#also not to make everything about my ocs BUT

[necroliberty]

I named a varient of Dream "Broken Dream" too. But they are so different. Here is the only picture I have of him.

Though I first made it for zero infinity and for an oc, I dumped a while ago. I want to at least make him stand on his own. I gave him a hoodie because all Sanses have depression. You can't tell me otherwise. Also, because that varient needs to have a blanket on him 24/7

So this is Broken Dream (the Dream who gave up) Trigger warning for depression and suicide attempt. (Can you believe that last part actually triggers me too. So yeah, it will be lightly mentioned.)

Dream always smiled with his friends, rains or shines. Only in fights against Nightmare and his gang did his smiles ever falter. Nightmare was right that his smile was a mask and this frown was his true feeling. But Nightmare was blinded by his own pride and bitterness to realise one thing. Dream wasn't hiding a spiteful venom born from the same negativity as him. Dream was depressed.

Swap Sans noticed but couldn't help him, so he left. Unable to deal with Dream ravenous needs for his own endless well of positivity. He knew that walking away would hurt Dream, but staying was going to destroy Swap. Of course he was absolutely right.

Ink Sans never cared, either in my au where he is souless with pills that gives him a baseline of emotion all day every day, but no attachement. Or the chaos gremlins we all know and love. Dream's depression when it comes to his past and his brother, now also Cross and Swap. Was just annoying, something he should have pushed past by now. But Dream, as this maladaptive, needs to tell everyone he was fine. Ink left too, he had work to do, and Dream was ruining the vibe.

So it went a day where Dream faced the Nightmare gang alone. The more he fought, the more he could feel his own soul break. He just couldn't do it anymore. His own team had left him, but Nightmare didn't destroy his. Even his crazy relationship with Killer worked, it fucking worked when it shouldn't. But he couldn't, wouldn't let it show.

Because their is one reason why Nightmare never could feel how destroyed Dream was emotionally. Dream always coated his worst emotion in a pure positive aura. One reason was to not give Nightmare more ressource and power. But the other reason is that Dream legitimately thinks he has no right to cry or feel negative. He wasn't there when his brother needed him the most.

But in that last fight, Nightmare said something the pierced Dream's soul completely. He doesn't fully remember what it was. But it shattered his carefully laid shield. The unflow of negativity was so great from one soul that Nightmare stopped. The gang followed suit, noticing how much stronger the aura of their boss was. Dream didn't cry, though. He never cried. He didn't deserve to. So he simply took his soul, the last golden apple, and presented it. "You won, that's what you want, right? So take it." Dream threw the apple at Nightmare as he felt his own body grow lethargic.

Nightmare took the last apple, as he saw how defeated his brother truly was. He didn't let time for his body to dust over. He couldn't put a soul back when it was so fully rejected. Well, he could, but it wouldn't be easy. With his own negativity turned to dark liquid, he forced the apple back inside. Now, the apple itself was protected by the tar like substance that made Nightmare. But it also rendered Dream completely powerless. Nightmare never told the truth on why he kept Dream alive. Talking about wanting how far Dream could fall. About that, he loves picking up the trash that no one else wanted. Not that even in his blinding rage, the depression from Dream was so great he wanted to do everything to get him back.

But Dream was never the same. Because in a world like this, a world he had failed so completely. Broken dreams were all that was left.

More "Broken Dream".

More of " Broken dream". Man the silly little idea got a bit too much attention. How did one of my inspiration like it ???😭 Wthhhh

The is mainy the full body might change some details later ig. Lore is planed.

[valentine-cafe]

Any tips for those who want to create ocs/ start writing? I have been thinking about writing for a long time but Im stuck on where to start

﹙ 🍒. ﹚ ─── Hello darling! I hope this finds you well. I'll start with the oc question and then transcend into where to start with writing. Buckle up this ended up being so much longer than anticipated.

Tips for OC CREATION

Get inspiration. This seems like an obvious one, but you'll be surprised how much I forget to do this at times. Start with a small idea. For example, you want to make a baker oc? Pinterest is your best friend. Make a board, start saving everything to do with baking; whether you have any other concrete ideas or not. Just start saving images. You'll start stringing together a theme as you go. Maybe you'll discover that this baker really loves flowers. Which then comes the quesion - why do they love flowers? Or maybe you'll discover that this baker has a bakery along the seaside. Once more the question comes up - why? From here you'll be able to create a blurp for your character and a basis as a whole. Remember, don't force inspiration! This can be tricky, but let it come naturally. 

Don't be afraid to play around with ideas. Sometimes we tend to focus too much on 'things ,making sense'. This robs a lot of the creative process. While yes certain things should make sense, but don't hold each and every one of your ideas to this standard. Throw a bunch of ideas to the wall and see which ones stick! You never know what unique idea you could end up creating. Even if they don't make sense at first. Just jot them all day and find a way to loop them. As stated, some ideas may stick and some may not. 

Get an appearance. I find that figuring out how a character looks after your basis really helps with envisioning them more. Note: I only look for appearances after I have my basis and general ideas as listed above. Because this helps the appearance process. Remember our flower loving baker on the seaside from earlier? Well, maybe their eyes are blue like the ocean. Maybe their skin is sunkissed because of the warm weather. Maybe they keep their hair short too because of this. Of course, you still have free reign here too. Don't be afraid to give your character some bizzare quirks. Different colours eyes? Hair? Peculiar birthmarks? Go for it. Don't listen to the people who call 'mary sue' every left and right. 

Personality. Chances are with all the steps above you have a general consensus of the personality. But don't just shallow it out to the generals! List down positive, neutral and negative traits. Even morally good characters have negative traits. Even morraly bad characters can have positive traits. Neutral traits are also very important. Also note that you can twist a positive or negative trait to create something different. The positive trait "compassion" can quickly turn sour if the character confuses compassion for letting people walk all over them. The negative trait "deceitful" can turn positive if the character is in a story where deceit protects their general wellbeing as well as their loved ones. I'd suggest checking out this post of 600 personality traits. 

Character quirks. Character quirks are what make your character feel alive. This can be something as simple as: 'he's a midnight snacker and always needs some extra crackers at home because of this.' Play around, mix and match, you'll be able to create even more story with quirks! For example, maybe 'she adores nature and makes sure to thank it whenever she takes from it' why does she do that? Was she taught that? Is it to do with her family? Occupation? Beliefs? I'd suggest checking out this post of 170 character quirks.

Give. Your. Character. Conflict. I'm not saying throw them round the wringer ( although if that's your thing, by all means. Do it. I do it sooo much ). Even if your character is just the casual slice of life character, they need to have something that drives them! Any sort of conflict, big or small, can make a huge impact on making your character feel real. It can be something as simple as 'they are a writer, but have severe procrastination'. You don't have to give them life-changing struggles, but even just a few make the difference. If there is one rule I follow in my character writing journey: to see the beauty of gemstones, you must break them. Much like a gemstone that we break open, when we put a character on a low, aw spectrum - we see what they are all about. Admittedly, I take that saying to a very extreme level but I understand that most simply do not wish to do that. That is perfectly fine. Just weigh your character down in some way. 

Give your character a way of speaking. This seems small but it is one of the most important ones to me. Note down how your character speaks. What language do they speak? How do they speak it? Is there slang? Do they have a certain word or phrase that they repeat? Long sentences or short sentences? Flowery speech or blunt? This will all depend on all of the points above. Accumulate them and give your character a unique voice. This will help you individualise them. It also makes it easier to write with them. Adds so much personality flare!

Have fun! Another one that sounds obvious but can very easily be overlooked. Make sure that you have fun through the process. If the character isn't working out for you or is frustrating, rip it apart and start afresh! There's no shame in that. Howl and I have been planning this book series for almost one and a half years now and do you know how many characters we had to tear down and rebuild? Seong-Jin 9948e was one of them. I hated how his character was, it wasn't working out. I wasn't having fun with him. I had to tear him down to the very bone and reset him. Now? I adore him. You're not obligated to see all of your ideas through. If something's not working out, it's time for a new canvas! At the end of the day, make sure you are creating characters for you that you will love and have fun while doing it. Even with the characters you 'hate' because of morality or whatever it may be. Have fun with them. Have fun in general. 

Phewwww okay. . . now lets get to getting started with writing. 

Tips for getting started with WRITING

Ask yourself the most important question. Why do I want to start writing? It can be simple, it can be grand, regardless of what it is, it's valid. Identify it. Write it down. Just know why you wanna write. That's gonna be your key motivator for when things get rough and cloudy. 

More questions. What do I want to write about? How do I plan on writing this? Identify these key questions as well. Even if they seem obvious, identifying them is a very big step. You'll be able to make your game plan from here. 

Pick a place to write. I'm talking about document/site. There are various options. Howl and I typically use notion to organise and format our writing. There are of course many other options. Microsoft word, Google docs, Grammarly docs, Reedsy.com, hell - even basic notes. Choose somewhere where you will feel comfortable. Play around a bit. 

