#same person. just she gets styled and with that she carries herself differently

[leolove4ever]

so one of my most recent “takes” about celebrity and beauty is that you could take the most “natural” celebrity out there (ie with whatever the baseline of minimal to no work looks like by hollywood standards) and put them next to their alternate universe non-famous counterpart self and they would always look different. the severity of that difference obviously varies, but overall they would look different. it’s literally part of their job to keep themselves looking ultra beautiful to the extent which a normal person is … yes being increasingly exposed to… but like still harder to achieve. because of money and time.

[rosachae]

it's couture | daniela avanzini x reader

⁍ song: telepatia - kali uchis ⁍ requested: yes! thank you anon ⁍ genre: fashion designer AU. ⁍ a/n: thank you for requesting this, anon! sorry for the delay in getting this out. i hope this is what you were looking for. ⁍ w.c: 4.9k ⁍ warnings: nothing i can think of ⁍ synopsis:

daniela avanzini and y/n couldn't stand eachother. period. when lara raj, a big name model, hires both of them to style a head turning dress for the upcoming met gala, daniela starts questioning her own emotions. especially when she sees her rival in a stunning wedding dress.

the venue for the annual new york fashion summit was a converted cathedral in soho, all stained glass and echoing arches, filled with the scent of hairspray, burnt fabric, and desperation. rows of dress forms lined the far wall, half dressed models drifting between them like mannequins that had come to life and developed an attitude. it was the kind of place where reputations were born, shredded, and stitched back together with gold thread and ego. the air practically crackled with ambition, and at the center of it all stood two women who would have gladly murdered each other with a well aimed pair of fabric shears.

 daniela avanzini, and y/n.

they couldn’t have been any more different.

daniela was reviewing fabric swatches by the emergency exit. she sipped coffee from a plain black thermos, its surface chipped and scuffed, and only half-listened as two assistants argued over zipper placements beside her.

“try the gunmetal. the brass looks like we’re trying too hard,” she said calmly, flipping through the swatches again without glancing up. the two assistants stopped mid sentence like she’d flicked a switch.

a makeup artist tentatively hovered near her with blotting sheets, and daniela gave her a glance that was more exhausted than cutting. “i’m not the one going on camera. use those on theo, he’s been sweating since the fittings started.”

the comment was dry, not cruel, and made the man laugh sheepishly as he adjusted a model’s cuff across the room.

from her corner, y/n watched the whole scene unfold and felt her molars grind together. there was something infuriating about the way daniela carried herself, like she didn’t have to scream to be in charge, like people just listened when she spoke, like she’d earned her place here even though y/n was convinced she hadn’t. she hated the calm in her voice. she especially hated the way everyone always seemed to defer to her like she was the only person in the room who had ever touched a sewing machine.

y/n was crouched by her garment rack, pinning a hand embroidered sleeve onto a model with the precision of a surgeon and the tension of a woman who hadn’t slept in three days.

daniela saw her before anyone else did. one second she was focused on the fraying edge of a hemline and the next, her eyes caught on a figure across the room, and something in her posture shifted. not dramatically, not enough for her assistants to notice, but enough. her spine straightened. her fingers stilled against the fabric. her mouth twitched like she’d just tasted something bittersweet and familiar, like burnt espresso or a memory that overstayed its welcome. daniela’s eyes followed her without permission. lit up and darkened all at once.

there was always something different about y/n. daniela didn’t exactly go out of her way to be warm to anyone, but with her, it was like her instincts short circuited. the jabs came easier. the irritation was more urgent.

“look who’s here,” she drawled, not bothering to lower her voice. “the duchess of diy. did you dig those sleeves out of a goodwill bin or is that just your aesthetic now?”

a few people glanced over. an assistant coughed into their elbow. the energy shifted, as it always did when those two were in the same room.

y/n didn’t flinch. she looked up, met daniela’s gaze, and smiled. wide and fake, all teeth and poison.

