the memory of Alfred's scowl whenever he spoke about his distaste of the band.

You close your eyes, allowing your sixth sense to take over and alert you to Damians presence drawing closer.

"It's kind of funny... Now that I'm thinking about it, they pulled the same shit at my mom's funeral too. My Tia was so upset, and I was so young that I didn't understand why–" You laugh weakly, "–I mean, it's just music right? What's the big deal. It's not like she could hear it anyway." You abruptly stop yourself, pausing to take a deep breath as Damians presence lingers beside the couch.

"But it's not just music. It's the fact that there were so many people there who insisted on helping out... and yet none of them actually knew her. They didn't care about her or know her favorite colors or songs. They didn't use her favorite pictures. Didn't put her favorite flowers in her casket. They didn't even put the right fucking name on her grave." You huff, eyes welling up with tears as you stare into the fireplace.

You take a second to compose yourself before you start again, voice low and heavy as Damian takes a hesitant seat on the furthest cushion from you, curling into the corner. "You know... Everyone always says it gets easier... That eventually, you stop crying when you think of them, and that your chest doesn't hurt as much when you talk about them but... It doesn't." You feel the movement through the couch as Damian flinches.

"I think everyone who says stuff like that is full of shit. Especially when they've never had to sit and watch someone they love die, without being able to do a damn thing about it." Your jaw clentches and you ignore the way Damian tenses beside you, giving him the gift of privacy for his vulnerability.

"I've been through it... More than I ever should have." You pause to swallow the lump in your throat, "I was ten when I watched my mom and step-dads murder from the kitchen closet..." You ignore his shocked stare, eyes trained on the burning logs before you, "Fifteen, when my girlfriend died in my arms. A month away from seventeen when my Tia was killed and I had to..." You stop there, taking a deep breath before changing your trajectory.

"They mean well. Dick... Bruce... All of them, the-they do. They care about you, and they want to make sure you're okay, which is why they're being so... suffocating." You smile sadly.

"But they don't get it. None of them will ever be able to get it..." You trail off hesitantly, "Bruce's parents died so long ago. He's forgotten the details, fogotten the pain that comes with witnessing the brutality." You huff, crossing your arms as you stare blankly into the flames, "Dick was so young when the accident happened that he doesn't even remember looking away." You frown, "Jason's mom wasn't mangled or mutilated–" You ramble, "–Barbara, Tim, and Duke's parents are all still alive, and Stephanie and Cassandra are no-contact with their families!"

You take a moment to catch your breath after your rant, face screwed up in a pathetic display of hurt and envy.

"... I'm not going to sit here and tell you that it'll get better. That he's in a better place or that a day will come when his death doesn't haunt you, but... I will tell you that it wasn't your fault." You finally turn to face him, placing a hand on the couch behind his head as you demand his attention.

"Damian. Look at me." You see him scowl, his eyes glued to the carpeted floor as he clutches his knees closer to his chest.

"Look at me." Your voice is stern, but quiet. Demanding, but not harsh.

He finally, hesitantly, draws his gaze to meet yours, angered face falling at your soft eyes and furrowed brows.

"There was nothing you could have done to save him." You hate yourself the moment the words leave your lips, but you push on, desperate to reassure the boy in a way you wish someone would have done to you.

"It was out of your control. There was nothing you could have done to stop Bane, and he was always going to kill him no matter what you did or didn't do. You are fourteen years old, and he's a grown ass man built like a fucking tank who's jacked up on a fucked steroid knockoff... You couldn't save Alfred, and that is not your fault." Your voice cracks with emotion, and you hand your head to hide your tears from Damians face as he quietly lets his own fall after.

You don't know how long the two of you sit in that room before someone finally finds you guys. Simply basking in one anothers presence and the solidarity that comes with your words as the fire dwindles by the minute.

Damian never spoke a word, but you can tell that your speech had left him with a lot to think about.

You didn't speak after that either, content to close your eyes and enjoy the calm stillness of the room.

Your clothes are finally dry by the time Jason stalks through the doorway, glaring at you suspiciously as he rounds the couch to eye Damian in disbelief.

"So this is where you ran off to? Hiding away with them, of all people? Do you know how long we've been looking for you!? His body–" You interrupt him with a scowl, pushing up from the couch to stand in front of him.

"You must really like the sound of your own voice, huh? You just never shut the fuck up–"

"What the hell did you say to me!?"

"So you're deaf now too? I said–" You pause at the feeling of a tug on the end of your jacket, looking back to see Damian glaring at the taller male with pained eyes.

The action has you speechless, voice caught in your throat at the first friendly contact he's ever made.

"Lets... Let's just go." You stutter, shoving past Jason with Damian hot on your heels, trailing your featherlight steps with his own silent patters.

You hear Jason stomping behind you but don't bother sparing a glance back, focusing instead on the nearly unnoticeable presence at your side.

Why the hell is he so quiet?

