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iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin · 9 months ago

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airp2ds

read part one of airpods here!!!

wc: 2k reader: femme!afab (matt calls reader a "pretty girl", is called a "young lady" by their uncle-- it's meant to feel derogatory ofc, reader is wearing a skirt, reader dances at a strip club in stilettos) warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut -- less of a bonkers scenario, but some really rich and fun plot development this time; funny & angst & fluff surprisingly-- stepcest obvi and we discuss it summary: after (y/n)'s little stunt a few days ago, their whole family gathers for an anything but peaceful dinner. rivalnewstepbrother!matthew has no interest in helping you out of this awful situation. or does he? yooooooo this only took 4 months to post, but it's perfect so hope you'll forgive me!! i TOLD you i'd do it eventually. and i did. missing organ and all. ilyyy thanks for bearing with me ੈ✩‧₊˚

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warnings: 18+ explicit smut, stepcest and we don't ignore it, p-in-v penetrative sex, brief heavy petting/fingering, not entirely safe cum destination lmao, unprotected obviously (do what you want, be smart), reader is a dancer at a strip club and their family is appalled, swearing... this one made me feel again yay

you stick your fork in a potato and pop it in your mouth, chewing and swallowing as you stare at your plate. your entire extended family converses around you at the long, glass dining table, celebrating your new stepdad’s birthday with your mom’s locally famous honey ham and roasted potatoes.

everyone’s having a goodman ball.

everyone except... you.

after suffering such a devastating defeat a couple nights ago, you’d been avoiding matthew like the plague. tail between your legs, you’d stood up from your stepbrother’s bed after he left you high and dry— sulking all the way back to your room.

you’d been avoiding matthew so diligently since then that this dinner was the first time you’d seen him since his fingers were inside you. he’s eating a little too well and talking to all of your family members, oozing respect and likability.

you’ve never hated anyone more.

“now matthew,” you grandmother starts, reaching out her hand to him, “please tell us more about what you’ve been doing abroad. it all sounds so important from what your father’s mentioned!”

matthew smiles humbly. “i’ve been pursuing a career in performance in seoul! it’s really not all that important in the scheme of things, but it’s definitely been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.”

“don’t be too humble, matthew,” your stepdad calls from the head of the table. “he works tirelessly day and night to accomplish his goal! he’s such a great kid.”

“we’re so very proud. i never imagined having a child with such passion and drive!” your mom chimes in obliviously. her eyes widen when she realizes what she said and she clears her throat awkwardly. “i mean, a son, that is.”

you close your eyes, stabbing a roasted red potato and letting your fork clatter onto the fine china plate.

“(y/n), how are you doing?” your uncle asks quickly. “have you found a better job yet?”

“i’m doing fine, thank you,” you answer through gritted teeth. “and i like my job. i’m not interested in finding one that society would categorize as better at this time.”

“but a young lady like you shouldn’t be—.”

“but what i am interested in finding a better version of,” you interrupt, picking up your glass of wine and downing the remaining contents, “is a family. one that doesn’t judge me or compare me to my new stepbrother— who, if i’m to judge from how you all indulge him, is jesus christ reincarnated! how divinely exciting!”

“(y/n),” your mother scolds, grabbing the empty wine glass out of your hand. “don’t be so cruel to your brother.”

“he’s not my brother,” you assert, snatching the wine glass back. in a flash, it slips from your fingers and shatters onto the dining room floor.

“you always do this,” your mother sighs, shaking her head in disappointment. she can’t even look at you. "you get so jealous when anyone is doing better than you are. i’m just so tired of your selfish immaturity.”

“perhaps it's time for you to get your own apartment and stop freeloading off of us,” your stepfather says with a sigh. “then you’ll find the motivation to stop working at that indecent bar and start making a proper living.”

your stomach flips at the threat. “i grew up in this house. you moved in a year ago after the mortgage was already paid off. doesn’t that make you as much of a fucking freeloader as i am?”

“(y/n), stop this right now,” your mom tries again to quiet you.

“you talk like that and you think you could ever be as well-liked as my son? the—”

“dad,” matthew says, trying to interrupt the rant that’s already begun. he should know by now it’s too late.

“—reason that no one here ever boasts about your accomplishments is because you have none. the reason no one ever praises how respectable you are is because it would be a lie. you—”

“dad,” matthew says again, louder this time but it still doesn’t reach the ears of the valentino-suited man turning red in the face.

“—are an ungrateful brat of an adult child that doesn’t even have enough vision for their life to stop working at a strip club.”

everyone at the dinner table gasps. so the truth has been set free: ‘bar’ had been the code word your ashamed mother and stepfather had been using in place of ‘strip club’ for the past year.

guess their resentment had finally outweighed their shame.

your gaze travels down the table, landing on matthew. he’s staring at his lap awkwardly.

“if you’ll excuse me,” you say, standing up from your chair and giving a big, facetious curtsy. “the whore will leave the table now.”

——

you slam your bedroom door behind you, storming over to your bed and picking up your favorite plushy— the one your dad had bought you for your high school graduation before he... it’s a baby fox, pink blush across his smiling face. usually the only aggression you feel towards him is that of cuteness, but suddenly you find yourself filled with rage.

how had you not noticed before just how much barnaby foxworth iii looks like your stupid fucking stepbrother!?

you turn around, hurling baby foxworth across your room with a scream. your eyes widen as the plushy lands in the hands of his human twin. you hadn’t heard him come in over the blood rushing in your ears.

matthew looks at the plushy, brow furrowing as he studies it. “i feel like i’ve seen this face somewhere before.”

“get the fuck out of my room,” you growl, walking over to him and grabbing baby foxworth. you frown as matthew holds onto him, not letting you pry your own plushy from his hands. “let go of him! what the fuck is your problem!?”

“i distinctly remember you stealing something from me a couple days ago and making it quite the fucking challenge to get it back,” matthew argues, pulling a little harder. “besides, how much can you really want something that you just threw across the room?”

you continue a tug-o-war for your beloved baby fox until you hear a sudden ripping noise. matthew lets go instantly, fear splayed across his face. you take baby foxworth in your arms, finding the fabric tear at the base of his little neck.

“i’m so sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “i really didn’t meant to—.”

“you’re sorry?” you repeat, jaw clenching as you step towards him. “sorry for what? sorry that you mamed barnaby foxworth iii? sorry that you barged into my room without knocking? sorry that i’ve made yet another mess out of a family celebration?”

“(y/n)…”

“sorry that all you do while they ridicule me is sit there and stare at your plate? sorry that your dad married my mom?”

“wait, (y/n)—…”

“sorry that i work at a strip club? sorry for what we did the other day?”

“i—…,” he stutters hopelessly. “i—.”

suddenly, your lips are on matthew’s— his body tensing at the unexpected action. you pull back, eyes meeting his.

they’re wide, shocked, confused. his hand reaches towards your face quickly and you think for a moment he’s going to slap you with it, but instead, he cups your jaw.

holding you still, he brings his lips back down to touch yours again. it’s a slow, languid kiss that, in and of itself, feels like an apology. a genuine one.

it’s overwhelming. it challenges everything you thought you knew about this stranger you were now forced to call family.

you step back, clutching baby foxworth tighter to your chest.

“they were so impressed when you told them you’re a dancer,” you whisper, tears beginning to spill over. “why were they so disgusted when i told them i am, too?”

his face falls as he thinks about your words. “i think you know why.”

you press your lips together, a sardonic huff of a laugh escaping you. did you really think you’d get sympathy from him?

“but it’s not fair,” matthew continues. “it’s not fair that they treat you that way.”

you’re afraid to look up at him, eyes remaining fixed on the tear at your plushy’s neck. “i didn’t even think you’d noticed.”

“i’ll admit, i didn’t see it at first. it’s not like i’m here that often,” he replies with a sigh. “and i guess i did think you were the problem. and i do still think you’re part of the problem, don’t get me wrong.”

you roll your eyes, looking down at the floor.

“but maybe you’ve forgotten that no one knows what my dad can be like more than i do,” matthew says, wrapping his hand gently around your upperarm. “i thought maybe he’d finally changed for the better after marrying your mom, but i know now that’s far from the truth. and i can try my best to help you from now on, if you’ll let me.”

“thanks,” you say quietly as your eyes meet his. he smiles softly at you before you promptly brush his hand off your arm. “but i still don’t like you.”

your hostility just widens his smile. “i thought you’d say that.”

you turn, walking back to your bed and placing baby foxworth by your pillows. you think about what your family must still be saying about you around the dinner table. your thoughts are halted, however, when a warm, muscular chest is soon pressed against your back.

“i was just wondering,” he says softly against your ear, arm snaking around your waist. “there has to be something about me that you like, right? i mean, you're the one who wanted my face in your cunt. and don't think i haven't heard you call me perfect a few times now.”

“i meant it as an insult,” you breathe as a hand reaches underneath your skirt— fingers beginning to pad delicate circles over your panties.

“was screaming my name while cumming all over my fingers also supposed to be taken as an insult?” he asks, knee against the back of yours until you tumble gently onto your bed— his arms catching you and flipping you on your back to face him. “you must’ve really been trying to offend me.”

matthew shimmies your skirt and panties down your legs and you find yourself assisting to kick it off with your foot onto the floor. he laughs much too smugly as he unzips his slacks and discards them onto the hardwood. you hover your foot over his groin, brow raising in a threat.

“okay, okay,” he admits in defeat. as a grin stretches across your lips, he bites at your thighs hungrily and sighs. “god, i wish i wasn’t your brother.”

“matt!” you screech in horror and he takes the opportunity to sink himself inside you. you gasp at the sudden stretch, a protest turning to a whimper as he smirks at you. “matt...”

“no need to worry, baby,” he coos, tip of his cock reaching your backmost wall. “it’s pretty obvious there’s a divorce on the way. my dad’s already let it slip to me about how he secretly blew all the money in their joint savings on a third yacht.”

“my mom’s been fucking her tennis instructor for two months,” you reply, trying to hold yourself together as matthew increases his pace. “and her golf instructor. and her pilates instructor. and her business lawyer. and her—.”

matthew’s lips meet yours. “you’re so fucking hot.”

you run your hand up his chest, tugging at his shirt until he pulls it off over his head. it’s a shame to admit it, but... he is perfect.

“but if our parents get divorced, we’ll never see each other,” you say with a pout. you shake your head quickly, realizing what you just said. “which i’m totally fine with. but you’d probably be really upset.”

a particularly rough thrust sends you reeling— crying out in pleasure and totally blowing your act.

“yeah, it’d be really hard for me,” matthew patronizes, mimicking your pout. “g’nna cum for me, pretty girl? hm?”

“fuck,” you whine, nearly at your peak. you honestly had no idea how good at dancing matthew was, but if he was half as good at dancing as he was at fucking, then even goddamn dick van dyke would be proud. your walls flutter around him, a chorus of moans as he pushes you over the edge.

“oh my god,” matthew rasps as you reach your climax, his thrusts growing more desperate and sporadic. “pussy’s so fucking perfect, baby. made me want you so bad, i—.”

he pulls out quickly, a few pumps before painting your cunt with his cum as he moans under his breath. he stares at the sight for a few moments before his head tilts thoughtfully and a smirk upturns a corner of his lips.

“something to share with the class?” you ask, one eyebrow piquing.

he laughs, shrugging at your prodding. “i was just thinking about how i definitely wouldn’t be the golden child anymore if anyone knew about this.”

“i dunno. i think somehow you’d still come out unscathed,” you say, shaking your head. “i must’ve tempted you. coerced you. blackmailed you.”

he smiles at you sadly. “listen, i know that... i know things must suck for you right now and—... i mean it when i say i’m gonna try my best to fix—.”

“matthew!”

you both freeze as the sound of your stepfather’s voice rings from downstairs. matthew clears his throat, calling back, “yeah?”

“come downstairs! aunt bethany wants to talk to you about visiting seoul.”

“okay!” matthew answers. he rolls his eyes. “i hate your aunt bethany.”

“you and me both, kid,” you reply, sitting up on your hands as matthew hurriedly gets dressed. “have fun.”

“come with me,” he requests, picking up your skirt from off the floor and holding it out to you.

you consider it, but shake your head. “tell me if you hear any good gossip about me. i have to get ready for my shift anyway.”

“really? you’re gonna go strip after this?” matthew asks, lips parted in surprise.

“dance,” you correct. “i’m gonna go dance.”

he smiles. “when do you get back?”

“around one,” you answer, standing up and walking over to your vanity. “why?”

“my flight’s at midnight,” he says, biting his lip. your mascara clatters to the table as a tiny, annoying ball of disappointment forms in your chest. “so i guess i’ll catch you another time.”

you don’t say anything— just continue doing your makeup as you try to ignore that growing ball.

“okay then,” matthew says finally, opening your door. “bye, (y/n).”

“my mom’s birthday is next month.”

the words slip out of your mouth before you can stop them. you don’t regret it.

“she likes you more than me, so,” you continue with as much nonchalance as you can feign. “she’d probably want to see you.”

matthew catches your eye through your mirror. he just smiles.

~ EPILOGUE ~

you clamber through your bedroom door in the dark, stilettos still on as you stumble into bed and flop onto it in exhaustion. you clap your hands— bedside light turning on as you reach for baby foxworth. you cradle him under your chin, squeezing him tight. suddenly, you remember the tear in his neck from when matthew had ripped him after dinner.

you feel around for the hole, but are surprised when you find a crinkly, purple sticky note instead. on it, is written:

told you i’m gonna try to fix everything. — your favorite brother ;)

“disgusting,” you mutter under your breath, turning your attention back to baby foxworth’s neck hole. except...

there is no hole.

okay, matty, you think with a smile. let’s see what you’ve got.