“don’t be jealous. not all of us have interns to distress denim for us. some of us still do it with our bare hands. like peasants.”

daniela’s jaw tightened, but her smile stayed fixed. almost too fixed. it wasn’t like she enjoyed these little spats, but somehow, every time y/n was around, her self control got... bendy.

she told herself it was just about the competition. that y/n brought out the worst in her because she was reckless and arrogant and frustratingly good at what she did.

but deep down, in some irritating corner of her brain, she already knew it wasn’t that simple.

it never had been.

the history between them was long, complicated, and aggressively documented by fashion blogs with too much time and not enough taste. there had been the infamous fabric dye incident at the copenhagen capsule show, when daniela’s models walked out with mysteriously stained hems that perfectly matched the palette of y/n’s collection. there was the time y/n’s mood board for a high end show mysteriously disappeared, only for daniela to debut a collection eerily similar to the sketches she'd posted in an instagram story months ago.

“coincidences happen,” daniela had said at the time, blinking with false innocence. “besides, she doesn't own baroque.”

“no,” y/n had muttered later to a reporter, “but it doesn’t change the fact that she doesn’t have a single creative bone in her body.”

just last week, someone had “accidentally” swapped out y/n’s feathered bodice with a tacky polyester replica right before a cover shoot. the model broke out in hives. daniela claimed she was just trying to help. “honestly, i thought it was part of her new budget-friendly era,” she’d said, sipping green juice while avoiding eye contact.

y/n, for her part, wasn’t above retaliation. she once paid a tech intern fifty bucks to redirect daniela’s website to a minions fan blog for twelve hours. another time, she subtly rewired the sound cues at a runway show so daniela’s dramatic finale walk was accompanied by the sound of a fart. daniela didn’t flinch. she just made her models pose harder.

daniela watched y/n from across the room now, arms folded, eyes narrowed. god, she hated her. the way she stomped around like she was the second coming of vivienne westwood. the way she talked like every sentence was a protest slogan. the way she treated fashion like it was a war and she was the last righteous soldier left. it was so exhausting, so insufferable, so unbelievably hot…

no. god. ew. absolutely not. daniela wanted to shoot herself.

y/n was annoying. and not in the charming, girl next door, quirky way. she was the kind of annoying that seeped into your dreams and made you wake up clenching your jaw. daniela pictured her yelling at a waiter over salad dressing and then realized she probably had. that was the kind of person she was. exhausting. grating. talented, maybe, but in a way that made daniela want to break something.

and yet, she kept watching her. the way her hands moved when she was adjusting fabric. the slight crease between her brows when she was concentrating. the rare moments when she smiled at a model and looked– almost– like she belonged in a different universe than this cutthroat, acidic one.

gross.

y/n, meanwhile, was quietly sharpening her metaphorical knives.

daniela avanzini was everything she hated about the fashion world. born into fame, raised in silk sheets, handed a platform and praised for mediocrity. she didn’t design, she curated. she didn’t create, she commissioned. and yet somehow she was always there, always floating in like a perfume ad come to life, pretending she’d stitched that damn corset herself instead of texting her atelier “make it better.”

it was infuriating. her perfect skin, her smug little smile, her complete lack of self awareness. daniela acted like a savior of the industry when she was really just playing dress up with someone else’s scissors.

and yet, y/n couldn’t stop checking the room for her. couldn’t stop collecting daniela’s insults like ugly souvenirs. couldn’t stop wondering, in the worst corners of her mind, if maybe she wanted daniela to notice her for real. not just as competition. not just as an obstacle. but as someone whose touch might ruin her in all the best ways.

y/n shook the thought off and stabbed a pin through a collar a little too aggressively. she was clearly hallucinating. probably from the fumes of hot glue and unresolved sexual tension.

the night ended in another catastrophe.

daniela had the closing slot of the show. the final walk, the anchor position. it was a silent nod from the summit’s organizers, a recognition of her lineage, her consistency, her ability to close a runway like a full stop. the venue was packed. editors, critics, celebrities half wrapped in custom pieces that hadn’t even hit the press yet. the front row was a garden of sunglasses and crossed legs, glossy lips and murmured predictions.

backstage, the air was sharp with tension and steaming fabric. daniela stood behind the curtain, expression calm, arms folded across her clipboard as the last model stepped into position. the dress she was wearing was the centerpiece of daniela’s collection. a structured black gown with asymmetric pleating and a long sculptural train. elegant, minimal, brutalist in a way that whispered power instead of shouting it.