Not even Felix had your ears straining so much to hear him, and he's the most light-footed person you know.

The oddity only adds to your suspicion of Damian.

He's always been an enigma to you, ever since the day you met.

He's violent, arrogant and incredibly rude, but also concernedly disciplined and tense.

Quiet and confident, always eyeing the faces in the room like someone was about to jump out and attack.

He's analytical and defensive, but not paranoid.

He's everything that a kid his age shouldn't be... and it worries you.

Sets off the nerves that scream there's danger around. That something is out to get you and you need to be prepared.

You always shoved those thoughts aside, assuming he was just an angsty tween with a concerning fascination with blades.

Until he finally turned one on you, and you realized there was more to the story than Bruce was feeding you. His movements were too precise, too swift and comfortable for him to have just been in a blind rage. His strikes were carefully calculated, every one delivered with the intent to hit.

To kill.

And somehow, you were the bad guy for fighting back?

You shake your head to ride yourself of the thoughts, reminding yourself that it wasn't the time to dwell on such things.

Not when Alfred was waiting.

The three of you step into the garden in a lingering tense silence. Damian still lingered at your side, while Jason immediately took off to stand next to Cassandra and Barbara, who stared at you like you had grown another head.

You ignore their baffled stares as you grab an umbrella from the porch before walking closer, stopping a few feet away as you wait for the rest of the group.

Their hushed whispers and side glances don't bother you for long as your attention gets drawn to Bruce and the rest of the family, who finally make their appearance.

"Damian, there you are, we were worried..." Dicks voice trails off as he glances at you in shock, eyes darting between you and Damian confusedly.

You simply offer a shrug in response, still pretty confused yourself as Bruce looked like he's a second away from a heart attack at your proximity to the boy.

"If I knew there was a dress code, I wouldn't have worn this dress." Selina's sultry voice snaps everyone out of their confused, concerned stares as they turn to her.

She simply smiles and raises a brow as she gesture to where you, Bruce and Damian had all unintentionally clustered together. "Must be a Wayne thing, hm?" You glance down confusedly, before balking as the joke finally lands.

Bruce and Damian were almost carbon copies of one another with their black turtlenecks and matching blazers.

Glancing around, you notice Tim and Cassandra also looking at one another in amusement as they take in their matching black turtleneck sweaters.

You also spot Harper nudging Kate with a grin as the redhead tries to hide her own shirts collar behind her leather jacket.

Of course, you had also decided to wear a black turtleneck today... What a fucking coincidence...

You scowl at the reminder of the blood in your veins, turning to take off down the winding path to the graveyard as laughter rings out behind you.

You hear Damian huff, glancing down with a small smirk at the unamused frown decorating his face.

Everyone was quick to follow behind, and the light atmosphere was swiftly replaced with solemnity as the graveyard slowly came into view.

Damian eventually staggered back to walk next to Dick, and you laughed as you picked up on Dicks concerned questioning.

Like you were the one who had a history of violence...

The thought had you shaking your head in disappointment and hurt. The night at your apartment had you foolishly hoping that maybe he wasn't like the others. After all, he wasn't really around enough to know everything, simply believing whatever bullshit the others fed him. Maybe you guys could still work past your issues and... become friends?

You honestly don't know what you were thinking. He's just like everyone else.

He always was.

You come to a stop just before the burial site, throat closing at the sight of the casket hanging above the empty grave.

Bruce had opted for a closed casket... apparently, Bane hadn't just snapped Alfred's spine but actually crushed his entire head.

There wasn't much left to view.

Unlike the cathedral, there was no official schedule. No professional religious leader to spout nonsense and religious guilt. No reporters, no police, just family.

And you, of course.

Surprisingly, Barbara takes the lead. Taking a moment to read from some of Alfred's favorite verses and quote his favorite poets before moving on to reminisce about the man.

She speaks of the good times and brings smiles to everyone's faces when mentioning cherished memories.

The fact that none of them contained you only made you the slightest bit uncomfortable, since you were expecting it.

Didn't make it hurt any less, though.

Still, you had to give it to her. She did a good job. Better than you did.

Once she was done, Dick, Tim, Jason, Cassandra and Stephanie all took turns to say a few words as well.

Jason and Cassandra were very blunt, short with their words and quick to say what they wanted before pulling back to lurk in the shadows.

Tim and Stephanie spoke one after the other, and held each other's hand through it all. Tim choked on his words and Stephanie lightened the mood with a small quip that Alfred would have ripped his hair out at the state of everyone's attire.

Dick spoke for a few minutes about the man he considered a grandfather, but eventually had to stop as he could no longer muster words through the tears.

Kate, Selina and Harper all ended up next to you as Bruce encased his eldest in a desperate embrace, Damian hanging onto their coattails with barely concealed tears.

"You gonna say anything?"

"No. Doesn't feel appropriate, you?"

"No, I uhm– Didn't know him that well..."

"What about you?"

