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#but he is technically homeless now
voiddemon · 4 months
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Skirby homeless arc in the OG BHH. its in my dreams. he would be so annoying
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bisexualmagnum · 2 years
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ok I get that this is a joke but I would like to point out that Magnum P.I. was not copaganda. Magnum is a private investigator who frequently works against the local police. There was even an episode where he investigated the rape and murder of a woman by a cop who was being protected by his colleagues and the system (the same episode dealt with how cops' primary function is enforcing a system under which mentally ill people are designed to suffer because they frame a homeless vet with severe PTSD for the crime).
There is a recurring character, Lt. Tanaka, who is part of the police force and who Magnum sometimes gets important information and access from, but his characterisation as someone who is easily bribed is not exactly a favourable portrayal of the police either.
Magnum P.I. definitely has its flaws and maybe isn't exactly radical by today's standards, it's not like every episode exposes the corrupt and violent police force or anything like that, but it was definitely not a classic case of copaganda. And as someone who watches a lot of crime shows, I even perceived it as refreshing and unusual because it was very openly critical of institutions like the military and the police.
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forevercloudnine · 2 years
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It always amuses me whenever comics introduce a new villain and Bruce immediately goes "THIS is the TOUGHEST foe I have ever faced!" Like, how do you think his existing rogues gallery would feel if they knew he was sitting around in a bathrobe waxing poetic about some random new guy? If he doesn't beat snake-face-guy he's going to HANG UP THE COWL. He wants snake-face-guy so bad he can TASTE HIM.
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gobbluthbutagirl · 2 years
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can i say something that will certainly absolutely without a doubt 100% make it sound like i’ve lost it completely. too bad if not btw because it’s happening right now. anyway i’m sure you know by now that i’m the oldest of four siblings. but what you may not know is that in my maternal grandmother’s family there were ALSO four siblings. and the running joke in the family would be that my siblings and i were each “just like” our birth-order counterpart from two generations earlier. like i was just like my (technically great- but you know what i mean)aunt, my brother was just like the older of the two uncles, my middle sister was just like my grandma, and my youngest sister was just like the younger of the two uncles. and like to be fair it did kind of hold up. and my aunt lived in texas my whole life until hers ended. and hers ended, without going into too much detail, in a really horrible self-inflicted way. and after that the “you guys are just like them” joke kind of stopped for obvious reasons. but i am a lot like my aunt. i am. and i still think about that all the time. and my grandma got pregnant with my mom at 16. and i only just found out my middle sister is pregnant yesterday but she’s like 21 weeks. and she turned 20 exactly a month ago. so if you do the math you realize she also got pregnant as a teenager just like my grandma did. and i got the hell out of south carolina as soon as i could just like my aunt did. and now i’m like. is there a curse. is history doomed to repeat itself every two generations. can i not break the cycle. am i just a fool
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Where do landlords who are just some guy fit into the discourse btw
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what-if-i-dee-eye-do · 9 months
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texted my brother for LITERALLY two seconds and someone's sobbing
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radiance1 · 3 months
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So, Danny was effectively homeless.
His parents are dead, his sister is dead, his friends are dead. Hell, even Vlad, Vlad kicked the fucking bucket which, Danny genuinely never expected.
Vlad was supposed to be his nemesis, his main bad guy, the guy Danny's supposed to constantly pull everything out against just to win. Not to mention how significant his presence was.
A part of him assumed that Vlad would always be there and him not being there and knowing he won't be there ever again is... weird.
So you're probably asking, how exactly did this happen?
Well you see, the nasty burger exploded, for one thing. Then when he was under Vlad's care both of them got outed for being ghosts to the GIW, which was technically Danny's fault, since he did something extremely stupid.
Somehow they got caught, and life under the GIW was not great in the slightest. The constant experiments, the dehumanization (Sometimes Danny doesn't even register himself as human), the amount of times their feelings were utterly disregarded, and so, so much more.
The GIW found Vlad to be more dangerous than Danny, even if he lacked the raw power Danny had his intellect made him dangerous and for good reason. For it was because of said intellect that Danny managed to escape.
Vlad didn't manage to do the same.
Danny hated reliving that memory. Because Vlad was a villain, evil and self-serving, he shouldn't be sacrificing himself for his literal greatest enemy to escape in his stead (Not that Vlad would say Danny was his greatest, he would probably say it was the person who refused him to buy the packers). It was just, so utterly stupid and out of character for him.
So, Danny managed to escape, Vlad died. He couldn't even say anything about Dani because she got destabilized in front of him, in front of both of them actually. It hurt to watch and, he didn't quite know the specifics between Dani and Vlad anymore, but he thinks they were getting... better.
Not how it was when Dani was first created, but Vlad was working on mending it. Which, honestly, just makes everything worse.
Danny isn't powerless but it's a damn close thing. He's far weaker than he normally would be, and he's injured on top of that too boot, his powers can barely work and it's just so stupid.
So here he was, hiding out in some random sewer because he didn't want to take the risk of being on the surface and he hates the smell, but he'll take that over being experimented on again. So, Danny spends most of his time in the sewers of this place called Gotham, he even managed to make his own little area with a couch he stole and a few other appliances that were thrown out.
He lacked a Tv or laptop, but he found a yo-yo! Most of his time was spent practicing various tricks with his yo-yo.
It got boring fast. But it was really the only safe thing he could do when waiting for his powers to come back. At least he's a god at yo-yoing now.
It was while doing various tricks with it in some random sewer path, that a literal, goddamn crocodile-man just splashed up from sewer water and half-laid on the edge, since his lower body was still in the water.
Danny looked at his yo-yo, the crocodile, and then slowly stepped on over and gently poked the crocodile dude.
He made a sound, so he was alive!
Finally! Someone to appreciate his godly yo-yoing skills!
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medusas-graveyard · 5 months
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Someone you used to know.
Concept:
an AU where after Danny's parents find out the truth about his biology, they turn their weapons against him; affectively leaving him no choice but to run away. There was no longer a 'Daniel James Fenton'; a child long dead after he was killed via electrocution. He cuts contact with everyone— and I mean everyone; only the god of time knows where he is. He turns to Gotham to start a new life there; under the guise of 'Danyal Nightingale', a homeless kid in crime alley, under the protection of the sentient city herself.
Enter: Bruce Wayne.
Bruce Wayne was quite the enigma to him. The teen basically knew everything about self defense, but Bruce is rich rich; Danny can't really understand why he would need to be athletic as shit for "self defense" when he's pretty sure he could've just hire mercenary level bodyguards. But he doesn't pry on it too much; because Danny understands that somethings are better to not poke around at.
They both grew up. Danny still couldn't understand Bruce. They grew closer, yes; but Bruce would literally... disappear. Like— for long amounts of time. He would ask Alfred for his whereabouts, but the butler simply shook his head, insisting that Bruce would be fine.
And he was right, technically.
The (now pretty grown) man would always come back, even if he was battered and bruised. He would wave off his best friend's worries with "I'm fine"s and "stop worrying"s that just fueled his distaste about Bruce leaving.
And then Bruce left, again.
While he was slightly annoyed by Bruce's constant disappearance, he can't help but just sigh in resignation at the hard headed billionaire. Bruce will come back.... eventually, at least.
He was right; Bruce did come back.
But he didn't.
He couldn't.
He was trapped inside a neverending nightmare.
Because they found him.
Years pass by and his whole body felt numb, numb, numb. He's always either strapped inside a straight jacket in an empty room or torn open like a frog in biology class, on top of a surgery table. He doesn't remember how to speak, what he sounded like, what food tasted like— how it felt to move freely. Because all he could do over the past years (decade?) Is silently take the torture if simply existing.
On a good day, they would let him dream. He dreamt of talking, hyperfixating about stars and Greek mythology— he dreamt of playing tag and cooking messily in a kitchen; all with a boy and older man whose face he doesn't remember. On those days his life felt a little more bearable; like it gives him the motivation to just exist.
"... there's no way you're named after a bird."
"....ne. What's yours?"
"Danny is a nice name."
"Hey, wh— HEY! Get down from there!"
"Don't be such a worrywart. I'll see you soon, Danny."
".....Danny"
".....Danny!"
"Danny....?"
His dazed eyes weakly focused on the familiar voice calling his name; the sight of a dark figure by the lab door greets his line of sight.
He's strapped on the table; chest still wide open as the figure rushes over him. He could hear their heart rattling inside their ribcage and their heaving breaths.
....no. this is all just a dream.
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flowersandbigteeth · 2 months
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Orc boyfriend with what he thinks is a tiny, smol mate who's so smol, so delicate, so sweet... They're actually pretty firmly built for a human, while a bit short, along with being stubborn and sassy and ready to bite heads off for their adorable XL size boyfriend.
I've got so many orc stories going right now, but you know I'm not mad about it ^_^ I love Orcs <3 There are so many different ways to write them. I have another couple of Orc asks I'm working on, as well 🥵
Orc (Cedar) x thick f reader
Word Count: 5K
Tw: sfw orc fluff, some brief descriptions of battle, brief mention of sa, size difference
More monster fluff here
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“Put the stick down, sugar. We’re not going to hurt you.” 
You scoffed at the soldiers circling you, their eyes dark with lust. 
“We just want to have some fun,” another said, his eyes drifting over your shapely hips. “Don’t you owe us a debt of gratitude for rescuing you?”  
You squeezed the iron fire poker that you had gripped in your hand. 
“Rescuing me? You didn’t get your rocks off burning down the damn village?” 
“It was a strategic maneuver,” the leader of the armored men said with an oily smile. “We are here to liberate you.” 
“By assaulting me?” you snapped. 
There was not a doubt in your mind that the second you lowered your weapon, they were going to drag you into some dark corner and act out all of the sick thoughts they had echoed on their faces. 
Your King’s soldiers weren’t good guys. When they heard there was an Orc camp nearby, they couldn’t be bothered to attack it directly. Instead, they burned down your village. They said it was to prevent them from resupplying. 
It was true you did business with the Orcs, who were technically your enemy, but they never acted like enemies. While big and quite scary-looking, they paid in gold and were always polite to the women running the shops. You never felt the least bit unsafe alone with one, and occasionally, they’d help you out with things that needed done– fixing roofs and cartwheels. The men of the town had all been conscripted for the war, so it mostly the ladies keeping the village afloat. The soldiers had made a whole lot of children and the elderly homeless. 
“Come on, sweetie, this game is getting tiresome.” 
One of the soldiers dared to approach you, and you didn’t hesitate a second, swinging your poker and smacking him so hard in the head that his helmet crunched. He collapsed on the broken boards that had once been the floor of your little noodle shop. 
“Now that’s a crime!” the leader barked.
He waved to his accomplices. 
“Get in there and restrain her!” Their eyes fell on the collapsed soldier, and they looked between one another, trying to sort out who was next to get a whomping. 
You flexed your wrist, preparing to swing at whoever came at you next, when you heard the heavy steps of an Orc approaching. The soldiers were too inexperienced to know what that sound meant. You’d heard them approach every day at dinner time for several months. It wasn’t until he was shouldering his way through what was left of your door that they took notice. 
“The enemy approaches! Your swords!” 
The Orc you knew as Ash, wrinkled his brow and let out a lilting call to gather his brethren. The ground rumbled as more heavy feet ran towards you. 
Wood splintered, and what remained of the ceiling creaked as they tore the walls away, making more room for a fight. 
Faced with five nine-foot Orc barbarians armed with axes almost as big as their bodies, the soldiers tried to run for it. You screamed as they threatened to trample you, trying to force their way through the back wall, but they never reached you. 
The Orcs didn’t need to draw their weapons, grabbing every soldier and smacking them against the ground until they stopped moving—a gruesome way to die, but practical. 
When the danger was crumpled into a wet gnarl of bones and metal, their eyes turned to you. Ash said something to his friends in their own language before he stomped across the room and plucked you up like a kitten, cradling you in his arm. 
“Hey, What do you think you’re doing?!” 
“Quiet, little one. You’ll give us away.” 
You puckered your lips at him, annoyed, as if the stomping of five tons of muscle was quiet. When you tried to wave your poker at him, he plucked it out of your hand but didn’t drop it, tucking it instead in his belt. He said something else to his friends before turning to split away from them. 
You had no reason to panic. The Orcs had never harmed you, but being taken away from the group put frightening thoughts in your head, and you instinctively started screaming. 
The Orc sighed, sounding tired, when four more soldiers came skidding around a corner, swords in hand. You looked up at him apologetically, smacking your hand over your mouth to stay the scream that didn’t want to stop. 
He set you on the roof of what was left of a building and pat you on the head, a gesture that you read as “stay” before pulling out his axe. You weren’t going anywhere, even if you wanted to. The drop was fifteen feet down, and the stairs were just charcoal at the base of the building. 
“Attack!” the leader of the soldiers shouted, but their moves in their heavy metal armor were slow. Ash swung his arm in a sweeping stroke that sliced four of them in half where they stood. The other one, eyes wide with horror, turned tail and ran. 
Replacing his axe, he picked you up again and headed into the woods. This time, you had enough sense to keep quiet. 
You’d never been to the Orc camp before, but you heard it before you saw it. The brassy sound of a grinder and hammers on metal rang through the trees, blended with the shouts of the Orcs in their language.  There were lots of huge tents and fires spotted here and there. The camp was buzzing with activity. Orcs ran around shouting at one another, some gathering weapons, some sending groups in the direction you came. You recognized many of them as some of your customers. They often came in groups and hauled away vats of the noodle stew you sold. 
A few Orcs waved at Ash but didn’t pay you much mind as he carried you to the nicest-looking tent. It had a banner outside of it with a gold bear embroidered into the fabric. Ash set you on the ground at the door and handed you your poker before patting you on the back, indicating you should go in. 
“What’s in there?” you asked. 