Write your ideas down. Even if your memory is tip-top, write that idea down the second you get it! Make a folder, make a notebook, do it digitally or not. Just write it down. Have a list of different ideas, even if they seem bareboned. Just write. Them. Down. You'll thank me later. This will be your pretty little writing bank where you can pull ideas out when needed.

Develop the ideas. Blurp them. Mindmap. Get those brain juices pumping! Write down random points and find a way to interconnect them. Even if they do not make sense. Once again, you'll be surprised just how much you can work out of your mind by simply scribbling everything that pops into your brain.

Inspiration is key. As I noted above, inspiration is very important. If anything, I suggest merging this with the previous tip. Go to pinterest, search up writing prompts on different platforms. Combinem link, do what you must. Throw everything into a large mixing pot and stir it up! Have pinterest boards even for you smaller oneshots if that will help you. Llisten to music, this is where majority of my inspiration comes from. Do the things that get your creativity flowing. It might seem cliche or dramatic but on the music standpoint? Classical music is your best friend. It stimulates a certain part of your brain that reallu gets things kicking. 

Practice writing. From my own experience, I have noticed that many writers including myself at times, forget to practice writing. This stems from the idea that you consistently plan and think out your ideas, fully flesh them out and then assume this will see you through. Another big misconception is that simply reading will make you a better writer. While yes, reading is an amazing way to improve your vocabulary, grammar and develop your style from your favourite writers. . . it is not practically practising writing. Here's a writing practice: get yourself a document. Or a paper. Whatever you see fit. Look around you. List down the things around you. Objects, the world out your window. Write about their shapes, their colours. Write what you smell, what you hear, what you see and feel. Make a story from all of these things. This practice in particular will not only be a great starter, but will also help you practise writing with the five senses. There are numerous practises you can pick up. Such as writing a scenario from a song or writing about a certain routine of your character. Identify your weak points and write pieces around them. You must write in order to practice. Seems obvious, right? ( haha ). But we tend to take our work or scheduled writing and assume that as practice. While it can very much be, you're gonna need that extra input!

Research. To tie in with the previous note. Research will aid your weak points. As writers, we write about experiences, about the world, actions. We cannot allow ourselves to write what we do not know. Now, that by now means equates to you studying every topic you can find under the sun, rather, research when necessary. Are you writing a fanfic where the character is of a different ethnicity? Do a little brush up on their culture and some facts around the ethnic background. A piece about a flourist? Learn a little about some flowers. Do you struggle with dialogue? Listen to people speak ( DO NOT LOOK AT MOVIES OR TV SHOWS. ). Listen to people in reality speak. See how they talk. The beautiful thing about writers is that we write about all sorts of corners of life. And so we must understand life itself. 

Routine. I know a lot of us dread schedules. So do I. But this isn't a schedule - it's a routine. Make a habit out of writing. Even if it's simply twenty minutes a day if you cannot sit down and work on what you want. Even if it's just practice. Please, find the time to write at least a little every day. Where you have time, block it out for writing. Make a tummer. Do writing sprints. Make a flow. Like any art form, it must be done consistently. 

No. Forcing. I know this may sound counterimtuitive to the last post but darling. Do not overwork yourself. Do not force yourself. There is a difference between holding yourself accountable to your routine and being hard on yourself. Identify your limits. Know when enough is enough. Take a breather, get some water, close your eyes, walk outside. Don't make this a chore. Again, it is art. Even if it is your job. It is still art, and art is freedom. 

Finish your WIPS. DON'T RUN FROM YOUR RESPONSIBILITIES. Yes, I know that I said do not force yourself, but this is another fine line that you must find balance in. I understand the issue of an idea losing its spark, I do. But hold yourself accountable at times. Complete your work in progresses. Your passion project, that fic you're holding off. At least try to. This will help in the long run of completing writing projcts in general. Because if you do this long enough, you'll develop it into a habit, trust me. I know this all too well. If you have an idea? Write it out! Don't post anything about it until you have all of it written out. This can also help. At times we get too excited with sharing the idea and get lost in all the highs that. . . the idea eventually falls short. And then we feel guilt for not seeing it through. Remember, consistency is key.

Write for youself. Everyone loves validation. I certainly do. Everyone wants to hear a - 'this is so amazing!' However, once more, we have another fine line. Make sure that you are writing for yourself. Make sure that what you are writing is something that aligns with you. Even if you are a fanfic writer taking requests. Find essence in that request and tune it so that you enjoy writing it. Even if you are the only person writing for this specific trope, a specific character, an au, whatever it may be. Write it. Get it out. Have fun with it. Post it. Not only are you doing yourself justice by expressing your creativity, but in the long run - you never know who might need that piece. You never know who might stumble upon it and have their day brighten up. Don't care about how people may receive it, don't care about the absurdity of it. Write it. And have fun while writing it. 

 

I really hope that this helped! I plan on making a little post like this for reader insert writers in particular because it is something that has been on my mind. . . remember, in whatever you do - have fun!

[psaiouma]

TOP 10 SAIOU AUTHORS EVER GO!!!!!

Due to the length of the response I will be putting everything in a Read More, but please do read it!! I have so much love and compliments to give!! And there's DEFINITELY more than 10 listed! But this list was hard as fuck and NOT definitive. Did I miss one of your faves? Write them in the replies :D!!!

Other than the #1 & 2, all of these are in no particular order!

Rovelae! THE platonic love of my life and my #1 inspiration. I would not be here and would not be writing if I hadn't read Hologram and all of her amazing other works. Genuinely, I believe that every single thing Rov writes is a genuine masterpiece full of complex thought and strict planning. Never in a million years did I think she'd become one of my best friends, but I always said she was my #1 long before we ever spoke a word to one another. To this day, no other fic has come close to the way Hologram has made me feel over and over again. She'd bashfully list many other things that should top it, but they simply don't. Her understanding of Shuichi and Kokichi, plus their dynamic, is something that speaks to me and my preferences directly. I cannot express the true glee I feel that she regularly asks me to beta and read her early works, and that I get to see inside that brilliant mind over and over. AND that she sends me pictures of snakes daily!!! You should read (among many others): HOLOGRAM (my #1 fic recommendation with ART I COMMISSIONED FROM CELE HERE!! AND ART BY AUNI HERE!!!), Ruin, Potion of Steal Your Heart, The Flat Effect (WITH ART AUNI DREW HERE!!), and Before the Stars Evaporate (She gets five recs because I LOVE HER!!!!)

FrostieFroakie! My beautiful, amazing, perfect, talented beloved <3 Any time someone asked me who my fave author was, I said Rov, and if you asked me who my fave nsfw author was, there was no competition. None whatsoever. And now the former is one of my best friends and the latter... is the love of my goddamn life of almost four years. <3 My faves have never changed and I WILL hold my angel up on the HIGHEST goddamn pedestal and you will too <3 Froakie is one of THE best authors I've ever had the goddamn PLEASURE of reading. Not only does she write the hottest shit ever catered to ME, but she does it all in such a way that you really feel like you're in a new world. She has one of the most vivid and amazing imaginations I've ever experienced in my entire life, and I will GLADLY rub in all of your faces that I get to see and hear every amazing thought that comes out of her gigantic, beautiful brain. Guess who knows the plots to the Orcahara and Wolf/Bunny sequels? ME, BITCHESSSS <3 On a much more serious note, I do genuinely mean it that I absolutely love everything she writes and does. Call me biased I do not give a single shit. She's never written anything bad in her entire life. [Once again, she will disagree with me, and she is always right about everything, but I do not care, her works are breathtaking and brilliant.] You should read (NOTE: all nsfw): Cowhara Sins (this is quintessential Intro to Saiou reading), Orcahara Sins, I Make Them Good Girls Go Bad, Hunting Season, and Despite Everything, (She ALSO gets five because she's my GIRLFRIEND and the LOML!!!!)

Unseeliekey It is with great sorrow that I tell you that all of Eye's fics on AO3 have been deleted. Last I'd heard from Eye in 2022, he was moving on to OC content, but would continue his multichaptered fics in the future. Should he do so, I know we'd all be GIDDY to see them, but for now, my inclination is to believe that won't happen, since his account still existed last we talked. Though I do not know my stance on fic saving and sharing once an author has deleted their works, everything that Eye ever wrote HAS been saved, with (I believe) one exception. If you DO want to experience some of the most incredible, breathtaking, life-ruining fics in the entire Saiousphere, I have the connections to get you the Goods(tm). His works are remembered fondly, and anyone who was lucky enough to be around when his fics were still up will most likely list him in their top ten, even though he's been gone for over two years now. From his magnum opus, Therefore You and Me(...), to You've Got the Right(...), to Kattar Shuffle, to Fob, to (...)Tragedy and Comedy(...), to Put the Knife Down(...), to Puppy Love, to (...)You are the Captain, to All Drama(...) and EVERYTHING in between, his works are remembered, worshiped, loved, and envied. Eye was truly, truly, a requirement of Saiou reading. And if you were to ever see this @unseeliekey, I hope you know that you were an inspiration to all, and it was an honor to have read your things while they were public. I hope you are doing well wherever you may be, and that you come back someday.

