#my own title is rogue of light

[garlandgerard]

i'm thinking about what gi-hun and in-ho's homestuck god tier titles would be. for those who aren't insufferable like me, a brief explanation:

god tiers in homestuck are like ultimate challenges a person has to overcome. in order to reach god tier, you must learn to master the problem that a god tier title (represented by a class, like knight or bard, and an aspect, like time or life) represents

the two parts of one title work in tandem: the class affects how the aspect manifests, and the aspect affects how the player behaves as their class

for example, a knight of blood is going to act radically different from a knight of rage despite both being knights—while the knight always overcompensates for a perceived lack of their aspect by greatly exaggerating the aspect within themselves, for a blood player that means desperately insisting on leading their group (blood is symbolic of interpersonal relationships) despite feeling inadequate to actually perform the task. for a rage player that would mean lashing out to protect their vulnerabilities (as rage is symbolic for, well, negative emotions like anger), despite not naturally being an angry person

and although a prince of mind and a sylph of mind both share the aspect of mind (symbolising rational thought, mental proficiency and logic), they treat their aspect very differently—princes destroy their aspect within others, or destroy things with their aspect, meaning a prince of mind is a cunning individual who can manipulate others into acting irrationally, or literally breaking someone's mind using their own intellect and rhetorical prowess. a sylph, on the other hand, heals their aspect in others, and heals others using their aspect, meaning they are more like a therapist or an older mentor figure that gives wise advice (although a sylph's undoing is their inability to let go of their aspect, meaning a lot of their help is unsollicited or unwanted)

for in-ho, i would instinctively assign him the aspect of heart. heart is about identity and one's own emotions. possessing the heart aspect means that your main personal problem revolves around your identity and where you stand in relation to others. many of the heart players in the homestuck canon have a fragmented sense of self for this reason. this would make sense for in-ho, who buries his true self under figurative and literal masks and alter egos—to the point where he is probably unsure of whom he is anymore. not sure about his class yet, although bard sounds logical for him, since bards cause destruction with their aspect, or cause the destruction of their aspect proper—like princes, but passively

for gi-hun, my first thought was blood, but i honestly don't think that fits, because his relationships with others and his ability to create unity is not actually a problem for him; it's one of his defining characteristics, i'd say. given the developments of season two, i'm tempted to give him the doom aspect instead, as doom symbolises the choices we make, and the uncertaintly surrounding those choices and their outcomes, and goddamn if that isn't gi-hun's nemesis currently. i'd have to properly sit down to think about it (when it isn't nearly 3am)

so, ahem. i am normal again

[andy-wm]

I have thoughts on Jimin's SGMB

It's the gayest thing I've ever seen.

And by that I mean it's joyous, light-hearted, bright, and fun.

We can all agree, I think, that this is a happy and totally harmless song. Who could criticise Jimin for declaring his love in such a sweet and innocent way?

Of course not everyone will like it, and that's fine. You don't have to like everything he does - or everything BTS does - you are an individual with thoughts and feelings of your own - I hope. But putting that aside you'd have to be a troubled person indeed to take offence at anything here.

So, it is definitely a fan song, right? Jimin is singing to his fans... isn't he?

Maybe.

But if it is (I and I'm not convinced) it's not just a fan song.

It's sweet, so sweet, but....

Maybe it's a little too sweet?

We know Jimin is CUTIE SEXY LOVELY and LOVELY LOVELY LOVELY, but let's be honest, he's also a grown man. And Army are not children (mostly). In fact we have had many many conversations about how ARMY are not children.

But this whole production is pushing the sweet and innocent barrow so hard that I can't help wanting to look underneath and behind and inside to see what's really going on because it's so sweet it's hurting my teeth.

Compare the sophistication and self awareness of FACE to the bouncy, bright and child-like song-and-dance in the SGMB music video. They are WORLDS apart and we were told very specifically that the albums were linked.

"Following his first solo album, “FACE,” where he sought to explore his true identity, “MUSE” documents his journey in search of the source of his inspiration." said the Weverse notification.

So what's really going on here?

What are you doing Jiminie?

And more importantly, why are you doing it?

You could call it a pageant, or a carnival, or a circus - with Jimin as the ringmaster.

But my view is:

This a pantomime. And it's very clever.

According to the Oxford Dictionary, a pantomime is "A dramatic entertainment,  originating in Roman mime, in which  performers express meaning through  gestures  accompanied by music." Yes, that describes it.

Merriam-Webster tells us "[A pantomime] is an ancient Roman dramatic performance featuring a solo dancer and a narrative chorus" That also makes sense.

Oxford also specified that it's a modern BRITISH tradition. "a theatrical entertainment, mainly for children, which involves music, topical jokes, and slapstick comedy." It's a perfect fit.

The British link is already there - Jimin clearly told us he's influenced by The Beatles' Sergeant Peppers Album. There's also the styling of his suit. The stovepipe pants, narrow tie, and fitted jacket are very 1960s (and 1980s) British pop.

There's something old-school about a pantomime. It harks back to childhood, and to the nostalgia of holidays. And the styling of the MV is in keeping with that nostalgic feel too - from the Mountain scene with the vintage film title, to the intertitles - or title cards , to the circular frame of the opening scene.

But back to the Pantomime itself...

A quick google search told me the following are important elements of pantomime. And we have most, if not all of them in this production.

Gender role reversal - TICK

Slapstick comedy - TICK

Colourful costumes - TICK

Audience participation - TICK (the children ARE the audience)

Exaggerated facial expressions - TICK

Take another look at the music video - it's all there.

Wikipedia tells us that pantomimes traditional told fairy tales or folk tales - often love stories - and that the primary role in a Pantomime was:

The 'Principal boy', a hero or charismatic rogue, traditionally played by a young woman in men's clothing.

Smart, very smart. With all the other conversations we've been having a round gender this is totally on the money.

Wikipedia goes on to say "Another pantomime tradition is to engage celebrity guest stars... Contemporary pantomime productions are often adapted to allow the star to showcase their well-known act.... If the star enters into the spirit of the entertainment, he or she likely adds to its overall effect"

Welcome, Loco.

(yes, I know collabs are de rigueur, but that doesn't change the fact that it fits - celeb guests are an established practice in Panto.)

So if this IS a Pantomime (and I'm not saying it definitely is but it looks like one to me), then it's intended to be a sung-story, told as much through dance and gestures as through words.

If it's a pantomime, what is it about?

I'm glad you asked! This little charade is the story of a young person called Jimin who is looking for love. He finds romance easily enough...

but real love takes a little longer.

Fortunately for our hero, he's brave (he will confess to his lover) and he is patient (he encourages them to do so too).

In between, there are shenanigans and goofing...

But our Charismatic Rogue is charming (if devilish) and wins the hearts of the audience - and his lover.

Let's take a closer look at how the story unfolds...

At the start of the MV, as the initial credits appear, Jimin is on stage vibing with his band. Loco is chilling on a rock like a lizard in the sun.

We get the ye olde intertitles, welcoming the audience and introducing.... SMERALDO Garden Marching Band

It's not Smeraldo Garden - Marching Band. It's Smeraldo *pause* Garden Marching Band. Smeraldo (secrets) has the emphasis.

After the intertitles, the scene opens on a group of children - they are ostensibly the audience of the band. They're playing paper-scissors-rock to see who will call for Jimin's attention.

The children run over to him and the tale begins.

Jimin, the main character of this story, immediately launches into song.

He starts off singing about Bangtan - mentioning their harmony (song and personal I think), he shows the Bangtan hand gesture we all know so well, and he sings "we gift happiness every day".

But he mentions June 12th.

Why June 12th?

Why not 13th, their debut day?

BECAUSE THIS IS NOT A SONG for ARMY. He's making it clear that at this point he's referring to Bangtan specifically, not the whole juggernaut of the fandom and fame. June 12th precedes ARMY.

He's made it clear from the start - this is NOT ABOUT ARMY.

Then he leans in and whispers to the children - and the camera -"lets talk about us".

Look at the kids' faces - they're miming shock. Ooooohhh! This is a big secret he's about to tell them - and us.

Look at Jimin's expression - he's just a tad smug. This is not a shocking secret to him, this is a fun secret.

Yes, he is indeed the charismatic rogue of this story.

He sings:

"All the things we couldn't say before

And your hidden feelings too (just for you)

Don't you worry anymore

Since we're together now**

Let's be a little more honest."

So it seems our main character has a LOVER. Someone who couldn't be revealed and who hid their feelings.

<Wow, I have no idea who this could be...>

Hang on, what's happening in the MV??

On his journey, it seems our young hero has a few short-lived romances. And if you look carefully, they are all with men.

He accepts the rose from a man, and plants himself on the bench right up close to .... a man. He jumps up unperturbed, and gifts the rose to (you guessed it) another man.

Jimin manages to sidestep (or completely ignore) all the women except one, who he sends graciously into the arms of a random man before continuing on his journey.

Wait one moment... his romantic partners were ALL MEN??

ALL MEN??

ALL MEN?!!!!!

Yes darling, all men. Let's continue.

So, it seems none of Jimin's previous romances grew into anything more, but he takes his own advice with his mysterious lover and confesses first.

He smirks. He flicks his jacket with pizzazz. He's ready.

He sings:

"Ooooh I love you babe,

I'll come closer to you

I want to hold your hand,

I want you babe (yessir)

Please note the hand gesture in this choreo - it's another one we've seen many times.

The dance ends and Jimin scans the surroundings and spots his old friend...

[Enter stage left: Loco]

Oh look, the friend is a rapper a few years older than Jimin. They seem to have a lot of fun together, Jimin and his rapper friend. There are ZERO romantic overtones here. This guy happily goes along with all the goofing and silliness even though he looks a tiny bit mortified. Either they are both very good actors, or a lot of the time, Loco was holding in his laughter. And Jimin seems incredibly amused by that.

They hang out together until.... something in the atmosphere changes:

The colours become richer, light become warmer, and oh look....

It's *The Golden Hour*

I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP, PEOPLE. HE REALLY DID THIS.

Jimin leaves Loco, chasing the golden light as he sings about "the dazzling sky." Golden confetti (champagne, anyone?) falls all around him and then ...

fucking sunflowers bloom.

SUN FLOWERS.

BLOOM.

FOR HIM.

<I need to lie down and process this>

SUNflowers...

Remind me again what sunflowers are known for? Oh yes, they are symbolic of the sun. Guess what else? They turn to face the sun.

Yup, the sunflowers all turn their faces toward the camera. I'm not crazy, okay?! I'm not.

SMH... let's move on.

Jimin re-joins his band, and the sunflowers do their sunflower thing, and Jimin sings:

"So tell me how you feel,

let whatever you feel

wash over you"

Then he sings

"I love you babe, (yessir)

I'll come closer to you

I want to hold your hand,

I want you babe (yessir)

Please note the hand gesture again

👉 👈

The bridge is next, and Jimin takes us back to Bangtan. As all the stars appear (that ocean of purple light that surrounds them at concerts) and everyone takes their place on stage, they turn up the music. <Are my eyes watering? Perhaps>

"I think we're ready now

<NGL I may have shed a tear here>

Lets begin 1, 2

<Ok fuck, I bawled at this point. Goddammit Jimin!>

Put your hands up"

*cute wiggle-dance commences* and Jimin spots his good friend the rapper again, hiding on the sidelines. He pulls him into the chorus line and they do more silliness and everyone is having a great time.

Confetti- flower petals fall, there's laughter and happiness all around, and they bow and bid us good bye.

The show is over.

*THE END*

But wait, I am not done.

A few more things bear mentioning here:

I saw quite a few comments saying this song is for ARMY.

It is categorically NOT for ARMY. Besides the fact that we already have Closer Than This - a fan song - on this album, Jimin specifically chose a date before debut - before ARMY existed - to place in this song. No mention of ARMY at all. Accept it graciously, this is not for you.

I wanna hold your hand

This lyric is a reference not only to the Beatles song "I Want to Hold Your Hand", It's also a common theme with Jimin and Jungkook. We see them finding any feeble excuse to hold hands, shake hands, touch hands. Yes, we see you two...

I am you, You are me

The gesture used in the choreo when Jimin is singing his confession - I failed miserably to catch it in my screengrab but there's no doubt it's their "I am you, You are me" gesture. Take a look for yourself.

All Jimin's romantic moments happened with men.

I'm not saying in his life, I am saying in this MV. All of them. The only interaction he has with a woman is one brief moment where he grabs her wrist as she passes by and he swings her into the path of a guy behind him. He even scoots around the women and sidesteps them. That can't be accidental. He's making a point.

The addition of 'yessir' in the lyrics makes it clear that he's confessing to a man.

I cannot see any reasonable way to refute this. The BH subtitles include it even though you have to listen carefully to catch it. THAT IS A CHOICE, NOT AN ACCIDENT.

"Even though we're together now"

These lyrics could mean theyre an established, committed couple. But if we think a little broader than that, and a little more literally, who is he together with right now?

It's strategically brilliant.

This is his 'tell all expose' but he has built in a rock solid escape clause by using the panto format. Staging the whole love story - including the prior boyfriends and the man he's now in love with - as an over the top comedy show makes it easily dismissible as pure fiction. By including the fantasy/magical elements he just makes it more so. Deniers will be able to come up with a dozen reasons to reject this... 'It's a fantasy story', 'not all songs are autobiographical', 'he's making a point', 'he's raising LGBTQIA+ awareness'... all true maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that this is HIS song, about HIS muse. If you've been paying attention (and even if you haven't) you will know this is certainly not pure fiction.

AND FINALLY....

The most important one, I left till last. I actually want to scream this, in all caps, in the biggest font possible. But I will restrain myself.

The song is bookended by references to BTS.

That is hugely important. For those who may not be aware, this is a literary device. Bookending a story provides a start and end reference point. Here, the Bangtan bookends provide context for the rest of the lyrics - they frame the lyrics within them. That means the events happening in the song, happen within the context of Bangtan. Reading between the lines, the person he is singing to/about is within Bangtan.

This is not reaching. This is like mixing blue paint and yellow paint together. You will get green paint.

💛+💙=💚

So yes, this song is the gayest thing I've ever seen.

And I DO mean it's joyous, light-hearted, bright, and fun.

But yes, it's also absolutely and totally really really GAY

🏳️‍🌈🐥🦄🌈🏳️‍⚧️🌻🐰☀️🏳️‍🌈

Thank you Jiminie

[jamespotterismydaddy]

the Birth of Venus

daemon x reader smut

A/N: reader is mentioned to be Valyrain but I don't think I really describe features. This is based off a request here. hope you like it!!

word count: 1,106 words

TW: smut, allusions to possible incest, breeding kink, pussy slapping, pushing down on the tummy hehe

Is this the third or fourth time he’s been exiled? Daemon can’t seem to keep up. His own sweet niece was the cause of it this time. He couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, keep his hands off of her. He heads to Lys this time. He enjoys Lys, mainly taking pleasure from the appearance of Lyseni whores. That’s what draws him to you. You sit in the pleasure house, surrounded by the other girls who all try to look desirable. The madam has you posing as the Birth of Venus. She gave you the honour of portraying the love goddess herself, encircled by the nymphs. His eyes fill with lust at the sight of you. Who better to play as Venus than a girl who looks so inherently… Valyrian. 

“I want her.” He says to your madam as he looks directly at you, his gaze piercing.

“My Lord, I am afraid I am reserved.” You say with a little smirk on your face. You were told to speak these words every time you were asked for until a bid for your virginity is accepted.

“No she’s not.” The madam says quickly. “But she is a virgin… a very expensive one, my prince.” You bristle at the title. A prince?

“No price is too great for such a pretty little nymphet.” He says, dropping a bag of gold coins into her hand.

“I am no nymph. I am Venus.” You say, putting yourself on a pedestal for him.

He looks amused. “I’m sure you are.” He says and holds up a hand for you to take, leading you off your watery throne.

“You are a prince?” You ask innocently.

“The Rogue Prince.” You nearly gasp.

“You’re Daemon Targaryen.”

“Who else would I be?” He holds open a door for you, letting you enter first.

“Some rich Lyseni lord who has enough money to call himself ‘prince’.” You say a bit snippily.

“I can prove it to you, show you my dragon, Caraxes.” He says as he walks up behind you, brushing your hair off your shoulder.

“Is that what you call your cock?” You ask playfully. He laughs.

“You’re quick… for a harlot.” He presses a light kiss to your neck.

“I’m no harlot yet. Not while I am still a maiden.” You whisper.

“I can fix that.” He doesn’t take the time to untie your chemise, he instead tears it down the middle and lets the shreds slip off of you, causing you to gasp. He is clearly pleased by your lack of smallclothes. You can tell by the way his fingers trace around your breasts. “Such a pretty girl. You’re no common Lyseni whore. There’s Valyrian blood in you. I can feel it.” He turns you and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. You gaze up at him. “Tell me of your parents.” 