daniela gave the model a nod. the music shifted, the lights dimmed, and the audience fell silent in that way they always did right before something beautiful walked past them.

the model stepped out. one step. two. three. the gown caught the light and moved like poured ink. and then the train snapped.

it happened fast. a sharp pop from the rear hem, and suddenly the delicate scaffolding of thread and boning gave way. the tail of the dress detached entirely, skidding a few feet behind her like a fallen shadow. the model faltered but kept walking, trying to salvage the moment with practiced grace. but the murmurs started immediately. the collective breath of the room stuttered. cameras clicked, trying to catch the exact second disaster bloomed.

backstage, daniela didn’t move. not yet. but her jaw clenched. just once.

she turned slowly, scanning the workspace behind her. a few stylists were frozen. others pretended not to have noticed. her team looked horrified. and then, there she was. y/n. standing across the prep floor, arms crossed, fingers tucked under her elbows, watching the runway with the cool detachment of someone who already knew what was going to happen.

daniela’s voice, when she spoke, was quiet and flat. “thread doesn’t snap like that.”

her assistant shifted nervously beside her. “the hem was reinforced this morning. i-i double checked it myself.”

daniela nodded once. her eyes didn’t leave y/n.

it hadn’t been loud. it hadn’t been dramatic. it was the kind of sabotage that would be dismissed as technical error to everyone else in the room. but daniela knew. she always knew.

y/n finally looked over, just long enough to meet her gaze. and she winked.

daniela turned back to the runway as the model disappeared backstage, trainless and humiliated. this was what it always was with y/n. quiet warfare in beautiful clothing.

and for reasons daniela refused to examine, it almost thrilled her.

almost.

__

lara raj was the kind of model whose face could launch a thousand brand deals and get a thousand designers into a fistfight. she was young, luminous, unbothered by gravity or expectations, and the current darling of every fashion house that mattered. it wasn’t just her look. it was the fact that anything she wore, she sold, like it was stitched directly from her bloodline. and this year, she’d be attending the met gala for the first time in three years.

her team made one thing very clear in the email blast that hit both daniela and y/n’s inboxes at the exact same time. she wanted something iconic. something unexpected. she wanted edge, but “make it couture”, words directly from her sister, rhea. and she wanted both of them to pitch.

daniela read the email once, then again, and then tilted her head like the text might change if she looked at it sideways. lara raj. the lara raj. she hadn’t just liked daniela’s last collection, she’d posted about it. unprompted. untagged. and now they were asking her to fight for the chance to dress her... against y/n?

“sure,” daniela muttered to herself, slamming her laptop shut. “just what i needed. a group project from hell.”

across the city, y/n was already halfway through building a preliminary mood board. her hands moved fast, decisive, sketching over silhouettes and draping test fabrics over her mannequin with a kind of fury that made her studio assistant pause mid step and whisper, “god, it’s happening again.”

“do you think lara knows they hate each other?” the assistant asked later when y/n disappeared into her sewing room.

“oh,” someone replied. “she definitely does.”

lara raj arrived at the shared workspace two days later, radiant and late. she wore sunglasses indoors, carried a pomeranian in a leather sling, and spoke like a woman who knew every room would wait for her to finish.

“you’re both so different,” she said brightly, looking between them as if they were two flavors of gelato she couldn’t decide between. “and i love that. i want both of your visions. i think this could be really... dynamic.”

y/n blinked. “wait. both?”

“yes, both. collaborative genius. chaos and elegance. the full spectrum. i mean, you’re already enemies, right? it’s perfect for press.”