Majorinconvenience When filling all of these out, I saved Kam for last, because I knew it would be the hardest due to a falling out between what I thought was going to be an everlasting friendship. However, I also knew it would be a god damn lie if I didn't put them in my top 10. Their work still shines beautifully all these years later, and come hell or high water I am gonna recommend them. Kam's pieces are jaw droppingly, achingly gorgeous. They are filled with emotion and yearning very few are able to match. I could list many things from their time in the Saiou fandom, but the loudest of which is easily Drowned Words followed by "Gymnopédie No. 1" and The Truth is in the Eye of the Beholder. I highly encourage you to check out everything, though.

Chuwuyas Jul is, in my opinion, one of THE staples of the Saiouma Fandom. Not only being the GOD behind everyone's favorite reverse Phantom Thief AU, but also one of the funniest goddamn oneshots of all time, and also some of the best smut. Jul can write, Jul can DRAW, Jul is THE hottest person IN the Saiouverse and it's NOT even close. They are my favorite Komaeda kinnie and one of my dearest friends. Every time you read a Chuwuyas fic, you know you're in for the best goddamn ride of your entire life. They have SUCH a way of absorbing you in one of the best whirlwinds of all time, and it's a ride you never want to get off. Look, I do a lot of bragging in this post because I am truly proud of the friends and connections I have made, but I genuinely believe one of my greatest accomplishments and prides in my entire life is the fact that Jul has called me THE honorary Moriarty Kinnie, and the fate of Catch & Release has been left in my hands should anything ever happen to Jul before ch 5 releases. [Not that anything will happen. But holy shit what an honor????] You WILL learn about Moriarty Saihara (aka me) by reading Catch & Release. And you should also check out How to Fall in Love in Three Easy Steps!

LovingDefiance Did you think I would make a top 10 and NOT put LovingDefiance on it? I don't give a SHIT if they haven't uploaded anything in five years. I am STILL subscribed and if they were to ever make a return I WILL sob the happiest tears you've ever seen in your entire life. Quite frankly, their Love Hotel Collection (nsfw) is a must-read four part recommendation for me. Saiou switch, there's aftercare, and god DAMN are you going to have a good time. But that's truly not all. Everything they've ever written is an absolute goddamn treat that will leave you salivating for more. I have read and reread their entire collection many times, and it truly never gets old. I hope wherever they are, they are happy.

Rannas I fear this description will not be as long as it should be, but truly, all I can say is that Rannas' writing is great. They had my favorite fic in Your Hand in Mine, a Saiouma Zine, and I've been reading their works consistently for a long, long time. Every Rannas fic is something special and unique, with each sentence being filled with grace and care. I've known many people who have claimed Rannas as their #1 Saiou author, and it's not hard to see why. Hell, when looking through their AO3 again to recommend something, I was wonderfully reminded JUST how much I love everything they've ever written. I will not out their nsfw account here, but know that it is ALSO in my top 10, and it's in yours too. Of course, I am recommending Our Deal, but I'm also going to dance and sing about the hilarious Salmon Mode Series and Meeting Your Match!

Teharissa Though I only have one fic to recommend, Teri's writing is by far and in large the best goddamn stuff I've ever read. They are my FAVORITE writer when it comes exclusively to writing style. This one example will not do Teri justice, but you must trust me on this. It was an honor to work with them on Spilled Ink (a DRV3 writing zine) and their Kiiruma piece is the absolute best work in the entire zine. Also, overall, I just loved talking to them and I miss our conversations and getting to hear their thoughts. Truly an upstanding individual who I gleefully recommend with no hesitancy. I am begging you to read A Thousand Paper Cranes!!

Nxllberry Just to prove I'm not EXCLUSIVELY an oldhead yearning for 2020/1 (though I am), I MUST put Nxllberry on this list, but not for the reason you're probably going to assume. Though their fic Godspeed IS a good recommendation, and you should definitely check it and their other works out, I am here to spread the gospel (pun intended) on their fic Rising Tide, which is, to this day, my favorite postgame smut ever written, and the main reason they are getting put in the top 10. Nxllberry's work is absolutely legendary, and though I haven't checked out the MCD works, I'm sure if that's your speed then you're going to LOVE those. Because the way they handle emotions is just delicious in every way.

ME!!!! Ezra Psychiccupid! You should ALWAYS include yourself in your top ten!!! I always know exactly what I want to read in a way no one else does LOL!! If you don't love your writing and think it's the best then what are you DOING? Perhaps you are an aspiring author and you think people are better than you, and that's okay! It's great to have writers you look up to. But you better think your stuff is AWESOME or about to be awesome!!! YOU put that out there!!! I'm still a relatively new writer in the grand scheme of things. Saiou Prom was only done FOUR YEARS AGO. Sep. 2020. I've grown a lot and I've seen many things since then, but I loved what I wrote then and still do. GRR You should always been in your top 10!!! I'm fucking awesome and I write really good stories because I have really good ideas. I'm extremely honored and thankful that so many people agree. Please, please read my fics and also hype yourself up today!!! Feels a little weird to rec myself but if you DO read anything of mine, please have it be King Piece or In the Aftermath of a Killing Game. If you want to get a feel for how much my writing has grown and improved since those two, check out My Stick; Your Bites (latest work), or One Day We Will Both Die(...). Also, would be a fool to not rec my most popular work, Poison Mouth, though I hope something better outshines it one day :)))) Please,,,

HONORABLE MENTIONS: I have many friends and I know SO many talented people that I'm gonna shout out a LOT and you better be READY. (I'll try to be quicker here ahaha!)

Bcschauer! Aka Lulu! Do you want fluffy Saiou? Because this is the QUEEN of fluffy Saiou. I especially rec Behind Pale Gray which I WILL bully her about to finish. :) Cinderous_scrivenings! Aka Sixth! One hit wonder, though I've had the HONOR of reading more than has been posted. Please read What's Yours to Have, you won't regret it! I_Am_A_Ruin! Aka Bee! One of THE most important people in my entire life. I cannot recommend their works more. Bee has such a way of making everything they write whimsical, like you're sitting by an enchanted campfire being told a story. Their brain is so beautiful and massive. Narrowing down my recommended list for them is extremely difficult, but I think I'm going to go with Poor Unfortunate Souls, Bite the Hand That Feeds You(...) (nsfw), and Fluffernutters and Buttons the Bear! Kokichiouma! Aka Hope! Obviously, I'm going to recommend Reaching, THE time loop Saiou fic. But beyond Reaching, Hope is one of the most in-depth minds in the entire Saiou fandom, who has been writing V3 analysis and translation differences for years. I cannot recommend his work enough. Khattikeri! Aka Keri! Has one of THE BEST canon divergent/postgame AUs of all time. Alongside being one of the most talented people I'm honored to call a friend, Keri is brilliant beyond compare. Please read one of my favorite fics of all time, Everyone's Killing Reality. Notchucktingle! Aka Jess! I think now more than ever, Jess' work is not only incredible but NECESSARY to read. He is, in my personal opinion, one of the most incredible authors to read to get an authentic trans perspective and experience. As someone who is too scared to be out, these fics mean a lot to me, and I know they do to other trans people as well. He's also just an awesome writer. You MUST read Come Into the Water, but I think he'd be a little cross if I didn't also recommend his current brainchild Bad Habit, and who am I to ignore good food? ReturnToZero! Has been in this game a LONG time and has so much to show for it. You absolutely get the best of both NSFW and SFW fics with Zero. From Agrypnos and •.¸♡ Dreamweaver ♡¸.• to Wishing it Was You (KISSING PRACTICE FIC!!) and Drop-Dead Gorgeous, you will always find something to read! Thatsrightdollface! is THE current go-to if you want consistent, good works near-daily. How they have the writing capacity they do is beyond me but, genuinely, they are SO powerful. I'll confess that I slept on their works for a long, long time, but on Rov's insistence, I started reading daily and I have not regretted it for a second. My favorites thus far are The Rubber Horse Head Mask Strikes and "Gamest in the Land" even if it HURTS!! Myaami! Whose works are always to die for. Extremely excitedly, they are about to do a raffle for a PHYSICAL, PRITED OUT COPY of their fic Dawn Again, on this Vibrant and Violent Night (and you BET I'm getting on in that), but I'm also going to sneak in a recommendation for Dream with Me, because I LOVE this fic.

And SO MANY MORE!!!!! Seriously. I could list like. 20 more people in an instant.

If I did individual fics that I love??? We'd be here ALL DAY. (I'm working on a doc of every Saiou fic I've ever read, actually). It's impossible to make a top ten, truly. Some days, the honorable mentions are in the top ten, some days, you wake up and a brand new INCREDIBLE phantom thief AU has just dropped and all of a sudden you're talking to one of the newest, most brilliant minds of the Saiou fandom out of nowhere.

If you didn't make the list, please know that I love your writing. Even if I have you muted, even if we have beef, even if you never share your work, I love you for writing.