It takes them calling your name for you to realize that they were addressing you, turning your head to meet Harper and Kate's inquisitive stares with wide eyes.

"Oh. Uh– No. He uhm– He already knew everything I would want to tell him... H-He knows..." You nod shakily, moreso to reassure yourself than them as they offer you their own nods of understanding.

Selina is unnaturally silent as she lurks beside you, head trained on Bruce as she grazes her shoulder against yours.

"He misses you, you know. He regrets what happe–"

"If he really did then he'd be the one here telling me, not you."

Your voice is harsh when you cut her off, hand cracking the plastic of the umbrella in your hand as her words have you losing your composure at her audacity.

Her silence has you eyeing her from the corner of your eye, scoffing at her disapproving frown.

Alfred's casket is lowered just as the sun begins to set, the dark mahogany glistening in the remnants of the days fading light.

Everyone slowly makes their way back to the manor as Bruce begins shoveling dirt into the grave. Damian lingers beside him, watching the wood dissapear with haunted green eyes.

Dick walks with you on the path through the garden, a thick silence surrounding the two of you as you share your umbrella.

The rain had lessened considerably since your morning escapade, but it was still falling in a consistent drizzle. Enough to have you watching your step to avoid getting mud on your shoes.

"It was nice... seeing you– seeing everyone together for once..." Dick is hesitant with his words, and you can tell based on his rapid heartbeat that he's nervous about it.

"I think it'd be good to do it more... You know, it's not right that the only time everyone gets together like this is for weddings or funerals–" You roll your eyes with a weak smile, biting your tongue hard enough to draw blood to prevent yourself from spitting at him.

You'd never attended a wedding with them.

"–If... If you're not too busy.. I want to start having dinner with everyone, like this. Maybe once a month, or–"

"Dick, let's not do this." You cut him off with a choked whimper.

"Let's not pretend that everything's okay. That today changed anything between all of us." You laugh humorlessly, "Jason hates me. Bruce looks at me like I'm a bomb waiting to go off and everyone else thinks I'm unstable!" You stop yourself at the sudden rise of your voice, squeezing your eyes closed to gain a semblance of stability.

"The only reason I even came today was for Alfred. That's it." You sigh.

"I didn't come here planning to reconcile or start playing along with your guys' little happy family routine. I'll go back to my apartment, and you guys can continue on like I don't exist." Your voice is shakier than you'd intended, and you hate the way it has Dick looking at you.

"But what if you didn't–"

"I will. I am." You're stern with your words, eyes hardened as you meet his pleading gaze. "I'm not going to force myself to saty here and apologize or act like what I did was wrong. It's unfair of you to ask me to do that–"

"That's not what I'm–"

"–but it is!" You don't let him escape accountability.

"It is. You expect me to just ignore everything that happened, everything they said and did to me, just because you feel– what, guilty? Remorseful?" You scoff.

He's silent, and you pause as you finally reach the porch. "I'm done trying to fit in here. I don't belong, I never did... The one person who bothered trying to prove differently is dead... and I... I only regret leaving because it meant disappointing him."

Your words settle in the air with a weight that hangs on both of your shoulders like a brick.

Dick finally begins to understand the depth of your pain.

You begin to finally let go of your delusional dreams of having a father.

You depart from one another with a stiff embrace and the one-sided promise of fixing things.

Dick pays for your cab, and hands you Alfred's letter after scamming your phone number out of you.

You block his own as soon as he finishes putting it in.

Now you sit, shaking your head and giggling in disbelief at the contents, giggling in a fit of manic amusement. Salty tears trail your face as you grip the paper with trembling hands.

Forgive them.

Forgive yourself.

This world needs all the heroes it can get. Especially Gotham.

– Grandpa Al

Taglist <3: @onceinamillionposter , @jscrawls @bat1212 , @1abi , @cosmosluckycharms , @homeless-clown

Updates are going to slow down from now on bc this is the third series I have going on rn. I'll do my best to update at least once a month, possibly twice, depending on when I have time, but they'll all be pretty long. Not quite as long as this one tho, this chapter is a monster, I feel like it might even be a bit too long, lol.

Thank you all for the support <3

#VENOMOUS THINGS #x reader #reader insert #batfam x reader #batman #batfam #spiderman atsv #spiderman itsv #spider!reader #dc x marvel au #dc x reader

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lovebugism · 2 years ago

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Heat wave with Eddie and he's watching you on the other side of the couch and he wants you so bad but it's so hotttt

thanks for your request lovey!! — the one where you and eddie try to make the most of the heatwave (established relationship, implications of smut, 1.3k)

bug's summer fic fest ♡

Metal heads hate summer. It’s an unspoken fact. Wild hair, leather jackets, and denim jeans don’t fare well in the heat.

And while there were many bonuses to the warmer season — the music, the ice cream, and you in a bikini to name a few — it didn’t quell Eddie’s personal vendetta with summer. Or rather, summer’s personal vendetta with him.