“we’re not enemies,” daniela said flatly at the same time y/n muttered, “we’re not collaborating.”

lara giggled. “you’re so cute when you lie.”

and just like that, it was decided. the met gala dress would be designed together. one last look. one unforgettable outfit. two stubborn designers, neither willing to give in, caught in a tug of war over what would capture the theme ‘bridgerton marriage.’ 

when daniela first heard the theme, she nearly scoffed. she’d completely forgotten that the show existed, that it swept across america, turning everyone obsessed in a way she couldn’t quite understand. the idea of trying to create something that fit into that world made her stomach twist. how was she supposed to romanticize a story that felt so distant from her own reality? but still, there was no backing out now. the pressure settled heavy, and deep down, daniela wondered if she could even find the spark to make this work.

by day three of fittings, someone had already cried.

it wasn’t daniela, and it definitely wasn’t y/n.

the studio had been converted into neutral territory. models, stylists, and assistants buzzed between both stations, careful not to appear loyal to either. daniela had commandeered the left half of the space, all clean lines, pinned sketches, organized swatches labeled in neat cursive. y/n’s side looked like an art school exploded. loose threads everywhere. a hot glue gun sitting in a puddle of sequins. mood boards taped to the wall like protest flyers.

they worked ten feet apart, but the tension stretched like a live wire.

“those pleats are aggressive,” daniela said once, studying y/n’s half of the dress.

“says the woman who added steel boning to a neckline,” y/n shot back. “what is lara supposed to do, lunge at anna wintour? she’ll have the poor old woman hospitalized before she can even say ‘hello’.”

lara, sitting in the corner eating grapes like she was watching live theater, offered no help. “i love the passion. let it burn, babes.”

the fighting escalated fast. y/n accused daniela of trying to overwrite her half of the design. daniela accused y/n of playing messy on purpose. one of daniela’s interns found their measuring tape had been subtly shortened by half an inch. someone rewired y/n’s iron to only heat on one side.

by the end of week one, they were communicating exclusively through post-its and threats.

but the worst part wasn’t the sabotage. it was the fact that—against all logic, all reason—the dress was starting to look good. like, really good. like they accidentally made something brilliant just by trying to outshine each other.

and neither of them could stand it.

“stop adjusting my stitches,” y/n snapped one night, catching daniela bent over the bustier with her needle poised.

“they were crooked,” daniela said, not even bothering to lie.

“they were mine.”

daniela stood up slowly, eyes hard. “god, you’re so territorial.”

“and you’re so smug. do you even know how to collaborate or are you just here to micromanage and pretend you invented corsets?”

“oh please, if i left you alone with this dress for five minutes it would come back looking like william howard taft took a shit on it.”

they were toe to toe now, voices low but furious, surrounded by silk and tension and the electric hum of everything unsaid.

it escalated on a tuesday. most things did. the pressure was thick, deadlines crawling closer, and the fabric budget mysteriously short by five hundred dollars.

“i submitted the invoice,” y/n hissed into her phone, pacing her corner of the studio like a stormcloud in heels. “twice. check again.”

meanwhile, daniela calmly unrolled a new bolt of duchess satin she’d ordered overnight. pristine. expensive. definitely not on the shared supply list.

“must be a processing error,” she said without looking up. “that happens when you don’t itemize properly.”

y/n didn’t respond, but later that night, one of daniela’s hand finished embroidered panels went missing. just vanished. her team tore through every drawer and cutting table looking for it.

“it was right here,” one whispered, pale and sweating. “i swear, i folded it myself.”

daniela didn’t say a word. just stared across the room at y/n, who was threading a needle with the smug satisfaction of someone who’d just buried a body and dared you to find it.

by week two, sabotage had become ritual.

chalk lines were swapped. pattern notches redrawn half a centimeter off. someone turned the studio thermostat up to eighty five degrees and daniela’s couture grade fabrics warped beyond salvation. when y/n opened her supply drawer the next morning, every single spool of thread was knotted into a tangled rainbow of fury.

“what the fuck is this,” she growled.

“maybe your chaos finally reached critical mass,” daniela offered, sipping water like it was vintage pinot.

“oh right, because your side of the room is the picture of mental stability.”