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rebo-chan · 4 months ago

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Okay so I make a lot of canon-adjacent posts. *gestures at my food post* very canon very important very informative. But my heart is full of whimsy and magic and sugar and spice and everything nice.

Today I wanted to talk about some of my hcs that I have regarding Tsuna and Reborn. Shit I just completely made up ^v^ I'll do five each to not make this a long post again rkehns.

Tsuna:

Grows up to really like coffee like his mentor, but could never really stand straight espresso. From my food post research, I saw that he is a snack food fiend. So, I think he's the type to enjoy lattes, frappuccinos, and mocha. What I'm saying is that he walks into Vongola meetings with a iced coffee and he stress-drinks it for the sugar rush.

Good with kids! I don't think he wants kids of his own, because he has enough of those, but he's the perfect balance of playful and strict. I do think though, if he did become a parent by some accident, he'd be the stricter one of the two. Mom is gonna be the fun one and Dad is the one that brings crazy things around you, but tries to put you to bed at 8pm.

Still a bit of a dumbass as a mafia boss. The moment he found out he has to give salaries to people and try to tax that shit and file it with their IRS but also do the calculations himself, since technically he shouldn't show that information to Gokudera or anyone else that will know how to Math. He lives each paycheck day in fear that he will wake up the next morning and get arrested for fraud.

Actually bars anyone from bringing in pets to Vongola HQ. Believes they have their hands full with their box animals. "No, Yamamoto please we can't keep the box of stray puppies lets take that to a shelter -" "Gokudera, I see that you have a kitten in your pocket where.. where did you get it.." "Hibari.. Carry on, ignore me :)"

Has developed noise-cancelling ears. Doesn't hear the screams anymore. An ally family will comment on the noise at Vongola HQ and Tsuna will be like "..wdym? :o do you hear something?" Look around and will completely ignore Fuuta and I-Pin strapping Lambo to a medical desk as they are threatened by Bianchi, who is putting on sterile gloves and getting the scalpel. The silence though? The silence scares him. (WHAT A SOMBER LINE TO LEAVE OFF ON)

Reborn:

Super good with the ladies. I know this is something said in the story, but I mean the type that has the whole casual flirting with no weight to it thing down. But, also a little bit standoffish, like you'll never really get to know him this way. It's very strategic, but he does it for fun!!

Tries to teach Tsuna how to hide a body on multiple occasions, in case he ever needs it, but mostly to torment Tsuna. "You can't incinerate all your enemies to ash everytime, it'll get really obvious after awhile. You have to spice it up. Now, put on these gloves. I have someone for us to use" "WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE SOMEONE?"

I've said this one before, but it deserves saying again! I've always believed that pre-curse, his cosplay skills had real use! It was something he would use to sneak into buildings into or seduce who he needed to, before he brings the gun to their head. Very comfortable in skirts, dresses, wigs, makeup, etc. Wears his new identities like a second skin.

He snickers and sneers and smirks his way throughout the series (or does a lil maniacal evil laugh), but I bet his real laugh, uncursed, is deep and low. Something he keeps just in his throat, not loud at all. A softened version of his smirk on his face, pleased and relaxed. If you weren't paying attention, you'd miss it as he flips back into his regular demeanor.

LOVES judging things. Always the referee in their games (Snowfight!). Taste-testing (Mochi chapter!). Anything. He's judgmental and you WILL hear his opinion. I fully believe in the three criminal brothers episode, where Nana gets him coffee beans from a shop, he gets straight home afterwards and stands on the counter with his hands on his hips as it brews. He was prepared. Tsuna buys new snacks so Reborn opens all of them to take a bite and decide which one he likes best before taking it, leaving Tsuna with a bunch of opened bags. Ranks the guardians on obscure shit just to get them riled up "Most likely to win at a dance competition in a chicken suit" and he'll put Yamamoto above Gokudera just to watch him fume. A villain. I love him.

OKAY EVERYONE, THAT'S ALL I'LL DO FOR TODAY. Thank you for reading this far I hope you enjoyed reading it. PLEASE give me your hcs, I'd love to hear them. I need a lil pick me up c: It can be any character. Someday, I might do hcs for the other charas too. I think.. a lot about these guys. OKAY THANKS BYE !!!

#katekyo hitman reborn #sawada tsunayoshi #khr #khr reborn #khr headcanons #khr hcs

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captain-mj · 1 year ago

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I really hope this isn't too weird... I saw a tweet recently talking about a trope of "Just the tip" porn where they promise they won't put it all the way in and then do.

Completely understand if this isn't something you're comfortable with! But I'd love a SoapGhost version (if you are cool, I might ask for other ships too)

Consent is dubious. Consent is shy. Consent is in the other room but they can kinda hear it.

Ghost was just fine with their current sex life. He gave Soap a blowjob or a handjob anytime Soap got hard. He'd think he'd would be happy about that. Unlimited pleasure with no need to give anything back.

But Soap was not. He was constantly begging Ghost to let him please him too. Ghost always brushed it off or insisted not right now.

Ghost was well aware if he actually told Soap no, he'd stop. He'd be upset, maybe a tiny bit of pouting, but he'd stop. Still, he let the little game continue.

Soap stopped mentioning it for a while. Funnily enough, he never sought Ghost out. If he really thought about it, all of their sexual encounters were initiated and started by Ghost. Ghost just didn't get off.

Soap had his fingers dug into Ghost's hair, panting and whimpering as he tried not to come yet while Ghost mused. His fingers were working him open.

In all honestly, he hadn't had sex in years. After Roba, he barely had a will to touch himself, let alone allow anyone else to touch him and see him so vulnerable. It took him this long to be able to do this. In his opinion Soap should be grateful instead of greedy.

Though, that wasn't fair. Soap hadn't even seen Ghost fully undressed.

Johnny sobbed as he came, throwing his head back. Ghost kept his legs open so he could keep going for another minute before puling away.

Soap groaned softly and his hips jerked. He looked down just fast enough to watch Ghost swallow.

"Fuck, Simon. Finally going to let me return the favor?"

"Nah." Ghost stood up.

Soap looked a tiny bit defeated before looking at the bulge in Ghost's pants. Quietly, he leaned forward, mouthing at him. "Don't you want something?"

Ghost felt his cock twitch. It was a pretty picture. But he grabbed his mohawk and yanked his head away. "Maybe later."

Soap made a sinful fucking sound. He ran his tongue along the bulge in Ghost's pants. "Thank you so much, Si." Ghost wanted to think it was his excellent head giving that he was thinking him for but it was instead the idea of later.

He just didn't get the big deal.

Ghost finally gave in though. As he always did when it was something Soap wanted. He found himself surprisingly less comfortable than he expected, but he only gave off confidence, refusing to have Soap seeing him anything but. The idea of Soap finding him weak was nauseating. He didn't want to mess up.

Soap didn't know yet that Ghost was going to give in that, so he started up on it. "If we did fuck, who would top and who would bottom?"

"Don't know."

"Guess we'll have to go by dick size. You know, its completely fine if you're smaller than me. Won't think any less of you." Ghost could tell it was supposed to be a joke but also reassurance. He rolled his eyes as he looked through his drawers for new boxers for Soap.

Soap sighed. "Simon, come on. It's not fair."

"To me?" Ghost unzipped his pants, being silent so he wouldn't know.

"To me! I like helping. I don't get why you're...." Soap trailed off. "ah..."

Ghost was big. He was well aware. Judging by the look on Soap's face, Johnny hadn't thought of that yet. "There. I'd top."

Soap nodded. "I can... use my hand?"

"Where did all that bravado go? Huh? Suddenly get nervous?"

Soap laughed nervously, proving Ghost's words. "Listen.... sure I can't top?"

"Your rules." Ghost started to fix his pants again, going back to his original idea of finger Soap until he came from that. He could let Soap think about it for a few da-

"Wait... I could blow you?"

"Soap, need you speaking the next few days. I've seen the way you handle fingers." Ghost rolled his shoulders. "We don't have to do this."

Soap groaned. "You have too much self control when it comes to sex."

"I get you off and then we can move on."

Soap swallowed and looked at Ghost's cock again. Ghost could see the wheels in his brain moving. He chewed his lip and it was already clear he wouldn't let this go until he got Ghost off.

"What if I promise to just put the tip in?" Ghost asked, curious on if he'd even go for it.

Soap thought about it. He wanted to please Ghost so much. "Yeah. Just the tip. Promise just the tip?"

Ghost laughed. "Yes. Just the tip. I promise." He doubted he'd have that big of an issue with it.

Soap was already prepped which is perfect. He laid back down and let Ghost get on top of him. Slowly, Ghost positioned himself. At this point, he was praying to himself that he wouldn't come immediately. It was definitely a possibility. Gently, he started to push in, feeling the tight walls around his cock.

Ghost hear the whine that came out of him and his eyes rolled back. It felt so good. He forgot how good it felt.

Soap groaned and clenched hard. "Fuck. You're so big. Feel nice?"

Ghost bit his lip to try to shut up and just nodded. This was so much better than he remembered. Soap always wanted more... It wouldn't hurt.

"Ghost? Wha-"

Ghost pushed in more, moaning properly. He whimpered. "Don't make me pull out, fuck, please don't make me pull out."

Soap panted. "Fuck, fucking hell. You're so big. How do you even...." He clenched hard and gasped for air. "I don't think I can fit it."

Ghost started to rock his hips. This is what he had been telling Soap no over? He started to work himself in deeper as Soap continued making sinful noises.

"Si, Simon, Simon." Soap bit his pillow and let Ghost keep going. He started to thrust in with no abandon, hearing Soap's noises being swallowed.

Ghost kept pushing. He knew Soap would tell him to stop if he actually wanted to. That's how they worked.

Ghost moaned when he finally bottomed out. "Fucking hell, Johnny." He panted softly as he started to fuck him. He never wanted to pull out. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Soap arched his back and let him keep going. Ghost heard, and felt, him come around him. He finished and came inside him.

Soap fell into the sheets and whimpered as Ghost pulled out. His hole gaped and Ghost groaned.

"Sorry."

Soap panted softly. "Don't worry about it. You can do it again, any time. I promise."

Ghost nodded and groped his ass. "I didn't mean to be so rough with you."

Soap moaned and pushed back against him. "Felt so good. So good." He relaxed into the pillows. "You got off right?"

"Yes, Johnny. Sorry for not asking."

"I loved it. Don't even worry."

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #cod #soapghost #ghoap

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rabbitthedarkidol · 2 months ago

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Hey pals! Today I wanted to share with you some of the PriTickets I've made with the PriTicket Template, these are for Amari and Mario.

The front side is printed on 115gs illustration paper.

The backs are printed on glitter adhesive paper, and are the lovely, premium and cool variants. The premium gets a little lost on the glitter, but depending on the angle it shows more.

These are printed 1:1 and have a little cutting allowance at the sides, here is how they look inside the official ticket holder files, next to the ones I made for my friend and I (I only have her tomoticket tho because of snapping reasons.[Also, also, I also got wrong the name of the jacket in mine, please don't judge me, I didn't even knew the damn item was already out in game so I just invented a name.])

Here three tickets a little more in detail. As Takara seems to REFUSE to release the renders of any new items, I had to re-render them myself from Idol Land Screencaps and a prayer. The illustrations in Amari's and Mario's tickets are heavily edits. Amari's is from her ref sheet with an expression she makes in the opening, and Mario's.... I really just wanted him doing the Falulu's pose. I could have sworn that was the pose she had on her ticket, but seems I was wrong, and by the end I really liked how he came out so I went with it. Of course, the team ticket is a colored version of the album cover! I used the premium idol type mostly because I didn't want to use a cool or lovely again, and the premium color palette suited the mood. The love final bunny top was a given.

#pripara #idol land pripara #アイドルランドプリパラ #priticket #プリチケ #Mario pripara #amari katasumi #マリオプリパラ #香田澄あまり

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gaarasfiance · 7 months ago

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Cardigan

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem Reader (version of jason isn’t mentioned but i wrote it with his original storyline death from Batman: A Death In The Family, not a later, retconned version)

Warnings: angst but also fluff, reader is a famous singer, use of Y/N, pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess, lmk if i missed any), swearing, makes references to other songs (Lover by Taylor Swift, Lucky People by Waterparks, and Favorite Record by Fall Out Boy), i reread this like 8 times but i couldve missed things so don't flame me if theres any fuck ups in there lmao

Word Count: 4,175

A/N: (yes i know cardigan is part of the teenage love triangle songs, yes i made it into somewhat fluff because i fucking wanted to, whats it to you? I was just listening to cardigan (by taylor swift if you were unaware) in the shower and had this beautiful idea of like what if rather than it being about getting cheated on, i make it about the reader experiencing Jason’s death (and resurrection)? also i color coded the dialogue which is something i normally don't do soooo fun little touch i guess.) (originally posted may 22, 2023 on an alternate account)

IMPORTANT NOTE: Italics mean it’s a flashback, bold and bigger means it's a song lyric, regular text means it's happening in real time. (with very obvious exceptions) Cool? Cool. also, real quick, THE FLASHBACKS ARE NOT IN PERFECT CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER!!!!

“HELLO GOTHAM CITY!” The crowd roared in excitement. Y/N was excited too, it was her first show in Gotham in a long time. This was her first tour in a long time. Of course, she let the public think that it was just because she was a teenager focusing on school, not because when she was 16 her first love the love of her life had been brutally murdered…

“It’s really nice to be playing a hometown show, and since this is my first one in forever, how about I play you something brand new?” Screams erupted in the audience, people pulling out their phones to get the first recording of a brand new song.