The month of August was hardly more than an incessant heatwave. One hundred-degree heat, statewide. Without a cool breeze to fill the seasonal silence, there was nothing but a low sizzling sound — like burgers cooking on a grill. The two of you got into his van for a Slurpee run one simmering afternoon and suffered second-degree burns from the pleather cushions and metal seatbelts in the process.

It was miserable. Eddie was far too pale and he liked the color black far too much to find any enjoyment in the summer months. And just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the power goes out.

And the only thing worse than a power outage during a heatwave is being horny during a power outage during a heatwave.

“The neighbor said there’s outages all over town—” Your voice comes muffled from where you pad around in the kitchen. “—So, we’ll probably be out for a while.”

You return to the living room wearing an old, white-ribbed tank top and a pair of Eddie’s plaid boxers, rolled at the hem to fit you better. You carry two glasses of lemonade in your hands, fogged with the cubes of ice you’d dropped into them before they could melt in the freezer.

You’re too pretty for your own good. Eddie’s suffocated by the sweltering heat as much as he is by the overwhelming urge to touch you.

“Fuuuck,” he groans in response, sprawled out on the couch across the room. He’s barely moved from that spot all day. He only got up once to tie his hair back and then anxiously pace back and forth for several minutes. A few ornery curls stick to his forehead, damp with sweat. “Should we just, like, get a hotel or something?”

“With what money?” you scoff in place of a laugh.

His scrunched brows go lax. “Oh, yeah…”

“We’ll be okay. It’ll only be out for a couple more hours— at least.”

“Hours?” Eddie whines, all pinched-browed, as you hand him his lemonade.

You scrunch your nose down at the boy with a sympathetic gaze. “Think we can survive that long?”

“I’m withering away as we speak,” he deadpans.

“You’re so dramatic…” you giggle. The unkind words come out coated in a layer of sweet honey. You love him too much for anything else.

You pluck your book from the coffee table and plop down on the other side of the couch. You curl your knees to your chest, not having much room left over from Eddie’s longer legs.

He’d tried to do the same an hour or more ago. He’d been too bored to read then. All the words melted together because his brain was swimming with heat. He doesn’t know how you’re doing it, honestly. All he knows is he can’t stop looking at you.

You’re a pretty little thing sitting across from him. So much of your skin is on display — arms, collarbones, ankles, and thighs. He wants to kiss every inch of you. He could if it wasn’t so damn hot. Now, all he can do is admire you from a distance and pray the power comes back soon so he can love you all over.

Eddie shifts on the couch for a few moments. He jostles the cushions beneath you as he twists on them, maneuvering so his legs are propped up on the coffee table and he’s slouching against the back of the sofa.

His underwear rides up his pale thigh. The white undershirt he refuses to take off is damp at the collar with sweat.

You pay little attention to his fidgeting. He’s often restless, but especially when he’s got nothing to do. You feel his sticky fingers curl around your stickier calf a second later. His touch is soft and slow, sweet like syrup, as he smooths his hand up and down the back of your leg.

You shoot the boy a look from over the top of your book. “You okay, Eds?”

“Other than melting?” he retorts with his head tilted to his shoulder. He shoots you a wide, fatigued grin through his reddened cheeks. “I’m peachy, sweetheart.”

“It’s a little too hot to be touching each other right now, babe,” you advise with your gaze turned back to the book in your lap. He keeps on caressing you, though, and you keep on letting him.

“I know…” he murmurs with a faint pout scrunching his features. His palm squeezes the top of your ankle before rising again. “I just miss you…”

“I’m right here,” you counter with a soft giggle.

“You know what I mean…”

“Yeah,” you concede with a sigh. “I know what you mean.”

If you had it your way, Eddie Munson would be touching you all the time. He usually is, anyway — but every second he’s not, it feels like you’re grieving. You’re made restless because of how underwhelmed you are, all grumpy because you’re so sticky with heat. You want so desperately to curl up in Eddie’s arms and hide there forever, but it’s already getting hard to breathe without the AC on. And the sweat’s making your clothes cling to your skin. The thought of physical affection right now makes you feel a bit sick.

He squeezes your calf again, this time to get your attention.

Your eyes peek at him from over your book. You find his flushed face curled into a tired, yet still mischievous smirk.

“And, you know, just for the record or whatever,” he lilts quietly with a twinkle in his chocolate syrup eyes. “If it wasn’t a billion degrees in here, I’d totally plow the shit outta you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes go wide at his words.

You might’ve laughed if you weren’t so immediately turned on.

You squeeze your knees together, clenching your thighs in hopes of soothing the ache that begins to pulsate between them. “Wow. That is… very forward of you, Eds.”

“I think the heat’s making me delirious,” he admits with his head tilted back against the couch. His pale, sticky neck is on display for you. You feel the sudden urge to sink your teeth into the milky white tendon there.