You shrug. “My mother washes clothes.” 

“And your father?”

You shrug again.

“Hmm…” He hums. The prince clearly thinks that you’re dragonseed. He just is trying to figure out who’s you are, deciding that you are perhaps a little too old to be his.

“Is it a matter of importance, my prince?” You ask, your tone a little too disrespectful for the fact that you are speaking to royalty.

“Should you be speaking to a man who has you, naked in a bedchamber, like that?” He speaks, always with that air of amusement. He enjoys your temper. It’s the same Targaryen temper that he has.

“I have been reserving it for you, your grace.”

He chuckles. “Little seductress.” He grabs you by the chin, gently as first before swiftly tilting your head up and to the side. “Get on the bed.”  You scurry over, quickly lying on the bed. His eyes are dark as he looks over you. He pulls his trousers down slightly so he can pump his cock as he watches you. It makes you nervous, how domineering he is, how… large certain parts of him are. “Don’t be scared. I’m going to make a woman out of you.”

“I can’t imagine, with all that confidence, that some of it isn’t misplaced.” You tease because you can see how he likes it.

“Spread your legs.” Is all that he says in response. You do as he bids and are surprised when a harsh slap comes down between your thighs.

“Ah!” You wince and curl in on yourself.

“I didn’t say to close them.” He says sternly so you spread your legs again and take the following two smacks without complaint. Your eyes are watering at this point. “Not so bratty now, are you?” He gives you one of those wolfish smirks and you pout.

“Are you toying with me or fucking me? It must be hard to get it up at your age.” Now, you’ve given him something to prove. Just after you get the words out, he sheaths himself inside of you, right to the hilt.

“I was going to be gentle with you, Venus, but now I don’t think you deserve it.”

“I didn’t think that dragons were meant to be gentle.” He can see a similar fire burning in your eyes, a twinflame to himself. He brings his lips down to yours for a hungry kiss before he begins to pound into you. It hurts from his size but that only makes it better. You want him, desperately.

“Do I… please you, my prince?” You put on an innocent face for him.

“I think your tight cunt would please any man, zaldrītsos.” He says as he fucks into you ruthlessly.

“zaldrītsos?” You ask him.

“It means you’re my little dragon, my zaldrītsos.” He nibbles at your neck and you whimper, his thrusts continue quickly and deeply. “I’m going to put a baby in you. You’ll carry my heir, Venus.” He places his hand on your tummy. “Right in here.” He presses down and the action pushes you over the edge as you tightly squeeze around him, your peak washing over you in full force. “Fuck.” He murmurs. “So tight.” The way you contract around his cock has him spilling his seed deep inside of you.

He pulls himself out but quickly replaces his cock with his fingers so none of his cum spills out. “Can’t have you wasting my seed now.”

“I’ll have a baby now, my prince?” You look at him from beneath your lashes. You’ve never yearned for someone so. It is like your blood calls for his.

“If I breed you regularly, you will.” He runs his thumb over your lips. “Then… then I think that I just might make you my wife.”

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Professor Miguel O’Hara x Reader Headcanons

Warnings: University Professor Miguel, Implications of Smut, Age Gap, Secret Relationship, Teacher’s Pet Reader, Academic Manipulation, Coercion, Abuse of Power, Miguel Abusing his Spider Abilities for Nefarious Purposes, Slight Yandere Miguel, Implied Obsession, Minor Spoilers for Miguel’s Backstory, Extra Yandere Headcanons, Forced Kissing, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Miguel knows it’s wrong to want you in the way he does. You’re his best and brightest student, after all — his magnum opus: his academic pride and joy.

Problem is, that appreciation for your work ethic and your eagerness to take heavy loads of work (and eventually heavy loads of other things) charmed him. Sure, he could label you asa kiss-ass, a teacher’s pet, a sycophant, but ever since the first day he met you, he can’t help but feel your concern for him is genuine.

You always ask him how he’s doing. Every class, without fail, you stop off at his desk on your way to your seat and ask: “How are you doing today, Mr. O’Hara?” Followed by questioning some inane, specific detail he told you off-handedly a day or week prior.

You always remembered the little details. Something even Miguel finds trouble with doing; what, with his extracurricular activities as Nueva York’s one and only Spiderman.

The fact that you’re kind to him, a luxury Miguel had long since lost along with his family, strikes a chord with him.

He’s not sure when his platonic appreciation of such a hard-working student turned to something more — a rogue daydream into the lewd — but once he started, he couldn’t get enough.

Something about your unspoken submission to him – your, dare he say, desire to perform just for him, led his mind and his morals astray, left much room for interpretation and experimentation.

Choosing to believe you liked him — like-liked him — made a brand of pride bubble in his chest that he couldn’t abandon, couldn’t find a potent enough alternative to.

He starts shamelessly, yet restrainedly, flirting with you. In his own way, of course.

“I loved your paper on the configuration of water molecules and their behaviour when observed; very enlightening stuff.”

The way your face would light up, your eyes crinkling while a small, almost relieved laugh escaped you, made his chest flutter.

He thought it was pride. How little he knows for a science professor.

Eventually, this escalated into him asking you to do things for him he “Wouldn’t ordinarily ask a student to do.”

He smiles at you, eyes deceptively kind behind his slender glasses, as he watches you so intently listen, hear, for his commands.

He wonders what other things you’d do — how far you’d really go, stretch yourself (as he hopes you’d let him) — for a good grade and a positive impression.

He has a secret weapon that he knows will work on you, regardless of how momentous the task.

“I’m trusting you because you’re my favourite student.”

There it is. The activation phrase. Your heart rate quickens, your pupils blow wide and he can feel, hear, the blood rush to your cheeks as his confession settles in.

He can expect whatever it is he’s asked you to do to be complete before the time he’s set for you to do it. And all because of your eagerness to prove that you’re worthy of such a title as ‘favourite’. His favourite.

Truly, though, you are his favourite.

He feels his heart prick and his eyes search for you whenever the door to the lecture hall opens.

Only once were you unable to come to class, rendered bed-ridden by the flu, and Miguel’s heart sank.

He thought at first it was because he didn’t have your adoring eyes following him, trailing his every movement, stroking off his ego with how furiously you’d type on your laptop, take everything he said and burn it into your memory with laser-life efficiency.

But, as the lecture drew to a close, Miguel felt…concerned about you. Your well-being.

A dangerous emotion.

He cared about you. More than just an academic plaything, a task donkey; he wanted to visit you, to care for you. In ways he knew only he was capable of.

During his surveillance of the city that night, he paid you a visit as Spiderman.

Nothing so overt as to make himself known to you; rather a sideline visit as he watched you through your bedroom window.

Truly, your physical state reflected how monumental your illness was; you lay in bed, unaware of the world around you as you slept, nose tip red and eyes ringed.

He wanted to come in, to tuck you back under the blankets you’d thrashed yourself free from, to check your temperature, to be with you.

He leaves, hand coming up to the glass, wishing to breach it — and all the rules — to see you.

But alas, the next time he sees you is in class a few days later when you’re fully recovered.

As you sidle into your seat, lecture hall (uncharacteristically) devoid of Miguel, your friends lean in to tell you all that you missed.

Though, to your surprise, it’s not academic material they’re covering.

“He kept looking over here while you were gone,” came one friend, smiling. Knowing.

“Yeah,” chimes another, leaning in even closer. “And he didn’t sound like he usually does — he sounded…” They look for the right word, term, eyes sliding upwards as if the answer lay heavenward.

The cogs click, they look at you, pointing.

“Disheartened!”

Of course, your friends knew of your admiration for Miguel, often construing it as romantic attraction, but their jibes never went past a joke – purely satirical. After all, practically every student fancied Miguel.

But, that was the first indication you’d seen that Miguel didn’t just view you as another of his students. Though, you hadn’t seen the other warning signs.

Not that youd knwo this prior to dating him, but Miguel gets unbelievably hard when you call him ‘Mr. O’Hara’. Or, even better, ‘Sir’.

Something about the way you look up at him beneath your lashes, eyes filled with the desire to please him, to get on his good side and undertake any task he set for you, was akin to him having full control over you — academic and otherwise.

It just reminds him of how much power he has over you; for the first time, he feels that he has control over the elements and objects around him — an agent of fate rather than being a subject of it. 

That, coupled with his secret identity as Spider Man, sends him on a power trip that often leads him to relieving himself of his growing burden in the privacy of his own four walls, your name laced between the groaning, the panting, the moaning; the only comprehensible instrument in his orchestra.

And, when you eventually start dating, he takes his frustrations out on you.

He makes low, raspy threats when he wants something.

“I’ll lower your grade,” he says, sliding his belt from the loops of his trousers.

The blood draining from your face, your widened stare, your mouth dropping open, make his pants feel tight. Tighter. Goosebumps erupt across his skin.

“Or,” he offers, folding the belt and holding it by the ends. He slaps the belt’s body against itself, sending a crack through the room. You flinch.

“You can be a good little student and earn your grade.”

‘Earning’ often ends with you panting and red and wet, while Miguel watches you between half-lidded, reddened eyes, contact lenses long abandoned, his true nature no longer an enigma to you.

Unfortunately for you.

Extra Yandere Headcanons:

Once you discover Miguel’s true identity, both as Spiderman and a monster, you can never leave.

And not just because you’d be endangering both yourself and him if you ever told anyone.

Miguel, quite simply, cannot live without you. And the thought that you would try to escape him is, despite his intelligence, baffling.

His delusion has blinded him, made him privy only to any positive opinion of him you may have, ignoring your reservations. Invalidating them.

If you ever do make the mistake of trying to leave, Miguel knows he cannot let you have the chance of making it again.

“Can’t risk you getting out, Darling,” he says, placing the finishing knots on the threads of his neon web, keeping your arms constricted behind your back. It’s nigh-impossible to breathe; the likelihood of you breaking your ribs against the pull of the web a certainty rather than you managing to burst it open with any manoeuvre.

He kneels before you, taking your cheek in his hand.

With fleeting defiance, you pull yourself from his grasp, only to see him bear his teeth, fangs and all, and growl. His hands snake about your cheek, your throat, and pull you to him.

“No-one will ever love you like I do,” he rasps. Before you can anticipate, his lips are on yours, parted, tongue lapping at the inside of your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing better than to bite him.

His iron grip on your wrists from last time still haven’t healed.

You daren’t close your eyes for fear that doing so will leave you any more vulnerable than you already are.

Only when he’s breathless does he pull back, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. You can tell he’s angling for something more in the way his hand drops to your shoulder, his eyes sweeping across your collarbones.

But, luckily for you, the two of you know he can’t indulge in you just yet. Not while he has you bound in his basement and a class of students awaiting his arrival.

“I’ll be back for you later,” he says, still panting, forehead pressed to yours. His smile, once pointed and serpentine, is incongruously soft compared to the current circumstances. His lips gentle as he presses a kiss to your forehead. His eyes shimmer with a tenderness that often overtook him in moments of great need – of great “love”, as he’d characterise it.

With a tight, embrace, he parts from you. His shirt is an almost blinding white against the light pouring in from the hallway, the basement door now wide open. He retrieves his glasses from his breast pocket, slips them on. His eyes are unreadable, coloured brown with contact lenses which seemed to conceal his inhumanity from all except you.

“Sit tight, Sweetie,” he tells you. And you are plunged once again into darkness with only the dim glow of his web to accompany you.

And, just like the good, obedient student you are, you obey. For you have no other choice.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[kioflerkira]

“ OCEAN PICNIC ”

warning: fluff, kisses pairings: p.jackson x reader. summary: percy surprises you with a date by the beach, complete with homemade sandwiches (courtesy of sally) and a sunset view.

━━━━ ⋮ ୨୧ ⋮ ━━━━

THE RHYTHMIC CRASH OF THE WAVES against the shore filled your ears as you followed percy down a winding path that led to the beach. the golden light of the setting sun painted the sky in vibrant shades of orange and pink, reflecting off the water like liquid fire.

you had no idea where he was taking you, only that he had a mischievous glint in his sea-green eyes when he asked you to follow him earlier.

"are you ever going to tell me what this is about ?" you asked, nudging his arm playfully.

percy smirked. "patience, love. you'll see."

your feet finally touched the soft, cool sand, and you gasped at the sight before you. a blanket was spread out near the water, with a small picnic set up—two sandwiches, neatly wrapped in foil, a thermos of what you assumed was blue hot chocolate (a sally jackson specialty), and a little lantern, already flickering in the dimming light.

"percy.. did you do all this?"

he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "well, my mom helped with the food. but the rest was me." he looked at you hopefully. "do you like it ?"

you turned to him with a warm smile, your heart swelling at the thoughtfulness of it all. "I love it."

the two of you settled onto the blanket, unwrapping your sandwiches and eating as the sun slowly dipped toward the horizon. percy kept sneaking glances at you, a contented smile playing on his lips. the ocean breeze tousled his dark hair, making him look even more effortlessly handsome.

"you know," you mused, stretching your legs out, "I think this might be the perfect date."

percy grinned. "might be ? So what do I have to do to get a definite ‘best date ever’ title ?"

before you could respond, a rogue wave surged forward, rushing up the shore faster than you expected. you barely had time to react before the water hit your legs, knocking you off balance. you let out a startled yelp as you tumbled forward, but before you could hit the ground, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you upright.

percy was laughing, holding you close, his sea-green eyes sparkling with amusement. "I swear, the ocean’s got a mind of its own sometimes. probably jealous."

you let out a breathless chuckle, still gripping his arms. "jealous ? of what ?"

His gaze softened, and he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "of me getting to spend time with you."

your heart skipped a beat. the warmth of his touch, the sound of the waves, and the way he was looking at you all melted into a perfect moment. then, before you could overthink it, he leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

It was gentle but firm, carrying the taste of salt and something undeniably percy. your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him just a little closer before he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.

"so," he murmured, "does this officially make it the best date ever ?"

you laughed, your nose brushing against his. "without a doubt."

the ocean hummed around you, the last rays of the sun disappearing beneath the horizon, leaving only the two of you wrapped in the moment.

━━━━ ⋮ ୨୧ ⋮ ━━━━

[goodlucktai]

so then i took my turn

in stars and time pairing: isafrin (onesided) (but not really) word count: 2k title borrowed from yellow by coldplay alternatively—if you don't have your own north star, store-bought is fine :)

read on ao3

x

You don’t connect the dots right away—as a matter of fact, you won’t connect these particular dots for years—but one night you look up at the starry sky and you make a wish. 

You’re tired and your legs are sore from a day full from end to end of walking. The road is long, and the end of it looms dark and inevitable ahead of you. You do your best to be a bastion of optimism for Mirabelle and Odile, but you don’t know how well you do. You don’t know if your best is enough on its own. Shamefully, selfishly, you think it would be nice to not be the only one determined to make a bleak day brighter just because. 

There isn’t a Favor Tree there to catch the wish when you make it. There’s no ritual behind it. You don’t even know you’re going to do it until the second you do. 

You look up at a curtain of tiny twinkling lights, not fully understanding their place in the family of things but appreciating the stubborn, knife-like way they pierce through the night and shine anyway. 

Maybe they’re the ones you’re praying to when you whisper, “We could use a little help.”

The next morning, your group crosses paths with a traveler. 

The traveler appears out of nowhere, dispatching a Sadness three times their size without even losing their floppy pointed hat from its place on their head, a curved dagger in hand that, much like its wielder, seems entirely too small to pack the punch that it does. The encounter starts before you even realized a Sadness was creeping behind you and ends before you can jump in to help. 

The traveler looks as surprised by your thanks as you were by his sudden arrival. He tucks his knife away, hides his hands beneath his voluminous darkless cloak, and peeks at you through a curly cloud of hair. 

In that moment he resembles nothing more than a tiny tidepool creature retreating into its shell. You think, absurdly, about scooping him up. 

Mirabelle will tell you later that she had almost let first impressions get the best of her, assuming that the mysterious rogue would be unfriendly or standoffish. Odile chimed in that she knew better than to judge a book by its cover, but found herself surprised by the vibrant personality their new friend revealed as the hours went by on the road with nothing to do but get to know one another. 

You, on the other hand, were a lost cause from the second Siffrin opened their mouth. 

“You looked like you could use a little help,” they say. “Just a stab in the dark.”

A joke is the last thing any of you were expecting and maybe it wasn’t a joke but the emphasis was so pointed that you open your mouth before you can overthink it and say, “And you were right! You’re pretty sharp.” 

Mirabelle looks politely confused and Odile looks like she can not believe this is her life. The traveler’s dark eyes turn wide and bright and they lift their chin out of the collar of their cloak enough that you can see the stretching corners of their grin. 