“This one means a lot to me, it’s about someone very special to me, and how he came back to me when I needed him most. This is a quieter one so I'm gonna need you all to listen, and please don’t judge me if I cry during this. Alright, this one’s called ‘cardigan’ everybody!”

Rows and rows of people buzzed with excitement as the music began to play.

Vintage tee, brand new phone

Y/N and Jason walked in, strutting about as if they were models in the new vintage tees Y/N had bought for them at the thrift store just days before. They strolled about the mall, eventually making the stop to get Jason a new phone, he had dropped his from a rooftop on patrol the night before. Oops.

“Jay, baby, you can’t just use Bruce’s credit card without asking all the time” Y/N smiled, knowing Jason wasn’t going to listen to her

“Says who? Besides, I told him I was taking it. If he didn’t want to pay for me to get a new phone, he should’ve given me a secure pocket in the suit for it like I asked.” Jason shrugged. He wasn’t atrociously rebellious at all times, but he knew Bruce had more than enough money for him to get a new phone, and to treat his girlfriend, and best friend, when he wanted to. “Plus, if I didn’t take his card, I wouldn’t be able to spoil you, would I?” He wrapped an arm around her waist, pressing a kiss to her temple as they walked out of the store.

High heels on cobblestone

Y/N’s heels clicked loudly against the cobblestone walkway as she made her way to the entrance of the Wayne gala, arm linked with Jason’s.

“Are you sure I look alright? I’ve never worn a dress this fancy Jason. Should I even be at a Wayne gala I mean–” Jason cut her off.

“Sweetheart you look perfect. And if anyone tells you otherwise I will personally ask Bruce to kick them out.”

“Jay, you can’t do that.”

“According to who? I have adopted Wayne privilege and you’re the one who’s Bruce’s favorite”

“I am not Bruce’s favorite!”

“Yes you are, princess.”

He dragged her into the gala, excited to spend a night with her, and after that, her first Wayne gala was nothing but history, as she attended every single one at her lover’s side.

When you are young they assume you know nothing

“That boy is a delinquent Y/N! I doubt you even know anything about him, has he even told you how he came to meet Mr Wayne?” Y/N’s father shouted. He’d never liked Jason, despite him being Y/N’s best friend for years before things ever became romantic. She used to be able to avoid it, but when her mom moved out of state for work and Y/N wanted to stay in Gotham… well this was her only option.

“Yes dad, I know how he met Bruce! You realize I knew him long before he was adopted by Bruce Wayne right? That I didn’t just go for him because he was rich? You assume because I’m young that I know nothing!”

“Clearly you don’t know anything if you would choose to be with a boy who is a thief! He tried to steal Mr. Wayne’s tires!”

“He was trying to steal them because he was living on the streets and needed money to fucking eat, Dad! Clearly you’re the one who knows nothing here!”

She stormed out of the house, furiously texting Jason and trying to will away the angry tears.

Sequined smile, black lipstick

Y/N grinned at Jason, her black lipstick fresh as they prepared to go to a party. Bruce had cleared Jason of Robin duty for the weekend and they’d decided to take time to enjoy being normal teenagers.

“What do you think?” She asked, still smiling

“I think… I’m really tempted to kiss that lipstick right off of you”

“Come do it then.”

Sensual politics

“Do you ever think about sensual politics?” Y/N looked up at Jason, her head in his lap as he read a book.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘sensual politics’?”

“Like the politics of being flirtatious or like building a relationship with someone, but like also kind of a play on sexual politics and people’s perception of the difference’s between men and women and the politics of it, you know? Like they’re both very different things but you can name them the same thing”

“And you’re calling that sensual politics?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“I wish I could understand what’s going on in that brain of yours. You’re such a nerd, princess”

When you are young they assume you know nothing

“Jaybird, if you hurt her, I hope you know I’ll have to break your legs” Dick shrugged as if this was common knowledge.

“I won’t hurt her, Dickwad. She’s the best thing to happen to me.”

“Okay, but you’re young and stupid, anything could happen.”

“Just because you knew nothing when you were young doesn’t mean I’m stupid.”

But I knew you

Years ago, Y/n was 11 and Jason was 10. Y/N was on her way home from the school when she saw someone she recognized.

“Hey! You’re the boy from the library! You showed me my favorite book!”

Jason flushed, unaware that she’d remember him, or that she’d take the recommendation he’d once given her seriously

“Yeah uh, hi. My names Jason, Jason Todd.” He stuck his hand out to shake.

She placed her hand in his and shook. "Y/N."

Dancin' in your Levi's

Y/N and Jason slow danced in her room, her record player spinning some old collection she’d snagged from Wayne manor.

“I was unaware that Levi’s were ballroom attire, Monsieur.”

“And I was unaware your bedroom counted as a ballroom, Mademoiselle”

Drunk under a streetlight, I

“Jason you’re drunk.”

“No I’m notttt. Please Y/N pleeeeaaassseee be my girlfriend.”

“You’re drunk Jay, if you weren’t then you’d remember I already am.” She laughed, watching her lover shoot up in excitement

“Really? That’s so cool!”

I knew you

"Y/N what do you think? Do you think he'd like this for his birthday?"

"Why are you asking me? You're his brother!"

"Yeah but you know him better than anyone else"

Hand under my sweatshirt

"Jason Peter Todd get your cold ass hands out from under my sweatshirt!"

"What do you mean princess?" He dragged his freezing cold hands further up her back

"Eek!"

Baby, kiss it better, I

Y/N carefully finished wrapping the bandages around Jason's waist.

"I can't believe you got stabbed!"

"Kiss it better?"

"Dork." She pressed a kiss to his bandages, before making her way up to his lips.

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite

“What’s got you down princess?” Jason quirked an eyebrow, the moment Y/N entered the manor there was an unhappy energy on her, like she was faking her smile. He knew her all too well. “Come here”. He opened his arms to her, gesturing that she should come lay with him on the excessively large couch (rich people bro) and she happily obliged, latching onto his side like a koala with her head on his chest.

“It’s just… I don’t know, sometimes I feel like an old cardigan, under someone’s bed. Just… forgotten.”

“I could never forget you. Sometimes people lose things that are important to them. If you’re an old cardigan then I’m finding you and putting you on because the whole time you were my favorite.” He pressed a kiss to her hair.

“How poetic” She could feel his chest shake as he laughed.

“What can I say? I’m a man of literature. Speaking of which! Do you want to watch Pride and Prejudice?”

“Again?”

“Yes, AgAiN”

Y/N looked up at her boyfriend, beaming. “Always.”

A friend to all is a friend to none

“You can’t keep acting like nothing is going on Jason. You love her, so why are you friends with someone like the asshole who ruined her reputation?”

“Dammit Dick, I didn’t even know that he was the one who did that until a like week ago!”

“And you’ve hung out with him twice since then! A friend to all is a friend to none, Jaybird.”

Chase two girls, lose the one

Surely all of Gotham had heard them arguing from their favorite spot on the roof of the library.

“Jason I understand that you want to go meet your birth mother, but why does that mean you have to not be in touch for an undetermined amount of time? I don’t understand why finding her means leaving me!” Y/N hadn’t meant to shout. She wasn’t actually mad at him. She understood why he wanted to go, but that didn’t make him leaving hurt any less. Why should she have to lose contact with him, let him run off to another continent without any knowledge of if he was okay?

“Sweetheart I’m not leaving you, I’m just trying to find my mom…”

“Yeah, at the expense of me! Jay I will never prevent you from doing something this important to you but that will not change the fact that this hurts me. That I’ll be lying awake at night not knowing if you’re okay or if you’re even going to want me when you come home! Not even being able to ask Bruce if you’re okay because you plan on doing this without his knowledge! For fucks sake Jason do you realize how that would feel?”

“God dammit Y/N why can’t you just be happy for me?”

“Because you’re LEAVING ME. You know what, go ahead and go Jason. You’re choosing to chase two girls and you’ve lost this one.” She made her way down, trying not to let her hands shake from all the emotional turmoil, at least not until she was on the ground again. There was no way she would know how much she’d regret saying that to him.

When you are young, they assume you know nothing

“It’s your first heartbreak Y/N, you’ll get over it. It was teenage puppy love, something was bound to happen.” Her father had no clue. It had been days and she hadn’t heard from Jason. Last she checked with Alfred, Bruce had followed him out to the middle east somewhere.

“This was, this is so much more than that. You’re doing it again, assuming that because I’m young I must know nothing.”

“Clearly you don’t know anything.”

But I knew you

“When were you gonna tell me that you being a literature nerd was knowledge Dick wasn’t supposed to get his hands on?” Y/N gave him a look. The look that says ‘i didn't know this was a secret so you can't be upset i spilled’

“Shit, princess, please don’t tell me you told him… he’ll never let me live it down!”

“Oops?” She shrugged. He started to say something else but she kissed him before the words could escape. “It’s alright Jay, it makes you a romantic. And it means I know you better than him.”

Jason smiled. “I guess you’re right…”

Playing hide-and-seek and

“Do you wanna play hide and seek?”

“Sweetheart, aren’t we too old for that?”

“Who said that? Come onnn"

“Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“You know I can’t say no to you.”

Giving me your weekends, I

“You know we don’t have to spend every weekend together right? You can hang out with your friends or your family if you want.”

“Why would I do that when I could give you all my weekends?”

I knew you

"How did you know to tell Bruce I wanted adjustments on the Robin bike?"

"Because I'm just cool like that. And i know you. Now come on, let's take it for a spin!"

Your heartbeat on the High Line

Y/N pressed the side of her head to Jason's chest as a stranger took their photo on the High Line. The trip to New York had been spontaneous, something they'd decided to do for spring break.

After taking her phone back from the kind stranger and thanking them, Y/N turned to her dear boyfriend.

"I could hear your heartbeat you know."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, you'd think it was our first date or something." Y/n grinned.

"Because you make me feel... I don't know, like Pip if Estella was actually good for him?"

"Did you just reference Great Expectations at me as a way of expressing your feelings?"

"Maybe?"

"Kiss me."

Once in twenty lifetimes, I

Y/N often thought of how her mother had once told her that true teenage love like the one she had with Jason only came once in 20 lifetimes. Although, in retrospect maybe it's twice in two lifetimes, or once in one, for the partner who didn't die.

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite

"Would I still be your favorite person if I was a worm?"

"Well no cause you wouldn't be a person anymore, but you'd be my favorite worm-"

"You know what? I'll take it."

"You'll always be my favorite."

To kiss in cars

"Jason Todd, you are a menace to society."

"What? How?"

"You brought me out to Bruce's Rolls-Royce to make out."

"So?"

and downtown bars

"Who would've thought the boy wonder had a fake ID?"

"Maybe his girlfriend who's cousin made it for him"

"What? Which one?"

Jason smirked at her, knowing it was going to eat her alive not knowing yes im projecting how nosy i am onto the y/n "Sorry princess, that stays a secret"

Was all we needed

You drew stars around my scars

"Jason, it's just an old scar from scraping my knee a little too deep, it's no big deal!"

He continued drawing small stars around any scars he found on her, gently dragging the red marker along her skin. "I didn't say it was!"

But now I'm bleedin'

When Jason hadn’t come back, Y/N had done one of the only things she promised him she would never do: taking up vigilantism. She told Bruce it was only temporary. She told herself it was only temporary. But the longer she was in the game the more attached to it she became.

"FUCK!" Y/N yelped as she sat on her bathroom counter, pressing a damp rag to her wound, carefully wiping it off. "God dammit, I used to be patching up Jason's stab wounds, not getting stabbed..." She picked up her phone, dialing the only number she cared to call anymore.

"Yeah, Dick? Can you come over real quick? Need you to make sure this stab wound doesn't kill me..."

The audible "WHAT" echoed throughout the bathroom, despite the phone not being on speaker.

'Cause I knew you

"How'd you know I'd be here?"

Y/N found Jason at their spot on the roof of the library after Dick informed her that he'd had a particularly rough argument with Bruce.

"Because I know you better than anyone else."

Steppin' on the last train

Jason dragged Y/N towards the last train of the night, what they never knew would be their final date before everything went astray.

"Come on! The last train is the best one!"

Marked me like a bloodstain, I

The image of Jason, dead, being carried away by Bruce was forever marked in Y/N's head. He was dead. There was nothing else to say.

I knew you

Speaking at Jason's small memorial was never something Y/N saw herself doing.

"I uh- I really don't know what to say. You all always said I knew him better than anyone else, and I just wish I could've known the way to prevent this."

Tried to change the ending

Y/N tried so hard to change the ending of her story. Make it so she wasn't just the girl who lost herself in grief. But until unless she saw Jason again, nothing was going to happen.

Peter losing Wendy, I

As she sat there writing 'Cardigan' it occurred to her that Peter losing Wendy was a choice, and her losing Jason never was, but it fit. Their love was a magic only to be found in Neverland.

I knew you

"Hey Red, do I know you from somewhere in civilian life? You seem familiar..."

"No way, too new in town, sorry."

She knew she knew him. She just couldn't place why...

Leavin' like a father

Even though she'd told him just to go, Jason still stopped by Y/N's house before he left to find his mother.

"Please don't leave me, Jay." She cupped his cheeks, pressing his forehead to hers as tears streamed down her face

"Don't cry, baby, I'll be back before you know it."

Running like water, I

Of course, Y/N hadn't known the identity of the Red Hood the first time she'd spotted him. All she had time to think was wondering why such a large man, with guns nonetheless, ran from her like she was out to get him.

And when you are young, they assume you know nothing

"Why do people love to assume that because I'm young I must know nothing about love or heartbreak?" Y/N had asked one day. No one answered. No one knew. They only knew that they were all too aware of just how much she truly knew about both of those things.