He said something in Orcish that you didn’t understand and walked away. There were too many other giants around to attempt an escape, so you pulled aside the fur covering the door and peeked inside. 
“Hello?” 
Your question was returned with a deep voice, smooth as a glassy pond. 
“Enter, little one.” 
Taking a few steps inside, you were faced with what you could only describe as the most handsome Orc you’d ever seen. His skin was a deep olive, and his hair fell over his shoulder in a long, dark sheet with small braids here and there. His tusks were large, but they seemed only to highlight how well his lips were formed. His features were harsh and defined but not unattractive, with a straight nose and deep-set gold eyes. The only thing you could point out as a flaw was a dark scar from his forehead to the right corner of his jaw. 
You assumed the Orcs were blunt tools, sprinting into battle with no real plan, but this one was sitting at a high table examining maps with a book in his hand. 
“I’m…I’m not sure why I’m here,” you said, brandishing your poker, though you didn’t feel like you were in any particular danger. 
“I asked Ash to fetch you,” he said without looking up. “You’re the noodle shop woman.” 
“My name is (Y/N), not “noodle shop woman,” and I don’t have a shop anymore. The soldiers burned it.” 
He put his book down and turned his gold eyes to you. 
“That’s why you’re here.” 
“I don’t understand.” 
His eyes drifted over you before they settled on the poker you were still holding up. 
“You were feeding most of the camp. If there’s no shop to visit, you can make noodles here.” 
You blinked up at him. 
“Oh…Am I your prisoner?” 
He chuckled. 
“If you’d like to go back to your people, I won’t stop you, but judging how they burned down your village without hesitation, I think you’re safer with us.” 
You had to admit that made some sense, but you still weren’t buying it. 
“I can’t stay here with you!” 
He tipped his head, the corner of his lip twitching up slightly. 
“Why is that, little one?” 
You narrowed your eyes at him. 
“First of all, I’m NOT little, and second, an Orc camp is no place for a lady.” 
A shudder that had nothing to do with fear shot down your spine as his eyes moved over your body. He crossed the room, scooping you up, and setting you on his table. Your feet dangled far from the ground. 
“What- What are you doing?” you snapped, waving your weapon at him. 
“My neck was hurting from looking down at you. You’re very short.”
The sparkle in his eyes told you he was teasing you, which drew heat to your cheeks. 
“Maybe compared to you. You’re unnecessarily large. What are you doing with all of that muscle? Are you going to arm wrestle your books?” you pouted, eyes drifting to the massive bicep peeking out of the fur vest he wore. 
He laughed out loud, gracing you with a wide smile. 
“You’ll fit right in here.” 
You raised your nose at him, trying to look unconvinced. 
“Where will I even sleep? All of your tents are big and drafty.” 
“Since you’ve declared your intention to court me, I wouldn’t mind if you slept here.” 
“Declared my intention to— Where did you get that idea?” 
He flicked a fingertip at your poker. 
“In the old days, Orc females came to their males' tent and threatened them into submission with their favorite weapon.” 
Your cheeks burned like hot irons, and you almost dropped it. 
“Well…I’m not trying to court you. It’s for protection.” 
He snorted at you but nodded his head. 
“If you say so, little one, but it will be much warmer in my tent if it’s drafts you’re worried about.” 
“I don’t even know your name. Ash called you something in your language. I didn’t understand…” 
He examined one of the feet you had dangling over the edge of his table. Compared to his big hand, it was tiny. 
“Cautalin, it means something close to general in your language, but you can call me Cedar. That’s what my mother named me.” 
Your eyes traveled over his barrel chest and thick arms. 
“Seems about right,” you said, finally setting your poker down. 
He picked it up, looked it over, and tested the weight in his hand. 
“Not a bad choice,” he said. “Light but effective.” 
You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, feeling cheeky. 
“Do you feel like submitting?” 
You watched a flicker of heat ignite in his eyes, and he slowly set it down. 
“Come on, let's get you to bed, killer.” 
He picked you up again, walking you over to a large pallet covered in furs. 
“This is your bed.” 
He gave you another smile. 
“We’re in the middle of a battle; I won't be sleeping tonight. It's all yours.” 
Though you weren't quite sure about sleeping in his bed, weariness overtook you at the sight of the comfortable, cozy furs, and you crawled in, wrapping yourself up to your chin in blankets. 
He put your poker next to you and blew out the candle, slipping out the front flap as you dozed. 
— 
You woke to yelling, but not the sound of battle. Crawling out of your furs, you picked up your poker and peeled out of the flap Cedar used as a door. Another Orc you didn't recognize was the one yelling, and Cedar had his arms crossed, looking bored. 
Your eyes drifted to about twenty women, elderly, and children, cowering in the chilly morning air, their faces streaked with soot from the fire.
“They’re our enemies!” the strange Orc barked. 
“Really, Asvoth? Are you really afraid of a handful of children and their mothers?” 
“This is a war camp, not a nursery.” 
“It's my camp, not yours. They stay.” 
“I outrank you. I can take your command.” 
Cedar snorted. 
“Yet the King hasn't trusted you with a unit of your own. You're nothing more than an errand boy with a fancy title. Any of these children could take your job.” 
Asvoth’s face turned a deep forest green from both embarrassment and indignation. He yanked the sword he wore on his back to his hand. Without thinking, you hopped in front of Cedar, waving your poker at the intruder. You had no idea why, a fact you only considered after you’d already put yourself in harm's way. Still, you'd made your move so the only thing to do was follow through. 
“You heard Cedar! We’re not leaving! Get on if you know what's good for you!” 
Asvoth sprung forward, dropping his sword toward your head. Your eyes squeezed shut, preparing for pain, but there was only the clang of metal. Opening one eye, you glanced up to see Cedar’s axe blocking the other Orc’s blow. 
There was a moment when you thought Asvoth might overtake him, but Cedar’s muscles weren't all for show. He shoved the other Orc back, and he toppled over, landing on his butt in the dirt. His sword landed in front of the children with a CLANG. 
“Woah!”  the little ones cheered, circling around it like it was a strange animal. 
A few of them tried to pick it up, but it was far too heavy, making their eyes pop even wider.
Cedar nodded at him, and a pair of Orcs from the camp dragged Asvoth up by the collar of his tunic, pushing him towards the forest.  
“I'm reporting this!” He shouted over his shoulder as he stumbled towards the woods. 
Cedar waved a hand at one of his Orcs, beckoning him closer. 
“You and Orin follow him and make sure the King gets our side of the story, not his.”  
When the situation seemed settled, Cedar looked down at you and patted your head. 
“Thank you for your protection, little suitor,” he said with a smirk. 
Your cheeks blew up in flames, but you puffed your chest and looked at the children watching Ash pick up the abandoned sword. They hopped around him like little bunnies, begging him to teach them to use it. 
“I have no idea what you mean! I’m here to make noodles! Point me in the direction of my kitchen! These little mouths are probably hungry.” 
He chuckled, but guided you with a large hand on your back to a large tent filled with whatever food supplies they had rescued from the village. You wrinkled your nose at the primitive workspace, but there were enough flour and eggs to work with. You were surprised to find someone had stuck in a lower table, perfect for your height. After washing your hands in a water basin, you got to cooking. 
“What are you still doing here?” you asked Cedar, who had plopped down in a chair and was reading a book. 
He smiled. 
“Reading.” 
You blinked at him, putting your floury fists on your hips. “Are you surveilling me? I’m not going to poison you all! I have to eat this too, you know.” 
He tipped his head to the side, his gold eyes sparkling in the makeshift hearth. 
“The sound of cooking is soothing. I liked to study in the kitchen while my mother cooked when I was a boy.” 
You looked him up and down. 
“I can’t imagine you as a child.” 
You thought for a second, tapping your chin. 
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Orc child, actually.” 
He looked back down at his book, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. 
“You will,” he said as he flipped a page. 
Your brow wrinkled at that nebulous statement, but you knew everyone was hungry after the long night, so you got back to work. 
By midmorning, you had a stewpot big enough to feed an army filled with noodles, vegetables, and what little bit of venison the Orcs had been able to hunt between the battle. 
“All done,” you said, clapping your hands and creating a puff of flour in the air. 
Cedar got up and shouted something to his men, and two Orcs appeared to carry the big vat into the central circle so it could be served. You felt a sense of satisfaction when all the bowls were passed out and the children, tired humans, and bloodied Orcs were eating. The mothers spoke quietly between one another, while the children could hardly sit still, their big eyes following the Orcs every movement. 
“Here.” 
You looked up to find Cedar holding a bowl out to you. A grumbling stomach had you accepting it, and he patted the seat next to him for you to sit down. The two of you ate quietly for a moment before you asked him a question. 
“What are you going to do with all of us?” 
“Hmm?” he asked. 
“Well, I mean when the battle is over. We have nowhere to go. Our town is destroyed.” 
He looked at the children who, after scarfing down their bowls, were engaged in some game with Ash. 
“I was hoping you would all return to our capitol city with us. That’s where we live when we’re not fighting.”
Your eyebrows jumped. 
“To the Orc city? We’re humans. Don’t your people hate us?” 
He shrugged. 
“There are some weak minds who reveal their own fragility with their hate, but the rest of us like your kind. This whole war started because we wished to create allies amongst the humans.” 
“What? The soldiers said you attacked!” 
He chuckled. 
“Your king has a very effective propaganda engine. That’s probably the only thing about him that is effective. We sent a delegation party to him to discuss our interest in mingling with you humans. You all are prolific; despite your size, you’re a sturdy bunch. We thought marriages would bolster our numbers and strengthen your stock. Your King attacked, and we were forced to defend ourselves. The force that attacked us was decimated, and he declared war.” 
“You mean…you wish to mate with us?” 
His eyes slid down to you, and he gave you a sharp nod. 
“Is that so surprising?” 
You thought about it for a moment. 
“I don’t know…Maybe a little. You’re so strong. You’re not afraid we’ll diminish you?” 
His thick hand cupped your chin and rubbed some flour away with his thumb. Your heart raced at his touch. 
“Size is not what makes us strong. Our strength lies in our unbreakable bonds. Your King will be defeated, not because his forces are less than ours, but because he orders his men to betray his own people.” 
He nodded towards the children, who were playing chicken fight on Ash and another Orc’s shoulders. 
“They will remember it was men who burned down their village, stole their fathers from them, assaulted their mothers and Orcs who took them in, fed them, and helped them smile again. 
“I suppose you’re right,” you agreed. 
His smile widened. 
“I will remember you took up arms to protect me against an enemy twice your size. You belong among the us.” 
Suddenly the wool dress you wore was much too hot. 
“I should go wash these before the next meal,” you squeaked, grabbing his empty bowl and scurrying away.
Once safe in the kitchen tent, you pressed your hand against your chest, trying to still your heart. Why did Cedar make you feel so fluttery? You’d never felt this way around anyone before. You usually kept to yourself and steered clear of romance. It had to be the battle, you decided. You were still hyped up from the night before. In a day or so, you were sure it would pass. 
Dunking empty bowls in ice-cold river water helped cool your thoughts as you tried to focus on what to make for dinner. The Orcs stocks were pretty hefty, but they and the children ate a lot. You’d noticed many of the parents tipping some of their bowls into their little one’s, making sure they were fed properly in case the next meal didn’t come. 
It saddened you it had to be this way. What horrible person decides to burn down their own citizens' village? Who was the King even protecting you from? Not the Orcs, that’s for sure. 
A loud rabble outside dragged your attention away from the dishes, and you picked up your poker before peeking your head outside. 
A few Orc scouts were speaking in rapid Orcish to Cedar. When they paused, his eyes immediately looked around for the children and frowned before he spoke to you all. 
“The human King has sent reinforcements. They will close on our camp by nightfall.” 
The mothers all gathered their children to their skirts, looking weary. 
“Women and children to the kitchen tent! We will keep you safe, but you must stay hidden!” 
You made way as a small stampede of humans rushed past you, many pushing their children to hide under the table. 
“What’s happening?” You asked Cedar as people and Orcs rushed around. 
He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, looking disturbed. 
“Someone ran back to your King with a story that we’d kidnapped you, not taken you in from starving in a burnt-down village. We will win this fight, but then we will have to make the journey back to the capitol. They will keep attacking if they think you’re within their grasp. Do you think you can explain this to your people? We don’t intend to take anyone by force, but I wouldn’t trust the King’s soldiers.”
“Yes, of course. Whatever you need.”
You hurried back to the kitchen, where the humans were muttering to one another. 
“Should we flee to the forest?” Isla, the former town candlemaker, asked. “Can we depend on the Orcs to protect us?” 
Another woman scoffed. 
“We can’t trust anyone. These Orcs are kind now, but they’ll sell us out at the drop of a hat.” 
Linda, a quiet woman who worked as a weaver, whimpered. 
“But we’ll starve in the forest alone. Word is the King’s men have raized every town for fifty miles!” 
You inserted yourself into the conversation, holding up your hands. 
“No one needs to escape to the woods. The Orcs are going to take us back to their capitol to keep us safe.” 
Linda squeaked in horror. 
“The Orc capitol?! Where they can enslave us?!” 
“They have no plan to enslave you. Don’t you want your children to be safe? We will be safe behind their walls!” 
“Or…when the King takes the city we’ll all be hung as traitors!” 
“Shawna, don’t put that in her head. Linda, we’ll be fine. I trust Cedar.” 
You paused on that thought, realizing not only was it true, it didn’t make any sense. You’d only just met him. Your conversation was interrupted by the shouting of men outside. 
“We’ll talk about this later,” you hissed, “Here, take this.” 
You armed the humans with whatever haphazard weapons you could find, mostly butcher knives and skillets. 
Outside, you could hear the clang of weapons and the squelching sounds of metal piercing flesh. 
“What's happening?” Linda asked, trying to get around you so she could peek out of the tent flap. 