[rangosmango7]

The Cadence of Part-time Poets by @motswolo

Can I just say I don’t think I’ll ever read anything better and I might have to give up fanfiction as a whole; Harry Potter/Marauders fanfiction, anyway, because I dont think I’ve ever read anything so gorgeous— it might be better than The Perks of Being a Wallflower; my favorite book that I’ve only ever read once out of fear that reading it again will push me off a ledge I couldn’t ever come back from.

I will reread The Cadence of Part-time Poets, because I don’t really care about the ledge I’ll get pushed off of— that’s how fucking brilliant it is.

Glorious.

Dramatic review? Maybe. But I’ve found that several people online have stated they stalled on reading the last two chapters because they didn’t want to finish reading it. I’ve never been one to keep myself from reading the ending of any story, especially one I love so much.

That being said, I’m on the last chapter before the epilogue, and I can’t bring myself to start it yet. Not until I stop crying about Remus Lupin and I don’t have work the next day.

I’ll update with an in-depth review (spoilers included) once I finish it, if I can ever bring myself to try to put everything I feel about this work into words.

Before reading, let me give you some advice if you’re like me and (understandably) hesitate before reading a near million-word fanfiction

1. Don’t read it until you’re ready to

It’s a monster. I put off reading it for a year or two and the timing never felt right until now. I couldn’t be more happy that I waited until it was right (it also took me an entire week and a half, which is long for me.

2. Don’t stress over not liking the OCs, because you will— Jesus F. Chopin, I promise you will love the OCs in this fic like nothing else.

Every lovely thing everyone said about Tomny and Tonya? True and wonderful and GLORIOUS I love them so much.

3. It isn’t going to be exactly what you expect it to be—

It’s going to be so much more.

@motswolo , thank you for this. I’m sure you get this all the time, but The Cadence of Part-time Poets touched my soul like nothing else. It made me smile and cry and it made me angry and lovesick and heartbroken and it made me feel understood.

I deal with bi-polar depression, and the way your Remus Lupin thinks makes me feel like I’m reading my own internal monologue. It has me crying and laughing and loving with him.

It revived my love for rock and roll, and Mary Macdonald understood my love for ABBA; Sirius Black, “Bohemian Rhapsody”. You understand my love of music.

I will update this post once I finish these last couple of chapters. For now, I leave you with this screenshot of the comments section that made me laugh.

(disclaimer, neither of the replies are true, but some may still consider this a spoiler, so tread lightly)

motswolo, you charmer, I think I’m half in love with you.

[hxrsheykisses]

Alright so, this is requesting if maybe—perchance you could do my Oc Vierla and Pete?

I was thinking maybe they’re at the mall and these jocks come to harass her or cat call her, but Pete is having none of that so he defends his girlfriend, and with that as they exit out the mall she gives him a kiss and leaves pink lip mark on him.

Also here’s my oc, thank yiuuu :3 (I love your work 🫶)

💋 WORTH IT 💋 | Pete Dinunzio x Viera ♥️

THIS IS SO CUUUUUTE!!! I appreciate your love for my work, brings a smile to my face all the time!!♥️♥️♥️♥️💋

“Pete, calm down, it’s not a big deal, really.” Viera said softly, sending her boyfriend a gentle smile. She had a hand on his, caressing his thumb with reassurance. “Just ignore them.”

“Ignore them? Yeah, that’s rich.” Pete scoffed, glaring at the two jocks who were whispering amongst themselves while sending Viera suggestive glances from afar, laughing.

Pete couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the many times he has took Viera out somewhere nice to treat her, but whenever he does, so many guys want to oogle at Viera. It doesn’t matter if they are holding hands, kissing, or doing other things that make it clear as day that they are a couple. At first, he just sucked it up and tried to push it away from his mind. Just wanting to have a good day with his girlfriend. But then these guys started to get a little too…noisy.

When they first stepped into the mall, one of the jocks whistled over at her, sending her a smirk that only gave trouble. Pete sneered at the guy before dragging Viera away who was innocently looking around the mall for any stores to check out. That already set Pete off on a bad start.

Then, another jock followed them into the food court AND paid for her food and drink while Pete was literally about to pay for the both of them. Of course the asshole didn’t pay for Pete’s shit because he was only interested in getting in his girl’s good side. He wasn’t able to enjoy his food as he glared daggers at the jock from where he was seated.

Those two encounters were pure bullshit. How does one be so bold? It makes zero sense. Now, Pete knows that he can be an asshole from time to time but he doesn’t go out of his way to go and try to steal other guy’s girlfriends like it’s a sport. He knows how to keep himself in check and knows when something is too far—at least that’s what he thinks.

Pete understands that Viera is one beautiful girl—who wouldn’t want her? But there was so much more to see other than looks. Viera is a popular girl at their school—there’s no doubt about that. Pete was lucky to even get a relationship with her. But what made her truly stand out was how she wasn’t your stereotypical mean girl—she knew that she wasn’t going to get everything handed to her on a silver platter, she treated people with respect. That’s what he liked! He doesn’t need some snobby girl who finds spreading gossip to be entertaining—but he definitely wasn’t going to just fawn over her looks. She’s beautiful, drop dead gorgeous—but she is smart, has amazing style, listens to all of his geeky interests, and not to mention how she has character. She ain’t stereotypical, she actually has her own personality! She doesn’t need validation to get through life when she has herself.

And Pete hates how that’s all that these jocks see.

Viera gave Pete’s hand a squeeze. “Oh Pete,” She shook her head, letting out a breathy chuckle. “I appreciate you for being worried about me. But I ain’t going anywhere! Those guys aren’t nothing but jerks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pete waved her off, looking over to the side. “I just—I don’t want people to just see you for your looks. That’s—That’s bullshit. Pisses me off.” He explained. His leg bounced at a fast pace underneath the table, trying to relieve his nerves.

“Well, they can think whatever they want too cause they aren’t going to see what they want to see. You think I care about some guys who don’t care what a girl has in stock unless it’s a pretty face? Oh give me a break!” Viera waited for Pete to say something, but he didn’t. He kept his eyes glued on the table, his jaw tight. Viera removed her hand from his to wrap around his arm, scooting closer to him. “You’re the only guy I’ll ever want, Pete.” She whispered, her voice was like music to his ears and it made his heart jump.

“…You really mean that? You aren’t just sayin’ that to—“

“I mean it all.”

Pete looked at her for a moment before a smile creeped in his face. “You’re right,”

“I’m always right.” Viera laughed.

“Yeah, okay.” Pete rolled his eyes at that. “Wanna go to that clothing shop you’ve been talking nonstop about?” Pete suggested, nodding towards the clothing department.

Viera got all excited as she stood up from her seat, dragging Pete up with her. They got all of their things before making their way towards the department, talking amongst themselves with smiles on their faces.

After Viera told Pete all of that, he felt a lot more comfortable. His nerves eased up and he was able to get back in the mood. Viera is right though, he shouldn’t stress over something like that. He knows that Viera wouldn’t just up and leave to go hang around with some jocks who only saw her pretty face and ran with it. That’s all the reassurance he truly needs—

“Hey hot stuff, could you lend me your number?”

That made Pete freeze up instantly, whipping his head to see no one other than the two jocks from all the other encounters, snickering and what not. Pete clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white with anger. It was clear that they didn’t have no shame for the shit they’ve been doing and they didn’t care to stop. Pete felt like he couldn’t keep his anger in check any longer as he unhooked his arm from Viera’s grip. “Pete?” She said, raising a brow as she watched her boyfriend storm over to the jocks. “Pete! Wait!”

With no hesitation, Pete glared at the two males, leaning close to them with a sneer. “You think your fuckin’ funny? All fucking day you’ve been catcalling MY girl! The fuck is your problem!?”

The two males looked at one another, going silent before breaking out in a laugh that only added more lemon to the wound. “And? What are you going to do about it? It’s not like she wants your nerdy ass any damn way.”

Pete was trying his hardest to not knock these guys out right now but he wanted to—he wanted to teach these guys that they needed to watch their fucking mouths. He wasn’t going to take the disrespect—he wasn’t going to allow Viera to experience such bullshit if he has the power to do something about it. “Doesn’t want me, huh?” Pete let out a scoff, rolling his eyes. “Yet she’s with me, asshole. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are but I suggest you tune it down.” Pete threatened. “My girl ain’t just a pretty face. She’s way more than that. The reason why she doesn’t even LOOK your way is because she knows that you ain’t nothing but a pile of shit who sees nothing more other than ass, tits, and face.”

The jocks looked at Pete like he had lost his ever fucking mind but Pete didn’t care. Hes had his fair share with some physical fights and this was no different. He ain’t going to sit back and allow these assholes to talk about Viera like a piece of meat, they’ve had their fun—and now it was his turn. “I suggest you keep your damn mouths shut, jackasses.” Was the last thing Pete said before turning around, storming back towards Viera, grabbing her around the waist as he sped walked with her.

… .