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss

"I want a blue jay on my forearm. Full color. Can you do that?"

Y/N had walked into the tattoo parlor like she owned the place. She needed a way to let him permanently linger. The kiss of a needle in her skin the only way to physically represent him.

I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

"What if I had made him stay?!"

"Y/N there's nothing you could've done that would change things."

"But what if—"

"There was nothing any of us could do."

The smell of smoke would hang around this long

"Thought you told me that you quit smoking years ago Red."

"Yeah, well, old habits die hard."

"Rough day huh?"

"Yeah. Girlfriend from before all this almost saw me in the library today. She doesn't know about me."

"About you being a vigilante?"

"She thinks I'm dead."

"You know, maybe I'll do this and be totally mistaken and realize i'm delusional, but I swear to whatever fucking god is listening if i tear off that domino mask and Jason Todd is under there I will be pushing you off this rooftop."

"If I've been hanging out with Y/N this whole time I'm throwing myself off."

'Cause I knew everything when I was young

Y/N was playing a show in Los Angeles, touring at age 15 was insane, but then again, she never thought anyone would listen to her music.

"Alright everyone, I may be young, but I also consider myself to be quite versed in romance, who knows, maybe it's my lovely boyfriend, or the fact that I'm a hopeless romantic, but either way, this one's called Favorite Record!"

Even at a young age, she'd known everything she needed to about love, because it encased her every moment she spent with her favorite person.

I knew I'd curse you for the longest time

She sat at Jason's grave in the Wayne family plot for more hours than she could count, swearing at his headstone

"God dammit! Why didn't you come home? Why didn't you come back to me?" Sobs wracked her body. "I was waiting for you to come home."

Chasin' shadows in the grocery line

Every once in a while Y/N would see someone and think someone was him. Maybe it was her brain's sick way of coping. She reached towards the stranger in front of her.

"Excuse me-"

But when he turned around Jason was gone. It was just another high school boy who had vaguely reminiscent hair.

I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired

A knock came on Y/N's bedroom window. She opened it warily before the Red Hood came clinking in.

"Thrill of letting me think you were dead over?"

"Y/N please-"

"Did you sit and watch as I grieved? Stand by while I lost my mind because I thought I'd lost you?"

"Sweetheart, just let me explain–"

"Don't fucking 'sweetheart' me. Get out. Get out of my fucking room."

And you'd be standin' in my front porch light

"Get off my damn porch Jason." He was standing in civilian clothes, shuffling his feet nervously as if he was a little kid again.

"Not until you let me explain!"

"Fine. You get to come in for five minutes. See if you can explain to me how there is any way you can justify this."

And I knew you'd come back to me

Y/N sat with her jaw slack in shock after hearing Jason's story. How saying he died wasn't even a lie, how he'd been brought back, the madness he'd experienced, the resentment for nobody killing the Joker. (she flat out told him she would've if she thought she could do it without getting herself killed in the process)

"i'm such a fucking asshole."

"No you aren't"

"No you went through this whole traumatic experience and I've just been a dick to you!"

"And it's been totally justified! You should've been the first person to find out I was back. Honestly I'm surprised Dick or Bruce didn't tell you..."

"I'm going to ignore the urge to castrate both of them and just be happy you came back to me."

You'd come back to me

"I'll always come back to you."

And you'd come back to me

"Make sure you come back in one piece?" They were on the same mission, much to Jason's dismay, but they had to be split up.

"When have I ever not come back to you?"

"...."

"Don't answer that."

And you'd come back

They'd made it out of that atrocious mission. It all worked out in the end but it certainly had taken longer than they planned.

"hey, you came back in one piece, just like I asked."

"I always do, just for you."

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite

Y/N heard Jason coming in. His duffel bag clunked loudly against their closet floor, and she assumed he changed out of his gear at a safehouse before returning to their apartment. She flipped over the edge of the blanket, making room for him to crawl in bed with her. Once sufficiently comfortable behind her, arms wrapped tightly around her waist, Jason spoke.

"Hey Y/N?"

She turned around in his arms so she could face him. "Uh oh, you didn't call me any kind of pet name, just my name, whats up?"

"Nothing I just... I just wanted to let you know you're still my favorite."

The tears were flowing freely by then. The audience screamed, cheering at the sweet song. “My favorite person didn’t get to be around for a while, but… he came back to me, and that’s all that matters. Now that's enough crying, I’ve got some much more fun songs, ARE YOU READY GOTHAM CITY!?” And with that, the show went on.

Hours later, Y/N made her way backstage, where she was immediately enveloped by the arms of a mystery man. She wasn’t scared though, she knew who it was. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he spun her around.

He sat her down gently, beaming. “You wrote a song about me?” “Jay… baby a lot of my songs are about you.”

“What?”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you managed to not know that even though I’ve told you before.”

“I just assumed you weren’t serious!”

“... You really think that Lover or Lucky People or Favorite Record, could have possibly been about anyone else?”

“And if I just like hearing you say it?”

“Then I’ll tell you forever.” When their lips met, it was a promise, one that this, this feeling in this moment, was real, and that it wouldn’t ever go away, because they knew everything when they were young.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood #red hood x reader #dc comics #the red hood #jason todd fluff #jason todd angst #jason todd imagine #red hood imagine #oh how i love this man #need to marry him NOW #wren is writing

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noxusstrap · 14 days ago

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"I'll Get It Right This Time" Chapter 2

Ok! Hey y'all!! Sorry it took me so long to upload the second chapter on here; been downloading all my data from TikTok so please bear with me while I migrate why whole entire platform (no matter how small it is) to another location!

If you haven't read Chapter 1 yet, Here is where you can find it.

Anyways Enjoy :3

CHAPTER II : The Loose Cannon

Powder would like to think she was a normal girl, thank you very much! She had everything she could ever want, her sister by her side, a roof over her head, friends she could hang out with (even though they don't want her around, but she won't admit it out loud), and the best friend any gal could ever ask for!

But she couldn't deny that sneaky little voice in her head; the one that wanted more from her life; the one that wanted to see the world and discover all the secrets and joys that lie outside of the bar; the one that saw everything that went on but never said anything until she was at her worst. She couldn't deny the utter need to be greater than what she was; she knew she had a purpose, her bombs proved it! (the voice in the back of her head disagreed but who was it to judge her?)

She sang a tune her mother used to sing to her under her breath as she worked on a new and improved bomb, she knew it would work this time, she swore it! It had to work, it just had to! She’d make Vi proud, she loved her inventions, she just knew it! Just as she was about to screw in the last bolt, she felt a tingle go up her spine.

Something happened…but she didn't know what.

Powder looked around in a blind panic, why did she feel so panicked? She hated not knowing things, usually she’d know what was happening, but she didn't; why did she feel so … so ANXIOUS? She didn't know why she felt this way; she wants it gone, gonegonegonegonegonegon-

She banged her hand against her head, tears streaming down her face. Why was she so overwhelmed with emotions? She has never felt this way before, why start now? She shook her head and let a small whimper escape; no no nonononononono-

She Screamed.

“Powder!”

She opened her eyes, it was blurry… blue was all she could recognize; it was such a pretty shade of blue, like the blue of the sky after a storm passes by. She liked that blue, but as her eyes adjusted, she knew she had to be dreaming, she had to be, because if she wasn't… how could she explain the scene in front of her? She was looking at a mirror and she saw herself… only…it wasn't.

What the fuck?

It seemed like the other version of her copied what she did, when she lifted a hand to her face, the other version did too; when she stuck her tongue out, so did the other Powder. She noticed little details about her, how her hair was braided like her mom, how her face grew out of the baby fat she knew she had, just how long her hair was (she preened at the length) and… most interestingly, her eyes.

Why were they Fushia? What the hell was going on?

'What happened to me?' Powder thought, her hand slowly reaching out to the reflection of herself, but it never touched. Before Powder's hand could reach the mirror, the reflection of herself screamed, and screamed, and screamed. All she could do was stare with fear and fascination; just what made her turn out like this?

It seemed like the reflection could hear what she was thinking because it smirked at her and thrusted her into a memory of sorts. It was nighttime, yet the whole street was filled with the light of a thousand suns; when she turned around, a building (warehouse?) was on fire and she got a sense of deja-vu, a deep, ingrained feeling of wrong. She tries to look away, but her body does not comply, instead; she sees herself, and she's smiling.

“Vi! It worked! Did you see me? My monkey bomb finally worked!”

Oh.

She looked towards the scene and back at the burning warehouse.

Oh.

...” You did this?” Powder watched as her future self fumbled and blabbered incoherent murmurings.

“I only wanted to help,” The words shot through her, and oh isn't it a sad sight, even when she tries to do good, she was always gonna be a Jinx .

“I told you to STAY AWAY!”

SMACK!

“WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME?”

“BECAUSE YOU'RE A JINX , YOU HEAR ME, MYLO WAS RIGHT!”

The scene slowly faded away and Powder tried to soak up all she could from it, the smell of the fire, of death; the man hugging her body and murmuring seemingly words of comfort; the dead body of Vander-

Powder cried and heaved, but like always, she had nobody.

“She’s waking up! Pow-”

Powder (Jinx?) whined; couldn't they have let her sleep just a little longer?

“Pow Pow! Are you oka-”

God, wouldn't they let a girl sleep a couple minutes more? It wouldn't kill them now, would it? She’d have to sick Flame Chompers on em’-

What the hell are Chompers?

Her eyes shot open and immediately shot to her feet, startling the small group around her.

Where was she? She thought she abandoned this place when Silco died, she hadn’t stepped a foot in this place since the talk she had with Sevika in his office….so why-

As she looked around, she took note that it was livelier than it usually was, it felt warm, inviting almost. She laughed to herself, the bar almost seemed cleaner than normal, it felt like she was coming home after so very long. Gee, she hadn’t felt this way in over 7 years, not since Vi left-

“Powder! You shouldn't be whipping your head like that! We found you on the floor with a nosebleed!”

She paused.

Powder? But I haven't been Powder in a long-

“Pow, are you ok? Please just let us help you-” She could feel the presence of a hand getting closer and closer to her shoulder, she could feel all of her senses come alive screaming against the touch, but she paid them no mind. She wanted the hand to touch her, she dared it to touch her.

The second she felt their fingertips graze against her shirt, she grabbed their arm and hauled them over her shoulder (she didn't question how she could do it in this tiny form, maybe she would figure out the schematics later).

“Son of a-!”

THUD!

“POWDER, WHAT THE FUCK?” She heard Vi groan, her body slowly rocking back and forth on the floor. Powd-Jinx couldn't help but stare at her sister (enemy), her sister who hadn’t yet abandoned her, her sister who — up until this point — had been nothing but caring and protective and she couldn't muster up a single word, a simple sentence; all she could muster was a small, pathetic whimper. This is Vi, but this isn't her Vi. Her Vi hated her guts, her Vi had up until recently, wanted her for dead.

Vi slowly sat up at the small sound, her eyes widening as she saw a small, almost purple sheened tear slowly go down her sister's face.

“Hey… Powder it’s okay… it was just an accident; I can't be broken that easily. Are you okay? We walked into our room and saw you collapsed on the floor, we thought something bad happened to you, so we got Vander-” Vi looked off to her left; Jinx’ eyes followed Vi’s and saw (her dad) Vander standing there, his arms crossed in that oh-so-familiar pose, looking straight into Jinx’ eyes. “- to take a quick look at you. Everything seemed fine, but you started shaking and we didn't know what-” Vi stopped in her tracks and looked back at her sister; she couldn't help but feel as if something is off.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Pow?”

And. oh wasn't that a loaded question.

How can she feel okay when she just saw her future laid out for her on a silver platter, like she was on death row, and this was her grotesque final meal; how can she feel okay when she’s the cause of everything going wrong around her; how can she feel okay when she saw Isha-

Jinx (Powder? She didn't know anymore) let out a small sob, her arms wrapping around herself in an imitation of comfort she didn't need to simulate. Before her arms could fully wrap around herself, she felt the distinct rough hands of her sister pulling into one of her signature hugs, the kind where you didn't need to speak to say a thousand thoughts, the kind where you just melt into their arms and forget about the world, the kind where you can just be an open, wounded soul with no judgement, the kind that an older sister gives to her struggling, younger counterpart. And Jinx lets herself be a lost soul in her sister's arms, just this time.

She can get to being a big fat hero and effortlessly saving the future later, for now; she just wants to be a sister weeping into her big sisters' arms.

I'm throwing this brick at you while I lock the fuck in and save all my data. See y'all next time!!!

#timebomb #ekko #jinx #powder #ekkojinx #arcane #time travel #its gonna be a while until i finish this fic pls bear with me #guys i promise ill get better with tags #im being silly goofy with this fic hehehhe #jayvik will be coming to this fic eventually #and melvika #i cant live without melvika

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usmsgutterson · 2 months ago

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We Could Leave The Christmas Lights Up Til January - S.R x reader

I am typing this authors note and feeling like the friend who's like "ITS CHRISTMAS" from the like. middle of the month forward when I'm actually the friend who reminds you how close it is to christmas or the new year bc I don't want to face that knowledge by myself and suffer well with others.

This was written as a through-the-years style fic. It'll have fifteen chapters which will correspond with the og fifteen seasons of criminal minds (I have not watched seasons sixteen or seventeen, please do not judge me lol) and three scenes per chapter, one set in November, one set on or around Christmas, and the last set at some point after it. The reader is also a fiber artist but if stuff relating to that comes up, I will make a note of whichever terms I need to.

Fic type - this is largely fluff!