“Would you say I’m a cut above the rest?”

Oh, yeah. You’re in trouble. 

——

Siffrin is still very new to the group the first time your quest comes to a temporary stop in a friendly little town resting alongside the natural bend of the road, tucked away in the hills. It’s lucky timing to be certain, because the four of you are in dire need of a restock of pretty much everything and you don’t have a ton of daylight left. 

Odile makes the executive decision that it would be the most efficient use of their time to divide and conquer. Mirabelle goes to secure lodging, you’re tasked with tracking down a general goods store for blankets and tarps or a tent if you can find one, Odile is taking charge of tonics and medical supplies, which leaves the food to Siffrin.  

He’s given a specific list of purchases to make and pointed in the direction of the market. You find him there a little more than an hour later. The late afternoon sun is burning low in the sky and Siffrin is drifting aimlessly with exactly none of the items on his shopping list and, inexplicably, a handful of ripe carambolas. 

It’s the end of a long day at the end of a long walk, and Odile, to her credit, manages not to outright snap at your new friend. But her tone is distinctly impatient when she asks, “Should we write you a note next time?”

She clearly isn’t expecting Siffrin to take her seriously, or for them to nod so eagerly that the wide brim of their hat flops with it. She blinks, surprised, sharp eyes flicking over their face. And then the whole of her softens, that blink-and-you-miss-it compassion she likes to pretend doesn’t exist just on the inside of her prickly exoskeleton. 

“Noted,” Odile says. Her voice is still brisk but not irritated anymore. “It’d be better for us to buy fresh when the market opens again in the morning, anyway.”

“Yeah, good thinking, Sif,” you say, immediately jumping on board this mission of banishing the awkwardness still clinging to your friend’s hunched shoulders. 

You would be the first to tell anybody who asked—or anybody within your vicinity who wasn’t even interested in hearing about it, really—that Siffrin is more than capable. He’s quick-footed and clever and a menace with his scissors craft and also with his wordplay. You know damn well that Siffrin doesn’t need a bodyguard or a cheerleader. 

Sometimes you wish you could be those things for him anyway. You wish you could pluck him right out of every situation that makes him feel uncomfortable or self-conscious or small. It’s better when he’s laughing, doubled over and hugging his stomach, noisy and taking up all the space he needs. 

But instead you settle for nudging him conspiratorially, tipping your chin toward the fruits he purchased, and adding, “Berry good thinking.”

He goes absolutely still at the touch of your hand, eyes like lamps. You have the sense, for just a moment, sudden and nerve-wracking, that you did something wrong. Then he smiles. 

“A-pear-antly,” he says, smile only widening when Odile groans. “My ideas are one in a melon.”

But you catch them rubbing their arm where you touched them. You can only tell because their cloak falls open for a second as they turn, revealing their fingers buried in their own sleeve. And you kick yourself for just assuming that Siffrin is as tactile as Mira and yourself are just because he laughs as readily as them. Odile doesn’t like to be touched, either, and you’re easily capable of respecting her boundaries. You can just as easily respect Siffrin’s. 

And it’s totally fine!! you think, dashing away every lived-in daydream of holding Siffrin’s hand or burying your fingers in his darkless hair. His hair that probably feels as downy soft as rabbit fur. You would probably never know but that’s so fine. 

And if it feels like your crush just got a million times more hopeless, well. That’s your personal business. 

——

The written reminders become a common thing. Mira likes to draw little animal faces or hearts on the notes she writes. You doodle along the edges of yours, looping patterns or jokes that it makes your heart warm to imagine Siffrin reading to himself and snickering over. 

Odile doesn’t embellish the pages but she sometimes folds them with a few crisp, practiced presses and presents Siffrin with a note in the shape of a bird or a cat. She rolls her eyes when her friends gasp in delight but sometimes isn’t quite quick enough to hide her smile behind her journal. 

Siffrin is silent so much of the time that it’s easy to forget that he’s actually very silly, and very sweet, and achingly sincere. You watch him cross tasks off his list as he completes them, shimmying his shoulders to a victory tune inside his head, and you just—Change, you like him so much. Too much. It’s a lot to carry. Where are you supposed to put it down?

“When should we start to worry about that, do you think?” Odile surprises you by asking. She’s looking where you’re looking, at your forgetful rogue double-checking where he’s supposed to go next. Even though, like, you just discussed it as a team, and he’s not even all the way down the street yet. 

“What? Sif?” You frown. “They’re fine. They just—they just have a hard time remembering stuff.”

Odile gives you a look that makes you feel uncomfortably seen. Which is not out of the ordinary for her. This particular look says I know about your dumb crush and thus far I’ve done you the favor of not detailing for you just how much it stands to potentially complicate my life so you can do me the favor of not playing stupid. 

You might be projecting. It makes you straighten your shoulders anyway, like you’re still a Defender on the job. 

“Last night at dinner, Mirabelle asked them about their knife, and Siffrin said that it originated in their country as a tool for raking and farming,” Odile recounts briskly just to drive her point home. “And then Mirabelle asked what it was called, and Siffrin disassociated mid-word.”

That’s the best word for it, but also not, because it’s too clinical to do justice the way it made your heart plummet into your stomach. 

Siffrin’s eyes had turned vacant, expression faraway. They sat there with their fork hovering above their plate like a sleepwalker, like someone had reached into their soul and turned the light off inside. It lasted about six seconds but it felt like as many hours—long enough that Mira started to lift her hands, as if there was something in front of her that she could heal, and Odile moved her chair back to get up for help, and you said his name twice, louder the second time, heart lurching anxiously. 

Then Siffrin blinked, and smiled, and said, “Sorry, Mira. What was the question again?”

Yeah, you remember. And you didn’t sleep a wink all night because of it. You laid awake and stared at the tuft of pale hair peeking out from the bundle of stolen covers on Siffrin’s side of the bed the two of you shared and wondered what happened to them. What their mind could possibly be trying to protect them from, that even a little history lesson about Siffrin’s faithful dagger was enough to trigger its defenses. 

Let me in, you think at him, desperate with wanting it, with wanting him to hear it. Let me help. 

The space between you sometimes feels like an ocean between two countries. It would be so easy to touch him. You’re very careful not to. 

“He’ll come to us when he’s ready,” you say, hoping that by saying it out loud you’re making it true. “If we can trust him to lead us through danger, we can trust him this much, too, right?”

Odile sighs, but not as though she disagrees. It’s a little like the way she sighed when she first met Mirabelle, and learned about her quest, and said, “And you’re how old?” She sighs like that a lot. 

——

Mirabelle is your leader but it’s Siffrin you all follow, Siffrin who leads the way through mazes and certain dangers. He’s always a step ahead, sniffing out traps and picking his way around them, light on his feet and as weightless as a bird when he perches over this or that trigger and warns his friends to step carefully. 

“Fix your face,” Odile mutters, smirking, when you spend a second too long admiring his form. 

“MADAME,” you say, totally normal, totally not a shriek. 

Mirabelle turns and looks curiously back at you, too far ahead to hear, thank Change. 

Siffrin told you once about something called Polaris. He said it was the brightest star in the Ursa Minor constellation, and always led true North. He beamed at you, safe in the knowledge, easy in his element, and said, “I can find my way home from anywhere.”

He didn’t remember telling you, and looked politely confused when you asked him about it later, but you never forgot. 

Polaris. Nonsense to you, a made-up word that doesn’t mean anything, but you relive the way he said it over and over. He said it like someone who belonged somewhere. Someone who could never get lost, because there was a map in the stars that he knew how to read. It sounded like a fairy tale. 

But sometimes you catch him glancing up at the sky before picking a new direction to walk in, and it always ends up being the right way to go. You watch him run ahead to find a safe way forward for the rest of you, his pale coat a beacon in the dark, and think about something he called the North star. 

——

“It’s getting dark,” Mirabelle frets, clutching her hands together anxiously. 

“Frin’ll be fine,” Bonnie scoffs, as if they hadn’t adamantly and at the very top of their lungs refused to start dinner until Siffrin arrived. 

“Are you sure you put where we were meeting on their reminder note, Mirabelle?” Odile says wryly. 

“Oh no!!” Mira says frantically. “I don’t think I did, oh no!!” 

Your group is one missing part away from whole, and none of you are inclined to go inside yet. You linger out in the yard as daylight dwindles into nothing. 

A few of those lights in the sky begin to shine through the dusk. They catch your eye. 

They’re pretty, and you’re a deeply romantic person, so you don’t hate the idea of there being some kind of design up there that you just can’t seem to ever see properly, no matter how much you squint or tilt your head. You like to believe it’s there anyway, that one night it’ll just click and you’ll be that much closer to understanding the mystery wrapped in tragedy wrapped in fantasy of your favorite person. It’s enough that Siffrin believes it, when he remembers he believes it. 

But as pretty as they are, they’re not very reliable. You can’t always see them. Some nights aren’t good for stargazing. Sometimes the sky’s cloudy. 

Good thing there are other lights to see by. Warmer and brighter lights, more dependable by virtue of being placed by loving hands. You left lanterns on the path to the clocktower for Siffrin, beacons to guide him the way he’s always guided you. You will never, for as long as you live, let Siffrin get lost. 

You don’t say it out loud but you’re worried about them. They looked tired today. In front of the Favor Tree, they seemed one harsh wind from blowing completely apart. Trembling in front of you as if you both weren’t standing in full sun, in a way that reminded you of the day after they lost their eye. 

They had been in so much pain that their limbs all quivered with it, but they still managed to carve out a smile. They still managed to scrounge up a joke. You learned then that you’re not really certain you can trust them when they say they’re okay. You can trust them with everything but themself. 

Siffrin said he was okay earlier. He kept looking over at the Favor Tree like he had something to do. You wanted to touch his trembling shoulder so badly that your hand ached with wanting it. You know better, so you left him alone. 

You hope he gets whatever it is he wants badly enough to actually ask for. 

[half-dead-ham]

Tim Drake's I.E.F Chap 5

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Mmmmm this is probably gonna be the last chapter I link to Tumblr tonight. It's like, 2am? Yea I deserve some sleep. I'll hopefully get some more out tmrr. But who knows? Certainly not me.

Also. I have never pulled a prank on my sib and this chapter displays that fully.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Looking over the plans on his laptop, Tim can't help but smile. It may be slightly maniacal, but with the plans he has, he couldn't help it.

Only a day has passed since Jason came to check on Tim, and since then he's been putting together a series of plans for his siblings. We're they good plans? No, not at all.

Tim, with the ready help of his new friend that could go both invisible and intangible had prepared a set of pranks specifically for each family member -minus Bruce and Alfred- in order of who needs it most. A few times while writing in the document he titled 'the shit list' he could hear his friend giggling from over his shoulder, the soft reverb sending chills down his spine that had nothing to do with the familiar cold his friend gave off. It was distracting, but it showed that Tim had gotten a bit closer with Arcturus, even if just a little bit.

"Alright," he nodded, giving the list one last look over before turning to where he could feel the epicentre of the cold.

"I have one last thing that'll make this perfect." Tim turned to rummage in his bedside table, absently noting the lack of strain such a movement had on his wounds. His hand brushed what he was looking for, and he pulled it out to show to Arct, laying the object on the palm of his hand. A compact surveillance camera sat neatly on his palm, perfect for watching the chaos unfold from the safety of his hospital bed in the medbay while his friend enacted righteous vengeance.

Arcturus must have grabbed the camera because it floated off his palm over to the bedside chair, turning every so often for his friend to get a better view of the device.

"Cool isn't it? We use these to keep tabs on some of the regular rogue hideouts, and sometimes infiltrations if we need a wire." Tapping a few things on his keyboard he brought up the camera's feed. A grainy image appeared, jumping and lagging every few seconds. Odd, this was supposed to be a newer model, there shouldn't be any interference with the signal, especially this close to the cam itself.

To his left Arct made a trill that sounded like clinking icicles and a feeling of understanding that wasn't his own washed over Tim. Frowning and looking over he watched his friend bring up the camera to what Tim thought would be about chest level, and just to its left sparked to life a green flame.

No, that wasn't quite right, the green pulsed and warbled, but it stayed mostly circular, not pointed like a candle's flame. The light moved closer to the camera and Tim could just make out the silhouette of his friend's pointed claw before it made contact. Touching the light to the camera seemed to affect it somehow, as he watched the camera absorb the light fully, glowing slightly before that too faded into the device.

Tim wondered just what Arct had done to the device until the laptop in front of him notified him with a ding! 

'New power source detected, convert?' He'd never seen that pop-up before. Cautiously glancing back over to the chair, he clicked the 'accept' button and watched as the program closed, then opened back up a second later. The camera feed now had a slight green tint to it, but the glitching and static had stopped. 'Whatever Arct had done to the camera probably counteracted the interference his aura gave off,' Tim figured.

He turned to his friend to give his thanks, but the words died on his lips as he watched the small figure of the camera flicker and disappear. Trying to find them was useless, his friend could obscure the cold feeling he gave off when he wanted, even Tim couldn't find him. Tim turned back to the footage on his laptop only to get jumpscared by a closeup of his own face.

A ghostly giggle echoed in front of him as Tim groaned. Arcturus really did fit perfectly in this family if he was already scaring him like that for no reason.

"Okay, okay, enough playing around. Ready to start a war?" He grinned, sharp and feral. He could only imagine Arct was doing the same as the camera came back into view to bob up and down rapidly.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny first tracks down Stephanie in the library. The blond Danny's come to know as Spoiler is lounging on one of the many couches in the large room with a book in hand and a glass of water on the small table next to her. Too focused on her book, she reaches over to get her drink without looking. She frowns, she knew she put her glass close by, but she can't find it by touch alone.

Frowning, she finally tears her gaze from her book to the end table beside her, only to find her water, sitting innocently where she had left it. Taking and inspecting it reveals nothing out of place with the glass or the table. Stephanie says nothing as she looks out to the rows of bookshelves, then behind her and the couch, trying to find anyone to place blame, but she was alone. Or so she thought.

Turning back, she shrugs to herself and tips the glass to take a sip, only to yelp as a large ice cube slid out of the cup and onto her nose. She jumps back in her seat, startled, at the solid chunk of what used to be her drinking water now sitting in her lap. Hesitantly, she pokes at it, expecting it to seemingly explode. Once, twice, three times all come up with something cold but solid. The fourth time her nail lightly grazes the side and suddenly she's drenched from the waist down in room temperature water.

She rushes to her feet, pants soaked and dripping onto the carpet. Again, she looks around for anyone in the room, even glaring at the high tops of the bookshelves, expecting one of her family members to jump out and tell her she just got pranked. But again, she's alone in the library. Danny lets a breathy chuckle escape him as he watches Stephanie glare accusingly at nothing, then her soiled pants, and finally storming out of the library, book now forgotten. He makes sure the book is left on another couch in case she comes back. Then floats off to find his next target.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian is in his room working on that day's portion of homework when he feels a presence. An all too familiar presence that reminds him of a time before he lived in the manor.

A dangerous presence.

He spins around in his chair, previously concealed dagger now in hand. The room hasn't changed, his weapons are still perched in their displays on his wall, the curtains sway lightly in the mid afternoon breeze. Paranoia runs through him like electricity as he crosses the room to close the window, certain of what he felt. Pit demons could not be seen by normal men, they were monsters spawned by the Lazarus pits to bring chaos and madness for all those trying to use their powers. If there were a pit demon in the manor, they would all be dead before long.

Moving back to his desk in slow movements, Damian tried to pick up on that familiar feeling. The feeling of unchecked desire and death. He found an empty room.

This did not comfort him.

Damian took another dagger out of its hiding place just as he heard the door handle rattle. Tearing the door almost off its hinges he raced after that presence through the house, down corridors and ballrooms, stairways and secret passageways. The presence finally stopped in the main foyer. Damian scanned the entrance room with daggers drawn, trying to sense where the thing had disappeared to.

Just as the tension started to leave his shoulders with the thought of 'needing more sleep, lest he end up like Drake' a snowflake landed on his nose. He looked up just in time to see a mound of snow fall on him in a whump! leaving only his head and neck exposed. With his body restrained, Damian could do nothing as the pit demon's presence glides back up the main staircase and disappears down a corridor, static hissing conveying its glee in its wake.

-

Damian returns to his room cold and damp, a blanket on his shoulders and mug of warm cardamom milk in his hand. Swinging the door open Damian is outraged to see all his weapons, hidden ones included, painted and arranged on his floor in the forms of several different flowers. He growls and glowers at nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim made sure to save Duke for last, as his powers might give Arct some trouble. Danny doesn't know exactly why a guy like Duke is on 'the shit list' but doesn't question it if it means getting to prank someone.

The meta is currently using the training space in the cave to practice grapples and throws in a simulation.