It was a pretty awkward silence for the remainder of the trip in the mall. There was some small talk between the two but they didn’t really talk. While on their way out, Viera looked over at Pete who was effortlessly carrying the countless of shopping bags of her bought items in his hands. “Pete?” She said softly. Pete let out a grunt in response.

Viera smiled before leaning over and planting a glossy pink kiss on his cheek, resulting Pete to stop walking and stand there in shock. “Thank you for doing that for me,” Viera said, her voice was covered with appreciation. “I wouldn’t trade you for a thing.”

Pete kept his mouth shut in a thin line, feeling the heat rush to his face. He blinked, shaking his head slowly. He coughed to clear his throat bashfully, stammering over his words for a bit. “Uh, yeah…yeah,” Pete let out a sigh. “I…I guess it was worth almost getting my ass dropped in the Mall.”

“Oh, stop it! I’m sure you are able to take those guys on!”

Pete snapped his head towards her. “Oh, stop fucking with me.”

“It’s true! I’m being serious! If it came down to me, I know you would!”

“You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“Am not!”

[chaoticacecard]

Guh, finally I have decided to post about one (yes I have multiple ._.) of my Punch Out Ocs!

Meet J-35-T or Jest!

He's a silly guy and a robot :] More stuff about him under the cut!

Jest was originally built to entertain royalty, but as it turned out he was awful with this. He tended to make puns or word play jokes, which didn't end well. He was offline and then moved from place to place, used a statue or attraction. Then he got into the hands of the WVBA. Originally he was going to be used as another form of entertainment, until something happened. He turned out to be alive, or at least was given life. Instead of being used for a statue they let him box with the name 'Curtain Call'.

Curtain Call is very slow with his wind up, but packs a strong punch. He tends to keep it simple, but will change it up after a while. His slow speed also leads him to depend more on blocking rather than dodging. He also can't seem to take punches to the face well, getting easily stunned from them.

Outside of the ring, Jest tends to be a very cheerful guy! Although he could be very naive with a lot of things. He also doesn't fully understand everything with humans, mainly phrasing('You're telling me a shrimp fried this rice?' kind of deal). He also sometimes forgets that humans aren't like him (Getting sick, and also recovery from injuries). Overall he's just a robot wanting to learn more about the world he's new to!

[offorestsongs]

i firmly believe that if you treat Vil with enough gentleness and affection, he will just. break.

i mean. think about it. he's used to having fans, to people adoring him, but there's usually a distance between him and others. they may idolise him as a famous superstar or be afraid of him as the strict housewarden. even Rook tends to put him on a pedestal.

so somebody who's willing to cross that distance? who's willing to be soft and gentle with him? who treats him like a person? yeah. no. this man is gone. brain goes blank. congratulations, you have just managed to make Vil Schoenheit speechless! not for long, of course, he still has an image to maintain after all, but it's still an accomplishment!

[choccy-milky]

ty to @icedmatchawoatmilk13 for sending this to me! i may have gone a bit overboard but this was so much fun to fill out/think about BAHAHA💖 ill still never get over how perfect the song sarah smiles is for them...the lyrics AND the fact that its an alliteration...im gonna do an animatic about seb and clora to that song one day i swear 😩 ((blank template by oakwolves!))

[14dayswithyou]

Hi, Howdy! Hey! I really love your novel!! I got a little confused by the 4 day, may maybe you help me please? who is it? why we got the bad end staying the night in Ren’s apartment and he disappear of the home screen? I can’t understand “unset memory” game, sorry if I wrote smth wrong or smth sounds rude, I swear that I didn’t mean it if happened, I’m really a fan of the novel, I’ve been playing the game since day 1 or 2 I guess, probably day 1, english isn’t my first language, but I tried lol

⌞♥⌝ I hope you don't mind me answering these as bullet points!! ^^

"It" will be revealed later in the game! So I won't reveal too much right now.

You can only get the Dead End in Day 4 by staying at Ren's apartment — the rest of your choices before that don't matter. I'd also pay closer attention to the black smoke and Ren's reaction towards it!

Ren disappears from the home screen because he promised to help the player out (and stop them from getting the Dead End again). Try replaying the game again from the beginning for a surprise!

"Unsent Memories" was another visual novel (initially being written by @10chimes / @unsentmemory, though the project has since been dropped and handed back to me /pos) and is set in the same universe as 14 Days With You. Its storyline and characters are completely separate from 14DWY, so you don't have to worry about them while playing 14DWY.

[deadsetobsessions]

Pt. 3

Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.

——

Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.

He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.

A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.

At least this time, the conception was consensual.

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.

How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?

It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.

His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.

He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…

How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.

The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.

“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.”

“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.

“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”

Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.

Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.

…Nevermind.

He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”

“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”

Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.

“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”

“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”

“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”

Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.

Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”

“Please. Always.”

Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”

“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”

“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-

“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’

“But…”

“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”

“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”

“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”

“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.

“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.

——

Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.

She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.

“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.

“You as well, my beloved daughter.”

‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’

Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”

The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.

——

A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.

She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.

“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.

The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.

She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.

She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.

“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.

(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)

“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.

(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)

“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”

She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’

“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.

‘No, you were smarter.’

And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.

“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”

Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.

On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.

“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”

She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.

She offered him a short nod.

——

“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.

The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.

But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.

No.

It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.

It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.

Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.

It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.

From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.

Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.

Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”

She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.

“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”

‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.

Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.

“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.

Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.

“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”

Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.

“I will bring your bags up to your room.”

She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.

‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’

“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.

“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”

Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.

Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.

Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)

“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.

Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.

Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.

——

She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.

“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”

Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.

“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.

She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.

(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)

‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.

“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”

Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.

No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.

‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’

“….you do?”

‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.

Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”

She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.

“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”

She waited.

“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”

‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’

Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.

“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.

——

She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.

‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.

It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.

Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.

She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.

——

“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.

‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.

“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”

His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.

An implicit challenge.

“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.

“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”

Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.

——

Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.

Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.

Alfred made a note to study some more magic.

“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”

“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”

“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.

Alfred made another note.

‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.

Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”

‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.

They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.

Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.

‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’

“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”

Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.

“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”

She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’

She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.

She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.

His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”

She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’

Alfred stiffened.

“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.

‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’

Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.

“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”

She nodded.

“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”

‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’

Alfred itched for his gun.

“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.

‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.

“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”

“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”

‘I have never tried it before.’

“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”

Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.

——

Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.

Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me

——

Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?

Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP

——

Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.

[bratbarzal]

On My Side (NH13)

Pairing: Nico "I think the hockey gods were on my side" Hischier x Fem!OC Poppy

WC: 6k

part of the On Your Side universe

*This is a bonus chapter set after the ending of the overall fic, and can be read as a standalone if you haven't read the fic, but if you want to understand their dynamic and Poppy's personality a little more, you should!!!

Description: 18+ MDNI, Nico comes home to Poppy after scoring his first ever career hat-trick for the Devils. Way more fluff than smut but Nico is down bad as always.

A/N: You're all a bunch of enablers and that's all I have to say on the matter!!! Hope this fills the void while I continue to struggle with chapter ten lmao there is mention of Baby Cheeto in here but no spoilers for her name. Nico calls her Bug as a nickname, like _____-Bug, Chäferli (little bug) or just Bug for short, but it isn't her actual name. I can't use Cheeto forever lmao. I was literally trying to think of a title and remembered he said the words "on my side" WHAT IF I TOLD YOU HE'S A MASTERMIND he's an oys!truther if I ever saw one! Painfully obsessed with Poppy if you ask me. Also the way Cheeto would rock the heck out of this it's so cute I had to share

Nico Hischier likes to think he’s a patient man.

Finally scoring his first career hat-trick after 8 years in the NHL, after 476 games played with the Devils, would be the ultimate testament to that.

Doing so in the first ever game with his daughter in attendance - on home turf, his mother and Poppy holding her up in the family suite during warm-ups in her little Devils teddy sleeper that he can only just make out from down on the ice, but has his rampant heart beating out of his chest all the same - has him thinking that maybe, after all those years, after all those games, the stars had been aligning for him the whole time. 

And it was that sort of patience he had tried to tune into since the end of the second period, when he knew Poppy had left early to try skip traffic and get their little girl home safe for bed.

It’s what he tries to channel in the aftermath of the game, swarmed by reporters in the locker room, trying to remain polite and professional, not rushing them through their questions or giving half-assed answers - knowing he owes a lot more than that to the organisation that has allowed him to get this far. Trying to save just a speck of energy to give when he finally gets home, collapsing into the warm embrace of the girls he knows are waiting patiently for him.

It’s what he holds onto when he has to take a detour on his way home, dropping his mom off at her hotel and trying not to visibly squirm in his seat as she regales him with stories of how his daughter had captured the hearts of everyone she encountered, swallowing down the slight jealousy that he hadn’t been there to see it and clinging to the fact that he had his own success elsewhere in the night - success that played second fiddle in his own mother’s eyes to the experience of sharing her granddaughter’s first ever game with her, an experience he had to endure twice as she called his father from his car, deep chuckles ringing through the speakers as he tried to get a word in edge ways beyond her excitement.