“it’s called discipline. you should try it sometime. maybe then your hems wouldn’t look like they were stitched during an earthquake.”

the fitting was scheduled for friday. up until thursday night, both designers still hadn’t decided what to do about the neckline. y/n wanted a raw edge, deconstructed, like cracked marble. daniela insisted on a sharp, clean fold. symmetrical, exact, the kind of finish that whispered decadence in ten languages.

at 3:00 a.m., y/n fell asleep on a roll of batting.

at 3:10 a.m., daniela unpicked the neckline and resewed it her way.

at 3:14 a.m., y/n woke up and undid all of it.

they passed each other in silence at 3:17 a.m., scissors in hand, identical dark circles under their eyes and identical expressions of homicidal grace.

by friday morning, they hadn’t slept more than a few hours combined.

lara arrived in vintage galliano, sipped a matcha that tasted like money and algae, and climbed onto the riser like it was a throne. she looked radiant. the kind of radiant that made people say words like “visionary” and “ethereal” in the same breath.

“okay,” she said, clapping once. “blow me away.”

neither y/n nor daniela spoke. they just moved, almost in sync, adjusting seams and tucking folds like they weren’t locked in a psychic deathmatch. the dress shimmered. literally. someone (probably y/n) had added a sheer iridescent underlayer that caught the light like oil on water. but the silhouette was daniela’s. clean, structured, architectural. almost cruel in its elegance.

lara looked down at herself and exhaled slowly. “holy shit.”

it should have been a win. it should have been relief. but instead, it settled like cement between them. because they knew. deep down, past the competition and sabotage, past the snide remarks and the god awful passive aggression, that they’d made something beautiful.

and they’d done it together.

which was, frankly, sickening.

later that night, daniela found her sketchbook missing. y/n’s iron was mysteriously sticky. lara’s assistant overheard them screaming in the back hallway about something involving a bias cut, a metaphorical knife, and the phrase “i will ruin you, don’t test me!”

lara posted a photo of the dress the next day. just a tease. a sliver of fabric. the internet exploded.

“who designed this??”

lara didn’t tag either of them. she just captioned it with just one simple word. duality. and somewhere, in the very tense quiet of a split studio, two designers stared at the same post and clenched their jaws in perfect synchrony.

they weren’t done.

not even close.

__

the studio was too quiet without lara. normally, her presence filled the space with perfume and chaos and too many teasing questions about daniela and y/n’s scathing dynamic. now, it was silence broken only by the occasional snide remark or the telltale sign of sabotage.

lara was sick. nothing serious, just enough of a sore throat for her publicist to issue a polite but firm “absolutely not” when the idea of a pre gala shoot came up.

but the shoot couldn’t wait. the magazine deadline was locked. the editorial team was already there, sipping iced coffees and pretending not to be panicking.

“we need a body,” someone said. “just to see the shape on camera.”

y/n rolled her eyes, but before anyone could suggest another solution, she disappeared behind a curtain with the dress and came out ten minutes later, annoyed.

“happy now?” she muttered, brushing hair from her face.

and the room went still. even the photographer forgot to speak. daniela looked up from her notes and, admittedly, froze.

it wasn’t the dress. it was her in the dress.

the silk hugged y/n like it had been made just for her. the neckline, the one they’d argued over for hours, framed her collarbones like a delicate sculpture. the raw edge caught the light perfectly, soft and intentional, exactly how y/n wanted it. but her expression wasn’t the usual defiant glare or that sly, confident grin. it was quieter. almost hesitant. like for once, she didn’t know what she looked like. like she wasn’t performing, wasn’t pretending.

daniela couldn’t look away. and she hated herself for it. hated how her chest tightened, how her heart started pounding in a way that felt too sharp and unfamiliar. hated how y/n looked. not just styled or glamorous, but truly, achingly beautiful. like something daniela couldn’t touch or claim. she felt it settle deep in her throat, a lump she couldn’t swallow, a pulse she couldn’t name.

what the hell is wrong with me? she whispered, barely audible, the words meant only for herself.

seeing y/n in a wedding dress, even a sleek, modern one they’d designed together, made daniela’s stomach twist in a way she couldn’t ignore. it wasn’t just the dress itself. it was everything the dress stood for. everything she’d spent so long trying to shove aside but couldn’t. for years the tension between them, the push and pull, the sharp words exchanged at every show, had been something daniela secretly craved. the thrill of knowing y/n would be there, with that careless smile and quick tongue. it had always excited her. but now, seeing her like this, vulnerable and quiet beneath the layers of silk, all daniela could do was sit with that tight, unfamiliar knot coiling deep inside her chest. a quiet ache she wasn’t ready to name, and maybe never would be.