A cold chill runs up his spine and he blocks a punch. Duke knows no one besides Tim is in the cave, and he shouldn't be up and running around yet, so otherwise Duke is alone. The simulation ends, Duke bent over with hands on his knees as he tries to steady his breathing. Something passes behind him, cold and charged, like a broken power line in the middle of winter. He glanced behind him, breathing having levelled out some, but sees nothing. Looking over his other shoulder provides similar results.

Suspicious, Duke calls out to the empty room.

"Hello?" His voice echoes in the silence of the cavernous room. Something else replies, a cold haunting whisper of a laugh. It has no source that he could see, bouncing off the stone walls and seemingly coming from every direction. The black and white streak from the corner of his vision is the final straw, he needs to nope the heck out of here.

Taking quick strides out of the training room, he only makes it past the threshold when something grabs his ankle. He tries to jerk away but the thing's grip is strong, keeping him bound to that spot on the floor even as he's leaning back with his full weight. It's grip on his ankle loosens ever so slightly after a moment, and Duke hopes he's able to get away with that smidge more wiggle room.

His heart plummets as a sensation radiates out from the grip, cold like spearmint and chilled water. It envelops him, and for a second Duke feels weightless.

Then, the thing pulls.

Duke is pulled through the floor, scream caught in his throat as stone and dirt pass through him and the unseen being. He tries to see what has him, but this darkness doesn't respond as it would normally. His X-ray vision doesn't help either, as it just shows him more earth and the sewers below Gotham.

A sinking feeling slips into the pit of his stomach as he wonders if he'll be left down here, were the thing that has him let go. That thought was jerked away with him as the being dragged him up up up and breaches land. It was all he could do to not cry from relief at seeing the late Gotham sky when gravity reasserted itself and the pressure on his ankle vanished. He dropped face first into the grass.

"Owww…" Duke groans. Laying there seems like the better option as he tries to get his heart rate under control for a different reason than before. Rolling over takes more energy than he'd like, but it's worth it if it means he's not inhaling grass. Cracking one eye open he does not expect to see a shadowy figure leaning over him, it's green eyes peering at him, inspecting him like a specimen. He lays as still as he can, not wanting to breathe as this creature's eyes wash over him like a tiger watching an antelope.

The things eyes travel up to his face, and a cheshire grin manifests itself in the roiling black of its face, stark white in contrast and with too many teeth. 'Ah, I'm going to die' was all Duke could think before the thing lunges. Screwing his eyes shut might have been the last thing he ever does…

A few minutes pass and nothing happens. No pain or cold could be felt anywhere on his body, so he cautiously cracks an eye open. Blue sky overhead, trees and the manor in the distance, but no sight of the black thing that literally dragged him here. Duke sits up slowly, turning his head to try and see the thing.

It's gone.

He could almost think it was a dream if he didn't have to walk all the way back to the manor in his workout gear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The prank war—more of a slaughter really—went on for the next two days. At random hours strange things will go on around the three siblings still in the manor, things disappearing and reappearing in other locations, water turning to ice when they blink and back again, strange noises or cold spots in empty rooms. It all leads up to dinner.

Tim had been given the okay from Alfred to exit medbay and eat solid food. Alfred had marvelled at Tim's speedy recovery—no one heals from a bullet to the lung in a week and a half—but made sure to drill into him that he wouldn't be doing any strenuous work, during the day or night.

Tim was okay with that, he thought as he sat down and watched as the others set the table around him. The three targets were haggard and paranoid, jumping at shadows (in Duke's case literally.) Arcturus was around somewhere close, he had hidden his presence as Tim hobbled up the stairs with Alfred's help, and Tim wondered if he'd be able to get away with anymore pranking today.

With the table set, the three sat across from Tim, stiff and uncomfortable. Tonight's dinner would be soup, mainly because Tim still had to recover, but there was a side of steamed vegetables and buttered bread to be dipped if preferred.

They sat in tense silence, Bruce late again, as always. Smirking, Tim tried to make conversation with his three siblings.

"So, anything interesting happen around here while I was rotting in bed?"

Damian scowled and glanced to his left, towards Bruce's chair. Duke paled by at least two shades, and Stephanie's eye twitched.

"Nothing happened Timmy, we're all just peachy." Steph ground out. Man she was really on her last straw.

Good.

He watched absently as a piece of steamed broccoli dropped into the plate. 'So Arct was hiding under the table' he thought as he tried making more small talk with his siblings.

"Y'know I've been hearing some strange things down in the cave, I'm almost starting to believe it's haunted." He says with a chuckle. Not like he was wrong.

The elbow to the shin both confirms where Arct is and tells him maybe that joke was in bad taste if the ghost doesn't want to be noticed.

Damian's glare told him he didn't miss the minute flinch he gave at that. Neither did Duke apparently, as his brow furrows. Damn detective training. Luckily Steph is still trying to burn a hole through her bowl with her eyes like Superman.

After that they eat in silence. The sound of clinking cutlery and shuffling in seats fills the room. At one point Duke seems to notice Tim's disappearing veggies, despite Tim not eating them. He drops his spoon, and it clatters off the table with a sound that could have been a gunshot in the quiet dining room.

"Ope, sorry,'' he mutters sheepishly as he scoots his chair back enough to bend down and get it.

As he's bent over, Duke looks over to Tim's side of the table. He nearly jumps out of his skin as he watches the thing, just sitting against his brother's legs, pulling a carrot through the table and putting it in its mouth. He must've made a noise or something, because the thing snaps to look at him with those toxic green eyes. A black appendage lifts for it to wave at him, that Cheshire grin curling out of its face with too many teeth.

Duke jumps back, hitting his head on the underside of the table and falling out of his seat. He scrambles out from under the table to see his three siblings staring at him. Pointing a shaking hand at the thing at Tim's feet he croaked, his voice cracking in fear.

"Something-" He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, "-Something's under the table."

Damian shoots to his feet, newly revealed dagger in hand. Stephanie bolts up too, backing away slowly from the table like it might eat her if she moves too quickly.

Yeah, Tim might have just screwed up.

The frosty sensation pressing against his leg vanishes and he could see Duke gaping at him from the floor. Right, Intangibly, Arcturus probably went through the floor and is gonna hide out in the cave for a while until dinner is over. Tim inwardly let out a sigh of relief. Time to cover his ass.

"What's wrong Duke? Saw a spider or something?" Tim grins down at the other boy from his seat.

"What? No! I saw this, this thing! It was this smokey black thing with green eyes and way too many teeth!" Duke is still pointing at his legs under the table, like Arct will just come back for funsies.

Tim absently wondered if that's what Jason saw, looking at Arcturus. He never gave a description of his friend, even though he came back a few days later. Though he did get pranked by them. They got found out pretty quickly and started talking about other ways to mess with the family after that.

"Tt, so you can see the pit demon then, unsurprising." Damian scowled in Tim's direction, was he taking his anger out on Tim like that? Maybe.

"Wait, hold on-" Steph points at Damian. "-You know what this thing is? And you haven't told us?" She accused.

"I had it under control, it did not seem important as it had not yet tried to harm anyone as of yet." Damian retorted.

"Harm anyone? That thing is violent?!"

"Normally, those of its species are, yes."

Their shouting soon devolved into bickering, their feelings of suspicion and paranoia finally being released in the form of a shouting match as Duke remained frozen on the floor staring at Tim from under the table.

Tim propped his chin on his fist, elbow on the table as the show went on. Honestly this could use some popcorn.

Just as he was getting comfortable Duke squinted at him.

"You knew about that thing, didn't you?" The suspicion was palpable in his voice.

"Knew about what?" He asked innocently.

"The thing! It was up against your legs, you would either have noticed it and tried to get away or you already knew about it!"

Oh, shit. The other two had died down in their shouting match to look at him now. Not good.

Tim tries deflecting, "Duke, I've been tired and sore for a week and a half, you really think I'd be noticing if my legs felt a little chilly?"

The arguing turned into a four-way match. He tried valiantly to deny all accusations thrown at him, but he was up against three other bat-trained detectives, he was bound to let something slip.

"Are you telling us," Damian ground out, "that you just let a dangerous supernatural creature follow you to the manor? Not only are you an imbecile, but you are suicidal as well."

"I didn't let it follow me, I was unconscious. Dick let it follow him." He countered, full face in his hands. This really did not turn out the way he wanted it to.

"And so, what? You just decided 'well they didn't believe me about this, so let's get back at them a little?'" Stephanie had stopped shouting, but the anger was still hot in her voice.

"Basically," he shrugged.

The three across from Tim were about to start berating him, again, when Bruce finally showed up. He looked at the three angry teenagers on one side of the table, then Tim trying to disappear into the chair cushions on the other.

"Did I miss something?" He asked.

His siblings wanted to regale Bruce with his stupidity, but Tim cut them off before they could start.

"They were just telling me how stupid it was of me to try and have coffee with dinner so soon into my recovery." He lied.

Bruce shot a stern look at Tim as he sat down. "And they're right, you're barely out of medbay Tim, coffee won't do you any good right now."

Tim gave a noncommittal hum at that.

The dinner moved quickly after that. Glares were not so subtly shot his way and he no longer felt the same joy he did at the beginning. He decided to cut his losses and retire to his room early.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

'This did not go how I thought it would,' Tim thought as he not so gently shut his door and flopped onto his bed. At least he could hole himself up in his room now, so that's a positive.

A cold presence nears his right and gives a small hum, the noise conveyed concern and regret. Arct felt sorry for leaving him? It was his own fault he got himself into that mess. He turned his head from where it was smashed into the mattress to look at where his friend sat, the bed dipping slightly at the invisible weight.

"Not your fault," Tim mumbled through the sheets. "I thought of the pranks, you just did them for me. You still don't trust me enough to even show yourself, and I put you in a dangerous spot for some fun."

He glumly turned his head back into the sheets. He knew his friend didn't trust the bats, he knew Damian knew about pit demons from Jason, yet he still thought using his friend and possibly outing him to his family was a good idea. Stupid, stupid! Tim let out an anguished groan, wallowing and repeating depressing thoughts like a mantra in his head.

All thoughts screeched to a halt when something ran over his scalp. He looked up, expecting not to see anything but instead found a floating white glove carding its fingers soothingly through his hair. Tim felt his eyes flutter as he practically melted into the mattress, his previous thought spiral completely forgotten.

A Trilling chirp sounding of a connecting audio jack moved a question through the air, one simple enough Tim could decipher clearly; better? Leaning into his friend's touch he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Thanks for helping me get out of my head. Sorry I had to tell them some things about you, Dami will probably try and stick around me now to make sure you aren't going to hurt anyone."

The fingers continued their paths through his hair as a trill of understanding filled him. Man, he'd made a great friend.

They continued like that in silence for a while, a floating white glove carding through Tim's hair, and Tim condensing into a puddle on the sheets from the comforting ministrations.

At Tim's yawn, the fingers stopped. Tim groaned at the loss. He looked hazily to his friend, silently urging him to continue. His friend responded with a cold wind rustling branches, the meaning of rest drew another groan from the puddle of teen. Ever so slowly he got up to go to the bathroom and get ready for bed, swaying slightly on his feet occasionally. Arcturus was still there when he got back, with clean pyjamas and a washed face. Tim crawled back into bead and was delighted when the fingers returned to his hair, accompanied by the purr he'd heard on the first night he'd met Arcturus, promising safety and sleep. The petting didn't stop until soft snores could be heard in the dark bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny was feeling hungry. His stomach had been roaring since he smelled dinner and it only got worse since stealing the veggies off Tim's plate. Maybe not attending to his human needs for a week and a half wasn't the greatest idea in retrospect, but the need for safety came first. He was currently in a house filled with highly trained and suspicious heroes and hero adjacents, he needed to be more than careful here, or he'd get caught by someone less friendly than Tim and Jason.

Still, he was hungry, and he probably needed a shower. After making sure all the vigilantes' returned from their patrols and tucked themselves safely in their beds, Danny used one of the furthest of the many spare bedroom ensuites (seriously how many rooms does this mansion have?) to scrub all his built up grime away. Not that he sweat or got dirty in ghost form, really, he just phases all the dirt off him, but nothing felt better after a week of stress than a shower.

It was heavenly.

Phasing the water off while in the tub would save the suspicion of a damp towel in an unused bedroom. He got dressed in his most recently washed clothes, thanking his past self for going to the laundromat before all this went down as he stuck his stuff back in the wall.

Danny crept down the winding halls of the manor towards the kitchen, remembering each turn from when he'd explore invisibly while Tim was asleep. Adding a little ghost power aided his steps to be deathly silent.

The kitchen was dark, not that it bothered Danny, as he made a B-line for the fridge. Opening it revealed a treasure trove of ingredients, fruits and veggies, meats and cheese, truly a fridge fit to serve five to twenty people at a time.

He grabbed a carrot and shoved it in his mouth, satisfied he had that to munch on. Danny started cherry picking other snacks, trying to make sure he could get somewhat of a balanced meal out of his pilfering.

The slight rustling of fabric made him stiffen, then a voice behind him had his core sink to his stomach.

"Master Jason, I do believe I have told you to send an advanced notice before you decide to come for a late-night snack," Alfred scolded the large silhouetted form.

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

Danny didn't move from his hunched position, unsure of what to do. He couldn't lie to the butler, he knew Jason much better than Danny did and would be able to smell the lie as soon as he turned around. Running wouldn't help either, Alfred had seen him. In human form. He'd tell Bruce as soon as he could. 'A mysterious man had bypassed all the detection alarms and raided the fridge early this morning' would send the bat on a search of the manor, top to bottom.

"Master Jason? Are you alright?"

Ah, he'd stayed quiet too long, shit.

The rustling of cloth came closer and in a panic Danny went invisible. A sharp inhale was the only indication of Alfred's surprise, and turning showed the man searching the room with eyebrows raised. Slowly the butler walked to the fridge, taking graceful, sturdy steps as he glided across the kitchen, expecting an attack. As he grabbed the handle of the open fridge door Danny turned intangible to let the door pass through him.

Alfred jerked his hand back as it went through Danny's chest, feeling as though he'd just stuck it in a bucket of dry ice. He'd tried to find the cold spot again, but by then Danny had already flown through the ceiling to Tim's room, the food in his arms forgotten.

Dropping his snacks to the floor as he made it to the correct bedroom Danny rushed to the sleeping form before him and shook him.

"Tim, Tim wake up!" He whisper-shouted, not caring if he was speaking English instead of ghost speak. "Tim, I need your help!"

Tim rolled over, groggy and half asleep.

"Whazzap?" He slurred before yawning.

"Your butler saw me."

"What?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Ao3][Prev][Next]

[felucians]

un bisou

Fandom: Marvel X-men | Gambit/Remy LeBeau x Reader

Reader is gender neutral with no physical descriptions. Rated PG-13 because Gambit would be the type of guy to grab anyone's ass during a kiss, he would test the boundaries and we all know it. Reader is a mutant with celestial Sun powers - technically based on my OC's powers which manipulates the Sun, specifically it's fire.

Summary: Takes place during Days of Future Past in the original X-Men series, where Bishop accuses Gambit of an assassination that destroys the future, reader is the only one to believe him. Pre-established relationships between Rogue/Gambit, Reader/Gambit and Reader is a member of the X-men team. Title is French for "a kiss". Wordcount: around 800 words.

"Don't nobody trust Gambit, eh?"

Rogue can't meet his eyes, her gaze downcast and guilt etched onto her features.

Gambit won't look at you, at your eyes glazing over in tears as your shared family denies him, believes that he could be the assassin. He didn't hear your whisper of "I do" as he loudly announces to the room, "Then Gambit don't need nobody."

He stalks away, glowering as his trench coat flows behind like a cape, and then the room is silent as his footsteps fade.

The lights black out and you're finally unfrozen, "How dare you? All of you? Not trusting one of our own, our team. Who are we if we cannot trust each other? What kind of family is this?"

The Sun hesitantly flickers through the windows, as solar flares begin radiating from your arms, anger burning through your body.

Rogue is first to speak, "Calm down, Sugah—"

"Calm down? When you all just turned your backs on him?"

Jean fixes you with a soft, understanding gaze and whispers "Go" in your mind - your chair hits the wall, leaving a dent with flashes of celestial energy trailing behind.

You don't even realise your feet carrying you through the hallways, yelling his name throughout the mansion, praying to anyone listening that he's still here and you find him before he leaves here, before he leaves you.

He's standing, paused at the doorway to the X-jet, breathing heavily with angry mutters of Cajun creole - blurring English and French seamlessly. Gambit looks up at the sound of your footsteps, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes that left in a second, replaced by a harsh piercing glare, "Porquoi êtes-vous ici, Dulcinée?" (Why are you here, sweetheart?)