It’s what has him shaking with anticipation as he almost skips down the hall to their apartment, mustering up the rest of his energy to walk into their home without the weight of the world on his shoulders, leaving any doubt, any insecurity, any lingering self-deprecation at the door so he can bask in this moment with the two hearts that are shaped entirely to fit him into them.

And it’s what has him shaking off whatever disappointment tries to creep in when he sees his little girl asleep in Poppy’s arms, knowing whatever tiny part of her he will ever get will always be enough - even if her big, glassy eyes aren’t looking up at him, even if he doesn’t come home to one of those heart-stopping beaming smiles she has started to give to him whenever he enters the room - her being here, sleeping safely in the arms of her beautiful mother, and him getting to come home to whatever version of them he can, is more than he could ever ask for.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the hat-trick hero.” Poppy’s soft voice carries to him as he makes his way over, dropping his bag on the floor and keys on the counter, heading straight to where she is now standing and pressing a kiss to her waiting lips. “Hi, handsome.”

“She didn’t wanna say goodnight to her daddy, huh?” He tries not to sound too dejected - he’s supposed to be on a high, after all - but after half an hour of his mother unintentionally bragging about all the attention she had been giving to her Gromi all night, he can’t help the slight sag of his shoulders - especially knowing that she’s going to be spending the morning with his mom tomorrow, too.

“Sorry, baby, we watched a little of you on the TV and then she got hangry,” Nico finds himself hypnotised by her still figure, enamoured with the way she exudes sheer calmness. The smile that creeps up on his lips seems to do so by muscle memory - a dopey kind of smile he’s probably had plastered on his face since she came into the world kicking and screaming 2 months ago, a smile permanently etched into his features from probably even before that. “I promise I tried to keep her up, she literally fell asleep on my boob.” Poppy whispers, watching with warm, glittery eyes as Nico takes in the sight of his two favourite people in front of him - Poppy already changed into one of his shirts, settled for the night, and his baby girl all cosy in her little teddy bear onesie, pacifier bobbing between her plush little lips.

“Look at her hat,” he pouts, running a finger along the folded seam of the way-too-big beanie Poppy has perched on top of her head, the knit fabric falling just short of her closed eyes. “That’s adorable.”

“Your mom put it on her before we left,” Poppy chuckles lightly, “Wanted to keep it on until you got home, we had to celebrate the hatty properly.” Her brows raise as if gesturing to the bill of the cap on her own head, one of his, he’s sure - no doubt stolen from their closet as soon as she got home.

“My little good luck charm,” he leans down to press a kiss to her cheek before he lifts himself back up and bends toward Poppy, “Gonna have to start coming to all the games.”

“I’ll let you break the news to her when she wakes up,” she hums as he presses his lips to hers, “She has a very low tolerance for everybody telling her to smile and getting all up in her space, been grouchy all night.”

“Just like Mami, huh, bug?”

“Oh, you think you’ve got jokes now?” Poppy scoffs as she steps back, ready to take their daughter to bed.  “Score your first hatty and you think you’re funny?”

“Always been funny, babe,” he smirks, flicking at the cap sat on her head before he takes it off, flipping it to place on top of his own and following her down the hall. “I’ll prove it to you when I get her first laugh.”

“She’ll be laughing at you, not with you.”

“Better than nothing.”

Nico sits on the edge of their bed as Poppy reaches into the crib to retrieve the sleeping bag in there before she lays it down beside him. He does the work unzipping and readying it for her to place their daughter inside while she rocks her still-sleeping body, and the two of them work in tandem to get her inside before zipping her back up, with Nico softly pulling the beanie from her head and watching her fluffy hair fan out in its absence. 

He runs a gentle hand over her head to smooth it down as Poppy lifts her, and leans into where she offers her up for a kiss before she puts her in the crib. Nico watches with a soft smile etched into his features, the familiarity of it all spreading warmth throughout his chest, his favourite part of every day being this - sharing a goodnight routine in the comfortable quiet, the two loves of his life safe and happy within arms reach.

None of it feels new or daunting anymore, just easy - and despite the constant warnings of it not always being this way, Nico just wants to feel it to its fullest extent; sheer happiness and serenity. 

Poppy returns to the front of him, and he instinctively spreads his legs to accommodate her, palms laying flat against his chest and his hands falling to her hips. She just looks at him for a good few seconds, eyes shimmering with admiration, lips tugged between teeth and a head tilted as her expression flickers into something more intense. 

Her hands travel down his arms, wordlessly, until she grasps at his wrists and pulls him to stand, leaning up to press a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth. “C’mon,” she whispers while her lips are still against his skin, “Wanna celebrate you.”

As if getting to come home to her isn’t celebration enough.

He follows her back through the hall with their hands clasped together, arms stretched between them so he can watch the hem of his shirt ride up against the backs of her soft thighs, and he starts to feel his throat go dry.

He thinks of all those mornings they would spend in the kitchen together in the summer, his shirts a little tighter around her pregnant belly, riding up against her curves and leaving very little to the imagination when she’d wear just his t-shirt and nothing else.

She’s wearing panties now, he can tell, could see the bottom of them peaking out when she’d leaned over to put their daughter in her crib. But he doesn’t mind inching them off, quite likes the slow pace of unwrapping her like a gift - a well-deserved present for all his hard efforts on the ice.

It’s where his fingers find themselves almost immediately when she stops just short of the couch, spinning and practically launching herself into his waiting arms. He can’t help but chuckle as they collide, large arms wrapping around her frame as she melts into him, hands gripping either side of his jaw to pull him down in a clash of teeth and tongues. He palms at her ass as she presses her hips forward, fingers slipping under the hem of her panties and wriggling under them until his knuckles are covered by the fabric, squeezing at the flesh until she groans into his open mouth. 

He feels deft fingers working between them to rid him of his own clothes, clumsily popping open the buttons of his jacket before working their way up his chest, slipping into the arms and helping him shrug it off. The weight of it drops to the floor with a heavy thud, and when her hands return to his chest for the next item of clothing to be removed, she pushes him back with an exaggerated huff.

“Baby, how many layers do you need?”

“You in some kind of rush, or something?” He chuckles, chasing her lips with a crane of his neck, getting a quick kiss in before she pushes him back again with palms laid flat on his broad chest.

“Your daughter has some sort of radar for when we’re within 2 inches of each other,” she says as her hands slide down, the feel of them through the extra layers he has on still present as she travels past the hard ridges of his abdomen. She grasps tight at the bottom of his hoody, and he lends a hand to tugging it up and over his head, throwing that to the floor, too. “We gotta get a move on before she wakes up,”

“My daughter?” He scoffs, removing his undershirt while she’s distracted, relishing the feeling of a heavy gaze on his chest once it’s fully revealed to her hungry eyes. “She’s really given you such a hard time that you’re disowning her?”

“She isn’t letting me have a hard time at all, that’s the problem.” Her hands reach back out seemingly of their own volition, fingers fanning out across his skin as her stare glides down, the weight of it sliding down his skin to the point he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. 

“That was weak for you.” He teases.

“I’m out of practice,” she pouts, closing the distance once more and pressing her lips to the slightly stubbled skin of his jaw, nipping at the flesh as her ministrations travel across his features, his jaw, his neck, the spot just below his ear, where she mutters, “Wanna show you how proud I am of you,”

“Oh yeah?” He asks as she works at the button of his pants, pushing until they pool at his feet and he can kick them off.

“Mmhm,” she moves her kisses back to his waiting lips, “Been waiting to get my hands on you all night.”

“Been waiting to get my hands on you all day,” he mutters back, bending to lift her with hands gripping her ass, “Been thinking about you teasing me in the kitchen this morning,” he starts heading for the couch, mind spinning as she continues kissing him - thinking of all the plans she had been making for the two of them while his mom takes Little Bug out in the morning, finally giving them some much needed, uninterrupted time to themselves. Plans of wasting the morning away between the sheets, sharing showers, having no responsibilities other than paying attention to one another. “Thinking about having you all to myself tomorrow."

“You gonna let me give you a preview?” 

He chuckles as he falls back onto the couch, all grace thrown out the window as they sink into the cushions, her still holding onto him and now straddling his lap, lips stretched into a blissful smile as he looks up at her.

She presses them straight to his, and he can’t bring himself to mind the way their teeth clash at her eagerness, hips grinding down onto his as she settles onto her knees.

He could spend forever kissing her like this, sensual and sloppy, the slight scratch of her nails against the sides of his neck and his grip on her thighs guiding her movements straight onto the aching growth between his legs.

He bucks up to meet her, and their lips part with a wet smack as she groans. 

"Bet you can’t wait for me to shave, eh?” he smiles as he swipes a thumb across the space between her nose and lip, the skin red raw from the scratch of his moustache.

“You know damn well I’d ban you from ever touching a razor again if I could.” She says, breathlessly, slowly thrusting down onto him.

“Tell that to your little red muzzy, you’re giving Luke a run for his money,”

“Hey,” she swats at his chest in feigned outrage, “The kid tried his best!” 

“No more talk about Hughes when you’re sat on my lap,”

“You brought him up!”