Warnings - the reader in this has a slightly similar, but also somewhat dramatized version of my family dynamics bc I wrote this whenever the knit projects I was working on frustrated me and when writing the dynamics it just HAPPENED, but then I edited it so that the dynamics wouldn't hit SUPER HARD if I ever reread it. Otherwise, booze is mentioned a bit, and there is swearing present bc I apparently am incapable of writing a fic without dropping an f'bomb.

When you leave the office that night, it's half-past seven on a Friday in November. You and the rest of the team have the weekend off, and while Penelope and the others had gone out for drinks, you'd gotten back from a case in Miami that morning and had said no to the offer when she'd made it.

You had really just wanted to get home, if you were being honest. You told her you couldn't swing it because of plans already made with someone else, but Garcia didn't need to know that those plans were a glass of wine, Loops 'N Threads Classic Cotton and a crochet hook to work up some dishcloths in lieu of anything too expensive for your aunts christmas gift, or that the someone else you had plans with was your DVR so that you could catch up on the five episodes of Prison Break you'd missed because of the way that cases and work had been piling up.

She also didn't need to know that the wine your mother had given you would have a spot, or that after you were caught up with Prison Break you'd probably order and eat your way through an entire pizza from Antonios while watching a documentary about lemon sharks. Your Friday nights were your own, and even though you adored everyone on the team, you would seldom give up your Friday night ritual of doing a craft while watching whichever cable TV you needed to catch up on or whichever one the network of your choice had been running a marathon of, even if giving it up meant giving up dinner, drinks, and laughter amongst yourself and the rest of the team.

So, as you and Spencer are heading out—Spencer had declined Penelopes offer but hadn't specified his reasons as to why—he looks at you with a knowing sort of smile.

"Crocheting and Antonios?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

You nod once, lips pursing just a little while you mentally ready yourself for any oncoming judgement. "Mhm," you nod. "I have a bottle of red I wanna drink, so it'll be a tipsy crocheting night, I think."

"That sounds fun," he says. "Enjoy it."

"What're your plans for the night?" You ask. You've been with the team since six months after Spencer had joined up. You'd joined, under Hotch's wing, at the age of nineteen where Spencer had joined up under Gideons when he was twenty.

He shrugs. "I was thinking about calling my mom, seeing how she's doing," he says. "I try to call her at least once every so often and I do my best to write, but—it's just—"

"Maintaining those kinds of relationships isn't that easy," you nod. "I mean—my parents just live in my hometown so the circumstances are different, but I get it, even if it's to a lesser degree."

You don't really talk to your parents, and they don't really talk to you, and it's been that way since you went to the FBI Academy when you were eighteen. You came to DC after being hired by the BAU and they stayed in Maine, and things have been like that in the five years since you left the state.

"Your mom came around recently, right?"

You nod. "She was in town for a bit, but she came down while we were working on a case so I only got to see her a few times before she was heading back to Maine." She'd come up at the start of October, while you were working a case out of state, and she'd left six days after you'd returned from the case. In that time, you'd seen her at breakfast, lunch and dinner on three separate days. She'd left you the wine as a gift because she hated red and needed to pass it off, but you loved red wine so it was fine.

"Was it a good visit?"

"It was—well—it was fine," you laugh.

"That's the nicest way to put it?"

"Calling it fine is me being stellar," you laugh again. "Being kind, being gratiuitous, even. It was less than fine, but it could've been worse, and other visits of hers have been by miles."

Your relationship with your mother has been somewhat contentious since you were a teen, but she comes down once every few months and unless a case or something better comes up, you usually try to book Christmas off to spend it with your parents and sisters in Maine. This year, a bigger part of you than not is hoping that Christmas is disrupted by a case somewhere completely out of Maines reach, like Nevada or California or even the likes of Alaska, which has got to be some snowy hellstorm in the wintertime, though you can't say.

"You gonna go down for Christmas?" Spencer asks, laughing a little. He knows some of what your relationships with your family are like—knows that you and your mother have a difficult time finding common ground, knows that you and your father don't get along but have found some weird little middleground where you can exist without screaming at each other. He knows that you and your older sister are sort of friendly but only really mildly close, and that you and your other older sister don't talk often and see each other even less than the sparing conversations you have throughout the year—and he always looks at you kind of pitifully when your mother gets brought into the conversation, but there's been less and less pity as the years have passed, more sympathy.

"I don't want to," you laugh. "I really, really hope we get a case in Nevada or somewhere that even my mother wouldn't be able to justify asking me to drive down to Maine from. Like—I'd love it if we got a case in Alaska the day before Christmas Eve, honestly. I know it's not gonna happen, but—Christmas with them, my aunt, and my uncle? No. I can't subject myself to that without a whole lot of booze."

Spencer laughs, shakes his head a little bit. "You'll be fine," he says. "I won't hope that a case comes up at Christmas, but if one does, I'll buy you a victory tea."

"Why?"

"Because I know you love your family—you're hardwired to love them—but you hate Christmas with them, and I don't really like the thought of you being where you don't want to be because of family ties and guilt."

You laugh. "If it gets too dreary, promise you'll answer my call?"

"Yeah," Spencer nods. "Of course, but what if I call you first?"

"I will answer so quick," you laugh again, shrugging. "Seriously. Whether it's you or Hotch, I will take literally any excuse I can get to slip out from whichever room I'm in to the back porch just so I can talk to someone who isn't my aunt for a few minutes."

"Looking forward to that," Spencer says.

You smile, turning away as you do to hide it. It feels like an awesome ending to a mediocre day and you're grateful for that.

When your phone rings at five o'clock something along the lines of five weeks later, it's Christmas Eve. You've spent the last couple of hours alternating between cheap screw top rose and a jack and coke, occasionally swapping both options out for a hot chocolate that you spike with kahlua and a splash of baileys, and when your phone rings, the sound of it is a welcome reprieve.

You tuck a mug of boozed up hot cocoa into your right hand, answering the phone with your left as you dismiss yourself out to the back porch, standing amidst snow that's, by that point, a couple days old. A fresh coat is due to fall any day now, but by the time it does you'll probably already be back in DC.

"Hey," you greet. "How's Christmas on your end?"

"It's good," Spencer answers. "How is it on yours?"

"It's amazing."

"You've been drinking?"

"Jack Daniels, cheap rose, and the occasional spiked hot chocolate," you laugh a little. "It's making everyone more tolerable."

"Thats good," Spencer says. "Don't forget to drink water, though. It'll make you less hungover tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," you nod. "I've drank plenty of water—hangover headaches are fuckin' awful, and I don't feel like dealing with that tomorrow morning. A headache on top of dealing with my aunt? I couldn't put myself through that kind of torture."

"How've things been with you and your mom?"

"So far I haven't done anything to piss her off yet, which is surprising," you laugh. "Normally she's leaping down my throat the second I do something like use a tone that she thinks is amiss or defend my dad where she doesn't agree with him. I'll say something stupid and she'll yell at me before midnight though, I'm sure."

"Try to be a little optimistic," Spencer says. "I mean—just—take it easy. Don't do anything too nuts, okay? I know you well enough to know you have Prison Break on one of the DVRs in that house, and I also know that you know your own limits. Don't push yourself past them."

"I won't," you say. You know yourself well enough to know that you're probably lying, but you brought your needles and a skein of yarn so worst case you can just knit and keep your mouth shut, hopefully not miscounting any of your stitches in your drunken state. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay? I get in around ten on boxing day too, so—coffee?"

"Coffee," Spencer says. "Merry Christmas, Y/N."

"Merry Christmas, Spencer," you respond, hanging up the phone thereafter. You stay outside for another few minutes, drinking your hot chocolate, watching the sky and prolonging the time between then and your next interactions with your relatives.

Eventually, when you go back in, you're met with a sly look from your aunt and a suspicious look in your mothers eyes, while your father and uncle chat about current events and your sisters are busy in a game of Uno.

"You got a boyfriend?" Your aunt asks, her smile cheeky.

You grimace. "No!" You say, beelining for the kitchen and the bottle of Barefoot brand zinfandel. "No—it's—it isn't like that. A friend had planned to call and I didn't say no."

"Oooh, a friend," your mother teases. "That's quite vague, Y/N."

You nod, finishing the last sip of hot chocolate in your mug and rinsing it out, setting it in your favored corner of the kitchen counter and reaching for the wine glass you'd left in that same area.

"Intentionally so," you laugh. "You two are so nosy. I love you both to bits and pieces, but—it's not anything like what you're thinking. The friend is a coworker."

You reach for the bottle of zinfandel and pour an amount that just barely skirts the edge of avoiding being obscene, putting the cap back on and leaving it on the counter along with the rest of the alcoholic companions that will reside on the countertop until at some point tomorrow, when the drinks are switched out from booze and beer to soda and water.

"You two will be an item in five years, I guarantee it," your aunt says. "Seriously. You don't be vague about someone with your family unless there are feelings there, Y/N."

You laugh a little more, taking a sip of your wine and debating rummaging through the fridge to find the brownies that you'd hidden in the back of the fridge for when the drunken cravings kicked in.

"I've been vague with you people about women coworkers," you retort. "I've been vague about mentors who are older than Dad. I'm vague about lots of things."

"You should open up," your uncle says. "Nobody likes a closed off little snowflake who wants to appear mysterious."

"Trust is earned," the older of your two sisters retorts. "You have to trust people to want to open up to them."

"Do you not trust us?" Your mother asks, looking at you with pain in her eyes.

Not like I did when I was a kid, you think. "I do! I just—work life and family life are two separate things to me. If I were as open as you guys want me to be, telling you work stories and funny office anecdotes, you'd all want to hear less about my job."

"Being an FBI agent can't be that hard," your uncle retorts.

"You say that as a man who's never watched someone you love like a sibling get shot at," you retort. "You've never seen someones body missing parts, or seen someone who narrowly evaded a serial killer shaking with grief and with survivors guilt already starting to manifest. I love you all, but not one of you understands what it's like, and I wouldn't wish you did across a thousand lifetimes."

Nobody knows what to say, but the look in your eldest sisters eyes is clear—she's proud.

"Well maybe you should work in a different area," your aunt says.

"I wouldn't trade my job or my coworkers for anything," you respond. "The plus sides make up for the drawbacks tenfold."

Things go a little quiet after that, and you eventually grab the bottle of Zinfandel and retreat back out to the back porch, not caring how cold it is.

You stare at the sky for ages, drinking your way through the entire bottle of zinfandel as you do. You're half asleep when your phone rings again, and you pick it up as you make back inside, figuring the rest of your family had gone to bed as well.

"Hey," Spencer greets. "Just calling to check in again."

"Hi," you respond. "Everyone else has gone to sleep, I think—nobody is in the kitchen or the living room, and if I don't hit the hay I'll be dead on my feet tomorrow morning."

"Do you have any sports drinks around?" Spencer asks. "The elctrolytes in them will help replenish the potassium and the salt that you lose after a lot of drinking. Bouillion soup also serves the same purpose, and water is basically universally known as the one thing you should consistently drink between alcoholic beverages."

"My mother gets a twelve pack of the fruit punch Gatorade, puts it in the fridge and normally will make the drunkest of us chug a bottle before we conk out, so I'm gonna grab one and then chug it and head to bed. Thank you for calling to check in, Spencer. It means a lot."

You head for the fridge and keep to your word, opening it and grabbing one of the gatorades.

"It's no problem," Spencer says. "I've know you—how long now?"

"Four entire years," you laugh, closing the fridge and pressing your forehead against the metal door of the freezer on top of it. "Oh, God. Four years of working at the BAU. That is a surefire way to make me feel old."

"How old do you think you'll feel when you've been working there for a decade?"

"Absolutely, positively, ancient," you say. "Oh my God—thirty three? That is not an age I can picture. Asking me to picture that while I'm drunk feels like such a low blow, Reid."

"How about twenty-eight?"

"I'm starting to think you just like the sound of my voice," you retort, laughing a little as you compose yourself just enough to turn your phone onto speaker and set it on the counter. You lean against the counter and take the screw top off of your gatorade, sighing a little. "Are you asking me if I have a five year plan, Dr. Reid?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yes is the answer to both your statement and your question."

"Well, in five years, I'll be twenty-eight," you start. "I'd like it very much if I were still on the team, and if I am, that means nine years at the BAU. I'm going to get better at knitting and finally stop knitting things for people who don't offer to buy the yarn or otherwise compensate, I think. I make things free for ungrateful people too often. Maybe even adopt a kitten or take in a shelter dog. Fuck—Reid, I can't really even decide what I'm going to do in the next five minutes, let alone the next five years."

You chug the gatorade as you think about it—a bigger apartment would be nice, one that's closer to work would be nicer still. One with a good view of the city, maybe a library or a liquor store within walking distance, if not a Michaels or a Joanns.

You've always been more of a cat person but you have a ridiculously insurmountable softspot for greyhounds and pitbulls, so if you thought you could take in an animal in the coming years, you would have the knowledge and the background to give them a good home.

You'd maybe want to change up your hair color, if the drunken opportunity presented itself. A change in appearance feels like the sort of thing a person finds necessary at the age of twenty four, in the last year before the brain fully develops and stuff starts changing bit by bit.

"I think I'll still be on the team," Spencer says. "I know it. I love what we get to do everyday, Y/N. Helping people? Saving lives? We do good. We're good people."

"What else do you think about the next five years?" You ask, your voice quiet.

"I think I'll still be living in my same apartment, and that I'll still bicker and get into prank wars with Morgan," Spencer says. "I think I'll still play chess against Gideon on the jet home, and I'll still love to learn anything I can. I know for sure I'm still going to be trying to get you to watch Dr. Who with me, though I hope you agree to watch it after five years of attempts at cajoling you to."