“Well, good thing about power outages in the summer — the cold water in the shower feels like heaven,” you tell him, feigning absentmindedness as you flip a page of your novel.

Eddie’s brows raise beneath his damp, curly bangs. He grins with a newfound light in his eyes. “Ooh,” he singsongs. “Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

“I have… three more pages left in this chapter,” you tell the boy after flicking through the book. You shoot him a glance beneath your lashes — less obvious in your mischievous disposition but still sparkling with it anyway. You knock his thigh with your foot. “Go get undressed, loverboy.”

Your words bring him back to life.

He surges with an energy he lost sometime between the late spring and early summer as he leaps off the couch. He nearly trips over the coffee table on his journey to the bathroom. His hurried footsteps stomp, stomp, stomp down the hallway.

You hear the shower faucet hiss on from a distance. It’s music to your ears. You know you’ll be in there all day — or, at least, until the power comes back on. You’re left suddenly hoping it won’t come on for another good while yet.

Not until Eddie makes you forget your name against the shower wall.

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #bug's summer fic fest!

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artbyblastweave · 5 months ago

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What I really like about Creature Commandos is that stylistically it's a very Silver-Age-inflected take on the DCU as a superhero setting- EC comics Hammer-horror overtones, scientists getting blasted with radiation and turning into glowing skeletons, geneticists making Fish people, Weird War Two, Silver-Age leave-it-to-beaver Doc Magnus and his Metal Men, weird micronations with superscience, Frankenstein's monster is a real guy, and so on. This is not the kind of adaption where the writers feel a strong need try to hook every superpowered Tom, Dick and Sally back into the same particle accelerator explosion or mutagen-laced tear gas deployment. It's just that the Silver-age nonsense:

A.) is played basically 100 percent unironically as something that meaningfully affects and traumatizes the characters who have to live through it- no sly nods to the camera, no defensive irony in the presentation whatsoever and

B.) is portrayed with a level of ultraviolence that always sort of implicit in a lot of silver age concepts even if you couldn't actually depict it under CCA censorship standards. There's going to be a lot of blood when you shoot a nazi with a machine gun, it won't be pretty when the writers allow the guy whose power is "melting people" to actually make contact with a human opponent for once, you definitely don't want to see how the sausage gets made on a Frankenstein, and so on and so forth.

All of which result in the viewer nodding along, belief suspended, with a level of charity that we would absolutely not extend to a lot of the goofy silver-age fare this is pulling from. All told it comes out slightly north of The Venture Bros in terms of how it pairs these aesthetics with an intense sense of cynicism and pointlessness- even after all of the runarounds and fakeouts and pointless deaths the world is still in a better position at the end than if the team had just stayed home. But it feels like a cousin to that show, stylistically.

#creature commandos #thoughts #meta #DCU #analysis #superheroes #effortpost

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trulyumai · 1 year ago

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Looking Past the Fire

Paring: Messmer x Reader

Synopsis: Between the shadow lands, laid Messmer. And between that? His darling wife.

Warnings: Talk of Death

A/N: Ive officially began the DLC and I am WASHED. Also this big nosed fella has been taking over my mind please send help. (I love it)

Enjoy!

For whom could ever love him as much as his wife once did?

She would be there, to carry his heavy soul, kiss the bruised skin and wipe away the rotting blood.

His wife was ever so patient; wiping at his dirtied frame carefully, cautiously. Like he was someone who deserved it, needed it. He got used to such loving touches, it was dangerous. His family scoffed behind his back- mumbled about his newfound weakness. But between his own blood was a wall of fire, and between that was her.

In truth, he craved coming back home, to her, and her adoring frame and sappy expressions.

He would always call out to her.

“My love?” His voice was so soft, much more than one would ever guess a man like him would- could carry.

A man of death and flame.

“Over here, darling!” And he would see the back of her head, peeking up from the windowsill that laid just in front of their kitchen.

She would always be in the flower filled garden, tending to each plant with care until her fingers were overtaken with blackened dirt.

She’d lift herself high then, peek over at him with blinking lashes. A serene expression always to be seen when gazing upon the red haired man.

Messmer without thought would walk forth, to her, and her sun kissed cheeks.

As if in a daze the man wouldn’t dare avert his eyes; for the goddess in front of him was enough to hold the attention of such a man of power.

His head ducked under the wooden back door. His back would crack loudly almost every time, and sometimes a groan of protest would leave the pale man’s lips.

And he would reachout, gently coaxing the woman to him once more, he wanted- needed to feel her soft skin against his rough and war torn body.

She’d listen of course, and would press her frame to his without further delay.

Messmer would allow his arms to wrap around her, with his nose digging into her neck to smell the sweet scent of sweat sticking to her damp skin.

“Husband,” she giggled, hearing his sighs of contentment.

“I’ve missed you, has the trip fared well?”

The wind picked up, the giant yellowing trees swayed with the breeze and Messmer could no longer subdue his mind to the stress it was in mere moments ago.