“Stay back!” You barked. “If they see us, we’re in trouble!” 
You could tell she was losing it, hopping from one foot to another, her hands getting slippery on her knife. 
“No, no, no,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to go with the Orcs. Even a human monster is better than them!” 
Before you could grab her, she skipped through the doorway, running wildly into the fray. The other humans gathered around you, their opinions spilling out like loose marbles. 
“What is she thinking?!” 
“Linda, come back!” 
“Let her go, she’s nuts.” 
You clenched your jaw, squeezing your iron poker. 
“She’s scared. I’ll go get her…you all stay put!” 
Before anyone could stop you, you darted after her, trying to catch sight of her red skirt through the mess of armour-clad humans and massive Orcs. The King had sent a much larger force than the one that had burned down your village. The battle around you was brutal. You almost slipped on a puddle of blood, your eyes frantically searching for Linda. 
You found her pointing her knife with shaking hands at a human soldier. 
“What are you doing? I’m a human, too!” 
“The King ordered you all dead!” he snarled, raising his sword at her. “No witnesses! Come on, do your duty to the kingdom, and die quietly!” 
Panicking, you launched yourself at him, whacking him with your poker as you barreled into him. The two of you went down, metal clashing as you fell and dropped your weapons. Both of you scrabbled for purchase in the blood-soaked earth. You could hear Linda screeching beside you as you tried to overpower the soldier. His armor, now slick with mud, made it impossible to get a hold of him, and he triumphantly dragged himself to his sword, clumsily grabbing it by the blade and flinging it in your direction. You saw the metal flash in the firelight before pain exploded between your eyes, and your vision went black. 
“Please tell me she’s not dead,” you heard Linda’s voice from far away. 
Isla scoffed. 
“You’d better hope she’s not, Linda. This is all your fault!” 
“I'm sorry!” she simpered, “I made a mistake! I thought the soldiers were here to free us!” 
“Free us from what? A good meal and a safe place to sleep?”
You dragged your eyelids open, vision blurry for a moment before it cleared. 
“What…what happened?” you murmured. 
“She’s awake!” Isla gasped. 
You felt her cool hands against your cheek. 
“Take it slow, here; have some water.” 
She pushed a tin cup into your hands, and you wet your palette with a few sips. Looking around, you were surrounded by the humans, all looking very concerned. 
“Is everyone okay?” you asked. 
Isla smirked, and the other women tittered a bit. 
“Thanks to you, I suppose. That chieftain or warlord or whatever saw you get knocked in the head and went berzerk. He killed most of the soldiers all by himself.” 
Another woman poked her head out of the tent. 
“She’s okay! You guys can untie him!” 
“Untie who? Is the battle over?” 
Isla nodded.
“Yeah, all the soldiers are dead. We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up so we can move the camp before the King sends anymore. Can you believe he ordered them to kill us? I guess so he could claim the Orcs did it and get more support for the war.”
She smirked at you. 
“And as for who's tied up, your Orc friend thought you were dead. The others had to tie him up so he wouldn’t go on a rampage. He was ready to storm the King’s stronghold! You ought to see the ropes they had to use…thick as your waist!” 
You heard the roll of stomping feet, and Cedar burst through the tent flap. His hair was wild, and his tunic was red with blood. He fell to his knees in front of you, holding his hands as if he couldn’t decide if you were safe to touch. 
“Are you okay?” he asked, carefully prodding the bandage you had wrapped around your head. “That monster didn’t do any permanent damage, did he?” 
“She’ll have a scar,” Isla said, “but I think she’s fine.” 
Cedar’s face lightened, pulling you towards him, his big arms wrapping around you. 
“Thank the goddess,” he sighed with a heavy breath. “I thought they’d taken you from me.” 
He cupped your cheeks between his palms when he finally let you go. 
“You are so stupidly brave, little one,” he gasped, eyes wet. “You have more honor than your people deserve.” 
Behind him, Isla waved the women out of the tent, leaving the two of you alone. Not used to so much intimate attention, your cheeks warmed, and you weren’t sure where to look. 
“I just didn’t want Linda to get hurt,” you muttered. 
He gave you an odd smile, scooping you out of the cot you’d woken up in. 
“Once I get you to our home in the capitol, I’m going to have to keep you locked up for your own safety,” he said, patting your head. 
You looked up at him from where you were tucked, leaning on his bicep. 
“Our home?” 
He grinned at you, counting on his fingers. 
“First step to Orc courting: Threaten your desired with your weapon. Done. Step two: Allure them with your cooking skills, cooking or hunting something delicious. Done. And the final step: Display your honor through a grand act of bravery. Done! You’ve effectively and thoroughly seduced me, little one! All that’s left is to take you home!” 
He tipped your chin up with one thick finger and dipped his head to press his lips against yours. Your whole body felt like it was made of butterflies, every nerve flickering with excitement. Despite being covered in blood and mud, his kiss tasted like honey and sage. It felt like a warm cup of tea on a chilly morning. Your eyelashes fluttered shut and you sank into his warmth, despite yourself, happy to be alive and in his arms.
“Oh!” you gasped as he straightened his neck.
Your mouth fell open, unsure what to say. Before you could think of anything, Cedar carried you out of the tent, shouting orders at his men to pack up the camp so you could leave for the capitol.
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ilycosy · 1 month
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PLEAAAAAASE MORE SUB RAFE ! I ABSOLUTELY LOVED WHAT YOU WROTE
Maybe comforting him after he has a fight w ward and he comes looking for you all teary eyed and he just wants his mommy to take care of him 🤭(he’s fs sucking on them titties)
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sub rafe supremacy !!! he's so sweet n i love him !!!
warning : daddy issues (ward when i catch u ward) , mommy kink , drug mention (he isnt high) , s1 rafes greasy hair is a warning itself
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you heard the footsteps before rafe even announced that he was here, they were loud and fast as he easily shoved open your door. you almost rolled your eyes at the sight of him, teary eyes and his bangs almost sticking to his head, residue coke on his nose from an old line.
for an intimidating man in public, constantly wanting to fight and argue— he was mommy's boy through and through. being thrown out by his father when he owed money, his addiction being at its peak right now. he came running to you.
he didn't speak when he stalked over to you, blinking rapidly so he wouldn't cry. he climbed on top of you, shifting so he could be smaller in your arms, grabbing your hand to put it on his head a little more aggressively than he meant to.
"off." he mumbled, tugging at your shirt. you just sighed and pulled it off, you don't even know why you still wear a bra, you just fumble with taking it off everytime he stares at you expectantly. his watery blue eyes waiting for your chest to be fully out for him.
he doesn't say anything else before he latches on, letting a tear slip down his cheek as he sucks on one nipple while his hand squeezes your other tit. your hand rakes through his hair, scratching at his scalp as he lets go of all his worries. he forgets completely about ward, and how he's now technically homeless.
you press a soft kiss to his forehead and push his bangs back, "can mommy keep reading?" you ask. he doesn't even hesitate with shaking his head no, only pulling off for a second to tell you to pay attention to him.
you don't bother with reading anymore, setting the book to the side as you continue petting his head. thinking about all the self-care things you can probably wrangle him into doing while he's in this headspace, but for now you're trapped under him while he sniffles and sucks hickeys onto your chest, making sure everyone knows you're his mommy.
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Dick Grayson V Gotham
Chapter 1 - AO3 - Constantine Jr. AU
There were a few minutes every morning, in the dark before dawn when his alarm hadn’t yet rung, where Dick Grayson felt most at peace. Despite the ache in his body the night out as Nightwing, he felt refreshed and content to just rest his eyes until his phone rang and it was time to get ready for the day. 
Unfortunately, peace was never meant to last. 
With a loud crash that definitely woke the neighbors, a little body kicked his door in. A switch was flipped and blinding light filled the room. Dick squinted in the general direction of the intruder. “Get up already!” Danny, his ward, snapped, rushing forward to rip the blankets off his bed. Dick let him. “There’s a case ready for us at the precinct!” 
Dick checked his phone. No missed calls, and Danny didn’t have a phone yet. “Is this another psychic thing?” he asked. 
Danny rolled his eyes. “If I say yes, will you get your ass out of bed already?”
“Language,” he chided absentmindedly, but still got out of bed. Danny glared up at him, still not satisfied, and dragged him to the bathroom with a surprising amount of strength for an 8-year-old. “Huh! You’re really in a hurry today.”
“No, you’re just super slow!”
Dick pulled back against Danny, slowing their progress considerably. “Oh, it’s the age!” Dick bemoaned, draping himself dramatically against the wall. “Now that I have a kid of my own to look after, the years have started to take their toll—Ow!”
Danny glared up at him like he hadn’t just kicked Dick in the shin. Brat. “Be dramatic in your own time! We have a case, Dick, we need to go!”
“Alright, alright, I’m going!” Dick complied and got in the bathroom, saying just before he closed the door, “Make sure you’re dressed in clothes you can afford to lose! I don’t want you to get blood on your favorite jeans again!” Danny shouted back his agreement and finally, Dick was alone. 
As Dick washed his face and did his business, he contemplated how he got there. Honestly, he didn’t get what Bruce was always complaining about; this guardianship thing was going great! It was three weeks since he’d wrangled Danny home, but he’d been preparing for this for months, ever since he learned that the little brat trying to solve murders was homeless. It took months of classes, meetings with CPS, and interviews with friends and family, but Dick was now the proud foster parent of Danny Smith!
Fortunately, Dick had managed to convince Bruce that the foster license was precautionary, like if he needed to protect a minor. Which was what he was doing! So not technically a lie!
Although, Bruce had his hands full already. Some new crime lord had taken up the Joker’s old alias and it was driving the old man up the wall. Bruce had even asked Dick for help on the case last night! He’d said no, of course; he wasn’t just going to abandon Danny in Bludhaven for days while they hunted down Red Hood, and he wasn’t going to spring Danny on Bruce, nor Bruce on Danny. Danny was a flight risk and had expressed disdain for millionaires in the past, and Bruce was… worse than he used to be. Tim had managed to resurrect some of the dad Bruce used to be, but ever since Jason… 
Well, it was good that they wouldn’t be seeing each other any time soon. Maybe by then Tim will have convinced Bruce to go to therapy!
Coming out of the bathroom, Dick started at Danny, dressed in jeans and a Digimon t-shirt, standing on the counter and getting Dick’s lunch bag off the shelf. He cocked an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
“Packing breakfast to-go!” Danny said, jumping off the counter. Dick’s heart skipped a beat and he lunged forward, but Danny landed before Dick could reach him. He glared at Dick. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” He straightened up, playing it cool. He observed what Danny had laid out for breakfast as he started the coffee machine. A banana, two yogurts, and a handful of granola just poured out onto the table. “You know, you absorb more nutrients when you sit down and actually enjoy your food. And we don’t need lunch to-go. Remember, we talked about this? We have to wait for someone to report the crime first.”
“How do you know no one hasn’t yet?” Danny challenged. 
“Have they?”
“...No. We could report the crime though,” Danny grumbled, but opened a yogurt cup. 
They really couldn’t. If they reported the crime, they’d still have to wait for other officers and CSI before investigating, and that’s even if they were given the case! But more importantly… Dick was the only officer in the department who believed Danny could see ghosts. 
Sure, Commissioner Gonzalez believed Danny, but that was just one woman. As much as he appreciated the Commissioner’s work helping get Danny off the streets and processing the paperwork to ensure the boy got recognition as an official BPD consultant… well, Dick knew she had ties to the gangs in town, he just couldn’t prove it. Just because she liked him and Danny doesn’t make her good. 
The fact that she promoted him to detective was evidence enough. Dick was an amazing detective—like everyone trained by Batman—but normally you’d need a certain number of years and successful cases for that level of promotion, both of which Dick didn’t have. Hell, he’d only been working as a cop for two years! But Danny was only willing to work with Dick… so Dick became the youngest detective in the city. 
The coffee machine sang a little robotic song and Dick placed a Nightwing mug under the spout just in time to catch the stream. As Danny finished his breakfast, Dick shooed him off to go brush his teeth and turned on the TV. He still had thirty minutes before they had to leave for work—
“—taking after his father!” Jack Rider’s voice rang through the apartment. Dick frowned; why was this trash on? “Although I have to say, I don’t think anyone ever expected Richard Grayson to adopt a child of his own!”
Dick froze. What? No, he’d worked so hard to ensure that no one would find out—
A picture flashed on screen of Dick and Danny. Dick recognized it immediately; he’d taken Danny out to eat to celebrate Danny officially becoming his foster child. But that was weeks ago! They’d been sitting on the story for that long?
They didn’t even bother to blur Danny’s face. 
“Now, Jack,” the co-host chided, “Let’s not get too hasty. Our source at Bludhaven PD—who will be unnamed to protect their privacy—said it was only a foster, not an adoption.”
Jack waved her concern away. “Yes, a foster. For now. Don’t you remember how long Richard was Brucie’s ward? Sure, the kid might only be a foster for now, but with this family, adoption is always on the table!”
Turning away from the TV, Dick checked their security cameras on his phone. When he’d first moved in, Babs had hacked into all the cameras in the apartment, piggy-backing off their feeds. There, outside the building’s main entrance, were multiple reporters. Some had even gotten into the building, although their aimless wandering told him that their apartment number hadn’t been leaked yet. 
“Still, another street kid in the family,” Jack continued to muse. “That’s two now for the Waynes, right? Are they going to take off with an entire orphanage next?”
“Dick?”
He locked eyes with Danny, who gave the TV a worried look. But Danny didn’t get worried; he was a cocky, grumpy brat who’d given Dick a heart attack when he dared a gang member to shoot him in the face. But a news story scared him?
Smart kid. Dick was feeling scared too. So, he made the executive decision. 