You laugh, and the air takes on a somber kind of tone. "Maybe," you say. "Not likely, but maybe, Reid. Look—I'm going to go to bed so that I can just deal with tomorrows probable hangover head on, but thank you for calling me not once, but twice tonight. I really needed some company that wasn't a little bit of an asshole."

"Yeah, of course," Spencer says. "I—well—merry Christmas, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Spencer," is how you bid him adieu, hanging up the phone thereafter. You throw the gatorade bottle into the recycling and head off to the room you'd claimed, turning the tv onto a low volume and falling asleep with The Muppet Christmas Carol beginning to play in the background.

"How was everyones Christmas?" Garcia asks, practically buzzing with excitement as she comes out into the bullpen. Spencer is leaning against your desk, the two of you talking about nothing in particular when she comes around, and Garcia looks at you with a happy grin. "How was Maine?"

"It was Maine," you shrug. "Snowed. A lot. In turn, everyone in my family drank. A lot."

"Oh," Garcia shakes her head. "Too many people and too much booze is God awful."

You shrug. "My parents, my sisters, and my aunt and my uncle hardly felt like too many," you say. "And the amount of booze in which I indulged hardly felt like too much."

"You had a lot," Spencer retorts, looking at you skeptically. "I got a text Christmas morning, if memory serves—"

"A text to thank you for being so nice," You fire back, cutting him off. "Totally not asking you for hangover cures. I would never."

Spencer shakes his head, laughing slightly. You grin, taking a sip of the tea he'd brought you that morning.

"Yeah," he says. "I didn't get a text asking for the ultimate hangover cure-all. I guess I must've remembered it wrong."

Your grin widens, and you nod. "Guess so. How were things with your Mom?"

"They were great," Spencer says. "I had a good time."

"I'm glad," you respond. "Your mother sounds pleasant."

"She is," Spencer nods. "I'd hate to spend more than an hour with yours though."

"She's comin' here in June," you fire back, leaning back in your chair as your grin morphs from grin to smirk. "Be careful for the next six months, Reid, or I'll invite you to dinner with her, myself, and my father."

"That sounds like some form of mideval torture," Derek fires, laughing. Spencer shakes his head.

"Not if Y/Ns there," he murmurs. You take another sip of your tea to avoid seeming flustered to the rest of the team, and Spencer sighs when JJ comes around. You sit up in your chair, already anticipating her next words.

"We have a case," she says. "A series of deaths in Witchita. Briefing room in ten!"

You and Spencer exchange a look. There are only a few days left of it, but it looks like the last of 2005 is due to be a whirlwind.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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kassandrasdisciple · 3 months ago

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BatFam X VtM

Time to combine another of my 2 hyperfixations of the month. I'm gonna match each Batfam member with what vsmpire the masquerade clan i think they would be and my reasonings. Some have multiple clans they could be so I've tried to narrow it down to 1 and reason why I didn't go with another. If this was an actual AU it would probably make more sense for them all to mainly be the same clan as Bruce but this menagerie of a coterie is more interesting and fits each character, so without further ado.

Bruce Wayne

Ventrue

The blue bloods, known for their honour and pride, they rule from up above, embracing CEOs and modern aristocrats alike. For the prince of Gotham, chairman of Wayne Enterprises, I don't think there's a more perfect fit. Bruce at his best and worse embodies the values the clan of kings holds. He's a ruler through lineage, ruling his subject from up high, but the clan compulsion of arrogance and belief of knowing best make him come across as stubborn and apathetic to others concerns if he's ruled on a matter already.

The only other clans I could maybe see for bruce would be Lasombra or Toreador, with the former being know for their obtenebration and the latter for their ability to play the games of socialites. However those aspects are more masks Bruce wears when playing either brucie wayne or batman, not truly who he is.

Dick grayson

Ravnos

This isn't because he's Romani in some iterations but it's a nice extra. No, Dick is a Ravnos because he's a perfect fit. The Ravnos are the daredevils of the vampire world, their blood literally compels them to tempt fate, they also can't sleep in the same place for more than a couple of nights; what clan would fit our ex-travelling circus acrobat than them?

Truly I think Ravnos is the best fit for Dick, however some versions of him are more well known for being a seducer, and have become part of his Fannon; because of that the argument could be made for Toreador.

Jason Todd

Banu Haqim

The Assamites, judged by western kindred as frothing diablerists when really they're guardians, warriors and judges of the corrupt. Really, it was when I got to Jason that I knew I had to write all these matches down. This is the perfect fit to the point that I'm sure others must've headcannoned it. Their compulsion is judgement, forcing them to punish anyone who breaks their moral code, they also chafe against their fellow vampires; falling to a bloodlist if they taste the vitae of another kindred.

If you were writing Jason with the Fannon pit madness I could see the argument for Malkavian, and if your specifically talking about when Jason was Robin I'd say he fits more closely to Brujah; being a spitfire. But as the Red Hood? Jason is a child of Haqim.

Tim drake

Tremere

Just as choosing Jason's sealed my need to write this post, trying to choose Tim's nearly made me give up. Tim is my least read character and as such it's harder to split Fannon from Cannon, so please bare with me. The Tremere are the second youngest clan, they're also know as the Usurpers. They weren't chosen by vampirism but rather they chose it. The Tremere are hated by several clans for this transgression, including the Banu Haqim, who see their blood magic as a knock-off of their own. The Tremere are perfectionists, constantly seeking new rituals and knowledge; isolating themselves in chantries until they've got their newest project just right. Is this not Tim Drake?

I do love the flavor text this creates, being the second youngest and having beef with Jason from the get go. But on a deeper level, choosing to be Robin, being a perfectionist and also being insecure in their status as a hero/vampire? I think this is a perfect match.

Other clans I could see for Tim would be Nosferatu, being secret keepers and traders alike, or another Ventrue like Bruce, since they both come from money. However I have a better fit for the Nossies and I want to avoid repeating clans if i can.

Damien Wayne-Al Ghul

Lasombra

Like the Ventrue the Lasombra are born rulers, however, unlike the bluebloods, for the Lasombra might makes right. You're embraced into the clan when you're put through a gauntlet that systematically destroys your life; if you get back up your embraced, if not? You're left to die. The night clan coat themselves in shadows, manipulating and striking from them. They have a penchant for religion, ruling over the masses, however their bane of callousness means that they have a hard time relating to humans, sometimes even other kindred, letting more and more of their humanity slip.

If this doesn't describe the heir of the demon, who grows up in a religious, assassin cult, where he has to kill or be killed then I dont know what clan will. He's literally from the league of shadows. I also think it would irk a Ventrue Bruce for his child to be more adept with shadows than himself.

I could see Damian as a Ventrue like his father, as his behavior can be read as arrogance rather than callousness, it would also be in line with his "true heir" hang up. Also, Nanda Parbat seems to just be a copy-paste of Alamut so, along with the Banu Haqim being assassins, I could also see the argument for them claiming Damien aswell, that would also feed my favorite trope of Damien and Jason having the best brotherly bond.

Barbara Gordon

Nosferatu

Second disclaimer of the post, this choice isn't due to her disability. The Nossies are the information brokers of kindred society. Living in abandoned places, yet lying in plan sight (like a massive clocktower) the clan of the hidden employ animalism to make spy's out of rat's and city birds, if there was ever a clan who embraced the modern world it's the nosferatu. Because of this The vagrants are the most tech savvy of the clans, creating Shrek net, the dark web for vampires.

Because of this I think our information queen would be at home with the Nossies. I think Barbara is the most single-clan character but maybe also Banu Haqim? They do embrace from law enforcement after all.

Stephanie Brown

Brujah

The rebels without a cause, they always want a cause to get behind, jumping from one to the other once one no longer fits. I think for Steph, who got into the vigilante game to spite her father (very much giving Troile the younger vibes), the clan of rebels would be the perfect home. She's also bounced between the most code names: spoiler, Robin, batgirl. She's always seeking the next goal. Furthermore she's not from money, she's a punk kid from Gotham who decided to fight back. Because of this Brujah is an easy choice.

If you wanted to go with the more feral™ energy she has in Fannon I could also see the argument for Gangrel, her being the wild child, but I think she's more the wild of rebellion rather than of the woods.

Cassandra Cain

Salubri

Hear me out. Not one of the 13 however I really do think it fits, the Salubri are constantly hunted, they're one of a kind and, in a society of killers, they suffer from affective empathy, making them want to resolve the hurts of others. Just kidding, I just described cass' upbringing, actually I described both. The unicorns also have access to the widest range of disciplines naturally, suiting our skilled assassin. Also the Salubri let their childe diablerize them, giving them the best headstart in life in the most bloody way possible, similar to how Lady Shiva has a very odd way of trying to make Cass stronger.

This is the one of the most out there ones. like alot of the BatFam, Cass could also be Banu Haqim but I do think her inherent character trait of renouncing her violent nature makes her a kindred (pun intended) spirit to the Salubri.

Duke Thomas

Kiasyd

Okay so this is fully a bloodline, but stay with me. The Kiasyd are a bloodline of the Lasombra with some Faery blood mixed in, this parallels Duke's metapowers causing him to stand apart from the rest of the family, just as faery blood causes the Kiasyds to stand apart from vampire society as a whole. They're also known for their magic using Mytherceria and Obtenebration, which together I think replicate Duke's meta abilities. Lastly the Kiasyd are oddballs, they act peculiar even for vampires, much like a crime-fighting vigilante being the only one to fight villains during the day.

This could be seen as a reach, but I think my justifications are valid. Really any clan that has magic could be a fair match, a fun alternative could also be Gargoyles, as they're the only clan that can naturally stay outside during the day.

And that finishes all the BatFam members I know well enough to assign clans to. If you have any ideas for Jaro, Bluebird, Kate Cane, or even the ones I covered but disagree with let me know! I'd like to have a member to cover each clan so we're missing Gangrel, Hecata/Giovanni, Malkavian, Set/Ministry, Toreador and Tzimisce. If you made it this far thank you so much and I hope you enjoyed.

#batman #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #duke thomas #vampire the masquerade #vampire the masquerade 13 clans #batfamily #batman x vtm #vtm

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only-by-the-stars · 8 months ago

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Fic Promo: Song of a Champion

Now that @spacelemon has put up that amazing promo vid of the Mipha's Grace mod, it feels like a good time to do a little self-promo of my own, for something that I promise is related (otherwise I wouldn't be mentioning the vid; I am doing so in hopes of helping to get more eyeballs on it): a fic I've been writing since 2022, that is both inspired by and based on the mod. I've been lucky enough to have been allowed to play early versions of it, and was inspired to write a fic that retells BOTW with Mipha as the lead, taking cues from many plot points and armor redesigns present in the mod. If that's not enough to entice you, then please read on for my list of things that you might enjoy about this fic!

It's about Mipha Judging by the results of my poll, a lot of you like reading about Mipha! I've written a LOT about her over the past few years, but this is my most in-depth exploration of her yet. It's entirely centered on her, delving deep into her thoughts and feelings and exploring the myriad aspects of her personality as we follow her journey. Instead of Link waking up on the Great Plateau without his memories and being handed the responsibility of saving Hyrule, it's Mipha who must walk this path; unlike in the base game, she's not a fridged love interest for Link to be sad about, she's an active heroine in her own right with a monumental task ahead of her from the moment she wakes up, not to mention a lot of questions. How did she get there? Can she do this? What--and who--has she forgotten in her century-long slumber? How will she find her way in this strange new world she awakens to? What kind of bonds will she forge with the people she meets along her way? All these and more are tackled in great depth as she goes on her adventure, setting out with, initially, little more than her own courage, determination, and compassion. I've been told by many people that I write their favorite Mipha, and though this isn't my first time giving her a starring role, I fully believe this is my best character work for her so far. I've given her so much to do and act on and react to, exploring her rich inner life and personality and character FAR beyond just shipping stuff, and developed a lot of really fun friendships for her and gone heavy on her familial relationships as well. There is miphlink, but it's only one aspect, and Mipha herself is the shining star at the heart of everything.

2. It takes inspiration from Wind Waker Mainly, the concept of a character who is not the chosen one stepping up and proving themselves worthy and going on to save Hyrule. If you, like me, enjoyed that aspect of Wind Waker, then you'll like this story!

3. It plays with the lore in fun ways Do you like the older bits of lore from pre-Skyward Sword games? Like the Golden Goddesses and other deities? Then you'll like the bits of it I've weaved in!

4. It treats the NPCs with care, love, and nuance One of the things I'm proudest of about this story, that I've gotten praise from others for, is how the various NPCs are written. I've treated them all like people in their own right, who all have their own rich inner lives, schedules, interests, priorities, and feelings that don't revolve around the protagonist. Mipha befriends most of them, yes, but that's because she treats them with compassion and kindness too. Nobody is shallow here, I've gone to great pains to illustrate a world filled with people all living their own lives that intersect with Mipha's journey in various ways, and allowed people to just be human and make mistakes and have doubts but ultimately just be people. There's a lot of emphasis on Mipha's relationships with her family, and I've certainly won praise for my depiction of these dynamics, but also a ton of friendships being formed and explored, and people have told me that I made certain characters interesting and likable to them where the game failed to do so.

5. It has awesome fight scenes BOTW is a game with a lot of combat, so anyone novelizing it better be good at writing that kind of scene. Fortunately, I am! This is an action-packed story, not just for its own sake, but to show the dangerous world Mipha is traveling through and the challenges she has to face as she ventures into each Divine Beast and cleanses them of their respective Blights. I write really fast-paced action that also shows the characters' mindsets while fighting, and strikes a balance between showing off their strengths and that they're up to the challenge, while also respecting their opponents and demonstrating why the Champions of a hundred years ago fell to these things, why NPCs fear certain monsters. And speaking of respecting opponents, I've taken stuff from Age of Calamity as well as some of my own inventions, to beef up the boss fights, a certain area, and make every Divine Beast threatening (we all know how scary Medoh wasn't in-game).