The nickname is spat out, venom seeping out from the endearment that would usually bring a soft flush of heat to your face. You try not to flinch. Emphasis on try, because you do, and his face somehow looks even more pained at that. Words evade you as your throat dries, refusing to respond, so you take a deep breath and a soft gulp before you respond, grateful that you could understand his mother tongue.

"I'm here because I trust you, Remy."

He falters, searching your eyes desperately to spot any falsehoods, any inkling that you were spying on him for Charles - he doesn't find any. He finds pure raw love, the kind you knew you felt but could never truly verbalise.

Everyone on the team could see your soft spot for Gambit, and he knew it too. Sure, he flirted with every woman he came into contact with and he couldn't stop thinking about Rogue - but there was something about you that left the Cajun torn, as if he also loved you but didn't dare bare his heart to anyone, as if his shield crumpled, then his world would collapse and destroy everyone he cared about with it.

But here, with only you left, dangerously close to him in the enclosed space of the doorframe's entrance, he couldn't remember why he kept those walls up. He allowed his eyes to flicker to your soft lips, watching intensely as you involuntarily catch the bottom one in between your teeth. Your heart is hammering in your chest and before you can think to pull away, to move down the hallway or into the next room, his big hands are splayed on your soft hips, your spandex suit in bright terracotta separating your skin to skin contact.

He's surprisingly soft, as his lips meet yours and he tastes like spice and tobacco. It infiltrates your senses, enveloping you in a blanket of warmth and desire while you gasp, allowing him to deepen the kiss further, to let Remy explore your mouth, your taste, your emotions. His gloved hands grasp around your waist as the other dips down to your ass, giving it a small squeeze. His smirk brushes his stubble against your cheek at the soft breathy moan you let out from his actions - you would swear Jubilee was in here with the amount of fireworks lighting up your veins, the passion and love igniting your whole body in flames.

Gambit pulls away, and his face is almost unreadable and then it's sad. It's a goodbye kiss, you realise as he walks past you through the door to the X-jet - and you almost let him.

He's so lost on his own emotions and thoughts from the kiss that ghosts his lips that he doesn't notice you slipping into the darkened room after him, only to be blinded by the harsh lights as Bishop and Wolverine reveal themselves, entirely unaware of everything that just transpired between you both...

[apple-onigiri]

classpects....? o.o (am watching from a corner w binoculars)

THE 'AURA EXPLAINS HERSELF' SEGMENT OF THE SHOW

right. a bit naive of me to think no one would care enough to ask. i must warn you, what you're watching is a crash site, my friend. or a confessional scene. your pick. either way, welcome

so, firstly, i'm still assigning titles to siffrin and loop as a pair here and secondly, i'm going by classpect inverse rules for them just like before. a surprise tool that will help us later

in my previous assignment, i made siffrin a mage of doom and, conversely, loop an heir of life. i've since moved on to greener classpect pastures but let me explain myself on this wild pick first. i'll tell why i've done this:

i stupidly mixed and matched domains of time and doom aspects in my head ✌️

mostly that. some of it was also really wanting loop to be the heir of life because that's like the epitome of a progress-providing guide they end up being and it seemed really funny. but most of it was time and doom being unfortunately deceivingly similar to me. happens! i guess! in my defense, they really are quite similar, if you really get into it, aaaaand doom has the entire thing with sacrifice and being a cosmic joke - but at the end of the day, there's more time elements there sighh. a bit embarrassing that i'd defended my train of thought so valiantly but i was, in fact, incorrect. we move either way

so my main defense was that mages learn through experiencing all parts of their aspect and, by the end, possess enough knowledge to self-actualize. and doom is largely about entropy and things passing, and letting go. also rogue of doom did not fit them at all so mage was the thing that made most sense

but yeah, the more obvious title of the rogue of time fits siffrin better, y'all we're right, i'm ready to admit it, fine

time is mostly about death and passing, but the thing that evaded me in my initial analysis was that it's very much about endings too. and siffrin, subconsciously, steals away the end again and again. some other rogue of time propaganda:

firstly, their ability of speeding up the party is a huge point towards that, i can't believe i somehow forgot about it. passing on the turn less so, isa can do that too, but the point stands that they literally redistribute time in favor of their party. secondly, duhhhh time travel, not much to add here. thirdly, seeing doomed versions of yourself is. yeah. very time-coded. similarly, having your fckin time clone just hanging around is. time-coded. speaking of.

you know what is the most important here, though? the thing that made me rethink my initial analysis?

MAKING LOOP THE KNIGHT OF SPACE IS EVEN FUNNIER THAN THEM BEING THE HEIR OF LIFE

so knights, other than their usual quests and tasks, and business with their own aspect, are meant to help the space player create the universe frog in the game. but if the space player is the knight, they're So Screwed. cosmic joke type of character. can't catch a break. everything on their shoulders. it's so funny to make loop that, and when i realized that rogue of time inverses into that, i immediately started thinking that hmmm you know maybe it does have some merit......

so yeah, thank you loop for bringing me over to the light side with your sheer propensity for tragedy. i took the scenic route but we're here now

oh yeah mira is still a knight of breath and king is still the prince of hope. idk about the others yet even if odile immediately seems to signal either mind with her. entire thing. or heart with her search for identity. and isa has some page-ism about him maybe, and bonnie feels? like they'd be rage, and it'd pair nicely with the king's aspect. but idk, not yet lmao

anyway thanks for listening to my penance, have some doodles i made when figuring it all out as i was messing around with an old brush

[darkchemistryfanboy]

ok so this is my proposal for a Reverse Robins AU that's actually a Reverse Batfamily AU because Duke and the girls deserve some swapping too.

The typical joining the batfam timeline goes like this:

Dick-> Barbara-> Jason-> Tim-> Steph-> Cass-> Damian-> Duke

So let's swap

Duke:

both of his parents are severely incapacitated via rogue attack

since he grew up relatively normal, and has two parents he very much love and are technically still alive, he becomes Bruce's ward

the light to batman's darkness

overall very sunny personality but with some darkness one could explore

you can have his teenage angst phase start due to the awakening of his powers

no metas in Gotham and all that

so he goes to his own city and becomes his own separate vigilante

Damian

ok so this might be a little bit of a stretch but hear me out

he meets batman already trained and capable

and older than the current sidekick

also, his stance of killing may make him a kinda separate thing from batman

like, definitely not his sidekick

especially assuming this Damian is already a teen by the time he meets Bruce

it's not exactly the same, but near enough

his career ending injury could be related to the LoA

and instead of going hacker, he could go doctor

idk, think about it

Cass

ok this one's pretty easy

young child is found feral in the streets and gets adopted

she becomes the second signal or whatever name duke chose

and she is basically a really great child: appreciative of everything, actually goes to school, and so on and so forth

and then lady Shiva shows up

Shiva challenges her to a death match, Cass wins but refuses to kill her, since that's her mother, and gets killed for her troubles

now for her vilain arc it'd be a little different than Jason's

but I think it could happen

first she kills Shiva and steals her title

and when she does she has some epiphany about how some people will never regret the things they do

and she could become an assassin

killing the people who are truly horrendous, who she can clearly see are doing evil and regretting nothing

Steph

ok so while she would probably not grab Cass's/Duke's name, she would definitely be going out

and Batman gets PTSD seeing this small young vigilante going out and putting herself in danger

and tries to stop her

but Steph is too stubborn enough to actually stop

eventually he allows it but only on strict supervision

and maybe this is where she becomes the Signal III or whatever

at some point her father figures out who she is and while she's dealing with that she gives Tim the title

you could play on the fact that she's clue master's daughter and make her develop her detective skills

maybe enough that when Bruce "Dies" and Tim tells her of some suspicions she leaves to investigate

becomes Spoiler again and finds Bruce

Tim

ok so this one is kind of a stretch but just hang on

Tim, like always, is a fanboy

but since there's no Dick, he never figures out who Batman is

but he still loves the bats

and figures with all his money there's definitely something he could do

so he starts heading out to the streets, aiming to help

the others don't take him seriously because they see him as just a batman fanboy

so he has to struggle and try and fail and try again to be considered part of the team

he only becomes a part of the team when he becomes signal in that Steph fiasco

due to not being trusted, he starts a gang war, and Leslie fakes his death

he spends a year around the world, building his sense of identity and acting as a vigilante

and when Bruce disappears, he thinks something's fishy, and tells Steph

however, he also sees how the family is tearing at the seams, and chooses to stay, becoming uhh Damian's name (v3)

and he keeps the name

Jason

this one fits way too well

Jason either never steals the tires or steals them quickly enough to never get caught

he continues living as a street kid, stealing, being a snarky asshole, and helping the alley kids when he can

he could become some sort of informant for the bats, as well as an opportunistic vigilante

as in never actually going out intending to stop crime, but ending up doing it when possible

he brings crucial info on cases, also stopping muggings, and becomes closer and closer to the batfam

eventually, being one of the biggest informants of the city, and an incredibly smart kid, he gets enough info to figure out the Bats identities

he confronts them, telling them to do better (y'know, use their billionaire money wisely)

and Bruce adopts him

he decides to go out and save as many people as possible as Damian's moniker (he's the second one)

he also has a very strong moral code

his father was forced into being a criminal by being excon, so he recognizes that sometimes you don't have a choice

he also is against excessive violence, since breaking bones, while it may not kill, it puts you in excessive medical debt and that's way too shitty

he and Cass argue constantly about this

Barbara

ok so this is the stretchiest one of them all

so try and stay with me

young Barbara, trained my a cop for self defense purposes, decides to go out and use her abilities for other people's defense

the batfam catch her, and snitch on her with her dad

while she is grounded, she manages to hack into their comms and uses this opportunity to try and annoy the batfam into letting her become a vigilante

eventually Bruce "dies" Steph and Tim leave, and Duke becomes batman

left with half his backup gone, and realizing there is no way he can keep Barbara sealed by herself with only Jason for help (Cass is an assassin, Damian can't go out into the field, and the rest are either Bruce or looking for him) he decides to make her the fifth signal

she's snarky at the fact they stopped her from helping people for so long mirroring Damian's attitude

Dick

this one is easy with some changes

the flying graysons get murdered later, with Dick being in his teens

instead of going full vigilante, dick joins the we are signal gang, and eventually becomes part of the batfam in a similar way to Duke

naturally, he names himself Robin

of anyone has some ideas to add or improve on this prompt, feel free to do so (respectfully), also if someone writes a fanfic please tag me, I'd love to read this story

also this was inspired by a post by @too0bsessedformyowngood , so you should definitely read that

[flowersandskeletons526]

"Bluer Than A Butterfly" - Warriors Concept Album fanfic

A short study in grief featuring Rembrandt and Cleon.

(Yes the title is a Billie Eilish lyric, don't make fun of me)

-------

“You should be asleep.”

Cleon wasn’t surprised by how she found Rembrandt: partially curled in on herself in the corner of the roof, her head leaning on the short perimeter wall as she overlooked the ocean, with a cigarette burning between her lips and a pile of singed filters by her feet. She was barefoot in ripped cargo pants and a cropped tank top despite the frigid wind whipping her hair into tangles around her face. Silhouetted in the moonlight, she didn’t turn as Cleon stopped a polite distance from her. The only indication of attention Cleon got was a shift in the light dancing in Rembrandt’s eyes as she glanced at her. 

Rembrandt puffed on her cigarette without ever moving it from its place in the corner of her lips. “So should you,” she said quietly. A lifetime ago, there would have been a sharp quip, a biting comeback with bright eyes and a smirk accompanying it, but not now. Rembrandt’s voice now was hollow and cold as the wind coming off the ocean. 

Cleon didn’t sit beside her - she knew better than to crowd Rembrandt in a moment like this - but she took a tentative step closer. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Nah.”

“Come inside.”

“No.”

“Rem-”

“Are you talking to me as Cleon or Warlord right now?”

“I’m talking as your friend. You’ll get sick out here.” 

“Who cares.”

“Rembrandt,” Cleon said more forcefully.

She regretted it the second it left her mouth. Rembrandt twisted to look at her, halfway through lighting another cigarette, and Cleon was almost glad she couldn’t make out the expression on Rembrandt’s face. All the Warriors were struggling to navigate this new life and learning the new people they couldn’t help being reborn as, and Cleon still hadn’t learned much of anything about the version of Rembrandt sitting in front of her. Once upon a time, she could read Rembrandt like a book. She was afraid of just how lost she’d be if she tried to understand the look Rembrandt gave her now.

She shoved her hands deep into her pockets, not attempting an apology. “I’m going down to the boardwalk. Will you come with me?”

“Is that an order?”

Let it be known that Cleon did not frequently pull rank outside of official gang business. Certainly not when she was trying to be emotionally supportive, and she did it so rarely with Rembrandt in general, but right now she was sorely fucking tempted to say “Yes, that’s an order, get off your butt and take a walk.” 

Instead, she managed, “I would appreciate it if you did.” 

She prayed Rembrandt didn’t think her voice sounded as weak as she thought it did. Whether she did or not, it got the tagger moving. Cleon forced her to put on her busted Converse at least but didn’t push when she refused a jacket, locking the door behind them before they headed out into the quiet streets. Rembrandt followed silently, a half step behind Cleon no matter how many times Cleon slowed down trying to get her to walk beside her. 

The boardwalk was abandoned. No unhoused residents of the neighborhood, no rogue gang members encroaching on their turf, no couples sharing a long walk on the beach. There was just a broken warlord and what remained of her tagger, strolling over the weathered wooden planks and listening to the crashing waves. 

Cleon sat on a bench facing the water. Rembrandt stayed standing for a moment, staring into nothing, before sitting beside her. Slouching in her seat, Rembrandt lit a cigarette. Cleon grabbed one from her own pack in her jacket, rummaging around in her pockets with a frown.

“Fuck, Cochise stole my lighter again,” she grumbled. 

Rembrandt motioned to her wordlessly. She was so much taller than Rembrandt, even seated, and with Rembrandt slouched the way she was, Cleon had to lean almost completely over her to press the ends of their cigarettes together and light hers. Rembrandt avoided her eyes as she sat back. Cleon couldn’t deny how badly it hurt. 

The tagger always had such a piercing stare, sharp and observant and searching, taking in everything around her. Cleon remembered when Ajax first brought Rembrandt home. She remembered those wide eyes, full of fear and anxiety but burning bright with a spark of hope. There was nothing in them now but frigid anger and defeat. Even the anger was rare, with Fox’s funeral a week behind them, like any remaining life Rembrandt clung to had finally been stripped from her with the close of the service. And it hurt.

Cleon met her as Rembrandt the artist. Cleon fostered the strength in Rembrandt the Warrior. Now Cleon sat beside Rembrandt the ghost, an empty shell slowly blowing smoke into the night air, destroyed to such a state by the aftermath of an event Cleon insisted they attend. 

She looked out over the water and took a long drag off her cigarette. “Ajax has been asking about you,” she ventured. 

Rembrandt inhaled sharply, and Cleon caught tears starting in her eyes before she turned away. She let go of a choked laugh. “Did you really bring me out here to jump me about that?” 

“I think it would be good for both of you if you came with me to go visit her,” Cleon pressed gently.

“Did you tell her what I said?” Rembrandt asked pointedly. Cleon hesitated. She had not, in fact, repeated much of what Rembrandt had to say to Ajax in recent weeks, mostly because she was mildly uncomfortable with the impressively creative ways Rembrandt could tell someone to go fuck themself. Rembrandt rolled her eyes. “If I go see her right now, I’ll end up getting arrested.”

“You can’t stay mad at her forever.”

“It won’t be forever. Just right now.”

“Rembrandt-”

“I’m going back to the apartment.”

“Sit down.” Cleon flinched at the harshness of her own voice. Rembrandt sat with a huff, crossing her arms and puffing on her cigarette. “Listen. I’m not asking you to get over it right this minute. I’m just asking you to talk to her.”

Rembrandt pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I don’t want to talk to her. Believe it or not, I’m trying to save my fucking relationship right now because she’s not going to forgive me if I say what I want to.”

“She misses you. And I know you miss her, too, and I know you might want to blame her-” 

Before Cleon could grab her, Rembrandt vaulted the railing of the boardwalk and stalked off down the beach towards the water. Stubbing out her cigarette, Cleon followed, calling her name but getting no response. Just when she was sure Rembrandt was going to straight up walk into the ocean, the tagger abruptly stopped. Cleon stopped behind her. She watched the gentle rise of fall of Rembrandt’s shoulders, the way her curls brushed along the back of her neck in the wind, the near perfect stillness of her as she stared out to the midnight horizon. 

It was completely foreign to Cleon, the idea of Rembrandt being still for any longer than a few seconds. She was always moving, fidgeting or looking around or bouncing on the balls of her feet if she had to stay in one spot. She was a lot like Ajax in that way, both of them pent up balls of energy, even if in vastly different respects. 