Dick knelt down to Danny’s height, gently grasping his shoulders. “Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to call out of work—”
“But Mrs. Bennett’s murder!” came the immediate protest. 
Dick took note of the name, but held up a hand to stop him. “I know, I know. But it’s not safe for us to go to the precinct right now.” Someone at BPD had told the reporters about them. One of his colleagues, pissed that he’d gotten his promotion unfairly? Someone who hated that a little kid solved murders better than them? Or anyone looking to make a quick buck? The possibilities were endless. 
He continued, “Commissioner Gonzalez will understand and help us consult with the case from online, okay? We’ll get sent pictures of the crime scene and you can talk to Mrs. Bennett and we’ll consult from Gotham just to be safe.” He had some PTO he could use, right? If not… Gonzalez could just fire him. He’d already known his co-workers were corrupt assholes, but to willingly put a child in danger was a step too far. If Gonzalez wanted to keep Dick—and therefore, Danny—she’d better clean house. 
Danny made a face. “Why Gotham?”
“That’s where my family lives! While we wait for the story to die down, I’ll introduce you to my grandfather, Alfred, and my brother Tim, and my friend, Barbra! I’ll show you around to all the fun spots, it’ll be fun! So go get packed, buddy.”
Hesitating in the doorway, Danny said, “They won’t listen to me. The other officers aren’t like you.”
“They will listen to you. I’ll make them,” Dick promised. He’d gathered enough blackmail on his fellow detectives to force the issue, if needs be. He ruffled Danny’s hair. “Don’t worry, Danny. It’ll just be for a week or two and then everything will be back to normal. I promise.”
Danny glared at him, batting his hand away. “I’ll keep you to that promise, old man.”
As Danny retreated to his room—Dick’s former workout room—to pack, Dick went to his own, closing and locking the door behind him. The call to Gonzalez went about as well as he was expecting: first her anger at him taking time off, then his anger about being sold out to the media, then Gonzalez swearing as she found the news online, until finally agreement. 
As they talked, Dick methodically packed away his Nightwing gear. After last night, where a slime meta had unceremoniously caked his suit in gunk that would not come out, he had two functioning suits: his back-up and his original that he kept for sentimental value. He packed all three, along with his gear. Maybe Alfred would be able to get the gunk out? But he couldn’t leave his things here. Their location was already compromised. If reporters decided the risk was worth it, they could break into his apartment and turn the whole place upside down looking for a story. 
So, Dick had to take the story with him. 
With all his gear packed, there was little room for personal belongings, so he did the best he could and only took the important things. His room at the manor still had a few changes of clothes. Fortunately Danny wasn’t a nosy kid, otherwise he’d never be able to get away with carrying his Nightwing gear in a normal duffel bag like this. 
Now, the hard part. 
The phone rang three times before it was picked up. “Master Richard.” Alfred’s icy tone made him wince. Oh, he already knew. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hey, Alfie…” Dick rubbed the back of his neck. “I just wanted to say that I decided I can help Bruce on that Red Hood case after all?”
“I see.” No matter how angry Alfred was, he was frighteningly polite. “And shall I prepare a second bedroom for your ward?”
Dick winced. “That would be great, Alfred. Thank you.”
“Then I will see you soon. And please inform the young master that I look forward to meeting him when you both arrive.”
“I’ll tell him. He’s been looking forward to meeting you; I’ve been talking up your cooking for months now.”
“Months?” Oh no. “How kind of you, Master Grayson.” It got worse. Alfred was pissed now. Why did he have to say months? It wasn’t like Dick had intentionally hidden Danny from his family; he was just hiding him from Bruce! He wanted some privacy and to figure things out himself! But now Alfie was mad and suddenly that privacy didn’t seem so important anymore. “Shall I assume you’ll be arriving soon then?”
“In around an hour.” Leaving his room, he checked on Danny. He was trying to back everything he owned into the suitcase Dick had bought him. “Maybe a little longer? I’ll call when we’re ten minutes away.” 
“Then I will see you soon, Master Grayson.”
@starlightcat04 @maeashryver @widderwise @darkstarsapocalypse @sisma @luminanightfall @storm-fire98 @amyheart19 @collectingthegoods @redhoneysugarorange @lordfirecat2004 @screechingnoises @meira-3919 @dannyphannypack @satisfactionbroughtmeback @rowanaway-fromthisbs @i-always-say-yea @avelnfear @some-rotten-nest @ark12 @heirxofxtime @akikkobara @blep-23 @skulld3mort-1fan @markus209 @stargirl1331 @onlyhereforthechaos @inth3world @awkwardmaiden @fantasticbluebirdfan @currant-owo @alice-hazelwood @screamingtofillthevoid @crystalqueertea @gaelicholiday @gmkelz11 @mattybook1987-blog @bytheoldwillowtree @apointlessbox @chemical-pepis @ghostface3100 @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @bathildaburp @boo-ghosties @bubblemixer @halfalix @lyra689 @dragon-dancer16 @lunadoll36 @mimilikey @hellomygay @frogs-are-pretty-awesom @overtherose @cyrwrites @your-emo-nightmare @lexdamo @roman4517 @a-slytherinish-gryffindor @raginblastocyst @thegatorsgoose @fisticuffsatapplebees @olivethetreebitch @vixen-uchiha @ae-vixrose @joseph557 @kisatamao @gin2212 @thewondersoflebanon @d4ydr34min9 @malice-of-the-sunrise @tiblii @that-awkward-fae-nerd @aph-mable @dolfay @ghostreblogging @wackyattack @writer-extraordinaire @boo-ghosties @coruscateselene @emergentpanda-blog
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astroboots · 9 months
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Every You Every Me | Issue #7
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COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader
Summary: You finally get some answers out of Miguel about who you are to him.
Word count: 5,700 words.
Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist
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"So let's take it from the top," you tell him, as you sit down and put down the Trenta-sized caramel flavored hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup in front of the man named Miguel O'Hara.
The two of you are sitting across from each other at a small booth at the nearest Starbucks you were able to find, seeing as you're homeless now, and there's nowhere else you could think of to go.
He's dressed in a large fitted hoodie that drapes down to his thighs. Where he's managed to find something that is oversized in length on him, you don't know because he's not exactly short.
"I'm from a dimension known as Earth-928," Miguel says.
Before he can continue, you raise one hand, and you can see his right eyebrow twitch unhappily at the interruption. 
"Yes?"
"Just to clarify, so we don't have another ‘coffee cake’ misunderstanding. When you say Earth-928, do you mean a different version of the Earth we’re on now? Or is this a habitable planet in another galaxy that happens to be partially named Earth?"
"It's a parallel universe characterized by distinct physical parameters and initial conditions, accounting for the diverse manifestations of our observable universe. So still Earth," he says, sweeping his gaze across the café, nose wrinkling the way one does when there's something off-putting in their vicinity. "Just a little bit less primitive."
Of course he would say that, wouldn't be able to resist the jab would he.
You peer up at him across the table. He is very technical and thorough with his explanations. But as grateful as you are for him finally being willing to answer your questions, you hadn't expected those answers to be quite so information dense. You need to pick your questions more carefully or you are going to have to go down the street to buy yourself a notebook in order to keep up.
"How did you end up on this Earth?" you ask.
"Where I'm from, I'm a scientist, a researcher. One of the things I studied was the theory of physical cosmology and the existence of the multiverse. My work was concentrated on the theoretical ability to navigate between distinct universes within a hypothetical multiverse–”
Ah shit, you should've been more narrow in your question. Should have asked him to simplify it a bit more for you. Because now you're sitting here blinking up at him, pretending you understand half of what he's saying. 
It makes sense that he’s STEM. He speaks like the type. Smart as hell with none of the social skills to gauge whether the other person is following the conversation. 
Listening to him reminds you of that time in college, when you'd walked into the wrong lecture hall, wound up in advanced chemistry instead of your math class, felt too awkward to leave and just sat there drawing doodles with an attentive expression until the class was over. 
And he’s still at it, “– employing advanced mechanisms that manipulate or transcend conventional spacetime frameworks, enabling exploration–"
"Okay, wait, hold on a sec," you interrupt, once it becomes obvious he’s not going to stop any time soon on his own. "Can you... simplify, please?"
He stops mid-sentence, taking a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling and considers your request, with a serious expression as if he's thinking really hard on it. "I’m a scientist. I study the multiverse. I built a parallel universe traversal device, it allows me to visit different dimensions." Your brain feels insulted that it clearly took more mental effort for him to dumb it down for you than to just give the supergenius version.
“So… a machine that allows you to jump between alternative universes?” 
“Yes.” 
There’s a pause between you as you run through the questions in your mental list you want to tick off now that he’s turned cooperative and talkative. But with everything that’s happened in the last handful of hours, a lot of the questions you previously had seemed outdated. The one question, the most important one, you’ve wanted to ask from the start though remains. 
"Who am I to you?"
Miguel takes the large sized drink in his even larger hands and somehow this big paper cup still manages to look tiny in his grip. "You and I were... involved," he says.
You frown. ‘Involved’ is such a vague term. It belongs in the trash with other useless terms to describe relationships: “situationship”, “complicated”, you hate them all. 
"So I was your girlfriend?"
"Yeah, something like that," he concede, fidgeting with the thin gold chain looped around his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours, like he's embarrassed to use the term.
‘Something like that,’ you chew on his answer unhappily, sympathizing with your other dimensional self and how the other you seemed to have snagged a commitment phobe. 
Other-you, who isn’t here in this dimension with Miguel. You wonder why that is. 
"What happened to me?" you ask.
His eyes are glued to the table,  not looking up at you as he answers you in a voice so quiet you can barely hear it. "She died."
"Oh."
The revelation shouldn’t take you by surprise. 
Every time Miguel’s brought up your other self, it’s been tinted with earth-shattering sadness. It's not hard to put one and one together and come to the conclusion that whatever happened to you in this other dimension didn't end happily.
Still it's an odd feeling to know that out there, somewhere, a version of you has died. A version of you that was clearly very important to the man in front of you.
"I'm sorry," you tell him.
It feels silly to say. It's bizarre to give your condolences over your own parallel death, but Miguel looks so heartbroken. He’s slumped in his seat, large shoulders rounded until his frame looks so much smaller than you're used to, and you don't know what else to do.
"So what is happening to me now," you start, not sure how to word what the phenomena that you're going through is, "these continuous near-death experiences, is that how she died?"
"Yeah."
"And do you know why that... kept happening to her? Why is it happening to me?"
"I don't, and I don't know how to stop it. Believe me I tried."
He cradles the paper cup in his hands, the grip a little bit tighter now until he's creasing the paper and the caramel liquid oozes and leaks from the top.
"What I do know is that the universe isn’t going to stop trying to kill you, no matter what you do. And with every near death incident you manage to survive, these incidents will escalate in nature, until..." he stops, eyes flickering away from the cup to meet yours, but it's like he loses courage and doesn't want to say the last part.
"Until, what?" you prompt.
"Until your dimension collapses."
The blood freezes in your veins. "Wait, collapses!? What do you mean?"
"I can't guarantee it will happen again. But that's what happened last time. When the other you kept cheating death, the universe eventually started to collapse in on itself."
You slump back in your chair, trying to process what you've just been told. What does that mean? That even if you managed to defy all odds to survive, doing so would doom the rest of this universe as you know it?
"When will that happen?" you ask, and you're surprised you manage to get the words out because there is a hard lump in your throat that makes it hurt to even swallow.
"Judging from the trajectory and escalation of events, you have about three months give or take."
The two of you sit in heavy silence, for the moment you're not sure what else to ask him. Because it feels like you are trapped in a building looking for an exit sign, but all that’s tacked onto the brick wall is your death certificate, waiting to be signed and formalized.
There’s no way out. Nowhere to go.
"Give me your hand," he says, breaking the silence. 
You give it to him without hesitation, watching, puzzled, as he takes off his watch and secures it around your wrists.
"Why are you giving me your watch?"
"It's not a watch," he says, then he presses something on the face of it, and an image of a young woman flickers into existence in the space above your wrist, vaguely see-through. A hologram!
"This is Lyla," he introduces.
Wait, wait? Lyla? As in your mom Lyla? You watch the tiny woman floating above your wrist. Short bob-cut, and flashy heart-shaped sunglasses, with a twinkle in her eye. 
The hologram looks nothing like your mom. You part your mouth, about to ask about the name but you're interrupted by the energetic buzz of a female voice greeting you.
"Boss-girl! Long time no see. Want me to catch you up on the latest multiversal gossip? I compiled an edit of highlights set to Despacito."
"Lyla," Miguel warns, tersely. "Not now."
"Ruuuuude! You're the one who woke me up you know."
"Lyla, go back to sleep."
The female avatar grumbles, but then her image flickers away and the watch turns back into, as far as you can tell, just an ordinary watch.
"Why did you name the watch Lyla?"
"It's not a– " He cuts himself off, sighing with exasperation. "Lyla is an advanced A.I. she's going to be with you at all times. She's an added layer of security, built to protect you."
He didn't answer your question. Completely sidestepped it as if the two of you are having two different conversations.
Built to protect you, he'd said. Does that mean he still intends to do that?
"So you're not going to leave?" you ask him.
He leans back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the table. "No."
You look up at him, stumped. Not sure you're understanding what he's saying. Because not even a few hours ago, when the two of you were in your apartment, this man was adamant there was nothing to be done to save you. That he was going to leave and you were never going to see him again.
Right now though, his actions seem to be contradictory to that. You can't make heads or tails of him. Hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover it. 
"Why not?" you ask, "I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘I can’t save you’ thing. What changed your mind?"
“You did.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, crossing his arms ever his chest, "You told me you wanted to live. Have you changed your mind already?"
“Wha– NO! I just want to know why you changed yours.”