Right before he placed himself in his wife’s presence, the worries of the palace laid upon his shoulders.

His command, his power, his reign-

“Husband?”

How would she react to the bodies littering the field, the broken families, the hierarchy?

Her fingertips grazed his cheek.

“Hm? Oh, yes, the trip was easy, my wife,”

The knight picked a fallen leaf that had laid upon her hair carelessly.

“I’ve established safe perimeters. None shall lay harm to the south for quite some time.”

She smiled.

“Of course you did, my strong Knight. For who could be more of a protector than you?”

Bile reached up to the man's throat, it burned his insides with spite and regret.

His wife was ill informed, she hadn't heard of the burning castle walls- with its soldiers laying crumpled and burnt in his wake.

In fact, he hadn’t been a knight for the order in many moons, his siege had taken over much of the shadowlands, in which he was close to winning.

For none could stand the fiery ambition held between his sword and gaze

He was a protector yes, but only for her.

Messmer let out a deep laugh, it was short and muffled by his lips.

The knight leaned down and began to trail kisses down his wifes temple, to her jaw, then finally, her lips.

With a tilt to the head their mouths met, he placed a pale hand on the back of her head, pushing her to meet his lips with more strength.

Nipping lightly the girl's hands fisted upon his armor, lightly trying to push herself away from the man- most likely for air.

He complied, and smiled as she let out a gasp for air with pink cheeks and lidded eyes.

Taking his thumb he brushed it upon her chin, clearing up the saliva that had dribbled down.

She leaned into his palm, and Messmer once more felt the bite of regret nip at the edges of his mind.

“Are you staying the night?” Her voice, barely above the howling wind, brought him back.

Messmer hummed, his hand found the back of her waist.

“I have dinner going, i'll make your place at the table.”

He only nodded his head as she padded off, not taking his eyes off the darkened clouds approaching their vicinity.

From the corner of his eye, Messmer eyed the rising smoke.

The south let out a plethora of darkened fumes, the village there laid in smoldering, blackened ash.

Of course the south laid safe and ill of enemies; for he had cleared its population down to nothing.

The land may never return to its original state with its burnt hills and mountains.

“It's ready, my love!”

Messmer turned back, meeting the gaze of his lover by the doorframe.

Little drops of rain plopped onto his loosened hair, no longer did light shine through the gray skies, but muffled streams of sun.

He turned his back to the village, the smoke and bodies.

For a more important matter was at hand now; the happiness of his wife.

#messmer x reader #messmer the impaler #messmer elden ring #Messmer x you #elden ring x reader #Elden Ring #video game #video game x reader #elden ring dlc #Hes taking over my mind #I love big nosed men

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pinnedmother · 6 months ago

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Caring for The Impaler (3 short stories)

Showing our love for the snakey man through acts of service! 🐍ɞ

2/3: Helping him bathe

Messmer has been gone for quite some time. You were occupied enough not to worry about him too much, yet worry you did. When he and his troops finally returned you found out that there was a battle, a rough one at that. Surprising to nobody the formidable Impaler came victorious.

Once you see him, bloodied, covered in ash and soot, you can only imagine how terrifying this man looked in the eyes of the enemy. He sighs with clear exhaustion, listening to a report from one of the Fire Knights. Then his gaze finally settles upon you. He perks up ever so slightly, his mood ameliorated. Disregarding the knight with a move of his hand, Messmer comes straight for you.

You know that look when you see it: he wants to take you into an embrace. “No.” You protest firmly, taking a step back and putting your arm forth to stop him if his messy self comes too close. He halts, a mixture of sadness and confusion flashes on his face. Thankfully, the realization comes to him quickly after. Messmer regards himself up and down before looking at something much more pleasant once again – you.

“O, cherished heart of mine. How hast thou fared in mine absence?”

You engage in a conversation about pleasant nothings. Although you are curious, you avoid inquiring about the battle, seeing that right now he wishes for a distraction from all that gore and brutality. You try to be that distraction for him, his source of comfort.

Still, you entwine in the dialogue a subtle suggestion to clean himself of the war’s muck, volunteering to help. After a brief hesitation, he agrees.

“Come” you say, leading him to the bathing chambers. A large pool of water awaits you there – large enough to fit a demigod and then some.

Messmer removes his armor and clothing piece by piece. The hardest part, as usual, is to take off the vest. The serpents maneuver smoothly with practiced moves, trying their best to ease the process. In the meantime, you wear a linen apron and gather the cleaning supplies: a pile of neatly folded rags, two bars of mushroom soap and a bottle of scented oil.

When you come back, Messmer is already soaking in the bath, most of his body covered by the ever-growing stain of dirt on the water’s surface as its layers come off his ashy skin. The water, cold just a minute ago, is now steaming.

“Ah. I wouldst entreat thee to join me, but...”

“Gladly. Later.” You respond, soliciting a tired chuckle out of him.