6. It has beautiful prose/descriptions But you don't have to just take my word for it! Here's a sample from the rough draft of chapter 42!

Shards of light drifted across her floor, leaves caught in the current of clouds flowing over the moon. Mipha took a moment to watch them before closing the door behind herself. The water in her sleeping pool murmured a melody of rest and relaxation after a long day, calling her to it, but she ignored it for now. She’d done all her preparations for tomorrow, downed a warm elixir crafted from a few hearty lizards, and now only one thing remained to do before going to bed. It wasn’t a need, as the other tasks had been, but a want. Nothing wrong with that. She crossed the room to the old chest that lay tucked beneath her window, opening the lid with a whining creak from the aged hinges. A folded length of fabric the color of spilt starlight lay atop the item she sought; Mipha moved it aside. Her breath catching, she withdrew the armor beneath and held it up to the softly swaying illumination of the moon outside and the luminous stone lamps within.

All in all, I think this fic is some of my best work, and shouldn't be missed if you're a Mipha fan like I am (she is my favorite Zora, so if it's okay I'd like to use this as a belated submission for that Zora May prompt). She truly is the star of the show, with so much to offer as a lead character, moving through a world treated with depth and care. If you're in the market for a BOTW retelling that does something different, something no other retelling has done, and does it really well, then give it a chance! You can read it here on AO3. :3

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earlgreytea68 · 6 months ago

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In my journey through random reading, I just re-read The Odyssey.

Spoilers for an ancient epic poem below.

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I was assigned The Odyssey three times in high school and college and I remember by the third time through coming to appreciate it. Emily Wilson's new translation has been so widely praised that I figured I would give it a re-read.

I am no judge of translating ancient Greek but the Emily Wilson version reads well and is engaging and I appreciated the blend of formal tone and modernism, it seemed perfect for the poem and I loved it. Also appreciated how many different ways Dawn gets described as breaking.

Odysseus? I found unbearable hahahaha. I just could not with him. I do not remember being so annoyed with him when I was younger! But this time through I was like, Dude, you have made a million bad decisions, PLEASE STOP NOW. As far as I can tell Odysseus's main talent is telling incredibly elaborate lies, to everyone he meets, even where there is really no reason to lie, and certainly not in such detail. But he is OBSESSED with lying. I also love how many names for different made-up fathers he could just pull out at the drop of a hat. I mean, they were impressive lies, very detailed, but I was much less impressed by lying as a superpower than I think the ancient Greeks intended me to be.

Also I only remembered Odysseus's journey. In my head his return to Ithaca was a tiny bit of the poem. Whereas in actuality almost all of the poem is his return to Ithaca and his journey is the tiny bit AND it struck me for the first time that we only ever hear about his journey FROM HIM. And the whole poem is about what a good liar Odysseus is. So now I think the entire journey is suspect and this idea of the unreliable narrator is my favorite new Odyssey headcanon lol. I just never learned it that way and I wish I had thought to bring this up in any of my seminars!!

I was also struck by how the deep belief in gods made it so that no one was ever responsible for any of their actions, ever. Everything they did was because one of the gods wanted them to do it. If the suitors were evil and said evil things, it was because a god made them do it. If Odysseus was able to kill them all, it was because a god wanted it to happen. There was just zero idea of accountability in the way the society was functioning and it was fascinating to me. (My favorite thing was how often people would casually be like, "Hey, can I get a ride on your ship, I just killed someone in town and people are after me," and no one asks any questions, they're just like, "Sure! Hop aboard!") I don't ever remember discussing that in my seminars either and it seems especially important because I think that detached feeling of "can't blame me, it's God's plan" still does show up in some religious beliefs.

One hilarious little moment happened when the suitors were plotting to kill Telemachus and as they're discussing it eagles descend and start attacking them and afterward they're like, "Was that a bad omen! Should we not kill Telemachus!" And then a second later they're like, "Nah, I'm sure that was just a wild coincidence." People only see what they want to see lol

The suitors were actually by far my favorite part of the whole story. They were absolutely hilarious. I love how over the top they were. Like, the swineherd would come in to deliver their dinner and they would throw things at him and shout things like "Smelly pig-man!" And it's like, dudes, chill hahahaha. They just cracked me up. But I also liked how everyone in the poem really is complex and no one is actually really good or even really evil, because the suitors are like, "We wouldn't be here if Penelope would just marry one of us," and I obviously do not approve of this patriarchal society requiring this woman to be married but at the same time I do recognize that I think in their society they were making a valid point that Penelope wasn't entirely blameless and it wasn't all on the suitors. But that ambiguity means nothing in the world of the poem because Athena loves Odysseus best. And I don't say that disapprovingly, it's just clearly how they explained some people winning and some people losing when everyone is making valid points.

My other favorite part of the poem was really contemplating how time works in it. Odysseus has been gone twenty years. With no reliable or solid word about him. (because goddesses keep kidnapping him to have sex with him). And yet every single person Odysseus meets in Ithaca (while he's in disguise) IMMEDIATELY unprompted is like, "Man, every day I cry about how much I miss Odysseus. He was awesome. You would have loved him. Just the best guy." For many many verses this poem is just Odysseus listening to people rave about him. And if they didn't rave about him he was like "those people are not loyal." ...no, Odysseus, you've been gone TWENTY YEARS. I think those are the people who just moved on! Sorry not every one of your enslaved people still weeps every night over you. Honestly the whole poem is way more wild and out there than I remember it being. I really remembered it being about Odysseus's journey and it is honestly most just lots of random Ithacans in perpetual grief.

#long post

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nerdforestgirl · 8 months ago

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Note: A story? Not on May 24th or my birthday? Wild. Enjoy. Set During The Long Distance Dissonance.

Sheldon hung up the phone, and had a smile on his face. He had just called Larry Fowler to get his permission to ask Amy to marry him. He thought the tradition was silly, but he also knew that it would make Amy happy to know that he asked. Amy liked weird old timey stuff like that. It was worth the few minutes to call. Particularly because Mr. Fowler had been all too pleased to give the asked for permission.

Now Sheldon was just at the airport waiting for his flight to take off. He wished he could call his own dad. He always wanted to include his father in big moments. Then Sheldon thought of someone else he wanted to talk to. He pulled out his phone.

Knock Knock he wrote into the text chat. It was a version of the old code they had in their bedrooms as kids. He wanted to make sure she was available to talk instead of just calling. She must be, because a photo of her and her son appeared on his screen as an incoming Facetime call almost immediately.

“Hello, Missy,” Sheldon said into his phone after he answered it.

“What do you want, nerd?” Missy replied.

A little bit of a smile fell across Sheldon's lips at her insult of affection. She was the only person other than perhaps Leonard who could make him smile with teasing.

“I am at the airport. I am going to New Jersey to ask Amy to marry me,” Sheldon told his sister.

“Whoa. Big. Did you tell Mom? She's going to be thrilled.”

Sheldon wondered why he didn't call his mother or Meemaw first. Then he realized that his mother and grandmother would be supportive, but they wouldn't necessarily be honest. He wanted to know if this was a mistake. Not Amy. Amy could never be a mistake. But maybe he was moving too fast. He had only been with her for seven years after all.

“No. I will wait to talk to Mom after Amy agrees,” Sheldon admitted. “Do you think I'm doing the right thing?” he added more quietly.

“Other than the fact that you should've done this years ago, of course,” Missy said. Everyone else always assumed that Sheldon would end up alone, but even when the twins were teenagers, Missy had a feeling that Sheldon would find someone for him. He might be annoying and weird, but there was a charm to Sheldon that Missy could see. The right people always loved him.

“You never regret getting married?” Sheldon asked. He could only have asked this question to his sister. Of course she could tease him for asking, but she never truly judged him. He didn't believe that they had any extra connection from sharing a womb, but she did get him in a way that no one else did. Maybe it was all of those late night talks when they shared a bedroom as kids.

“Oh. I absolutely do, but my husband is an idiot. But you will be the idiot if you don't marry her. It's obvious that you love her,” Missy said.

“How do you know? You have never even met her,” Sheldon reminded her.

“Whose fault is that? You never bring her to come see me. Not even when you've come back to see Mom. And I have eyes and ears. I've seen the way you talk about her. Everyone knows you love her. You even stood up to Meemaw for her. Mom wanted to print the invitations to your wedding then.”

Sheldon appreciated the reminder that he love for Amy was so clear. Not just to himself, but to everyone around him too. Sheldon knew that his sister would never steer him wrong. Not with something this important.

Then Sheldon heard the announcement that his flight was boarding. He knew he should hang up and get on the flight. He didn't want to miss this flight for anything.

“I have to get on my plane, but thanks for taking to me,” he told his sister.

“No problem. Let me know when she says yes,” Missy said.

Sheldon nodded and pressed the button to hang up the call. More than even Stephen Hawking, talking to his sister made him feel like this was definitely the right decision.

#nfg fan fiction

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the-whispers-of-death · 11 months ago

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rich reader who doesn't really know how to express love other than "give stuff"™ trying to make something for Sarabi. be it a treat or a hand made gift either way it comes out wonky and reader considers just throwing it out and buying a proper version but Sarabi walks in on him and reader is super embarrassed about his lack of skill, calls himself a "useless rich man" and apologises to Sarabi for not being good at things other than making money

Sarabi roamed the halls, wondering where you were because he missed you. His black balaclava and yellow-gold lioness mask was off, showing off the burn scars that marred the right side of his face and the entire right side of his body. But he knew you wouldn't judge him for his appearance.

He was so happy with you, he had never been so happy before. And everyone around him knew it too.

Simba teased that he hadn't known Sarabi could be anything more than a grump or a smug bastard. Kali told him that he glowed whenever he was around you. Nala remarked that he was happy Sarabi was finally in a loving relationship.

So he was happy, very happy. Now if only he could find you, that would make him happier.

Sarabi opened a door where he knew you tried knitting in. He walked in and there were you, bent over a new project. One that you were struggling with.

Little did he know, it was a snake stuffie for him. You had wanted to gift something that couldn't exactly be bought, something hand-made. But you weren't that great at knitting, so to you, the snake looked really terrible.

"{Name}, what are you making?" Sarabi asked, walking over. He peered over your shoulder, a smile finding its way onto his face as he saw the snake stuffie. "Oh, that's cute. I thought you didn't like snakes though."

You were flustered that he was seeing your failed project and you said, "I don't like snakes, but you do." Your voice was softer than usual, sheepish. "It's for you, but it's not great, I know. I'm going to scrap it, just buy you a snake stuffie from the store."

He stopped you when you grabbed the stuffie to throw it in the trash. "No, don't do that." He took the stuffie, his smile growing wider as he held it and ran his hand over it. "It's perfect, thank you."

"You don't have to pretend it's good," you murmured despite yourself. "I'm such a useless rich man, I can't make you nice hand-made stuffies."

"Hey, don't say that," Sarabi said as he set the stuffie down. He turned to face you and cupped your cheeks gently. "You're not a useless rich man. You made me something really beautiful and something that can't be replicated. I love your knitting projects. They're not perfect, sure, but that's why I love them. You made them with love and care, and that's something the store-bought stuffies can't convey."

You took in his words and when you took too long to say something, Sarabi leaned in and pressed gentle kisses all over your face. It made you laugh, one of your hands reaching up to wrap around one of his wrists and rub it lovingly.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," you replied, smiling now. You felt better about the snake stuffie, about your knitting skills in general.

Sarabi gave you a gentle little kiss on the lips before pulling back slightly to look you in the eyes. "You were yourself. That's what you did to deserve me."

He let go of your face and grabbed the snake stuffie, smiling down at it again.

"I really love it, thank you."

"Anything for you, darling."

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 28 days ago

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The Lark's Nest | Sawdust

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: chronic pain, implied/referenced torture

Pairings: roloceit

Word Count: 3256

The first storm. The worst storm.

The first storm:

Roman opens the door, smiling when he sees Logan in the hallway. He leans against the door frame, head tilted to the side as Logan clutches the bag strap slung over his shoulder, suddenly feeling terribly under dressed despite Roman being in nothing more than worn fatigues, barefoot, and the contrast between the fearsome point man he typically sees all suited and booted is enough to make him regret coming here, perhaps this was a mistake—

"Lark," comes Roman's gentle voice with no small amount of amusement, "come in, would you?"

He steps through the door as Roman closes it behind him. The hand on his shoulder doesn't startle him, but judging by Roman's immediate flash of concern it doesn't comfort him either. He forces himself to take a deep breath, letting the bag slide free. Roman holds out his hand and he gives it. It's not a large bag, after all, only enough to hold a change of clothes and basic toiletries, it isn't as though he's moving in here—

"Sit," Roman says, giving him a gentle nudge, "please. Would you like something to drink?"

"What do you have?"

"Tea? Coffee? Juice?" He tosses a wink over his shoulder as he moves toward the small kitchenette. "Hot chocolate?"

Logan flushes as he sits on the couch. "Wha—who told you about that?"

Roman pauses, halfway out of the fridge. "Told me about what?"

The flush deepens. "Nothing. Never mind."

"Oh, come on, now you're just teasing me." He leans over the back of the couch, face far too close to Logan's with that crooked smile. "You can't just give me the tip of the iceberg for a story like that and not expect me to go digging for the rest of it."

"I—uh—plead the fifth?"

Roman chuckles. "As if we'd ever let you be a witness if any case ever made it to trial."