“I–” He hesitates, another wave of sadness passing over his face. “I’m a superhero. I save people… or try to. It’s what I do. I’m not gonna just leave you to die after you tell me you want to live.”
It’s a good answer, even if you don’t buy that it’s the whole truth. 
You look down at your wrist, and the shiny chrome of the not-watch he's just gifted you winks back up at you. "Do you think I have a chance of surviving all this?"
"It's pretty hopeless," he says, and there’s no break in his expression as he continues. "Your chances of making it out alive are pretty much mathematically impossible."
It's odd though. Even though he's outlining the futility of your situation, basically telling you to raise the white flag and surrender, there's something contradictory in the tone of his voice. 
"What do you want to do?" he asks you.
It’s a challenge, you realize. An encouragement. He has faith in you. It's all of these things rolled into one. As if he's telling you to prove the universe wrong.
"I want to live," you answer. "If the universe collapses in three months, then please stay with me. Give me time to solve this and find a way to stay alive."
His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. The very first you've seen from him since you've met. It's bright and boyish, erasing the harsh lines of his stern expression until it gives way for something much softer underneath that makes your heart leap in your chest with triumph.
You grin, a strange elation of happiness buzzing in you as you stretch out your hand to him, in an invitation for a handshake to seal the deal.
"Deal?"
Miguel leans over the table, clasping your hand in his much larger one as he squeezes it back gently.
"Deal." That small smile from before is still there. "So what's next?" he asks.
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The thing you never realized, being an ordinary person bereft of super genes or other superhuman powers is just how convenient commuting can be if you have them. 
No longer do you have to brave the Lynchian nightmare that is the NYC subway system. Half-naked manic street preachers giving sermons as you’re held hostage, with nowhere else to go in the carriage. Being chased down by a drunk trumpeting Mariachi band. Instead, all you need to do to get from point A to point B (A: being the Chrysler building and B: the building formerly known as your home) is to hold on tight to Miguel as he swings you both above the city gridlock.
You imagine that this is what paragliding must feel like, except it's so much better because here you don't have to do the safety training beforehand or pay $3,000 for the privilege.
The city skyline is a dark evening blue, dotted with the sparkling lights of office buildings, cab roof lights and street lamps, as the wind ruffles through the fabric of your clothes.
It's such a different sight when you're flying above instead of walking on the streets below, that you don't even clock that you're in your neighborhood, until you see a building with a collapsed wall that's been blocked off, looking like a crash site. Only then do you realize... you're home.
Miguel carefully sets you down on your feet on a small patch of concrete that is clear of the rubble and destruction.
"Why did you want to come back here again?" he asks. 
It’s a good question. Now that you're here, standing in the middle of charred debris and cracked bricks, you're not sure either. You had some vague plans of seeing what you could salvage, hoping for some clothes, maybe your electric toothbrush, or really just any of your stuff. Something that’s yours, no matter how small, to hold on to after the events of today have ripped away life as you know it.
But there’s nothing left. The furniture, all your books and knick knacks, and even your dirty laundry piles have been demolished. Your home as you know it is gone. There's only piles and piles of rubble and traces of white fire extinguisher foam on the ground. The fire has been out for hours, but the pungent smell of smoke and sulfur still pervades the air. 
"You okay?" Miguel asks.
He's still standing at the outer edges of the apartment, close to where your window would have been if a helicopter hadn't crashed through it.
"Yeah... I guess the silver lining is that I didn't have anything expensive. Though it'd been nice if I could've saved my mom's Le Creuset set or at least the nanny-cam so I could return it and get a refund," you joke glibly. 
You nudge aside some concrete rubble with the cap of your shoes. There's nothing under there, no treasured memorabilia that's still miraculously intact. Just more burnt concrete and rubble.
"Why did you have a nanny cam?"
You turn around at his question, to see him hovering close to you, one eyebrow raised with an unhappy set to his jaw. 
From the displeased expression on his face, he's probably misunderstanding something here. Probably thinks you're operating a very unlucrative Onlyfans business, when what you've really been doing is spy on him and his nightly visits. You don't know which is worse to confess to, so you don't confess to anything.
"No reason," you say, ignoring the way his already raised eyebrow twitches with irritation at your lack of an answer.
"Come on, let's go," he says, and he waves towards you in a come hither motion like he's commanding a dog.
"Go?" you ask him. "It's past midnight. My place, as you can see, is wrecked. Go where exactly?"
Miguel shoots you a strange look. "A hotel," he says, like it's the most obvious thing, and– okay, he's not completely wrong in that assumption.
Problem is, you didn't have time to pick up your wallet or phone before your impromptu interdimensional visit. They’ve been incinerated along with all the rest of your worldly possessions, which means you don't have any way to pay for a hotel.
Plus Manhattan hotel prices average $400 a night. Even if you still had access to your debit cards, your budget’s pretty tight right now after all the capital you invested in your unhinged quest to trap the superhero before you. 
"In the city? I don't have that kind of money and it will take months for any insurance payouts to come in."
You should know. As an insurance claims adjuster, you know you’ll be lucky if your claim is processed before the end of the year. And, ugh, just the thought of the paperwork you’ll have to fill out is enough to give you an anxiety migraine.
"I’ll cover the room," Miguel says casually before holding out a hand to you, "Come on, let’s go."
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When Miguel said he’d cover it, you expected a reasonably-priced room at one of the Days Inn across the river or the like. Hopefully a place with no rats or bed bugs, and maybe clean bedding over a somewhat comfortable mattress for you to pass out on if you were lucky.
You didn't expect this.
Standing in front of the Midtown Four Seasons, you find yourself on sleek marble so polished you can see your own reflection. You haven't even stepped a foot inside yet and there are two old fashioned doormen, wearing immaculately fitted suits, with an even more impressive posture opening the majestic double-set doors for you as you approach.
It's swanky as hell, and you can’t help gawking like a tourist, eyes glued to the decadent carved ceilings that must be at least 30 feet tall, soaring above you. Honey-colored limestone that looks like it’s been looted from Ancient Rome.
You feel more than a little bit out of place. This is way outside of your budget. You could probably work your job for a lifetime, and not have enough disposable income to stay the night at a place like this.
"Uhm, Miguel... this place is way too–" you start, turning towards him.
But as you were busy lamenting the state of the housing market, he's already walked away from you (for such a bulky guy, he moves swiftly and silently) and as you whip your head around to find him, he's already standing in front of the receptionist.
Damned antelope legged man, would it kill him to wait up for you once in a while? You run up after him and have to tip-toe in order to see over his shoulder because the giant mammoth is blocking the check-in counter.
And wow, even the receptionist here is of a different caliber than the ones you'd find at Holiday Inn. A fashionable bob-cut with razor sharp edges, looking like a model cut out from a Vogue cover.
"Do you have a reservation, Sir?"
You half-expect him to say no, and that the two of you would have to tuck your tail between your legs and walk out of here to the backdrop of a sad trombone playing.
To your astonishment he says your name. The receptionist tip-taps away at her keyboard and then she nods and smiles gracefully at you both. 
"Yes of course. After reviewing your reservation details, I am pleased to inform you that all necessary arrangements have already been made, including advance payment and verification of your identification. Your room is ready for you, we trust you will enjoy your stay."
She flashes you a pearly white smile so shiny it's almost blinding and hands you a hotel key card. 
When you turn around, to your confusion Miguel is no longer next to you. How does he keep disappearing like this? 
"Cielito," Miguel’s voice calls. The nickname doesn’t register at first. It doesn't even occur to you that he’s referring to you, until he barks it out a second time. 
Your head darts up to see him standing by the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently as he waits for you to make it over to him.
"How did you do that?" you whisper loudly to him as you step into the elevator. "Where did you get my ID? How did you make a reservation? How did you--"
He takes your hand, mid-sentence, turning your wrist upwards and taps the watch.
"The computer systems in this universe are child's play for Lyla to manipulate. Reservations, money, ID, she can take care of all of that easily," he explains.
"She can do that?" you ask, and Miguel merely nods at you as the elevator closes behind the two of you.
You tip your head down to inspect your gifted watch. In awe of this technical marvel that would make Siri look like it’s from the stone-ages. You wonder if she can boost your credit scores. She could probably hack any wi-fi password so you'd never have to worry about data throttling again. She could get you table reservations for Libertine! The possibilities are endless!
You turn to Miguel. "Can Lyla get me Beyoncé tickets?" you ask. 
He just shakes his head at you with what almost qualifies as an amused smile.
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The room upstairs is massive. 
It’s easily three times the size of your little studio apartment, and the ceilings are twice as tall, with a hanging glass chandelier that’s sparkling bright enough to blind you. It looks like one of those places featured in Architectural Digest. 
Everything is in an art deco style, with expensive looking furniture and even more expensive art hanging on the one spare wall that isn’t covered in floor to ceiling windows. There are large shelves and a sleek looking kitchen, complete with an opulent looking velvet lounge chair of emerald green that looks like something a Roman emperor would be fed grapes on. 
In this colossal space of a room, there is only one bed. One colossal, plush-mattress-topped, goose down duvet and probably 1,000,000,000 thread count sheet covered bed.
You tense up, not sure what the arrangements Miguel had in mind. Did he want the two of you to sleep in the same bed?
Miguel did pay for the room, so you’re not going to start voicing objections. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in the short time span that you two have known each other to do that. This bed is also a lot wider than your tiny double bed, so it wouldn’t be the cramped disaster it was last night. You’d just have to make sure to use the bathroom before bed this time so he doesn’t jab your full bladder in the morning again. 
Without saying anything, Miguel strides across the length of the room with impatient and determined steps. His hand reaches for the balcony doors and slides them open. 
"Wait wait, where are you going?" you ask him as you run up to the middle of the room. 
“I’m sleeping outside,” he says over his shoulder, and your mind boggles with that. 
“Why? Isn’t it better for you to stay here?”
"This is the 62nd floor. That’s about as safe as you’re going to get. I’ll keep a lookout to make sure no more helicopters come crashing in.” 
You’re not sure if he means the last part as a joke or not, but as you watch his broad back retreating as he walks away from you, a sickening sort of the deja vu twists through your chest. 
I can’t save you, he’d said back in your apartment, Nothing can. 
The feeling clawing at your chest feels alarmingly like panic. It screams that he’s leaving you. That he’s never coming back. That you’ll never see him again. 
You’re being irrational, and you know it. You remind yourself that he wouldn’t have done this much for you only to bail in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the fear that’s festering, sharp and urgent, under your skin, or the way your heart races, your whole body flashing hot and cold at the same time. 
You want him to stay. 
“Miguel,” you call out, and he immediately stops and turns to look back at you, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical question. 
Please stay. 
You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. You can’t ask this man—this big, sarcastic, rude hulk of a man—to have a sleepover with you because you’re scared to be alone in the dark. He would laugh you out of the hotel room.
“Uhm… thank you,” you say instead, but it’s no less sincere, “For everything.”
His eyes soften, the sharp narrowness of them easing up. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, and despite the cold chill of the evening, you think you can see a faint flush blooming in his cheeks, before he quickly ducks his face from you. “I’ll be right outside if something happens.” 
He turns back around and walks out, closing the patio doors with a gentle click behind him, leaving you by yourself. 
It’s quiet. 
You survey the empty room you’re in. Without Miguel’s large frame taking up space, it seems even bigger than it did before. 
It’s a beautiful room. Something that you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in a movie set. You don’t know why you’re not as excited as you were before. This is you living your Pretty Woman moment. You should be filling up the big jacuzzi tub you saw with bubbles. Heck, maybe ask Lyla to order you a bottle of champagne from room service. 
Instead, your eyes linger on the glass patio doors leading to the balcony terrace. You walk over to the bed, perching yourself down on the edge of the mattress, then flop down. 
Might as well try to sleep, you think to yourself as you climb under the covers and switch off the light. The best thing you can do right now is catch yourself some rest so you’ll be alert while trying to figure out your next steps tomorrow.
3 months… That’s what Miguel told you.
That’s all the time you have left. 
That means you don’t have time to waste, but you also have no idea where to start. The local library doesn’t exactly carry any resources on how to stop the universe from trying to kill you. 
The Universe. 
An infinite cosmos, grander than any human being can possibly comprehend. This vast space containing all the galaxies with its billions of stars and planets, where an individual being does not even register as a speck, and it wants you dead. How can you possibly fight against those odds? 
You lie wide-eyed and awake staring into the dark of the room, and the feeling of dread gnaws into you. 
You don’t want to be alone right now. Turning in the bed, your eyes find their way back to the blank slate of the pitched night outside the balcony doors. 
You really wished he had stayed with you. 
Sitting upright in the bed, you consider your options. You can lie back down. Suffer insomnia and the existential horror of knowing the universe is trying to murder you. Or you can man up, swallow down whatever tiny morsel of your pride you have left and ask Miguel to come back inside and stay with you. 
Flinging the duvet from your body, you get up to walk over to the balcony. You hesitate for a moment before tapping the window pane the way you might knock on a door, giving a polite head's up before you slide the balcony patio open. But when you poke your head out, turning your head left and right, Miguel's nowhere to be found. 
Okay, that’s weird. He said he’d be right outside if you needed him. You walk up to the ledge of the balcony terrace, leaning over the rail and peer down to see him dangling upside down, from the ledge of your balcony. The sight nearly makes you scream. 
"Miguel!” 
At you calling his name, he pulls himself up, one clawed hand gripping at the concrete wall as he climbs his way up and over to you. He makes it look easy, as if gravity does not exist for him, and it’s only a moment until he’s perched on the ledge of the balcony, facing you. 
“What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes concerned, and you’re suddenly aware of how very close he is. His face mere inches from yours, your noses nearly touching.
“What��s wrong? You’re hanging upside down from the 62nd floor! What are you, a bat?!"
“Why did you come out here?” he clarifies, and his words give you pause. You try to gather your thoughts after the bizarre sight you just walked into and remember what you came out here for. 