You push one of the rags in the water, letting the fabric properly soak for a few moments. Then pull it out, wring just a bit for excess liquid, and bring it closer to Messmer’s shoulder. He moves his head to the side allowing you a better access, strands of his hair lazily copy his movement floating on the murky surface.

You start rubbing, putting just enough force to scrub the mud off him while keeping it gentle and unintrusive. Once his skin is thoroughly wet and rid of most of the grime, you go in with the soap. Its herbaceous fragrance fills the air, replacing the steely, burning smell Messmer carried with him out of the fight.

When you take his hand into yours to keep it up, he wraps his fingers around it, lovingly caressing your skin with his thumb. You’re gliding the bar over his long arm until it’s white with foam, then rub once more with a new rag. Rinse and repeat.

As you clean his back, you reach for a scar surrounding one of the serpents’ exit. You realize too late that the skin there is thin and sensitive. Messmer makes a sharp inhale when you brush it with a rough fabric. You still for a moment, waiting for him to say something: to ask you to stop or leave. Yet he remains silent. You continue. Much gentler now. You make just a tiny amount of contact, brushing with slow and careful rubs. He shivers a little whenever you get a longer swipe, but you watch for his reactions trying not to cause too much discomfort.

Messmer’s body is fully cleansed, his pale grey skin now an even tone, glistening beautifully in the light of the candles. He’s out of the water, letting himself naturally dry out as he sits on the age of the pool. One more touch is in order though.

You lean behind him and apply a couple droplets of oil to your hands, rubbing them together before sliding your palms from his shoulders to the collarbones and downward, massaging the wooden, musky aroma into his skin. He softly hums and pulls his head back in bliss, resting it on your chest. You don’t mind his wet hair. He looks serene like this, about to fall asleep. You slow your movements in tact with his breathing.

The oil rubs off your hands quickly, absorbing into his skin. When you’re done, you simply continue to hold the man, almost certain he’s slumbering. Even his serpents are dormant, resting their heads on the heated stone floor. Messmer seemed so tired, it would be cruel to wake him now, you think. He surprises you with a low murmur:

“Go, mine dearest. Rest thy weary form. As shall I”. You nod and obediently remove your arms from him. He catches your hand with his own however, keeping you closer just a moment longer.

He brushes the side of your face with the back of his forefinger as he coos: “Then,” he adds, “later,” Messmer emphasizes, reminding you of your own words, an enigmatic smile on his face, “mine hour with thee cometh”.

#ao3 repost #my writings #elden ring #messmer the impaler #messmer #messmer x reader #messmer x tarnished

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aroaceleovaldez · 11 months ago

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The himbo, malewife, goofball -fication of percy jackson is such a crime by both the fans and riordan. It has made Mr not like percabeth as a couple because in all posts and in later books annabeth is such a girlboss, while Percy's dumb and can't fight his way out of a paperbag without her. All the posts are about how annabeth will be an architect and percy would love to be a trophy husband.

Even the humor in the books went from Percy's sharp wit and snark to 'my pancakes can't drown because I'm a son of poseidon.'

And now this recommendation letter bullshit.

Honestly now I'd wish percy just separated from annabeth (but they remain best friends.) He stays home with his family, becomes a camp counselor, helps young demigods, holds God's accountable and eventually becomes a social activist. (I also dislike him doing something marine biology related. It's clear he hates academics but he always wants to help people. Him helping demigods and mortals is such a wholesome profession for him.)

I fully agree with the first half of this, though I slightly disagree with part of the latter.

The later-series and fanon mischaracterization of Percy is at least a solid 50% ableism minimum, full stop. He's being warped into a very stereotyped ADHD character and the exact reason why he's being characterized as "dumb" is because of ableism. Percy is a very intelligent character! That's exactly why he's so in sync with Annabeth and they're such a strong duo! It's just generally Annabeth is more book/academically smart.

I disagree with where you say he hates academics - because that's one of the common misconceptions about his character. Percy doesn't hate learning or academic subjects! He's not even bad at them! We know explicitly that when he is in an accommodating environment he is interested in learning and gets significantly better grades! Percy only dislikes school because it is generally an environment that systematically he struggles with. It's literally just he has a learning disability (two, actually)! That's it! When his learning disability is accommodated for he does well! It's almost like that's what accommodations are all about! We know this from the first series! It's discussed pretty in-depth! Percy isn't a dumb character and he doesn't hate learning, he's just been let down by school systems so much that he's inherently distrustful of them. If they actually accommodate him though then he does just fine!