It shouldn't make him flinch. It shouldn't, and yet it does, and Roman spots it, because of course he would see it, and then there's a hand tangling gently in his hair.

"Shh, don't fret, songbird." He cards his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. "I'm the one being mean right now, I know."

"Sorry."

"Now, what on earth do you have to be sorry for? Ah, no, that's my fault again," Roman says when he goes to open his mouth. "Let me rephrase: you have nothing to be sorry for. All you need to do is tell me what you want to drink."

"…can I have some hot chocolate, please?"

"Lark, you could ask for just about anything like that and I'd find a way to give it to you." Before Logan can figure out just what that entails, Roman lets him go, returning with two mugs of hot chocolate, one with significantly more whipped cream than the other. "Here you are, drink slow. It's still warm."

Logan takes a sip—yes, it is certainly still warm, and definitely not as alcohol-free as he'd expected. Roman sends him a wink over the rim of the mug, pausing when Logan's face falls.

"No good?"

"C-can—never mind."

"Ask, lark."

"…would it be possible to have a non-spiked version?"

"Of course. Forgive me, I should've asked first. I'll leave this one for Janus." He takes it from Logan's hands, quickly replacing it with a non-spiked mug as he sticks the other in the microwave. "You needn't answer this question if it's too personal, but why don't you drink?"

Logan shuffles a little on the couch, tracing the edge of the snowflake pattern with his finger. "It wasn't allowed by some of my previous employers. Never developed the taste for it."

"Well, you can drink if you like here—God knows some of us need it to get through the worst nights." He nudges Logan's leg with his own. "Though I suppose Patton never gets tired of having someone willing to try his new mocktails."

"They're good!"

"I'm sure they are." He chuckles again when Logan narrows his eyes, reaching out to lightly punch his shoulder. "Don't look at me like that, lark."

It's…strange. The warmth of the hot chocolate begins to dispel the worst of the cold ache in his gut, even as the pain across the backs of his shoulders slowly begins to spread. As their conversation continues, he finds himself leaning further and further forward, hiding winces behind sips of drink. He would be a fool to expect Roman not to notice, but at the very least, the man doesn't comment on it. At least not until there's a pause and the first roll of thunder echoes distantly over their heads.

"Are you doing alright?" Roman sits up a little, reaching for him as his head jerks towards the ceiling. "No harm will come to you while you're here, you must know that."

"I know. Just—habit, mostly."

Roman nods. Logan glances at him, steeling himself, something he clearly picks up on as he sobers, setting his mug on the coffee table.

"Can I—would it be alright if I—" he puts his mug down too and shuffles along the couch.

"Of course you can." Roman leans back, holding out his arms. "Come have a cuddle, lark, you look tired."

Gratefully, Logan shifts forward enough to ease his weight over Roman's chest, only for Roman to chuckle and pull him the rest of the way down. He lets out a slightly undignified yelp as Roman's arms come up to wrap around him.

"You're not that heavy, songbird, you can rest on me. Shh, shh," he murmurs as they adjust, "that's it…just do what makes you feel comfortable."

"Are you sure this is alright?"

"Perfectly. Am I hurting you at all?"

"N-no, this is fine."

"I think we can do better than fine," Roman sniffs, before softening his voice once more, "tell me what to do, lark."

With a red face—that Roman can certainly feel—Logan directs him to shift his grip, move his leg, let him slot further underneath his chin until Roman's arms close over him in just the right way and an embarrassing noise slips from his throat.

"There," Roman chuckles, his voice even deeper with Logan's ear pressed to his chest, "that's better isn't it?"

"Mm."

"Close your eyes, then, songbird, I can feel how hard you're trying to keep yourself awake."

And so he does, dozing and drifting there on the couch until there's the click of a doorknob and the sound of Janus's surprised laugh.

"I see you've beat me home, lark."

"There's hot chocolate in the microwave for you if you want it."

Janus hums, walking over and crouching by Logan's head, smiling. "Hi, sweetie."

"Hi."

"Has Roman been terribly mean to you?"

Roman scoffs as Logan shakes his head. "Terribly mean, he says—as though I'm not performing exceptionally at being a human pillow."

"Well, in that case, I'm going to go wash up." He ruffles Logan's hair. "Try not to fall asleep until I get back, alright?"

"Shame on you," Roman scolds without any real heat, "it's a crime to ask the poor lark to stay awake a moment longer than necessary."

"Don't think I haven't caught on to your clever little plan here, Roman."

"I would never."

Janus rolls his eyes fondly as he stands and moves to an adjoining room. Logan follows his path with drowsy eyes, frowning. "What did he mean?"

"Oh, we've been squabbling over who gets the honor of being your personal pillow for the night once we learned there was a storm coming."

"But you didn't know I'd come."

"Know? No, we didn't. But we certainly did hope. Now hush, songbird, you were dozing off a moment ago."

"Janus said not to fall asleep."

"Janus isn't the one in pain," Roman corrects ever so softly, "he doesn't get to be in charge of that."

Still, Logan does manage to stay awake until Janus re-emerges, hair still slightly damp as he prods Roman's shoulder. "Your turn. Best wash the day off before Logan has to smell it all over you."

Roman pouts as Logan sits up, only for it to fade as soon as Logan hisses in discomfort. "Are you alright? Do you need painkillers of any sort?"

Logan shakes his head. "Those…those can make things worse."

"How so?"

"The body compensates for the missing sensation," Janus says quietly, gesturing to the burn on the side of his face when Logan looks up at him in surprise. "Go on, Roman."

Roman gets up without further protest, letting Janus take his spot. It's no less of a surreal thing to see the second in command smile softly at him, holding out his arms and bidding him to lie down for a cuddle. Unlike Roman, whose arms stayed still as soon as they figured out where best they would be, Janus traces lightly over his back and sides, counterbalancing the pain with sensation just soft enough to tickle. Logan slips easily back into a daze as the water runs in the next room.

"If I fall asleep," he mumbles, "will you wake me up to say goodnight to Roman?"

"Of course, sweetie."

"…did you really fight over who got to sleep with me?"

His movement pauses for a moment before his hand cups the back of his head. "Logan, I will say this as many times as you need to hear it, as will Roman, as will anyone else whom you ask: you are beloved here. We would all fight for the honor of caring for you, so long as you make the final choices yourself. You have been hurt, mistreated, abused under the cruel hands of others. No more. Not here. Not with us."

"O-oh."

And to his horror, his throat grows thick.

"Oh, sweetie," Janus murmurs, "it's alright. It's alright, you're safe, I swear it. Shh, shh, it's alright, hold onto me—yes, that's it."

"Shame on you," comes Roman's voice again, only partially teasing this time, "you've made our little lark cry."

He drops to his knees next to the couch, one hand overlapping Janus's as he cups his cheek. Logan reaches out and he quickly takes his hand, squeezing tightly.

"What's the matter, what's he done to you?"

"N-nothing, nothing, I swear, nothing—"

"Don't work him up," Janus scolds, "the poor thing's just crashing, that's all."

"Oh, lark…" Roman brings his hand to his lips, brushing kisses over his knuckles, "it's alright. You're safe here, I promise. No storm can reach you down here, not while we're around."

"P-promise?"

"I promise, lark."

"I promise, sweetie."

And despite the tears still flowing down his face, Logan thinks he might be able to sleep tonight.

The worst storm:

The man had only gotten as far as hearing that the singer warmed the boss's bed before he was shoving his way across the room and demanding to know where they were.

Now he was storming down to the last dock on the wharf and scanning for the offending party.

"Big blue coat," the person had stammered, "you can't miss it!"

Sure enough, there it was, flapping obnoxiously in the breeze. He grits his teeth and storms over, temper as clouded as the sky. He rounds the corner and the other man barely has time to turn around before he throws a punch right for his jaw.

"Hey," shouts one of the other people, "what's your problem?"

"I have a problem with a prick who abuses his authority to bed his crew, yeah," he snarls as the man straightens slowly, "I have a problem."

"Not that it wasn't an effective way to get my attention," the other man says slowly, rubbing his jaw, "but I do have some reservations about being greeting with a punch to the face."

"But not about bedding subordinates, huh?"

"Let's…start this over. Do I get to know the identity of who just punched me in the face?" The man snarled but gave his name. "Right. And why am I being punched in the face?"

"For taking a crewmember as your bedwarmer," he snarls again, "and abusing that rank."

"And how have you come to this conclusion?"

"One of yours was bragging about it inside less than two minutes ago."

The other man hums, an infuriating smile coming to his face. "This all seems to be a misunderstanding. I can assure you there is an explanation what will omit any further need to punch me in the face."

"And what in the hell would that be?"

"I am not bedding a member of my crew," he says slowly, as though talking to an idiot, "and the nights that the man you speak of was referring to are under the orders of our doctors."

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for it?"

"You were quite happy to act on the words of a man you did not know personally, off of a conversation that you were not a part of, but yes, I can assure you that—"

He growls and lunges for the other man again only to have his arm caught in a surprisingly strong grip.

"Do not mistake my calm demeanor for weakness," says the other, grip unyielding, "you are not owed the personal details of my life, nor any other in my crew. I do not take your accusations and slights lightly. The reason I have not fought back is because I believe in understanding things first before I throw a punch."

He shoves him back with such force that he stumbles a little before he gets his feet under him.

"Now," and a hint of steel enters his voice, "if you insist upon such accusations, then this conversation is about to get far more dangerous for you."

"Dangerous?" He scoffs. "What, are you going to kill me?"

"Perhaps not," says the man who much be the second, "but you are awfully outmatched, my good sir, and I don't think even you're drunk enough to like those odds."

Indeed, the rest of the crew silently began to stand. He glances around and then back. The important crew member isn't here.

"And what if I want to take the one you bed with me?" His face twists with a cruel smile. "Or can he not walk at the moment?"

There it is.

Rage flares in the other man's eyes and he steps forward to—

"Stop!"

Something shoves him back hard and he stumbles, looking back up to see someone standing between the two of them, their hand out to stay the other man.

It's him.

"You're alright," he manages, "you're—you're alright."

"What are you doing? Why are you here? What—what happened?"

All words have left him at the site of his old crew member, standing here. "Someone…someone said you were warming his bed. That you were…that you were…"

"That's what this is about?" He makes a face. "It's only during storms, he sleeps on his back, that's all—and that doesn't make sense, why were you there? What—"

Sleeps on his back? Only during storms?

Oh.

"…still?"

Something in that face hardens, and he feels something lodge in his throat. "Yes, sir. Still."

In the midst of wallowing in his own self-pity, he almost misses the way what was rage darkens into fury in the other man's face.

"It was you." His voice is dark and vengeful.

Around them, the rest of the crew understands, and at the sudden wave of anger he fights the urge to take a step back.

"You have some nerve," the man continues, eyes boring into him, "to act as though you have any right to decide what is and is not appropriate for a boss to do."

He steps forward.

"Let alone tell me that I do not know where to draw the line."

Thunder rolls in the distance.

Despite the wrath radiating off of him, the hand he places on his crew member's—his crew member's shoulder is nothing but tender.

"Go back inside, little songbird."

Songbird. He did learn to sing again.

"Come on," says another who must be the crew's medic, "we need plausible deniability."

"No."

"You don't want to be out here for this, lark," the second says, eyeing him as though he were a piece of meat, "it's not going to be pretty."

"No," he says again, turning so his back is to him—his back, his back that still hurts when the storm comes, there's a storm coming, it will hurt tonight— "it's not worth it. He is not worth it."

"He took your sleep," another crew member growls and oh, there is not a wavering heart in the whole crew, "he spilled your blood, he taught you fear and called it loyalty."

"He isn't worth it."

"He hurt you," the second says, "that makes it worth it."

The boss hasn't said anything. The songbird walks up to him, voice heavy.

"I still feel them," he says in a voice that strikes him in the chest, "in my body, every day, every time I see it, I will never be rid of them. They will always haunt me."

He takes another step.

"But if you do this, you will tie him to me forever. I will never be able to live with that," he whispers, "don't do that to me."

The boss looks at him. Something intimate and tender softens his eyes, and then hardens them once more as he looks back.

"Run."

The man who once commanded half of the city turns like a prey animal and flees.

When his footsteps have faded into nothingness, Logan lets out a shaking breath, his knees buckling, only for Janus and Roman to swoop in on either side, their arms around him.

"It's alright, lark, it's over, he's gone, you'll never see him again."

"Still think we should've killed him," Virgil grouses despite Patton's light cuff upside his head.

"You heard him," Remus says, even though he looks as murderous as ever, "Logan said no."

Roman still has his mouth to Logan's ear, murmuring soft comforts and soothing words. Janus glances at Mr. Sanders, silently asking if he should take care of it—Logan needn't know, of course, but Mr. Sanders shakes his head. Logan's word was law when it came to this matter, and the man would live.

Now, he might only live because he would instruct Remus to keep him alive, but he would live.

For now, though, he lets out a breath and steps forward, placing his hand on Logan's shoulder.

"Come back inside, lark," he says quietly, "I think we've all had enough excitement for one night."

The lark doesn't utter another word until safely ensconced in the club's inner sanctum, far away from the docks—he had only wanted to watch the sunset, how dare that man try and take that from him too—far away from anyone who could possibly wish him any harm. Roman and Remus are on watch, Janus promising to attend to anything that needs happen upstairs, Patton only a call away. And Logan looks at him with that soft and scared look and he cannot refuse his lark a single thing, not when he's so driven by fear.

"What do you need, songbird?"

"I don't know if I can sleep tonight," he confesses, eyes on his hands, "will you let me stay here with you?"

"Of course you can, lark. Come—you must be hungry."

Logan doesn't sleep that night, not well, but he wakes as safe as he could be and perhaps, perhaps that is enough.

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