He’s still looking at you with his full and intense concentration that makes your skin prickle with warmth.
God, it’s embarrassing to ask. You feel like you’re five years old, asking your parents to turn the nightlight on, even though you know you’re a big girl now and aren’t supposed to be afraid of monsters hiding under your bed any more. 
You look down on your hands, where you’re wringing them together, then back up at him, and make yourself spit it out, "Could you… maybe… stay with me tonight?" 
His eyes widen at your question, but he doesn’t actually answer you and gives you no physical indication one way or the other. 
"I feel safer when you're with me,” you admit. 
“I am with you out here,” he counters, because of course he can’t make this easy for you.  
“I can’t see you out here.”
The line of his shoulder eases, and he ducks his head down with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Get back inside, Cielito. You're going to catch a cold like this."
You shuffle back inside to your bed, watching out of the corner of your eye as  he follows you inside and settles himself on the lounge sofa. He’s so tall that his feet are sticking out over the armrests, like a long-legged stork. 
Hiding a smile, you climb back into bed, wrapping the bedding all around yourself.
“Good night,” you call out, and he makes a grumpy noise of acknowledgment. 
Your head drops back onto the soft pillow, and you close your eyes, ready to sleep. It’s such a nice bed. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin and smell of fresh eucalyptus. The mattress is the most comfortable you ever remember resting on, firm but somehow soft at the same time. You feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud. 
Moments go by, and you revel in the sumptuous bed, waiting for the best sleep of your life to claim you. 
Except it doesn’t. 
Somehow… you still can’t fall asleep. Is it… too soft maybe? You turn in the bed, twisting your torso to get into a position you can comfortably sink into, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s no lumpiness like at home, but that should be a good thing. 
Except… despite the decadent softness of the bed. Despite the fact that the sheets probably have a thread count with more zeros than your checking and savings accounts combined. Despite all of the luxury that surrounds you, you still find yourself tossing and turning and wide fucking awake.
The bed is too big. You don’t know what to do with all this space. Your body is not accustomed to this sort of decadence. What if you suffocate sinking into this soft fluffy pillow in your sleep? What if you toss and turn until you fall off this massive bed and break your neck? Maybe that’s how out of all of the universe’s attempts to kill you, you end up dying? 
Fuck! 
You can’t sleep. 
You turn to your side and stare into the velvet lounge chaise on the opposite side of your room, where Miguel is. 
Quietly, you pad up to his still form until you’re standing in front of him and hunch over, trying to decide how rude it would be to wake him up again when there's nothing he can do about your stupid insomnia anyway.
In the dim light, you spot something glinting at you. Looking closer, you notice that the thin chain looped around his neck has escaped his shirt to pool on the fabric of the sofa cushion under him. You gently drag the loose end of the necklace toward you, and find a smooth golden band threaded onto it.
Picking it up cautiously, you flip it in your hand and find that there's something engraved on the inside.  It's hard to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer and squint your eyes, you can just make out what it says.
'MO'—undeniably the initials of one Miguel O'Hara.
Twisting the ring slightly, you find a tiny plus sign followed by your own initials, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.
Oh.
The memory of sitting across Miguel at Starbucks returns to you, when you had asked him who you were to him. You think of the avoidant gaze and how he couldn't look you in the eye.
‘Something like that,’ huh?
Guess the other you wasn't just his girlfriend after all, you think, chest drawn so tight it’s painful.
Holding the wedding band in the palm of your hand, you slide down to sit down on the floor with your back pressed against the chaise lounge.
Your heart aches for the man in front of you and everything he's lost.  You really, really hope you're not going to end up as just another regret on his list.
~ Next Issue
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Dedication & Credits: As always to my best friend @thirstworldproblemss I am half asleep and running on fumes. I'm wording things poorly but I just want you to know that I am very happy I have you. Thank you for being my friend and for the time we get to spend together. I have the most fun when I'm with you.
Also to @guruan who is my muse, my source of inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her because have you seen this beautiful piece of artwork she did for EYEM?!
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suzukiblu · 6 months
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WIP guessing game: help
"I know about Billy, Marvel," Batman says, and Billy . . . blinks.
"You know?!" he sputters. Okay, so apparently his secret identity was just . . . literally never a secret at all, then. Which, well–Batman, so that just figures, really. So actually this is kind of a relief and might even mean that he's fine with–
"Yes," Batman confirms with a nod. "So I understand your current reservations about parenthood."
. . . wait what.
"Huh?" Billy says, blinking stupidly at him.
"I don't know how much of you is still C.C. Batson or what you do or don't remember about being him," Batman says. "But the resemblance is undeniable, if nothing else. Certainly your and your wife's deaths were . . . well, suspicious. And you're hardly the first archeologists to dig up a god or six."
Oh, okay. Well.
This is apparently what Billy gets for his personal mental image of a "hero" being his dad, then, isn't it.
Crap.
"To be honest I've been looking for Billy for a while now, I just didn't want to bring it up before I found him," Batman admits, looking dissatisfied with himself. "My most recent reliable intel puts him in Fawcett City, but I assume you're aware of that, given your evident attachment to the place."
"You're looking for Billy?" Billy asks incredulously. "Why?"
"Because he's your son," Batman says. "And because he's a homeless child who's been abused and neglected and needs help. I honestly don't know where you go when you're not being Captain Marvel–frankly I'm not sure if you even exist when you're not being Captain Marvel, given what little I actually know about your powers and your death and your role as the Champion of Magic and just how damn impossible you are to find when you're off-duty–but I'm assuming that wherever it happens to be is not necessarily conducive to providing a stable home environment and being legally dead certainly can't be helping with that, so my original intention was to find the boy and help you arrange some manner of care for and visitation with him. And given the revelation of your relation to Robin, well . . . I'd like to take Billy in myself, if you'd both be comfortable with that. It seems . . . appropriate, under the circumstances."
"You want to foster Billy because I'm Robin's soulmate?" Billy says, absolutely positive that he's misunderstood literally every single word that just came out of Batman's mouth. There is no possible way that he did not.
"It's not exactly out of my wheelhouse," Batman replies wryly. "Although I'll be keeping this one out of the tights, ideally. Though I make no long-term promises about that because quite frankly at this point I'm spoiled for soulmates who insist on wearing capes and I wouldn't really be surprised to turn up another one, especially given that Robin is yours and your own involvement in the superhero community."
Billy stares at him.
"Wait, are all the Gotham vigilantes your soulkids?" he blurts unthinkingly.
"Not all," Batman says. "But, well . . . probably more of them than you'd expect."
"Oh my god," Billy says in disbelief. "And you're just telling me that?! You don't tell people things, you're Batman!"
"I haven't always been the father I should have been," Batman says, and then he pulls down his cowl. Billy chokes, and then chokes again because apparently Batman is Bruce freaking Wayne and his brain just . . . just needs a moment to process that fact, like there is literally any way whatsoever that he could ever actually process that fact. He would've been less surprised to see a Kardashian under that mask, he's pretty sure. At least they've got athletes in the family, technically! "So I'm not going to make things difficult for you with Robin. Clearly he needs more than I'm capable of providing, and I'm perfectly willing to be transparent and to co-parent with you as much as possible. I want Robin to be safe and content and grow up well, and frankly put, Batson, you've proven yourself to be a good man time and again and I trust you to do what's best by our son."
Okay, well, now Billy just feels like dirt.
"You do know what happened to Billy, don't you?" he asks just a little bit desperately, because there is literally no way that this conversation is a real and actual thing that's really and actually happening. "Like, just–everything that happened there? There's a reason he's not in school or the system or with a relative or anything like that."
"What happened to Billy wasn't your fault," Batman tells him, meeting his eyes all quiet and intent and sincere. "And I will do everything in my power to help you make it right."
"Oh no, you're actually like . . . just genuinely a really good person, aren't you," Billy says despairingly, staring at him all over again and really, really wishing he could swear right now.
Maybe he'll just go throw himself into the sun. Maybe that's what he'll just go and do.
The corner of Batman's mouth quirks up wryly. His eyes even crinkle a little, which Billy can see on account of his total lack of cowl right now, oh god.
Billy despairs.
"I mean it," Batman says gently. "It wasn't your fault, and it doesn't mean you can't be a good father now."
"I need to talk to Robin," Billy says, because he definitely, definitely needs to talk to Robin. Batman inclines his head in an accepting nod, because Batman is probably under the impression that Billy wants to go give Robin a good ol' traditional "I know I'm not your biodad but I'm here for you, champ!" kind of speech, and Billy just . . . really cannot explain the real situation to him right now. Or ever.
Can he just lie to Batman for the rest of their lives, maybe? He can just pretend to be his own dad for the Justice League and keep dodging whatever Bat-surveillance happens to be in Fawcett and parent his older-than-he-is soulmate, right? That's a thing that he can do?
That's probably not a thing that he can do.
Although he might be willing to try, at this point.
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luxaofhesperides · 1 year
Text
those who serve.
Running away from Amity Park—from his entire dimension—Danny takes refuge in the streets of Gotham. It's hard, suddenly being a homeless teenager in such a crime-ridden city, but it's better than dying a second time.
Enter Alfred Pennyworth, a kind old man who works as a butler who, for some reason, has decided to befriend Danny.
His future is still up in the air, but he's hopeful that things will work out. After all, Alfred isn't getting any younger and someone needs to help him with his butler duties. Danny's just the right person for the job.
Or: Alfred Pennyworth sees a homeless teen who looks like he'd fit right into the Wayne family and decides to take matters into his own hands. It's not like he's just going to leave this very sad, possibly meta teenager alone when there's more than enough space in the Manor to house one more child in need.
read chapter one on ao3 or below the cut.
Technically, Danny doesn’t exist. 
He has no papers, no records, no family in this dimension. It’s a blank slate, a fresh start where he can be anything he wants. That doesn’t change what he is, however, and Danny is just another lonely child living on the streets. 
In Gotham, he’s not a hero or a threat; he’s just another nameless face passing by, another teenager with no support system and no future. Just a figure clinging to the alley walls, head bowed and hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. It’s not great, far from it, but it’s better than the alternative where he—
—parading around in the corpse of our son! How dare you! Wearing his face won’t save you from what we’ll do to you! Leave Danny’s body so we can bury him, leave him! I’ll tear you ap—
This is better, is the point. Out of the frying pan and into the crime ridden streets of Gotham. Not quite a fire but close enough.
No one is hunting him down in this dimension, at least. He’s ignored and left to his own devices, wandering the streets only when the sun’s gone down and slipping into grocery stores after hours, invisible, to get a few things to eat. It sucks that he’s resorted to stealing to survive, but at least he’s surviving. 
Survival is the entire reason he ran from his own dimension, after all.
He’s been here for two and a half weeks now, getting acquainted with the streets. Every day is spent hiding and trying to endure the crushing loneliness and grief of losing his entire life. He’s still half alive, yes, but the life he lived has gone up in flames, torn to pieces under his parents’ attacks. He can’t even blame them for it; under the circumstances, with the limited understanding they had, it’s only natural that they would try to kill him after discovering that Danny Fenton, their son, died two years ago.
Understanding doesn’t stop the sting of betrayal, doesn’t soothe the ache of being chased away from his family, but it’s something. 
It’s all he has, these days.
There’s no one to hide from, no one who knows him at all, so Danny wanders, more ghost-like than he’s ever been before. People give him a wide berth at night, never making eye contact and walking by faster. 
Save for one, of course. One person, at dawn, who always seems to find him no matter where Danny’s wandered that night. 
He introduced himself as Alfred Pennyworth. The British accent caught Danny off guard enough that he stopped and turned to face the man, who stood a few feet away, umbrella held over his head. 
“Are you quite all right, my boy?” he had asked. “I have a spare umbrella if you would like to keep from getting any more soaked.”
It took a few tries for Danny to find his voice after a week of not speaking a word. “No,” he rasped, barely audible over the rain, “I’m fine.”
He walked away without another word, thinking that was the end of it.
It wasn’t.
Alfred returned dawn after dawn, never staying longer than ten minutes, trying to make small talk with Danny. 
Danny, for his part, had no idea why this random British man had decided to make friends with a homeless teenager, but figured that he was just a lonely old man with no family left. That, Danny could understand. So he’d stay for a bit, listening to him talk and occasionally replying, then say his goodbyes when more people began to emerge onto the street. 
Two and a half weeks in, Alfred finally asks Danny for his name.
“Why?” Danny asks, shifting where he stands. He doesn’t exist here, but it doesn’t stop his instinctual need to run from anyone who goes looking into him. The GIW don’t exist here, no one is hunting him down. There’s no information about him in this dimension that can be used against him. It’s hard to remember that, not after he’s spent the last few years trying to keep ghost hunters from finding him. 
“I feel it’s rather rude of me to speak to someone I have never properly greeted,” Alfred says. He always speaks so calmly, as if there’s nothing in the world that can shake his composure.
I don’t exist here, Danny reminds himself, I’m safe. 
“Danny.”
“Danny,” Alfred repeats. “A fine name.”
“Thanks? It was my first birthday present.”
The stupid comment makes Alfred smile, just a little, so Danny calls it a win instead of beating himself up over having zero control over what his mouth says. 
There’s more movement along the streets now, Gotham beginning to wake up with storeowners getting ready for the day and morning shift employees heading out to let the night shift go. It’s just about time for them to part ways until the next morning, and Danny’s resigning himself to another day of loneliness. 
His short conversations with Alfred are really all he looks forward to. It’s nice to hear about the man’s time in England, his work as a butler, his opinions on American cuisine and the like. He never presses for a response and he doesn’t try to dig for more information about Danny. Just talks to him, then says his goodbyes. 
“I’ll let you go back to your day,” Danny says, pushing off of the wall he’s been leaning against. “See you around.”