And that's exactly what CHB was all about and why New Rome University was supposed to be such a big thing for him! CHB is a learning environment geared for demigods. NRU is a demigod college. Both inherently imply an environment meant to cater to and accommodate students with ADHD and dyslexia! They are both systematically structured to be able to accommodate him! Heck, CHB and CJ even both address in the wider themes of the series a metaphor about how ADHD and dyslexia are commonly seen as childhood disabilities, and how it can be more difficult to find accommodations into adulthood because of that attitude but those disabilities don't just go away - that's why CHB is a summer camp but they talk about how demigods outside of CHB don't often fare well. The metaphor there is those who are not getting help or accommodations are struggling. Because that's how that works! This is a fully intentional metaphor from the first series! CHB is never framed as being perfect for demigods, because one of the entire central conflicts of the series is Percy and Luke going back and forth about this flawed system meant to help and support them but still letting people fall through the cracks. The "claim your kids by 13" thing is a metaphor about how acknowledging a child's disabilities (and possibly getting a diagnosis) earlier/as early as possible means they will have more time to learn and build up resources and support for themselves to be able to use later in life. One of CHB's major flaws is that it can accommodate demigods to a certain point, but it can only do so much before those demigods have to leave (the metaphor being accommodating school systems when those disabled students do not have any other forms of accommodations in their lives.)

And that's why Camp Jupiter was framed as being so revolutionary for Percy because it had an environment acknowledging that this is not just a childhood disability, adults with ADHD/dyslexia exist too and still need and deserve accommodations, AND is a place where those accommodations are available. That's why Camp Jupiter and NRU are treated as such special and important things to Percy, because it's essentially Percy being shown this type of thing can and does exist and it is available to him. It is an option he never thought was possible. Percy never thought he'd be able to go to college because he would not be able to go through school without accommodations, but NRU proves otherwise.

The part that's absolutely stupid is Rick then proceeded to retcon NRU so that apparently it's not a full college and Percy still has to take classes at normal mortal college which DEFEATS THE ENTIRE PURPOSE OF NRU EXISTING. Rick has fully retconned that demigods struggle past the ages of 16-18 when they're on their own (see above elaborated metaphors) and in doing so we have fully killed all symbolism in literally all of that. It's so stupid. And by having the plot of the CoTG trilogy entirely be that Percy is not actually allowed access to NRU in the first place because he is a son of Poseidon and has to do extra to even be accepted is stupid!

All that to say, I agree the marine biology feels like a huge cop-out and a disservice to his character by reducing him to just a son of Poseidon. The literal only reason why it's the default option people take for him is because oh, fish thing, fish guy. But I feel like everyone ignores the really obvious answer for what Percy would want to do which is - writing. Both his parents are writers/authors and he clearly admires that about them. Percy likes telling stories! He canonically is already a published author in-universe! That's what the books ARE in-universe! The first series fully exists in their universe and Percy is the author! This is explicit canonical information! Percy canonically has help physically writing it down (accommodations) but he is still the credited author! Percy is a writer! Already! Canonically! Why are we making him a marine biologist he already has a profession that ties into his character significantly more. Like you said, Percy likes helping people. That's what the books in-universe are supposed to be for! It's point blank at the beginning of the series! Book one! The thing everybody quotes all the time! The books exist because it is Percy trying to give advice to other demigods who don't know what's going on yet! It's Percy's writing down his experiences to help new demigods understand and contextualize their experiences so they can understand themselves better and figure out what's going on - WHICH IN ITSELF IS ALSO A METAPHOR ABOUT ADHD/DYSLEXIA! Because the core of the series has and always will be built around ADHD/dyslexia! Percy as a protagonist EXPLICITLY was created so that ADHD/dyslexic kids could see themselves as a hero!

Sorry that all was a very tangential rant but my point being: Absolutely. Percy in newer stuff in the franchise and in fanon is horrifically mischaracterized in ways that are functionally either fully ableist (shoutout TSATS for just outright claiming Percy is intentionally lazy and skips school out of disinterest, which is like the number one ableist attitude towards kids with learning disabilities) or a complete erasure of Percy's disabilities. Also I think he should be a writing major not a marine biologist.

#pjo #percy jackson #riordanverse #rr crit #cotg #meta #analysis #chalice of the gods #adhd #dyslexia #disability #Anonymous #ask #long post //#i do agree with the ''Percy continues to hold the gods accountable'' thing because that too is a metaphor for adhd/dyslexia #more re: accommodating systems and making sure demigods (disabled kids) are getting the support they need #functionally it's equivalent to Percy doing that thing where you have to nag whoever's in charge of ADA stuff to actually do their job #it's the rant i always go on: you cannot remove the disability themes from PJO or else it is no longer PJO and you ruin everything #you cannot divorce Percy's character from being disabled/having ADHD and dyslexia/PTSD/etc #it is the core of his character and the entire plotline and arc he navigates in the first series #disability is the foundational core of the franchise and if you fuck that up you have literally lost the plot and need to revise #i actually really genuinely love the layers of disability themes and metaphors in the first series and thats why its my favorite #because every other subsequent main series loses that #the other series arent as much about disability - they have different focal themes - so they get a pass there #though they do way better to holding on to their focal themes more than like HoO or TOA does by LEAGUES #anyways i didnt proofread this cause its early so forgive any errors or nonsense i was just ramblin'

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