Cleon’s heart ached. It ached for Ajax, stuck in a cell away from her friends, her family, unable to attend Fox’s funeral and cut off from her partner who refused to see her. It ached with the loss of Fox, who shouldn’t have even gone to the summit in the first place but Cleon in her infinite wisdom was just so convinced it was safe, so deluded by the prospect of peace that she barely thought twice about bringing along their youngest Warrior. It ached seeing the change in everyone, from Swan’s newest nightmares and Cochise’s quiet withdrawal to Cowgirl’s unusual reservedness and Rembrandt’s… stillness. 

The emptiness. The cold detachment. Cleon tried to think of the last time Rembrandt was warm, the way she used to be, tried to remember that flame of life she used to hold, and realized it was that dawn on the beach after the night from hell. She’d seen it when Rembrandt was the first to call her name, the first to jump into her arms when they all reunited. Well, almost all of them. The last bit of warmth she had left in her soul, she’d used it up on Cleon.

And what could Cleon do now? She could do nothing. All she could do was watch Rembrandt drown. 

Rembrandt sat heavily on the sand. Cleon sat beside her. The moon cast a cold bluish light over her face, flashing in her eyes as she stared at the waves lapping at the sand just a few feet in front of them. 

“I don’t blame Ajax,” she whispered. Her voice was barely audible. “I don’t… I don’t want to blame anyone.” 

“If you need to-”

“I’m not blaming you, Cleon. Please, for the love of god, don’t make another martyr,” Rembrandt begged. Cleon shut up. Rembrandt glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “Did Ajax get that from you, or did you get it from her?”

Cleon sighed. “I think it was mutual.”

“I think it’s better if you’re the one that keeps visiting her until she gets out.” 

“No-”

“I’m only gonna hurt her.” 

Words did not often fail Cleon. If they had, the Riffs would have killed her and this conversation wouldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t be home, sitting on the beach with her tagger and watching her gang fall to pieces in the wake of everything that happened. She wouldn’t have to sit across from Ajax, watching her toughest soldier come apart at the seams grieving one person that would never come home again and another who refused to speak to her. She wouldn’t be forced to hear the hollow resignation in Rembrandt’s voice as she said probably the most bullshit thing in the world that she wanted so badly to refute but couldn’t. 

If words failed, if she was killed in retaliation for a murder she didn’t commit, she wouldn’t have had to identify Fox’s body. Swan would have, or maybe Rembrandt, the only who brought her to the Warriors in the first place, and that truly would have been the end of the world. 

Cleon barely had the strength to drag herself out of the vortex of what-ifs spiraling in her head, tuning back in just as Rembrandt continued talking.

“I should have known what she was going to do.” 

“You know Ajax doesn’t back down once she’s set on picking a fight.”

“I’m not talking about Ajax.”

“What?”

“I should have made sure she stayed on the train.”

Oh.

“Rembrandt, you couldn’t-”

“I should have grabbed her to make sure she stayed with us or seen her move or pulled the emergency brake or something-”

“Hey, hey, stop that.” Cleon risked a hand on Rembrandt’s knee. “From what you all told me, no one knew what Fox was going to do. Not you, not Swan, no one. You said you didn’t want to blame anyone for what happened, and you have to include yourself in that. You’re going to go insane thinking about it if you don’t.”

Rembrandt went silent. Cleon took a deep breath, watching the little bubbles of foam crest each wave. She squeezed Rembrandt’s hand.

“Why did you bring me out here, Cleon?”

Cleon reached into her pocket. Her fingers closed around a cold loop of metal. Holding Rembrandt’s hand up, she pressed the loop into Rembrandt’s palm. 

Rembrandt frowned as she held the object in both hands. “Is this…?”

“Fox’s chain,” Cleon said. “I got it when the coroner gave me all her personal effects.” 

She didn’t add the fact that she spent an hour scrubbing it to make sure there was no blood left between the links.

“She thought she was so cool when she got this,” Rembrandt mumbled, more to herself than anything.

Cleon chuckled. “I remember. She wanted one that looked like Swan’s.”

“And then Ajax convinced her to get the bigger one ’cause she called Swan’s a choker and said it looked stupid.”

“And they got into a fight about it.”

“That you had to break up.” 

“Yeah, that I had to break up.” Cleon touched Rembrandt’s shoulder, watching for a reaction, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Do you want me to put it on you?”

Rembrandt nodded and handed Cleon the chain. She lifted her hair out of the way as Cleon moved behind her, settling the chain in among Rembrandt’s other necklaces and securing the clasp at the back of her neck. She kept one hand on Rembrandt’s shoulder as she sat back, watching the careful way she gripped the metal and held it against her skin. She closed her eyes and bowed her head as she started to shiver. Cleon wasn’t sure if it was from the emotions she knew Rembrandt was holding back or if the cold was finally getting to her, but she took off her jacket and draped it over Rembrandt’s shoulders before pulling her close.

Rembrandt opened her eyes but wouldn’t look at Cleon. “She knew we loved her, right?”

“Yeah, Rem. I’m sure she did.” 

“I wish I did something different.”

“So do I.” 

The tagger ran a hand through her hair. “Don’t tell Ajax the shitty stuff I said. Please.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Never removing her arm from its place around Rembrandt’s shoulders, she grabbed two cigarettes from her pack and passed one to Rembrandt. They kept their faces close together as Rembrandt lit both their cigarettes with the same flame. “Is there anything you do want me to tell her?”

“Just… that I love her. And I’m waiting for her.”

“I’ll tell her.”

----------

Jesus this is my first fic in over a month, I've been slacking. Hope you enjoyed!

[vulpixisananimal]

(The plan was simple.)

(You're currently sitting at a table in the small yard outside where you were staying. Carving away, seemingly without a care in the world. Just out of the way so that anyone coming to the front door through the yard wouldn't see you at first. Isabeau was just inside, Mirabelle right behind him. Madame Odile was at one of the windows, Nille and Bonnie were staying back, not wanting to put Bonbon in danger.)

(All the actors were in place, they had their stage direction, and you had yours. You were the star of the show, and you even had a speech ready for the big bad antagonist who was to show up soon.)

(You listened to the surrounding sounds. Some people walking past, chatting, gossip, you heard birds and insects. The hustle and bustle of Jouvente. You hear the unmistakable sound of the gate to the yard being pulled open.)

(You breathe in and out. Lights. . Curtains. . .)

(You held your breath as you saw your adversary walk right past you. They seemed, nervous. They paused at the front door. Rubbing their side and taking a few breaths. You wait, and speak up as they're about to knock on the door.)

"Ramos?"

(Ramos jumps, and turns around.) "Y-yes? Sorry do, do I know you?"

(You smile.) "Nope! But I know you! You're looking for Isabeau right?"

"Y-yeah! Yeah I am! We're old friends, do you know if he's in?"

(You shake your head.) "Not right now, everyone's gone out on their own errands. I'm holding down the fort until they're back."

"Everyone else-? Ooooh!!" (Ramos smiles and walks towards you. Hmm. They look genuinely excited.) "Wait, are you one of the saviors who helped stop The King?"

"Mmhm" (You twirl your knife.) "Siffrin your trusty traveling rogue at your service~"

(Rogue? Really? We are good with traps, but why rogue?)

(I read it in The Cursing of Château Castle, 4th issue, seemed like a fun title to have~)

"Haha! Well, I'm Ramos, but you already seem to know that." (They hold out a hand.)

(You wave back instead of shaking hands.) "Good to meet you finally, and sorry, I'm not good with touch."

"Ah that's alright!" (Ramos puts his hand down. Looking at their face, did they seem suspicious? Hmm, not likely. They take a seat.) "So, how do you know me?"

"Isabeau talked about you." (You talked so casually, expertly carving away with your knife.) "Quite a bit actually."

"Wh-" (Hmm? Ramos looked genuinely shocked. Their eyes were wide open in attention.) "I-I, what'd he- what'd he say?"

"That you two were friends. Helped each other with the Defenders exams." (That was the lie wasn't it? The one Ramos was spreading? Maybe they were surprised you already knew it.)

"I-. . ." (Ramos blinked, then looked away. They looked, ashamed? Confused?) ". . . He, really remembered me? Mentioned me?"

(You nod in response.)

"That's. . ." (They didn't look you in the eye. They were rubbing their shoulder and sinking into their seat.) "That's, not really true, haha."

(You stop carving.) "Oh?"

(They continue.) "Isabeau he. . . Well. . . I always looked up to him. We were friends, sure, but I was always trying my best to be just as strong as him. Brave as him. Really, he was the one helping me with exams."

(What in the stars. . .)

"I felt like an idiot when I didn't go with him in saving the world. 'That's what a true Defender is' was what I thought. I would have done anything to be as strong. . ."

(Now, cue the dramatic lighting.)

"And so you wished that everyone would see you as his equal." (You say, starting to carve again.)

(Ramos glanced at you.) "H-huh? What do you-"

(You slice off a chunk of wood, it makes a loud sound.) "You made a wish to be just like Isabeau. Strong, brave, loved by everyone."

"I, I don't know what you're-"

"And what you got in return is a new little craft trick." (You emphasize by slicing off another piece of wood.) "Mind craft. Correct?"

(You look up into Ramos' eyes finally. They look terrified.) "H-how, how did you. How do you know."

"I have my ways." (You pause for dramatic effect.) "You touch someone and you change their memories. And You're doing that so everyone thinks You're the best~"

(You could see Ramos starting to sweat. To shake. Clearly, they had no plan to be confronted like this. Why would they? They get to change the script in the middle of the play. Too bad for them, you already had the whole thing memorized.)

"I. . . M-maybe. . ."

"There's no maybe about it." (You say harshly. Another chunk of wood gone.) "You wanted to be the best. Was that your plan yesterday, too? Kidnap Bonnie then show up like you found them yourself? Like you're the hero?"

"Now hold on!" (Ramos stood up.) "I, I-I may have messed around with mind craft but I didn't try to kidnap anyone!"

(You look up at them wearing a bored expression.) "Uh-huh, and so it was some other stranger with a wishing star pendant?"

"Some-" (They pause. Putting a hand up to feel around their neck, and then fiddle with the bandage they had.) "Y-you're just trying to get at me!"

(A strange reaction. Continue provoking them.)

"This isn't a joke Ramos." (You stare daggers into them.) "You tried kidnapping Bonnie. And wanted to change my friends memories. That means we're enemies."

"I didn't- look! I promise I didn't try and kidnap Bonnie, whoever that is." (They're getting desperate.) "Just, just, I can, I can make this right, alright? I'm not even doing anything bad! Right?"

"If You're trying to make yourself be a big strong hero You're doing a terrible job~"

"S-shove it! Go eat a crab! I-It doesn't matter if you know about any of this I just! I-I just need to change your memory a-and then, and then-" (They take a step towards you.)

(You stab your knife through the table. It forms a large, visible crack. Ramos stops in their tracks.)

"I'm not stupid like some people are~" (You wave a hand.) "Come on out."

(There's a click from the front door. Isabeau is standing there, Mirabelle beside him. The rest of the party was gathering behind them. Ramos turned to look.)

(Isabeau's face. . . He looked so pained. No, pained and scared. Scared. Mirabelle was ready to fight. Odile, Nille, Bonnie, all of them looked disappointed. You've seen that look before.)

(Slashing, beating, ripping and tearing away at sadness. That wasn't you, pre-se. But it was a memory you had access to, a Memory of Sadness. You already knew what must be going through Ramos' mind.)

("They're afraid of you")

"I-isa--"

"Why." (Isabeau cut them off.) "Ramos you, you didn't need to. . ."

(They didn't respond. They're shaking.)

(Mirabelle stepped forward.) "Why would you do something like that!? Change someone's memories just so they like you? I know it's hard to, well, fit in sometimes, but doing that's just wrong!"

(They stumble back. Covering their face with their hands.)

(. . . They're starting to cry.)

(You are very good at scaring people.)

(Thank you~ it's all in the eye. All I had to do was act like Stardust did at the last loop. You stand up.)

"You can't just wish your problems away, Ramos." (You walk over to them, now for the great redemption.) "You can just talk to him, y'know. Explain everything and-"

"Siffrin!!!" (Odile's voice, she had shoved past the others and had an outstretched hand. A moment later a wave of force, creative craft, blasted you away from Ramos!)

"M'dame!" (You shake your head and where about to curse out your researcher when you noticed it.)

(Tears. Big, thick tears that dripped like molasses.)

"Gems alive. . ."

"Wh, what is. . ."

"Ramos!?!"

"Look out, everyone!"

[themculibrary]

Hurt Peter Parker Masterlist

5 Times an Avenger (or two) Looked Out For Peter (ao3) - aneonsky G, 24k

Summary: +1 time they all did.

Just as the title says. The Avengers looking after Peter Parker because he is their spider-baby.

Accepting the Tides (ao3) - Emma_Anacortes T. 78k

Summary: Tony had dragged Peter from the depths of despair after May's death. It was normal that he'd grown to care a little about him, right?

Yeah, okay. He freaking loved the kid.

So naturally he would feel a little weird when Richard Parker randomly shows up in Peter's life. Naturally he'd feel protective, nervous, and confused because where has Richard been all this time? And why does Tony feel sick every time he sees him around Peter?

All he knows is if Richard hurts his kid, Tony's gonna give him hell.

A little bit broken (ao3) - wolfypuppypiles M, 2k

Summary: Peter dropped Liz’s dad on the sand and groaned as every inch of his body screamed out in pain. He couldn’t put any weight on his right leg, could barely move it, and his left arm hung limp at his side.

His chest was burning, making it hard to breathe as fire raged around him.

He knew he had to get somewhere safe, to get help, but his vision was nothing but blurred lights and black spots, and when his eyes closed of their own accord, he dropped to the sand and felt nothing.

(Because there's no fucking way he walks away from that fight)

Captive (ao3) - wolfypuppypiles T, 9k

Summary: Tony had promised that he would always do everything he could to keep Peter safe, but when the CIA came for him, there was nothing he could do.

Come find me (ao3) - wolfypuppypiles T, 5k

Summary: It was stupid really. Spider-Man falling down a hill; but it wasn’t really falling if the ground crumbled out from beneath your feet, so really, the hill had thrown him down.

It was also, almost laughably stupid, that it had happened on a school trip through a forest. No cell coverage, which meant no calling for help, which was bad enough without the snake.

Yep, the mother fucking snake.

Cyanide? In My Shawarma? (ao3) - losingmymindtonight T, 4k

Summary: Pepper convinces Tony to bring Peter along on his first dinner with the Rogue Avengers since their pardoning. Poor Tony had thought the whole thing was a recipe for disaster before someone decided to shove some cyanide in his food.

danger or trouble, i’m there on the double (ao3) - parkrstark T, 5k

Summary: Peter gets into trouble at a party and he calls Tony for help. Tony finds him, but he isn't too well.

Don’t Let My Kid Die (ao3) - manymessyfandoms T, 2k

Summary: Peter get's poisoned while out on a mission, and Tony just wants his kid to be okay.

don’t mess with me (ao3) - celestial_horizon pepper/tony T, 10k

Summary: peter learns the hard way not to mess with things he doesn’t understand

or

in which toomes discovers spider-man’ s identity before homecoming and sets about to make sure he never messes with his business again

Don’t save me (ao3) - wolfypuppypiles T, 3k

Summary: Tony should have asked Peter to stay home. He should have brought his suit. He should have never let Peter take the bullet.

Human shield (ao3) - wolfypuppypiles T, 2k

Summary: Peter could hear the bomb activate. He didn’t have time to think, he barely had enough time to move at all, but he managed to shove Tony backwards, and use his own body to shield him from the blast as, what once was the pristine lab, exploded.

Innocent (ao3) -c wolfypuppypiles E, 10k

Summary: The last thing he remembered, was walking home from school. He’d been excited to go on patrols, eager to brush away the stress of his classes. But he never made it home.

Peter is kidnapped and tortured in front of Tony, in order to teach Tony a lesson

Matters of the heart (ao3) - wolfypuppypiles T, 3k

Summary: Tony felt like throwing up. Peter’s best super power had always been his heart, and now there was something wrong with it.

Mercy (ao3) - wolfypuppypiles E, 10k

Summary: Peter is locked in Stark Tower with an angry Hulk, and all Tony can do is watch from the outside in, and hope that the kid makes it out alive.

Overdose (ao3) - wolfypuppypiles E, 6k

Summary: Got a request for redeemable Flash Thompson so here we go, with the added bonus of Peter being drugged because I'm evil

Revenge is a dish best served cold and afraid (ao3) - wolfypuppypiles E, 33k

Summary: Peter was walking home when the news broke out, and his phone had died half-way through fifth period so, he couldn’t pick up when Tony tried to call. He had no idea what was coming for him, and no clue as to what was playing on every news announcement on tv.