Alfred nods once. “Very well. I do hope you get some rest today, Danny. You always look very tired when we talk. I hope I haven’t been keeping you from sleeping.”
“Oh, not at all. I just have insomnia. Better to have some company than just lay around wondering why I can’t sleep, you know?”
“Indeed. I shall be off then.”
“Yeah, alright,” Danny says. “I’ll see you tomorrow once you somehow track me down again. Are you sure you don’t have magic?”
Alfred shakes his head with a small smile. “I am quite positive I do not have magic. Perhaps we simply have similar ideas about where the best places to walk are.”
“Sure,” Danny says, drawing out the word. “Whatever you say.”
Truth be told, the first few days, he was scared that Alfred was somehow tracking him down. For what, Danny didn’t know. Maybe he wanted to harvest Danny’s organs? Sell him to an evil scientist to be experimented on? Induct him into a mob?
Alfred didn’t do any of that. He just showed up, talked for a few minutes, then went on his way. He never followed Danny, never asked strange questions, never did anything besides chat about his life and his work as a butler. 
It honestly was fun to listen to. It’s clear how much Alfred cares for his employers. Before meeting him, Danny had never really thought of butlers beyond being an outdated job for people too rich to do their own chores. Now it’s interesting, learning all the things a butler has to do and why Alfred chooses to do them. 
He still doesn’t have a favorable opinion on billionaires. Too many bad experiences for him to view them is any unbiased light (thanks for that, Vlad, but eat the rich either way); still, it’s nice to know that this family looks out for Alfred. They give him a place to live, a family to live with, a reason to stay. 
It would be nice if Danny could have those too, in any way that he could. He’s at the end of his rope, struggling to stay and not surrender himself into the Zone and be done with the living realm entirely.
Even his Obsession isn’t enough to sustain him. There’s no one to protect here; honest to god vigilantes patrol the streets of Gotham to keep it safe. Danny isn’t needed here. 
There’s no place for him at all.
Already, his mood is plummeting and all he’s done is take a few steps away from Alfred. It doesn’t bode well for his future, whether that’s what’s to come in the next few hours or the next year.
Sighing, Danny ducks his head back down and begins his search for someplace to bunker down for the day. There are quite a few empty buildings around, newly constructed but not yet in use. He doubts there’s any security installed yet, so he should be safe to settle in and catch some sleep before the sun goes down. 
Just as he turns the corner, he hears someone running. They’re behind him and he tenses, ready to disappear so they can’t get him. 
It’s not Danny they go to. It’s Alfred.
“Hand over your wallet if you want to get out of here alive, old man!”
Shit, Danny thinks, spinning on his heel to get back to Alfred. He rounds the corner to see a mugger jabbing a gun at Alfred’s temple. He looks angry, nearly shaking, and there’s a strange shine in his eyes.
Drugs? No, not important. What’s important is that Alfred is standing still, as calm as ever, with his hands lifted in the air. 
“Hey!” Danny yells, sprinting towards them, “Back the fuck up before I rip your tongue out!”
Fear and anger push him on, his Obsession whispering protect protect protect in his ear and he closes the distance between them.
The mugger barely has time to move the gun away from Alfred’s head, and no time at all to point it at Danny, before Danny tackles him, slamming him onto the ground. He rips the gun out of the mugger’s hand and tosses it carelessly to the side. 
“Don’t touch him,” he hisses. Faintly, he’s aware that his features are shifting, becoming a little less human. The snarl building in his chest has his teeth sharpening, bared in warning. 
The mugger trembles beneath him, thrashing weakly. “Alright, alright! Just lemme go! Let go!”
He doesn’t want to. Danny wants to hurt him for daring to go after Alfred, the one good light in the dark, the only person Danny cares about in this dimension. He wants to make this man regret his choices, make him terrified for the rest of his life, break every bone in his hand so he can’t ever pick up a gun again. 
A hand drops onto his shoulder. 
“That’s enough, Danny,” Alfred says. His voice is stern and Danny can’t help but listen, effortlessly pulled out of his adrenaline fueled rage. His humanity returns to him. “There we are. Come now, my boy, stand up.”
He stands. The mugger scrambles to his feet and runs away. 
With the danger gone, Danny can think clearly again. He takes a few deep breaths and locks his ghost-half away as tightly as possible, keeping the cold in his chest buried deep. It was good for scaring away a mugger, but he doesn’t want Alfred to think he’s a monster. 
He can handle a lot, but not that. 
“Are you okay?” he asks, looking over Alfred for any injuries. There’s no telling that was done to him before Danny got the mugger away from him. It may have only been a moment, but Danny knows very well how quickly a moment can change a life (or take it away).
“Quite. In fact, I am sure you are in worse shape than I am, at the moment.” Alfred gestures downwards and Danny follows his gaze to his knees, where his already worn jeans have new holes in them. His knees are skinned from how hard he slammed into the ground, a dull ache he hadn’t noticed until it was pointed out to him. 
“It’s fine,” he says, “I can barely feel it.” 
Alfred gives him a hard look, as though he thinks Danny is lying; he’s not, the pain is barely there. He’s had a lot worse in the past. He can handle skinned knees easily. 
“Well,” Alfred says, “Thank you for coming back to help me. If there’s anything I can do to pay you back—”
“No. I don’t… I didn’t do it for payment. I don’t need anything.”
“I would like to—”
“No,” Danny interrupts again. “No payment. I just did what was right. Don’t make this a big deal, please.”
Alfred sighs. “Very well,” he concedes, looking more tired and worn than Danny’s ever seen him. “I shall not keep you any longer. Until tomorrow, Danny.”
He looks as though he expects Danny to take the out, to leave immediately. Danny shifts, not meeting his eyes as he doesn’t move. 
“I’ll walk with you,” he mumbles. “So no one tries to hurt you again.”
Danny’s worried that Alfred will insist on going alone, that he’ll have to go invisible and follow along when he isn’t wanted, but Alfred is kinder than that. Alfred doesn’t refuse or insist he go on his own. No, he smiles and thanks Danny for his consideration before taking off, making sure that Danny walks besides him rather than behind him.
They don’t talk much. Alfred seems to know that Danny isn’t much for words at the moment, sticking to his side and constantly surveying their surroundings for any danger. He walks confidently through the streets as though he wasn’t just held at gunpoint, carrying on with his morning with the same stubborn spirit that keeps most Gothamites from giving up on their city. 
Alfred visits a small bakery first. They’re not yet open, but the owner props open the door when they arrive, waving them in.
“Alfred!” she greets cheerfully, “And I see you have someone new with you.”
She looks expectantly at Danny, who shifts uncomfortably under the attention. He can’t get his voice to work, can’t figure out how to get the right words out.
“Ah, yes,” Alfred says, smoothly drawing her attention off of Danny. “This is Danny. We often talk in the morning and he has decided to accompany me today.”
“I see. Well, it’s nice to meet you! I’m Yurica. Alfred and I enjoy some tea together in the mornings before starting with our days. Why don’t you join us?”
“I don’t… mean to intrude,” Danny manages to say before Yurica waves off his hesitant refusal.
“Nonsense! Any friend of Alfred is a friend of mine. Come, come, let’s get the two of you seated. You’ll get the first picks of the day, once I get the last batches out of the ovens.”
She leads them into the bakery, past the kitchen and upstairs into a small sitting room. Danny follows them, unable to leave without seeming rude. He joins Alfred on the couch, awkwardly perched on the edge as Yurica bustles around, disappearing down the hall. 
Distantly, he hears the sound of running water and a stove top being turned on. The clinking of cups follows, along with the opening and closing of cupboards. It almost sounds like home, when Jazz was setting herself up for a long study session to make sure she’s prepared for college. 
Without noticing, Danny relaxes back into the couch. He keeps his eyes closed, just listening to the movement around the building; it’s soothing white noise that chases away the constant ache of loneliness he’s been carrying these past few weeks. 
“Quite the relaxing home, isn’t it?” Alfred asks. 
“You come here every day?”
“Not every day, but a few times a week. We’re old friends and are often up before anyone else. It’s nice to catch up for just a few minutes, especially at our age.”
He wonders if this is what it feels like, spending time with grandparents. He never met his own, could never relate to the kids who were always excited to spend time with their grandparents over the holidays, eager to be part of a bigger family. It was fine, before, when it was just him, Jazz, and their parents. 
It was fine. 
It didn’t last.
Yurica returns a few minutes later, carrying a tray full of cups and a teapot made to look like a fat cat. The sight of it makes him smile, almost distracting him from noticing the way Yurica and Alfred share a Look. 
“Here we are,” she says, setting the tray down on the table. She lays out the cups before Danny can offer to help, pouring out fragrant tea with a steady hand. “Cream? Sugar?”
Alfred adds cream to his own cup while Danny shakes his head, quietly thanking her for the tea. 
He cradles his cup in his hands, savoring the gentle warmth while Alfred and Yurica chat. He tunes them out, letting their voices fade into background noise. 
This is the most relaxed he’s felt in months. It’s sad to think about, so he tries not to, but it lingers in the back of his mind. 
Time passes without him noticing. Danny sips his tea until his cup is empty, then sets it down on the tray. That seems to be a cue that Alfred was waiting for, long done with his own cup, and he stands, thanking Yurica for her hospitality. 
She waves it off with a smile before Danny can echo the sentiments, then ushers them downstairs, where trays of freshly baked pastries fill cover the counters of the bakery’s kitchen. 
“Here, take your pick!”
Danny’s about to refuse when she shoves a paper bag into his hands. “Go on,” she says, “Take what you like. I always offer to friends and I find refusal to be rude.”
Now that she’s said that, Danny can’t keep refusing or he’ll feel awful. Alfred is already picking out a few pastries himself, so Danny trails after him, taking three pastries that look good. It’ll be enough to tide him over for the next two days, so he won’t have to steal any food. 
“Thank you again, Yurica,” Alfred says, “It’s always a pleasure to chat with you.”
“Oh, you’re always such a sweet talker,” Yurica laughs. “I’ll see you again soon, Alfred. And you, Danny, are welcome here whenever. Even without Alfred. My doors are open to you.”
Yurica is kind. She sees him in all his scraggly, worn down glory, clearly homeless and with nothing to offer her, and she doesn’t turn him away. Instead she welcomes him in solely because he’s here with Alfred. 
It’s enough to have him blinking back tears, ducking his head so they don’t see how much this affects him. 
“Thank you,” he manages, then hurries to follow Alfred out the bakery. 
Yurica waves at them from the door as they make their way down the street, then goes back in to continue preparing for the day. 
Alfred walks around some more; he informs Danny that he has no errands to run at the moment and no one else to visit. Danny follows, keeping an eye out for anyone who might think Alfred is an easy target. He barely pays attention to where they go until they enter an underground parking garage. 
The weak lights and stillness of the garage, along with the fact that it’s almost entirely empty, makes a fissure of unease race down his spine. This would be the perfect place for Danny to be knocked out and taken away; no witnesses, no help. 
But Alfred wouldn’t do that. Danny wants to believe that Alfred wouldn’t do that. 
He stops when Alfred pulls out a set of keys from his pocket. A black car in the back corner of the parking garage unlocks with a quick flash of the headlights. That is… an expensive looking car. It’s not an obvious luxury brand or anything, but it’s high quality and clearly made for people with money. 
Guess being a butler pays well, Danny thinks. 
Alfred opens the door, but doesn’t get into the car. Instead, he looks to Danny.
“Will you be alright, Danny? If you’d like, I have a first aid kit in the car that we can use to tend to your knees.”
“No, it’s fine. Thanks, though,” Danny says, trying to keep from tensing up too obviously. 
“And you have a place to stay?”
“Sure do,” he lies. 
“If you ever need help, you are welcome at Wayne Manor.”
Danny nods, intending to never go to the manor. He’s not going to risk another rich person trying to either 1) kill him or 2) make him their son. No way. Not in this dimension. 
Alfred looks him over, then nods. He gets into the car, offering Danny a quick goodbye. Danny lifts a hand in return, then leaves the parking garage, holding his bag of pastries close to his chest. More people are starting to fill the streets, starting the day, and Danny still hasn’t found a place to hide until night. 
He’s kept Alfred safe during his dawn walk. He’s safely delivered Alfred to his car so he can drive to wherever he needs to go.
There’s no point in him sticking around any longer. 
Hood up, Danny hurries down the streets, ducking into alleys to avoid being seen by people. It takes half an hour to reach the empty buildings he was considering before, and then just a minute to go invisible and fly up to the roof. The door going inside is locked, but a little intangibility goes a long way. 
Danny makes himself comfortable in one of the many empty rooms, back to the wall, and pulls out one of the pastries. It’s not as warm as before, but it’s still soft and flakey. The glaze on it sweetens the bread and it’s the best thing Danny’s had since he first arrived in this dimension.
This can’t go on, he realizes. 
All this squatting and stealing. It’s just not sustainable. He’s been acting as if he’s died again, left to haunt the streets of a city he doesn’t belong in. He’s spent all his time either sleeping or wandering, wallowing in his own misery.
No more. This is a second chance. 
There’s no ghost hunters. No GIW. No need to be a hero when so many already exist, willingly taking on that burden. Here, Danny doesn’t exist, which means he can be anyone he wants to be. 
And in order to live this new life, he’ll need a job. He’ll worry about school once he’s able to save up some money and find a place to live. 
Step one to getting his shit together: find a job that will take on a homeless teenager who doesn’t legally exist.
He’s already got one in mind; Alfred does keep offering to help in any way he can, and he’s made working as a butler sound fulfilling. 
Serving isn’t quite protecting, but it’ll be close enough that he can satisfy his Obsession. 
The pieces are falling into place. The more he thinks about it, the more he likes this plan. 
He’ll ask Alfred about it when they next meet. Everything else can wait until then.