“Thought I was getting a preview,” he groans as he shuffles, reaching between them to slip a hand between her legs, tucking his fingers beneath her panties and swiping against her heat. “Jesus, Poppy.”

“Told you I’ve been thinking about you all night,” she pecks at his lips again, raising her hips a little to give him further access to slide his fingers through the almost excessive wetness that’s near enough soaked through her panties. 

He prods at her entrance, two fingers slipping straight in until she’s gasping against his cheek in sheer bliss. His digits move with ease, working his way up to his knuckles as he drinks up her pleasured moans, his chin tilting until their open mouths just press together without kissing, panting against one another as he works her up. 

He pushes the fabric of his shirt up her thighs with his other hand, exposing his handiwork to hungry eyes so he can see the way she glistens between her legs - can see the way his fingers slide in an out of her.

She takes his shirt off, throwing it beside them on the couch so she can see too, looking down for only a moment before she’s throwing her head back.

He’s so hard just watching her that it’s almost painful - straining against the seams of his briefs until they’re tenting beneath her. And she must notice, nimble fingers working him out until he’s thick and hot and heavy in her palm, gripping around him in with her thumb swiping at his tip, hips shuffling until his fingers slip out of her heat and she can move on her knees to hover above his waiting cock. 

He takes a hold of himself while her hands raise to steady herself on his shoulders, and he waits with bated breath as she lowers herself, sinking past her entrance until he’s sheathed entirely, tight, wet walls wrapped around him in a long-awaited embrace.

Their moans fall out in sync, both of them stilling, the only movements between them being the soft rise and fall of panting chests. 

It’s a minute before she starts to rock her hips, leaning back down to distract herself from whatever unease needs to fade away with the press of her lips to his - tongue swiping at his, sucking and nipping at the muscle as she works herself to the point where she can lift herself up a little.

“Fuck me,” he whines out in an elongated groan as she sinks down on him again, tight and slick and warm, and he feels tension in every cell in his body, strung taut to the point where he feels like he could snap entirely in any given moment.

“I’m working on it,” she pouts, “Think I overestimated my talents here,”

“Think you’re very talented,” he hums, pressing a kiss to her jaw as he lays large hands on the dip of her waist, fingers tickling into the arch of her back so her movements are a little smoother, a little more fluid. “So good to me, yeah? Just need a hand.”

He guides her hips into a steady rhythm - up, down, forward, back - until she’s rocking onto him in a mind numbing pace. 

God, he thinks, this is heaven.

It’s been so long since he’s had her like this. Probably all the way back in Switzerland in the summer, and he thinks a lot about this situation mirrors that - trying to stay quiet, trying to feel as much of each other as they possibly can without drawing attention from sleeping parties one room over. 

He remembers thinking, all those months ago, that it wouldn’t be possible to love Poppy any more than he did, then - that he couldn’t possibly feel more for her than he did when he shared that part of his world, and she had embraced it with open arms. She had blended straight into his family, had adapted herself to his routine, had brought new life and colour to what he had always considered vibrant, anyway, but she had changed the meaning of it all.

But she had done the same to life in Jersey. 

Long gone were any feelings of homesickness he used to get - especially around this time of the year. Fully immersed now into his season, summer seeming too far from his reach that he started to forget what home felt like. But not anymore.

Home is Poppy. Home is their baby girl sleeping soundly in the next room. It’s playing one of the greatest games of his career so far, meeting milestones he had been reaching for for so long, standing in the centre of the arena he has built his career in, hearing the rapturous cheers of fans chanting his name, and driving back knowing the love garnered there could never possibly compare to the love waiting for him in his apartment.

He brings her face down with a palm splayed gently across her jaw, fingers reaching back to tickle at the nape of her neck and thumb swiping tenderly at her soft cheekbone, until their mouths collide. He shifts his hips to meet her ministrations, finding a rhythm that has her gasping into his mouth, enough that his tongue can slip past the seam of her lips and press against hers - hot and fervid and eager.

He wonders as the pressure builds if this passion will ever wither. If this need to profess his love for her will ever wain away, if he’ll ever be casual about the way in which she has become the entire centre of his universe.

He hopes not. 

He hopes when he’s 80, he looks over at her and his heart still hammers in his chest. He hopes his mouth struggles to make sense of all the ways in which his brain tries to convey what she means to him - hopes he still stutters around his sentences and feels weak to the very base of his spine at the mere thought of her. 

In fact, he doesn’t hope at all.

He knows he will.

“You feel so good,” Poppy mutters into his mouth, panting against his swollen lips, “I’ve missed this so much.”

“Yeah?” He thrusts up, “You missed being full of me?”

He’s missed this far out look in her eyes, glassed over and almost gone as she nods in response - they haven’t really been able to get to this stage with their quick fumbles and rushed hookups in the last 2 weeks since she got the all clear from her doctor for them to start being intimate again. Sure, they had developed other methods over those first 6 weeks, making good use of hands and mouths in whatever limited time they could find together, but nothing compares to this.

To being attached at every point like they are one.

“You gonna come for me?”

He still remembers her tells, fluttering lashes, trembling thighs, stuttered breaths all combined with the spine tingling way in which she tightens around him, and he manages to time it so they come together, one final burst of energy used to lift his hips just as she sinks down, body slumping into tremors that wrack through the both of them.

He holds her in place for a second, large hands pushing his shirt up her back as he starts to rub circles into her flesh, soothing her back into a softened consciousness - hazy and frazzled but still in tune with every movement he makes. 

Her nose presses into the expanse of his neck, lips pecking at all the sensitive spots she can seek out as they both try to catch their breaths - and he realises she was probably right before, they haven’t had time like this for a while now. 

Still, he’ll take what he can get.

She lifts her hips just enough for him to slip out, and reaches to the small table at the side of the couch where she has miraculously stashed a pack of baby wipes. She takes two out, using one to clean the both of them before she bundles it into the clean one and discards of it back onto the table to be disposed when she eventually gets the feeling back in her legs.

And it’s as soon as Poppy’s legs give way and she collapses into him that they both hear it - a soft wail carrying through the monitor behind the couch. Cries filling the space around them and bursting their bubble with an almighty pop!

“Told you,” Poppy mumbles into his neck, skin sticky with a soft sheen of sweat. “Won’t even let me get a hatty of my own,”

Nico scoffs, snorting out a loud chuckle that shakes where she rests on his chest, and despite her feigned irritation, she feels her cheeks puff out into a soft, unbreakable grin. “Like you’d have lasted 3 rounds.”

“What happened to me being very talented?” She pouts, mustering whatever strength she has left to push herself up, swinging a leg back over and moving to stand, only for him to grasp back at her, pulling her until her back falls into the plush of the couch.

“Talented, Poppy, not super human,” he chuckles, standing from the cushions and tucking himself back into his briefs. “I’ve got her.”

“It’s probably wind, I changed and fed her before she went down.”

He presses one last kiss to Poppy’s head before heavy feet carry him down the hall toward their bedroom, where their daughter’s crib is temporarily positioned until she starts to sleep a little further through the night. He doesn’t bother flicking the light on as he enters, able to follow his muscle memory straight over to where she is without tripping over his own feet, and he lifts her as soon as he can, cooing at her as she cries into his chest.

“I’ve got you, Chäferli,” he mutters as he rocks her gently, large hand completely encompassing where he can feel her back through her sleeping bag. “Daddy’s here,”

He reaches over to shut off the monitor before he ambles over to his and Poppy’s bed, sitting with his daughter still clutched to his chest, little hiccups coming out as his hand tries to work up her wind. 

“Got yourself all worked up, huh?” He asks, so deep into his routine of talking to her about anything and everything that he no longer second guesses it. “My little bug, you’re okay.”

It takes a good few minutes to calm her down, to the point that Nico thinks she might even be hungry and he’ll have to call Poppy in, wiggling a finger between her lips to see if she latches on, but he continues to pat and rub at her back until she burps, and her cries turn into little coos, that turn into soft pants with wide, sparkling eyes staring up at him in wonder. 

He looks down at her in the same way, dark eyes flitting across her every feature. Across the soft but thick head of hair, the crazy long eyelashes, the puffy lips and the little button nose. 

She looks so much like Poppy that he feels his chest ache every time he looks at her - but it’s a good kind of ache, a longing and content kind of ache, that only aches to remind him of everything he stands to lose if he doesn’t work hard enough to keep it.

“Gromi told me you were charming everybody at daddy’s work,” he tells her with a soft smile, the pad of his finger pressing at the tip of her nose. “Says she’s gonna have to show you off around the city on her own tomorrow.”

Tiny fingers reach up to clasp around his, holding on and clutching with a grip he’s sure wasn’t so firm that morning when he had said his goodbyes. 

“Careful, bug,” he tells her, “You hold Papi’s hand too long and he won’t let you go.”

Wide eyes gleam back at him, and he watches in awe as they start to crinkle in the corners. 