Toomes had broken out of prison.

Shot in the dark (ao3) - wolfypuppypiles M, 4k

Summary: Written for a prompt sent to me on tumblr: Could you do one where peter has to use his powers at school and he gets shot and tony has to come and save him ?!

Super Kid, Super Hearing (ao3) - whumphoarder T, 3k

Summary: Peter takes a hit while on a mission with the Avengers and dislocates his knee. Tony suffers for it in more ways than one.

That’s why they call me mr. fahrenheit (ao3) - SparrowFlight246 T, 13k

Summary: Peter gets whammied by a 24-hour superbug, and Tony’s left to keep him alive until tomorrow morning.

It sounds a hell of a lot easier than it ends up being.

Who Saves The Hero (ao3) - CamelotQueen T, 15k

Summary: May brings home her new boyfriend. Something about him makes Peter feel nervous, but he makes May happy. And if May's happy, then Peter is happy.

Then it escalates.

[thequeenofthestorm]

How to Use D&D to Make Elden Bling

Part Two is out now! Read it here!

Introduction

So, I'm sure that my post title doesn't make too much sense, but let me explain myself. So, in D&D there are 12 different types of armor. Three of them are light, five of them are medium, and four of them are heavy. These armor types (plus one more for unarmored) can be used to categorize all Elden Ring clothing and armor, which is what I've used in the past to help me make better fashion. Now, this doesn't fully correlate with weight, although there is a pretty decent trend with heavier kinds of D&D armor being heavier in Elden Ring. Elden Ring has its own separations of armor categories, which I've decided to label as unarmored, robes, ultra light, very light, light, light medium, medium, heavy, very heavy, ultra heavy, and oversized. These are all fairly explanatory, and I mainly bring them up here for categorization purposes later on.

What Are the D&D Armor Types?

Alright, so now that we've talked about the categories, what are each of the D&D armor classes? What do they look like? What is used to distinguish it from other armor types? WHAT THE HELL IS SPLINT? Etc. etc. We'll go over them from lightest to heaviest below.

Padded

Padded is the lightest of the twelve armor types: just featuring layers of quilted cloth. This is primarily known as gambeson, and almost looks like a quilt version of one of those blanket hoodies when thick enough. It will keep you alive more than clothing, but not much more. Arrows will still tear through, as well as things like spears of just a sharp sword if the armor is thin enough.

Leather

The armor of rogues and other edgy folk everywhere: this is one of the more popular kinds of armor in D&D. It's just some simple boiled leather, typically fastened into a breastplate. According to roll20, aside from the breastplate the rest of the armor tends to be made of more flexible materials, which can be kind of true, but there's probably a little more than that: with maybe some greaves or forearm protection. Of course, most of your joints are likely going to have fairly breathable materials so that you can move, but you'd be able to get away with the same amount of leather that you would steel on, say, half plate (which I'll get into later)

Studded Leather

Ok so like apparently this armor never really existed, which I'm not super surprised about. Like, it's just leather with metal studs to help with sturdiness. Not gonna bother talking much about this one

Hide

Ok so we're now in the medium armors. I'll be honest, this feels like it should be under the light armors, but fur and animal hide is heavy so whatever. But yeah, it's armor made by thick animal furs and pelts. Think the kind of stuff that barbarians wear.

Chain Shirt

Made from interlocking rings, it's just chainmail in shirt form. None or only very little of the arm or leg protection, just the torso.

Scale Mail

You take a fish and make it into armor. I kid, but that's what it looks like. You take a bunch of metal scales and overlap them on each other. This set tends to mainly just be a coat with maybe greaves, according to roll20.

Breastplate

A breastplate, cuirass, or whatever you want to call it is very simple: a sheet of metal to cover your torso, with not much else. It's usually not JUST the torso covering (also known as the cuirass), and it may have some pauldrons and tassets, but not much else.

Half Plate

This is, in my opinion, the most confusing type of armor. According to roll20, it's interlocking plates that cover most of the wearers body, but with only simple greaves. That sounds simple on paper, but it always just sounded too much like plate, until I got this description from online. I unfortunately don't remember where this was, but half plate was described as a "best hits" compilation of full plate armor, which makes sense. Simple shin or thigh protection, a full breastplate with elbow and knee plates, and leather or possibly steel gauntlets.

Ring Mail

If you've ever played Skyrim: this is what the executioner in Helgen wears. It's a suit of cloth or leather that has rings put on top to help shake off sword or axe blows. It's inferior to chainmail armor (and hell probably half plate as well) but it's not bad. I feel like this should be the heaviest medium set instead of half plate, and that half plate should be the lightest heavy set, but I'm not from WotC and don't have some large following so my opinion doesn't matter much lol.

Chain Mail

Remember that chain shirt of interlocking metal rings we talked about earlier? Yeah, now make it into a full set of armor. Think the crusaders and a lighter armored paladin (as the heavier ones tend to go for plate). Some historical vikings wore chainmail as well!

Splint

Splint is probably the second weirdest armor behind half plate, but it's not super weird to visualize. Take long steel strips and bolt them on top of leather armor. Some types of splint could be brigandine or lamellar armor. I also think of roman legionnaire armor as a lighter form of splint

Plate

Alright, the heaviest suit of armor, and is by far the easiest to visualize as it's so damn customizable. It's the knight in shining armor archetype, the tin man made into armor, etc. etc. Paladins wear it. Fighters wear it. Plate armor is wonderful. You can wear robes over it or even other light armor as long as it's not gonna make you boil in the weather! Also, roll20 states that the boots are normally leather, but it kind of depends tbh. I typically think of plated sabatons, but shorter leather boots work well too!

Which Elden Ring Armor is Which?

So now that we have a basic understanding of each type of armor, we can now sort the Elden Ring armors into each of these thirteen types of clothing (the twelve types + unarmored). This isn't going to be going over non-set armor, as I'll be honest there is enough armor to go through already. Next to each armor set, I will also show the Elden Ring weight class. This can help if you, say, want to put together a heavy set of leather armor, or if you want to take pieces of plate armor that may be lighter in order to cut down on weight (because the plate armor can get quite light in some cases). I'll stop rambling and just show each armor class now lol. I was going to add images, but I've run out of images I can put on here lol.

Unarmored

Clothing, Most Mage Robes, Lightly Armored Sets with No Fitting Category, ETC.

Alberich's - Robes

Aristocrat - Unarmored

Astrologer - Robes

Azur's Glintstone - Robes

Battlemage - Robes

Bloodsoaked - Unarmored

Blue Festive - Unarmored

Champion (Kind of - It just doesn't have enough armor to go anywhere) - Light

Commoner's - Unarmored

Consort's - Ultra Light

Duelist - Light

Errant Sorcerer - Robe

Festive - Unarmored

Fia's - Robes

Finger Maiden - Robes

House Marais - Very Light

Godskin Apostle - Ultra Light

Goldmask's - Robes

Guardian Garb - Unarmored

Guilty - Unarmored

High Page - Unarmored

Juvenile Scholar - Robes

Lazuli Sorcerer - Robes

Lusat's - Robes

Malenia's - Medium

Mushroom - Unarmored

Noble's - Very Light

Old Aristocrat - Set

Page - Unarmored

Perfumer - Ultra Light

Preceptor's - Robes

Prisoner - Unarmored

Prophet - Robes

Queen of the Full Moon - Robes

Raya Lucarian Sorcerer - Robes

Ronin's - Medium

Rotten Duelist - Light

Ruler's - Ultra Light

Sage - Robes

Sanguine Noble - Ultra Light

Snow Witch - Robes

Spellblade - Robes

Traveler's - Unarmored

Traveling Maiden - Robes

War Surgeon - Very Light

Ansbach's - Ultra Light

Ascetics - Light

Dancer's - Very Light

Dane's - Robes

High Priest - Robes

Hornsent - Unarmored

Thiollier's - Very Light

Padded

Gambeson and Particularly Thick Cloth

Depraved Perfumer - Ultra Light

Godrick Foot Soldier - Light

Haligtree Foot Soldier - Light

Highwayman - Light

Godskin Noble - Ultra Light

Leyndell Foot Soldier - Light

Mausoleum Foot Soldier - Light

Omenkiller - Very Light

Perfumer Traveler's - Ultra Light

Radahn Foot Soldier - Light

Raya Lucarian Foot Soldier - Light

Common Soldier - Light

Shadow Militiaman - Light

Leather

Armor Made Of... Leather...

Bandit - Very Light

Blue Cloth - Very Light

Confessor - Very Light

Leather - Very Light

Raptor's - Very Light

Highland Warrior - Light

Studded Leather

Leather Armor With Those Tiny LEGO Bricks

Vulgar Militia - Light

Yes, that is it. The Nox sets MAY fit here, but they look more like a brass-tinted metal than leather to me. You can get away with them, though

Hide

Armor Made of Thick Animal Furs and Pelts

Fur - Ultra Light

Shaman - Ultra Light

Iron Rivet (Look I just wanted a third set here, ok?) - Light

Chain Shirt

Shirt Made of Interlocking Rings

Albinauric - Light Medium (Not confirmed as I have the game closed while writing this and isn't considered a set in my full item checklist apparently)

Drake Knight - Very Heavy (Could also go under chainmail or half plate)

Godrick Soldier - Light Medium

Haligtree Soldier - Light Medium

Leyndell Soldier - Light Medium

Mausoleum Soldier - Light Medium

Nomadic Merchant's - Very Light

Radahn Soldier - Light Medium

Raya Lucarian Soldier - Light Medium

Messmer Soldier - Light Medium

Scale Mail

Armor of Metal "Fish Scales"

Black Knife - Medium

Exile - Medium

Iron - Medium

Kaiden - Medium

Night Maiden - Light

Nox Monk - Light

Nox Swordstress - Light

Messmer's - Medium

Breastplate

A Fitted Metal Chestplate, Without Much Extra Protection

Eccentric - Medium

Elden Lord - Medium

Marionette Soldier - Medium

Zamor - Medium

Divine Beast - Heavy

Divine Bird - Heavy

Freyja's - Medium

Gravebird - Very Light

Igon's - Light

Half Plate

The "Greatest Hits" of the Superior Plate Armor. High Torso Protection with Moderate Limb Protection

Blackflame Monk - Medium

Blaidd's - Very Heavy

Bloodhound Knight - Heavy

Carian Knight - Heavy

Fire Monk - Medium

General Radahn - Ultra Heavy

Raging Wolf - Very Heavy

Scaled - Ultra Heavy

Death Knight (Can work with chainmail as well) - Heavy

Horned Warrior - Heavy

Oathseeker Knight - Very Heavy

Young Lion's - Ultra Heavy

Ring Mail

There's no ring mail sets, so I'm just gonna move on without the quick one-two sentence subtitle

Chain Mail

A Suit of Interlocking Metal Rings

Blue Silver - Medium

Briar - Very Heavy

Chain - Light Medium

Splint

Metal Strips Riveted Onto a Leather Backing

Land of Reeds - Medium

White Reed - Medium

Gaius's - Ultra Heavy

Plate

Full-Body Coverings Made with Shaped, Interlocking Metal Plates

All-Knowing - Very Heavy

Banished Knight - Ultra Heavy

Beast Champion - Ultra Heavy

Bull-Goat - Oversized

Cleanrot - Heavy

Crucible Axe - Ultra Heavy

Crucible Tree - Ultra Heavy

Cuckoo Knight - Heavy

Fingerprint - Very Heavy

Fire Prelate - Oversized

Gelmir Knight - Heavy

Godrick Knight - Heavy

Haligtree knight - Heavy

Hoslow's - Very Heavy

Knight - Heavy

Leyndell Knight - Heavy

Lionel's - Oversized

Malformed Dragon - Ultra Heavy

Maliketh's (Can fit scaled as well) - Very Heavy

Mausoleum Knight - Heavy

Night's Cavalry - Ultra Heavy

Omen - Oversized

Redmane Knight - Heavy

Royal Knight - Very Heavy

Royal Remains - Very Heavy

Tree Sentinel - Ultra Heavy

Twinned Set - Very Heavy

Vagabond Knight - Heavy

Veteran's - Ultra Heavy

Black Knight - Heavy

Fire Knight - Heavy

Night - Medium

Rakshasa - Very Heavy

Rellana's - Very Heavy

Solitude - Ultra Heavy

Verdigris - Oversized

Conclusion

Aaaaaaand that should be it! I may've forgotten a set or two since I'm writing this at 0230, but I got the majority of them done. If this post gets enough eyes on it, I want to do a follow-up post or two with what I couldn't include in this post. I want to show fashion that pertains to each of the thirteen categories, explain ways to use items in different categories to make items in different categories (for example, using a robe over plate armor pieces to make plate armor with a much lighter weight), and show every one of my current characters while explaining what armor category I think they fall into. Hopefully this was entertaining enough to read, but to be fair if you're all the way down here you (may've) read it all, so thanks! :D

Ok yeah I'm gonna go to sleep now. This has been Rachel; y'all have a night lol

[super-hero-confessions]

My perspective on romy is they’ve always been a doomed from the start. I don’t ship them but I’m not against it, it is what it is since their history has been retconned in the comics.

My personal take is that what they thought was love was actually trauma bonding and the deep rooted fear of moving on. When we’re first introduced to Rogue (if we ignore her originally being a grown woman who had been aged down and made prettier and more appealing when she joined the xmen since apparently old, regular or ugly looking characters are only ever villains) she is a villain of her own making. She’s so bitter about her mutation and everything it’s taken from her she has made it her mission to take from others as well. She can’t live these experiences and memories herself so she’ll take them from others to feel something other than the pain and misery she is going through. Then she does what she does with Carol and for the first time is exposed to her own crippling guilt making her change course and become a hero. Even as a hero, in her early years as an xwoman she’s standoffish and at times hostile to her teammates because though she is trying to be better, her life from a very early age has been the subject of who she was raised by. She didn’t have a happy home life, ran away and got taken in by Mystique who is a notorious villain. In her state of guilt she can never see herself in a good light and that adds to how bitter and hurt she is. Everyone around her can have intimate connections but never her.

Then along comes the raging Cajun who’s full of confidence and swagger, he’s openly very sexual and enjoys company. He’s a social butterfly and give off an aura of being carefree with no real worries to hide the crippling guild and pain of the life he’s been banished from. And here lies the start of their doomed narrative. They are both running from their demons and collide into each other at their darkest moments, using each others pain and guilt to feed their own while harming each other in the process. They’re so similar that they become each others negative and that’s what was interesting about them. The love-hate which tore them both apart. I recently saw on Reddit (on a post about what the editors have in store for the characters) someone stating Rogue and Gambit are in an emotionally stable place and there’s no need to end their marriage, this is a misconception mostly due to the poor writing since everything up to their marriage and then after has been their fear of having to start again and the trust issues between them. They had a shotgun wedding and then whisked off into chaotic missions where neither of them have ever discussed anything about what they want or what has gone on between them. That’s who they are when they are together. They have never been stable when they’re together and that’s what kept most of us engaged with them even if you didn’t like them. Watching them mature and grow apart, becoming confident and having to address their own issues was for me, the highlight of their time together. It showed who they were deep inside beyond all the bitter words and terrible deeds they’d done before, during and after each other. They were falling apart yet coming together individually. It would have been nice to see that side of them explored more before having them get back together. For me, they will always be trying to make what they have together what they wish they could have had with others, partially Cody and Bella Donna. The what-ifs have never gone away. I also found it very interesting once they were married that the thieves guild and Bella Donna came back around for Gambit, that little Easter egg that no matter how far he runs his past will never go away, the what-ifs and could of been will continue to haunt him until he finds peace with himself and what he wants from life. The thieves guild wanting to rid Gambit of his title for being married to Rogue is another doomed for the start example, they were willing to accept their enemies daughter as their queen but not Rogue. Everything about their relationship revolves around sacrificing who they are if they’re together, they can only be the real them when they are apart.

It’s common knowledge to comic fans they were originally never written to actually be together, it was the end before the beginning. Only later were they considered a pair because of fan popularity which incidentally came from the animations and not the comics, most comic fans, even some who do know their history from start to finish have admitted they hated either gambit or rogue and didn’t like romy until the retcon. Most people who ship them haven’t actually read their early years and ship them based on their non canon counterparts which will always work better because it doesn’t have the long and very traumatic history the canon comic characters have. Personally I found them more interesting being each others negatives, not because I don’t think they deserve happiness just because it’s a real world issue that a lot of people face, it’s always nice to see reality in fiction. How many people have stayed in relationships despite knowing they will never work? It’s also not really their fault since it’s almost fate so to speak for them to alway be doomed no matter how hard they try or how much they think they love each other. It’s the opposite of Jean and Scott who will always be right for each other no matter how far they run from it. I always felt they were written as the opposite to Jean and Scott for this very reason but with different writers having their own bias and fans flocking from other xmen media the meaning was lost for both couples. Somehow Scott become Gambit (cheating and being a scoundrel) and Gambit became Scott (a loving partner who lives and breathes only for Rogue).