(“Are you sure you’re okay, Alfred?”
“Quite,” Alfred says, smoothly stepping away from Bruce’s fussing. “Danny scared the mugger away before he could do anything.”
“I’m glad he was there. Are you sure I can’t go meet him? Thank him in person?”
“You’ll only scare him away, I’m afraid.”
Bruce sighs, reaching for his cup of coffee. “What about as Batman?”
“That will only be worse, I’m sure. Not everything can be solved by putting on a mask, Master Bruce.”
Tim enters the kitchen, drops a tablet on the table in front of Bruce, then collapses into his seat with a groan. “I can’t find anything on him. Are we sure he’s real?”
“I assure you he is very real, Master Tim.”
Tim lifts his head to give Alfred a bleary, assessing stare. “I know we always rag on B about his adoption problem, but he got it from you. You’re not going to stop until you get this Danny guy into the Manor, right?”
“It’s either that or setting up a home for him in Gotham.”
“Bring him here,” Tim says with a yawn, putting his head back on the table, “Now I’m curious about him, too.”
“I shall do my best, Master Tim. I shall do my best.”)
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hobiebrownismygod · 5 months
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Did Hobie Brown give up his mask/identity as Spider-punk? - ATSV Analysis
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from @benio on TikTok ⬆️
During Miguel's speech, we see some of the spiders looking at either their past or future events, and we see Peter's wedding (past), Gwen digging herself out of her grave (future), Jess escaping rubble (unknown) and we also see Hobie looking at his canon event, which was giving up his mask and his identity as Spider-punk.
So its completely plausible that like Gwen's canon event, this is one of Hobie's upcoming canon events, where he'll end up giving up his mask later on. However, I like to think that he had given up his mask prior to ATSV for the following reason:
Hobie wasn't supposed to be in Mumbattan during ATSV
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The scene in ATSV where Miles was invisibly watching Gwen talking to Jess and Lyla actually has a second deleted version. This deleted scene was similar, except instead of talking to Jess and Lyla, Gwen was talking to Miguel and various other high-level spider people.
A/N: I know this scene was deleted so it can't really be considered canon, but JUST HEAR ME OUT
While they're talking about Gwen's mistake and Spot's presence in Mumbattan, Hobie's name is mentioned (1:58).
Gwen: "He took time off"
Miguel: "Yeah because he doesn't believe in institutions, or teams. Lyla can't even find him"
Gwen: "He gave me a way to contact him"
At this part in time, prior to his introduction to ATSV, Hobie was not technically a part of the Spider Society. Nobody except for Gwen, not even Lyla, had any way to contact him.
So we've already established that people in the Spider Society usually catch anomalies or are assigned missions to do so, as being a part of the Spider Society would probably mean being willing to work as a team and contribute to the community. If you want to look more into this, @the-cat-and-the-birdie has a really cool post where they explain their views on how the Spider Society works, and I'm kind of going off on that.
If Hobie left, it would mean that he wasn't completing these missions anymore, didn't want to be a part of the community and didn't want anyone to be able to contact him about these missions or anything Spider-man related, unless it was Gwen, who he probably only gave contact information to because she's homeless and doesn't have anywhere to stay, and its been established that she stays with him sometimes.
So why did he leave?
My guess? He experienced an extremely traumatic canon event that led to him deciding to give up his mask. He was so angry at Miguel and the Spider Society for allowing this canon event to happen, that he cut off ties from the community, severed all connections with other spider-people and stayed put in his own universe, only giving Gwen his contact information.
And in this time he "took off", he began to devise his plan to wreak havoc in the Spider Society, and create his own watch. This would explain why he was so quick to help and support Miles, and why he already had watches available for both Gwen and the rest of the Spider-team to use.
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The watch he gives Gwen also has the writing "Project Bootleg" written on it.
Bootleg:
the illegal manufacture, distribution, or sale of goods, especially alcohol or recordings.
Hobie already had a plan for what he was going to do. He had already created Project Bootleg to infiltrate the Spider Society himself, and Miles' interjection became Hobie's reveal.
Now to tie back to the first point I made, that Hobie wasn't supposed to be in Mumbattan during ATSV:
The rest of the Spiders were shown coming in through portals, whether it was Miguel's entrance in the beginning of the movie, Gwen's entrance to Miles' room, or even Jess's entrance in Mumbattan where the giant spider-ship came through a portal in the sky. Hobie, Gwen, Miles and Jess were even shown using a portal to get into the Spider Society after leaving Mumbattan. However...we never see Hobie enter Mumbattan through a portal.
He just appeared. But Pavitr was surprised, so there was no way that Hobie had already been in Mumbattan before, and since Jess and Lyla didn't have his location, there was no way that they could have contacted Hobie to come help Gwen fight Spot. So how did he get there?
We have a LOT of unanswered questions about Hobie. He's a complete mystery, from his backstory, to his universe, and to his place in the Spider Society. While the other members are shown as contributors to the Spider Society who all know each other, i.e. Gwen and Jess greeting the Peters in HQ while Hobie doesn't acknowledge any of them and vice versa, Hobie isn't shown having any kind of interaction with any of the Spider Society members except for Gwen and Pav. We know that he knows the other members, because Jess, Peter and Miguel know him by name, but we don't know his place in the Spider Society and we don't know what he does. This is why I think he left the Spider Society. Because if he was still a part of it, the interactions he had with the people in it would've been different. The way he acted in the HQ, his attitude, everything, would've probably been different if he actually was a part of it or even helped out in some way.
Summary, because this analysis was kind of all over the place:
I think that Hobie quit being spider-man before the events of ATSV because of a traumatic canon event. I think he lost someone or something very close to him, and because of that he cut himself off from the Spider Society. I think he blamed the idea of canon events for what happened and that he wants to help Miles save his dad and break his canon because he thinks that by doing this, he's making up for not being able to break his own canon. I think he's been planning this Project Bootleg for a while before Miles showed up and he decided Miles would be the perfect reveal for his plan and he'd use it to prove that canon events can be broken, and that what happened was wrong.
Poor guy.
A/N:
I think this HC overall would be a cool concept for fanfic writers to focus on in their stories, because I've seen a lot of stories where reader/oc was Hobie's canon event, but very few of these go into depth about what his reaction to reader/oc's death would be and how that would impact his identity as Spider-man and his involvement with the Spider Society afterwards. If you do decide to write it, tag me in it! I'd love to read your fanfictions! <3
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luckybunny555 · 9 months
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⋆。˚⋆Gwen Stacy and Hobie Brown sharing a S/O⋆。˚⋆
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Hi!! made these bc I'm currently obsessed with ATSV and realized I might be attracted to men bc HOBIEEE but also I absolutely love Gwen, so there you go! this is definitely only part one because I have a brain filled with ideas but unfortunately I reached the limit for this post lol. The reader is gender neutral, and I haven't yet established their relationship with Gwen and Hobie so these are more general HCs considering both as the reader's love interests. The hcs may seem a bit out of order bc I just kept writing what came into my mind and I wanted to post this asap so I didn't organize very well. I guess that's all?? enjoy!!
Considering both of your close friends were (technically) homeless, and you care deeply about their well-being, you ask them to stay at your apartment, for as long as they need to
You enjoy taking care of your friends, and you also love having them around as much as possible
Gwen is quicker to accept it because her home is out of the picture for a while since she had that fight with her dad, and you would definitely bring the comfort she needs in her life after those events
Hobie, though, he's... stubborn
He doesn't accept your invite right away because "no one tells me what to do", and living in someone else's apartment would make him feel like he's not fully independent anymore
But you're just so nice to him(and hella cute when you're asking him) that he ends up giving in and accepting your offer
He says that he doesn't wanna stay for too long though, but you're just glad you can take care of your friend for a while
So now, getting flirted with has become part of your routine
Hobie's flirting is a mystery, because he's so cool and natural about it, you have no idea if he's actually flirting with you or if he's just cool and talking
Never fails to leave you flustered, regardless of his intentions
He towers you for fun
Like, he's really tall, so if you're in front of each other, and maybe there's a wall or a table behind, he'll get closer to you and put a hand right beside you and stand really close, so you're almost trapped
He thinks it's funny and cute when you get nervous because of it, aaand he likes to see the effect he has on you
He tests the ground first to see if you're ok with it, but if you're comfortable, he'll always stand very close to you
Throws his arm over your shoulder, leans on you, pulls you closer(almost suffocating you lol), depending on your height he might rest his arm on top of your head, kind of teasing you(affectionately), he's a very touchy guy
When you're having a conversation, specially more intimate and personal ones, his face will end up getting really close to yours, he'll have his eyes on you most of the time, keeping eye contact for long periods(if you're comfortable)
While you're telling him about something, he'll start to gently trace his fingers on your bare shoulder or forearm, maybe even your knee if he doesn't want to be so subtle
Something small and almost unnoticeable, but you'll feel it, and it'll give you chills
Gwen's flirting on the other hand is a bit awkward, and might make you confused most of the time
Her way of flirting is more like teasing
But the way she looks at you while making fun of the little things you do almost gives her feelings away
When she realizes that, she'll look away, hiding her flustered face
You're never sure if she's just friendly teasing you or if she's actually flirting
But then, in some moments she ends up being fully honest about what she thinks of you, and those are the only moments that you're not confused
She'll compliment you so genuinely, it'll feel like your heart is wrapped in a blanket
Unfortunately, those moments are rare because most of the time she lets her worries get to her head and that keeps her from being honest about her feelings for you
When it comes to PDA, Hobie isn't really the biggest fan of the more obviously romantic kind, but he won't keep you from being affectionate in public either
I mean, we know he's a touchy guy with those he cherishes, but this is slightly different
You might come and hug him from behind, being the clingiest person ever, and while he might not touch you as much as you touch him, he'll always do something subtle only you can notice
Like his fingers tracing random patterns on your arms or thighs, or gently kissing your hands...
If you hug him from behind(when he's like sitting down or lower than you, because again, he's really tall), throwing your arms over his shoulders, he'll hold your wrist and lightly caress it
Somehow always has his hands on you, but most people don't even notice
And Gwen, well, she isn't the biggest fan of PDA either... she might be a little awkward, specially if the people around you are looking
So, for example, you rush to give her a hug
She's a bit stiff and taken by surprise, she takes a few moments to hug you back
You ask her "is this okay?", and you notice the awkward expression on her face, realizing she doesn't seem exactly comfortable(but that doesn't mean she doesn't like it! it's just new for her to do this with people around)
So you just give her a quick kiss on the lips and let go of her, simply standing beside her
Give her a few seconds and you'll notice her linking your pinkies or resting her hand on your lower back
Subtle affection in public works best for her
You'll definetely have to deal with Gwen's mess all. over. the. place.
You've seen how messy she is, forgetting her clothes and belongings in different dimensions, just throwing them wherever
And she's also a bit careless about manners(unintentionally)
So occasionally, you'll find her clothes on your bed, or in the bathroom after she showers... literally just her belongings all over the house
So once, you decide to teach her a lesson
You found her band t-shirt on your bed, she'd forgotten to put it away after she got dressed and left
So you decided to wear it
Then, a while later, she makes another mess because she needs to find this shirt, and she doesn't remember where she put it!
She looks for it in your whole apartment, and you just see her entering and leaving every room for a few minutes while you're calmly drinking your tea/coffee/whatever in the kitchen
When she's lost all hope, she stops by the kitchen to ask you about it
"Have you seen...", she finally takes a look at you, and that's when it hits her
"Seen what?", you pretend to have no idea what she's looking for
She's a little embarassed, and she kind of can't take her eyes off of you because she thinks you look adorable/so good in it, but she snaps out of it to ask "what are you doing with my shirt?"
"Yours? Are you sure? Because I found it on my bed, so I assumed it was mine" you say, trying to sound so naive
Then Hobie, passing by you two, just goes "Nice shirt, y/n" with his usual smirk
Of course he'd join the teasing lesson, he had also noticed Gwen's mess in your apartment
Gwen's now standing awkwardly, not really knowing what to do about it, but she learns her lesson
She refuses to take back her shirt, though ;)
And even if her usual mess is now gone, you still find a shirt, or a sweater, or a jacket on your bed occasionally
Is it intentional? Who knows....
(it definitely is)
Being real though, Gwen's mess didn't bother you that much
The idea that you had a bit of her in every room in your house, it definitely did something to your heart
Now please consider: domestic affection
The three of you sitting on the couch, your head on Gwen`s lap and your legs resting over Hobie's
He keeps tapping out the rythm of songs on your legs, even if there are no songs playing
If Gwen's really focused on whatever show or movie you guys are watching, she'll mindlessly play with your hair...
And she only does that when she's distracted, because if she realizes what she's doing, she'll stop out of embarassment(and as a consequence, she'll be completely unable to focus on the movie again), the only things she can focus on now are her fast heartbeats and her warm cheeks
Hobie might notice it and tease her for it, and she'll just ignore it because she's too caught up in her own embarassment to even reply
You turn your head up to look at her, giggle a bit but try to not give her much attention or she'll be even more embarassed
And you don't want that, because you thought she was really cute and you enjoyed getting your hair played with
If you wake up early, or at least before them, you'll start making them breakfast
Both of them eat a whole meal in the morning, basically lol
Hungry beasts(affectionately)
As thanks, usually once a week they prepare dinner for you
Hobie's definitely better in the kitchen than Gwen, but she'll do her best
And it usually ends up tasting really good
Now just imagine the mess that it is going grocery shopping with both
You're trying to focus on what's on your list, but they simply won't let you
They'll be "hey, check this out!" every five seconds
Hobie will somehow always find something to tease you or Gwen about. it's like a talent
You'll buy more food than you need
Not that it matters, it'll all get eaten anyways
Specially during movie nights
(I'm already working on part two!! this ended up being a lot longer than I expected....)
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