He becomes all too aware of the hammering of his heart, and lays her beside him on the bed in fears that the echoing thud of it beating against his chest might disturb her. He curls up beside her, making sure she’s flat as he gets himself comfortable, and just lays there for a good few minutes, watching her as she watches him.

There isn’t a feeling in the world that compares to this, he thinks. He could score a hundred hat-tricks, have a million people chanting his name, and it won’t come close to how adored he feels in this moment, how proud he feels to have played any part in making a little human so perfect and beautiful.

He leans forward, kissing softly at her puffy cheek, careful not to press too hard that she feels the scratch of his moustache, and he relishes the little squeal of what he hopes is delight she gives in return. 

Poppy gives it 20 minutes before she decides to venture through to their bedroom, having cleaned up and busied herself sterilising bottles so they’re ready for Katja to come pick up in the morning. It’s been a rare occurrence lately that Nico has had his one-on-one time with their daughter, him being so busy with training and their trip to Florida - and he wouldn’t say it, wouldn’t fess up to the ways in which it gets him down, but she knows he feels like he’s missing a lot. 

She changes so much day to day - discovers so much about the world around her - and as much as Poppy tries to save things for him to see on his own, tries to find the balance between sharing the little moments she gets with him and letting him experience them for himself, she knows there’s nothing she can do to keep that nagging voice at bay.

He’s always been that way, unable to completely silence the thoughts that tell him no matter what he does, it isn’t enough. 

He’d even done it tonight - his first career hat-trick, him being the first Swiss-born player to score a natural hat-trick, a stadium filled with fans chanting his name, dominating a team the Devils hadn’t beat at home in close to 10 years - and it hadn’t been his best performance. 

She would gladly spend the rest of her life convincing him he’s good enough, she thinks. 

Her and their little Bug being the ones who get to welcome him home after a night like tonight? She doesn’t know what she did in a past life to get the Gods on her side like this, but she’d do it again a thousand times over.

As her feet pad softly down the hall toward their room, she listens out for the soft voice she usually has the pleasure of eavesdropping on when she thinks he doesn’t know she’s hovering on the other side of the door. A soft voice that tells their little girl exaggerated stories from his day about her uncles, about his games, about whatever he got up to while he was away and what he brought back for her from his travels. But this time, it’s quiet - the peaceful kind of quiet that wraps around her like a blanket, tranquil and warming as she pushes the door open and steps into the room.

Nico is curled up on his side of the bed, on top of the covers, and his arm is draped gently over their daughter’s sleeping bag, their faces inches apart as soft snores fall from their parted lips. She inches closer as quiet as she can manage, leaning over them and taking in their similar profiles - the gentle slope of their mirrored noses, dark lashes framing closed eyes that are turning darker to match her daddy’s day by day.

If anyone had told the Poppy of last November that this is where she would be now - that this is where she’d be with Nico - she never in a million years would have believed it. 

He has transformed her life in such little time that she can barely remember the before. Can barely remember a night she fell asleep in any other bed, by any other side, or woke up to anyone else. Can barely remember feeling anything close to this kind of happiness, this kind of content.

It’s like he’s introduced her to a whole new level of feelings. Ones she struggles to describe, like there’s no word in the English language that could possibly convey what he means to her.

Maybe his language has a word for it. Something that she’s never heard before, but just sounds right. Like she knew it somewhere much deeper than her brain allowed her access. She’ll have to ask him, tomorrow - when they finally have a morning to themselves and she can work up the energy to crawl out from under the sheets with him.

A part of her wishes she could take a snapshot of this moment - could send it back in time to the Poppy who never thought this kind of life would ever find her. The Poppy who was drifting, coasting, floating, afraid of landing on her own two feet and having to drag them for the rest of time through unfamiliar territories. The Poppy who pushed down her ever expanding adoration for the man currently cuddled up to their entire life in the bed they share, who convinced herself he could never possibly feel the same way, and wasted years of her life when she could have had this.

But another part of her thinks, what’s the point?

She has him, now. 

She’ll have him forever.

She allows herself to watch for a minute as they take deep breaths in sync, all the post-game tension in Nico’s body long melted away, before she quietly shuffles over to the bathroom to get herself ready for bed. 

She manages to make her way back over in the dark without stumbling, by some miracle, and reaches over to pick her baby girl up without interrupting her sleep, standing beside her crib and rocking her a little just to make sure she’s still fully drifted off - relishing the feeling of soft puffs of air falling into her neck as she cradles her.

Nico must wake at the loss of contact, instincts kicking in immediately when he can no longer feel the little body that had been resting under his protective arm, and when Poppy looks back over, she can see the reflective glint in his eyes as he watches her - soft and adoring and tooth-achingly sweet. 

Instead of putting her down, she bounces gently on her feet back over to Nico’s side of the bed, sitting beside him as he shuffles up, and the two of them just watch their daughter as she sleeps. 

For all the times they have been warned that this bliss is temporary, that it’s just a phase, Poppy can’t see it ending for as long as Nico looks at her like this. Like he has the entire world sat in front of him. 

“She was smiling at me before,” he whispers as he repositions himself, legs spread so that Poppy can sit between them. “Was trying to get her to calm down, and she was just looking straight at me with those big sparkly eyes and she smiled right at me.”

“She was doing it a little when we got home, earlier.” Poppy whispers back, hoping he doesn’t mind her raining on his parade a little to tell this story, “We just caught your interview on TV after the game, and there was this close up of you, and she smiled so big, Nico. She never smiles like that for anybody.”

“That’s ‘cause you snitch on her and tell everyone it’s gas.”

“I don’t want anyone else thinking they’re special.”

“But I am?” He asks, reaching to swipe the back of his finger softly against her cheek, the soft moonlight sifting into the room reflecting off of the ring on his finger, the quick glimmer enough to catch Poppy’s eye, to distract her so much that she can only hum in response, lips curving into a tender smile. 

“Yeah,” she breathes, the tranquility of the room a stark contrast to the way her heart erupts into thunderous applause for him - akin to that of the stadium full of fans earlier that night. Thousands of voices chanting his name, singing his praises, cheering him on for all the glory he brought to their night. He brings that to Poppy, tenfold, every day. “You’re really special.”

He leans over their sleeping daughter to press a loving kiss to Poppy’s lips, careful not to disturb the little angel between them, and Poppy kisses him straight back, fervent but fleeting.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” she mutters into his mouth, careful not to invest too much of herself into another moment they’ll swiftly get interrupted from. 

“You gonna show me in the morning?” He mumbles back, their lips still touching, noses pressed together, his hand still cradling her face. She nods, and he feels her cheeks round into his palm. “Gonna give me that hatty you promised?”

“Gonna give you whatever you want.”

“Another baby, Frau?”

She scoffs, swallowing down the fizzing feeling at the back of her throat the nickname. 

“Ask me again after your next hat-trick.” 

[canisalbus]

So i remember an ask mentioning your mortal enemy, Felis Atra and their cats, and i thought it'd be fun to draw what Felis Atra's version of your italian dogs would be.

I think they would be called Butter Knife and Flamengo! Butter Knife is not his real name, it's an nickname given by his peers because of how harmless he is. I choose Flamengo because that's the name of Vasco's rival football team here in Brazil, so i thought that was the perfect name :)

Cat Machete was slightly inspired by the Oriental Shorthair cat because of their long noses and thin head shape.

Cat Vasco was inspired by the Scottish Fold cat, because FLOPPY EARS. I gave Flamengo longer ears and orange fur to make him more like his look-alike.

The last doodle is a reference to this ask (https://canisalbus.tumblr.com/post/728923918314946560/me-i-am-machete-ear-fan-number-1-those-ears) and contains the tumblr ask stand-in dog, whose cat version was inspired by the American Curl cat! They have round ears that are slightly floppy outwards.

Final notes: I know cardinal clothes don't come in vibrant blue, but i was ADAMANT on switching Machete's and Vasco's clothing color patterns. I would draw the rest of Butter Knife's and Flamengo's clothes, but i suck at designing cool outfits.

Speaking of outfits, for Machete's iconic void outfit, i figured it would be fun to make it more baggy for Butter Knife, in contrast to Machete's, that looks very tight-fitted. I think it's cute, it kinda looks like a sweater. Also i can't imagine a Machete doppelganger without high heels boots, so those HAD to stay.

Oh, and just to be clear, i'm not like, claiming ownership of these guys or anything. I just thought it would be a fun exercise. Hope you like them!! I love your art and your characters.

.

[raiiny-bay]

some WIPs from the 80s AU i never finished

[flowerakatsuka]

" just know that i'm always here for you, okay? "

i'm finally finishing up my s2 rewatch and getting to the 24th episode awoke a beast in me. so i wanted to make a fake screenshot based on some of their lore that takes place during that episode. i think they'd end up having a heart-to-heart moment since kuroba went through similar struggles after their grandfather's own hospitalization...

also have a bonus doodle bc i need to even out the balance between serious & goofy with these two.

[shivroy]

what if the tomshiv baby wasn't aborted and turned out to be just like a weird cunt. this is my unadulterated vision

[starrysharks]

bunny blast-off!