[mangoisms]

come back to bed, my love, my light is low

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ summary: Tim gets dosed with fear toxin and you are there to pick up the pieces.

━ word count: 3.3k

━ contains: established relationship, emotional hurt/comfort, non-sexual intimacy

━ a/n: technically takes place as an extension of my other tim fic, i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute), but prior reading is not required! title is from this song

━ you can read this on ao3 as well

Gotham has always had a fairly impressive rogue gallery. 

You have limited knowledge of the other cities and their various rogues but you think Central City and Keystone City, the Gem Cities of the midwest of which the Flash is in charge of, are some who can match up to it. 

But in the end, Gotham’s will always beat them out. 

You have the Joker, indiscriminate in his havoc, truly, truly unpredictable and for no reason other than he simply wants to. You have Two-Face, fates decided upon the coin toss. You have Mr. Freeze, Black Mask, Poison Ivy, Mad Hatter, and so many more. 

The Joker is the worst of them, though. That is the general consensus in the city. 

But for you? 

You have always found Scarecrow particularly unnerving. 

Sure, the Joker has his clown thing going on but…

When you were a kid, during the fall, the town over from your own would host a Halloween festival. You could come down and pick pumpkins straight from the patches, take hay rides, drink apple cider, gorge on candy apples, and roam their corn maze. 

At the shy age of seven, you ended up getting lost in the corn maze. Separated from your parents, from any other parents or remotely responsible figure, you wandered for some time, crying, terrified, thinking, in typical seven-year-old fashion, that you would be lost forever as the sun set, plunging you into darkness. 

You remember accidentally stumbling into a Scarecrow, just a decoration for the maze, but it had seemed so lifelike with its hay-stuffed limbs and mean face scowling down on you. 

That would be your boogeyman for a long while. 

Eventually, the fear faded and you forgot about it. 

Moving to Gotham gave it a little more life. 

But it’s never been an issue. 

Still isn’t. Not technically. 

After all, you think, perched on your couch, anxiously watching the news, it’s not you currently barricaded in the water treatment plant with Scarecrow and a new batch of fear toxin, fighting to make sure he doesn’t release it into Gotham’s waters. 

No, it’s Tim. The others. 

But the fight is over. Cameras showing police officers with gas masks emerging from the warehouse with Scarecrow tucked between them, hands cuffed. His scarecrow mask is creepy as ever, scowl etched permanently in the rough material of the mask. 

“Still no word on whether Scarecrow was able to contaminate Gotham’s water supply but we do see the few workers he had hostage are now being escorted out. Little is known about this new strand of fear toxin but tips to the GCPD say that it is able to be dispersed either as a liquid or a gas. Previously, the toxin was dispersed only as a gas, but it seems Scarecrow has upgraded to another venture of chaos.”

You drum your fingers on your thigh, eyes intent on the flatscreen. Trying to pick them out in the background. But Bruce does his best to keep Batman and the others out of media eye. At least here in Gotham. When it comes to the Justice League and the Titans, they have little choice. They’re officially sanctioned teams by the UN. Batman can’t be an urban legend there. None of them can. 

Pictures here are blurry, though. Nothing more than grainy, shadow figures in the night. No stopping for interviews, no stepping into the light. 

Outside? Well, you’ve seen literal Getty Image photos of Batman at a UN hearing with Wonder Woman and Superman, looking none too pleased about it all. 

You’re not going to find them, is what you’re saying. But you try anyway. Amidst the sea of police cars, blue and red lights flashing in the night, reporters perched several feet away, debriefing their audiences. 

Just another night in Gotham. 

But not for you. 

Your fingers itch to grab your phone. Tim assured you it would be fine as he unlocked the hidden room in your walk-in closet, the room reinforced by multiple layers of lead (Bruce insisted; Tim, annoyed, relented) and only accessible by fingerprint and retinal scans from him and you, as it is the room that holds his Red Robin gear, private servers, and other confidential items. The room you could hide away in if enemies ever managed to breach your stiff security protocols (installed and programmed by Tim this time) and the thick walls and bulletproof, bomb-proof, and heat vision proof windows of the apartment. 

You’re safe as can be. 

You don’t think the same can be said for Tim. 

Even if he told you he would be fine. That Bruce and Damian are constantly mixing antidotes to the new strands of fear toxin and Joker venom that pop up. That Duke and Steph, both of whom have slowed in their vigilante duties like he has, are coming back on for this one. In addition to Cass and Bruce and Damian and Kate and more. The Birds were on standby, too. 

You can’t help but worry anyway. 

Just a feeling. A bad, bad feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

The phone call you get in the next minute affirms it. 

Caught up just as Scarecrow unleashed the toxin… Had given his own mask to another worker trapped there… Didn’t yet have an antidote… Only received one a few minutes later… in very fragile condition…

Your name jars you from the cold, petrifying fear inside you. 

“Are you alright?”

“Sorry, Alf,” you mumble, standing and shutting off the TV. Your hands shake as you do it. You feel jittery and restless. “I’ll leave now, I don’t know how fast I’ll be able to get to the manor, though, I’m sure traffic is just crazy right now —”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“But —”

“Master Tim has insisted on returning to you. Miss Stephanie agreed and so, it is next to impossible to get them to change their minds.”

“Right,” you say, sitting back down, flexing your fingers, which have gone cold, despite the apartment being well-heated for December in Gotham. A little voice like Tim’s matter-of-factly says, You’re stressed. Blood doesn’t flow as well to the hands and extremities because of it. 

You try to regroup. “Are the others okay, then?”

“They all had their masks, so yes, they’re alright. A few scrapes and bruises but nothing we aren’t used to. Master Tim and Miss Stephanie are on their way now and I imagine you’d like to prepare for his arrival.”

“Right, right, yeah, thanks, Alfred.”

“I should thank you for taking care of him. There is a reason he wants to be with you there rather than with us. It is most likely self-explanatory, but it should still be said.”

Of course. 

After so many years, he is your home. The harbor to your tempest. And it is the same for him. 

“Thank you, Alfred. I appreciate that.”

“Of course.”

You bid your goodbyes and hurry to prepare for their arrival. 

A hot meal sounds in order but you don’t think he’ll be up for it immediately, so you grab a pack of crackers. You ensure you have water, as well as some Sprite. You don’t know if he showered there, he probably didn’t, so you grab a fresh change of clothes for him, leaving it on the counter in the bathroom and grabbing him a new towel, too. 

You go back to the living room to turn the TV back on, changing it to Ice Age, then lighting a candle you like to turn on every now and then, lavender and vanilla scented. Something familiar, something to ease him. You don’t know if it’ll work but you have to try. 

After that, it is simply a waiting game. 

You keep a close eye on your phone, where you get notifications from your security system. 

Fifteen minutes later, you get an alert — not about movement on the balcony, but at the front door, camera feed showing you Tim and Steph’s figures in heavy thick coats — appropriate for the weather and to hide their suits, since their usual masks are gone. You guess he wasn’t in good enough condition to grapple with her. The thought makes your heart clench. Dismissing the message, you hurry over to open the door. 

“Yeah, there you go, sweetie, you’re home now,” she’s murmuring to him, voice softer and gentler than you’ve ever heard. 

She glances up at you as the door opens, shooting you a sad smile, then nudging Tim gently. 

Your throat tightens painfully as you see his face, paler than usual, eyes glassy, gaze far, far away from here.  

“Timmy?”

His eyes shoot to you. 

Then he’s moving, strength and vigor seemingly renewed at the sight of you, and his arms are wrapping around you, tight, like steel, painful, hurting, cutting off your breathing, but you don’t care, don’t say anything, you just hold him back, as tightly as you can. 

The pain is just a reminder that he’s here, with you, once again. Like it should be.

Steph leaves silently, mouthing Thank you. 

You mouth back Be safe. 

She shoots you a thumbs-up, then slips out, door clicking closed behind her. 

Tim is shaking, you realize, body trembling against yours. 

“You’re okay,” you whisper and his hold tightens painfully again but you push through it. “We’re okay, honey. We’re okay. You’re okay.”

What must he have seen? 

Fear. Jonathan Crane’s greatest motivation — to master fear itself and to push those boundaries by using his fear toxins on others. 

Your greatest fears, convincing you that they have become reality. 

For you? 

Losing your family. Losing your friends. Losing Tim. 

For him?

He has already lost so much. 

Been through so much. 

You can surmise that you must’ve been part of it. Of course. Of course. 

“We’re okay,” you whisper again, squeezing him. 

He buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. You run your fingers through his hair, not caring about how sweaty it is, Gotham clinging to him even now. You hate it. Can’t he get a break? Can’t he be free of it for even a few hours? 

But that’s why you’re here. 

To help. To ease the burden. This monumental burden put on him when he was a mere fourteen-years-old. 

You two stay there for a little while. You feel him toe off his boots at one point, which makes you smile. 

He keeps his face in your neck, despite you knowing the angle must start to bother him. But the contact is what he needs so you’ll give it to him. Whatever he wants. 

“Are you up to eat something?” you ask softly, fingers still running through his damp hair. 

He shakes his head. You guessed as much. 

“How about a shower?”

Quiet for a minute. You feel the rise and fall of his shoulders and the tickle of warm breath against the sensitive skin of your neck. Then he nods. 

It takes longer for him to let go. You don’t rush him. And even then, he doesn’t let you go far, holding onto your hand as you lead him into your shared bedroom and then into the adjoining bathroom. 

Large and ridiculously luxurious, it has a jacuzzi bathtub, a large walk-in shower with a rainfall shower head, two for the body in the wall, then one detachable head, and it’s controlled by a waterproof touchscreen. Definitely a step-up from the bathtub shower you two had at Rose Oaks. 

You turn on the shower, making it hot, then turn to Tim, reaching for the coat. 

Underneath it is his suit. Most likely, he and Steph rode here by motorcycle, then she put them both in coats for the walk up here. It’s a bit of a silly image, especially since his cape is longer than it, and you smile to yourself as you pull off the coat.

“What?” he asks quietly, voice raspy. The first time he’s spoken so far. 

“You’re cute, that’s all,” you murmur, dropping the coat onto the floor, then reaching up to unsnap the cape. 

He doesn’t say anything else. Just looks at you. By this point in your relationship, the intensity of his gaze, taking you in fully, no details missed by keen eyes, does not fluster you. It just warms you. You feel seen in the best of ways. Wanted. Loved. 

You love him, too. So much more than you thought possible. Sometimes it feels like you might burst with it. You hope he knows that. You’ll show him. 

You take care of the rest of his suit. Fingers finding hidden zippers, carefully unlatching his utility belt and setting it aside, slipping off his compression shirt and the rest of it. 

By the time everything has been taken off, the bathroom is muggy with steam. 

You step back but he grabs your wrist, saying your name, blue eyes pleading. 

“Stay. Please.”

“I am,” you soothe. “Just let me get out of this, okay?”

You strip, too, much more quickly. He steps in and you follow him, gently guiding him underneath the stream of hot water. Your skin breaks out in goosebumps, a little bit chilly from the sparse water touching you, but you ignore it. 

Everything seems to fall away. Tim’s eyes slide shut, head tilting back, letting the water run over his face, thick chunks of dark hair sticking to his skin, the water washing away the terrors of the night. You sigh, hand slipping to his cheek, rubbing the skin there gently. 

When he pulls his head away from the stream, you reach up to comb his hair away from his face, fingers stroking over his skin idly, tenderly. He leans forward, arms coming around your waist, pulling you into him. 

You go easily, hands sliding over his shoulders as he closes the distance between your bodies, dropping his head against your chest this time, right over your heart.

When you think of the reason why, your throat squeezes. 

“We’re okay,” you whisper, fingers tracing odd circles on his back, running through his wet hair, gently detangling the knots that formed during his work tonight. 

“I know,” he whispers. “I just…”

The fear toxin is effective in what it was conceived to do. Even for Tim, as analytical and logic-minded as he is. When you live this kind of life, the threat of loss is a real one. Janet Drake’s death was entirely accidental. Not for any rhyme or reason other than misfortune. Jack Drake’s, however, was intentional. The list goes on and it’s hardly limited to loss by death. There are so many things that can happen. Things that can happen to you. Either because of Tim Drake or because of Red Robin. Or both. 

But you don’t care about that. You never have. The danger is real but what you would lose in that trade-off is not worth it. 

It doesn’t help, you think. Not now. Not when he knows, vividly, how he may lose you, because saying that now is as good as saying you’re okay with dying and he doesn’t need that. 

He just needs assurance that you’re here now. And you’ll give it to him. 

“I love you so much. You know that?”

You feel his breath stutter, arms tightening, chest pressed so closely to yours you can feel the unsteady beat of his heart pounding against you, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips so hard it’ll probably leave bruises. But you don’t care. 

“And I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur. “Not in a million years if I had a choice in it.”

A small sniffle. “That’s not physically possible. Unless you’re secretly Kryptonian.”

Your lips quirk. You reach for his shampoo, squeezing out a dollop, then smoothing it into his hair. He sinks further into you, letting out a small noise of pleasure. 

“Not Kryptonian. Just human. And very dedicated to those I love.” 

A sigh. “I know.”

“Whatever you saw tonight,” you murmur and he tenses sharply but you keep going, keep massaging shampoo into his hair, soapy bubbles spilling over your palm, “it wasn’t real. I’m here. We’re all here. And we aren’t going anywhere. I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s quiet for a long while. Enough for you to rinse out the shampoo and rub in the conditioner. 

You reach for his body wash. Your body wash, really. He hasn’t used his own in a long while. 

His hand wraps around your wrist, though. Stopping you. He pulls back to look at you. 

“Tim?”

His eyes are on your face. Soft. But still a little hard to read. 

He turns you, switching your positions. You jump at the first douse of hot water but don’t fight it, allowing him to push you under the stream. You close your eyes to keep the water out. His hands come up to your face. Stroking your cheeks. Pushing your wet hair out of your face. You lean into his touch. 

“I love you,” he whispers. “More than anything.”

“More than anything,” you echo, leaning into him. He wraps his arms around you. Hugging you. Tightly but not painfully. 

You think you might hear him whisper Thank you but above the sound of the shower, you aren’t sure. 

Slowly, you get him cleaned up. He insists on returning the favor and you let him, even if you already showered earlier. It’s a small thing to ask, after all. 

After, you step out and dry yourselves off. You help him into his clothes and he helps you into yours. Insistent on reciprocation. Wanting to do something for you. But also just wanting to be near you. Touch you. Helping you gives him assurances, you think, of your presence. The thought makes your heart ache. 

His hair is wetter than you’d like it to be, so you grab a towel and lead him out into the room. He sits on the edge of the bed and you stand between his legs, taking the towel to his hair, gently drying it. 

Tim holds onto you all the while. 

You comb through it afterward, gently taking out the tangles. 

He has a distant look in his eyes when you finish, tossing the towel and comb to the side for now, not wanting to be too far from him. 

“What are you thinking?” you prompt gently, sitting next to him, taking his hand in yours. 

“That I think the last person who did that was my mom.”

You pause. “Was it… I’m sorry. I didn’t ask —”

“No,” he says, looking at you. “No, it was… it was nice.” His voice is small. A little embarrassed. A little bashful. Red stains his cheeks and you smile at the sight. 

“I’ll do it anytime you want,” you promise. “In the meantime…”

You leave it hanging, for him to fill. 

He sighs. “Let’s just go to bed?”

“Sure. Can I get you to drink some water first maybe?”

He acquiesces, drinking a glass of water, then sliding into bed. You clear the security system — with him peering over your shoulder, making certain for himself, too — then turn out the lights, curtains automatically drawing over the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Tim keeps you close underneath the covers, settling low, laying his head on your chest like he did in the shower. You press a kiss to his head, running your fingers through his hair, feeling sleep start to tug at your senses. 

By the way he relaxes into the memory foam of the bed, you know it’s not far off from him, either. 

You stay awake to make sure of it. 

Feeling his body go lax, his breathing even out. Hoping, praying, his dreams are peaceful tonight. To whoever will listen. The universe, some higher being, you don’t know, you simply want to give him a break. A break from all of this. 

It’s just a bad day. You know that. A bad day that stands out in a sea of so many good ones. But bad days for him, for you, are something so different from others’. Unforgiving trauma. Potential loss of life. 

But honestly? If changing that meant leaving him… you wouldn’t change a thing. 

God, you hope that as the time goes on, he’ll fully step back. 

Until then, you’ll be there to pick up the pieces. To tend to the aftermath. 

Always. 

reblogs are appreciated!