the shoot lasted twenty minutes. the photos were flawless. y/n slipped out of the dress without ceremony, passed it to an assistant, and left the studio with a half-hearted joke about how she was “too underpaid for this.”

daniela didn’t answer. she didn’t speak for the rest of the day. 

the silence stretched into the week.

daniela showed up early. stayed late. snapped at interns. adjusted hems that didn’t need adjusting. when y/n tried to joke, she shut it down. when y/n got snippy, she didn’t take the bait.

“is she okay?” someone whispered after daniela left the room.

“honestly?” the intern replied. “she’s acting like she saw god and then punched herself in the face about it.”

y/n noticed. of course she did. daniela wasn’t just cold now. she was distant. pulled tight. like even breathing the same air was suddenly unbearable. and it shouldn’t have mattered. not to y/n. not after everything. she’d long grown used to the stares, the clipped insults dressed up as critiques. she'd learned how to wear them like armor. but this was different. this wasn’t a fight. this was absence. 

“she’s been worse than usual, right?” she asked, poking at a seam.

 her assistant nodded. “like, full ice queen. not even passive-aggressive. just… gone.”

y/n hummed, not looking up. “figured.”

“did you say something?”

“no.” she clipped a loose thread, sharp and clean. “that’s the problem.”

her assistant hesitated. “you want me to slash her tires?”

y/n cracked the faintest smile. “not yet.”

but the silence that followed sat heavy. and try as she might, y/n couldn’t stop replaying it. she didn’t miss the way daniela had looked at her in the dress. like she was seeing something she didn’t expect.  like she didn’t know what to do with it. and then, nothing. no comments. no corrections. no post-it notes. just distance. quiet. just daniela, vanishing behind the wall she’d rebuilt overnight.

it all boiled over at rehearsal. a pre-gala fitting walkthrough, long past a reasonable hour. too many people with too many opinions, crowding the space with clipped instructions and high-strung egos. tension braided into every minute. it was only a matter of time before something snapped.

a pin caught on fabric. someone swore. a stylist made a face. and then, somehow, it was just y/n and daniela behind the risers, hidden by curtain and shadow. the hum of the room faded into the background, muffled and irrelevant compared to the heat pooling in y/n’s chest.

“what is your problem?” y/n asked, voice tight, arms crossed over the half-pinned dress like armor. “i know you hate me, but at least before you were consistent.”

daniela didn’t flinch. didn’t look away. just stared at her like she was trying to see past the question, past the room, past the week. like she was holding something back with both hands.

“seriously,” y/n said again, louder now. “what did i do to make you hate me this much?”

the silence dragged. thick and suffocating. daniela exhaled slowly. her voice, when it came, was quiet. but it cut.

“you walk in like you deserve everything you haven’t earned. like talent is something you can fake if you dress it up loud enough. and somehow, people fall for it. that’s what pisses me off.”

y/n didn’t react at first. she didn’t argue, didn’t push back. her face didn’t shift into anger or offense. it just... stilled. like something inside her had dropped, quick and clean.

“oh,” she said after a moment. not bitter. not dramatic. just quiet. “got it.”

she turned away.

daniela didn’t move. she couldn’t. and the regret came slow, creeping up her spine like cold water. unfamiliar and sharp and too late.

__

the met gala was a cathedral of spectacle. diamonds in the air, silk on every surface, photographers screaming names like prayers. lara stepped out in their dress. a hybrid masterpiece born of ego and spite and sleepless nights. gold silk, razor pleats, a neckline they’d argued about for three days straight. it fit her like prophecy.

she was breathtaking. but daniela wasn’t watching her.

she was watching y/n.

y/n, standing a few feet off the carpet with a clipboard tucked against her hip and a pin stuck behind one ear, scanning the crowd like she belonged to none of it. she wasn’t dressed for attention, not tonight. but she still managed to draw the eye. daniela’s eye.

especially when lara turned to say something over her shoulder and y/n laughed, low and real, the kind of laugh that reached her eyes and cracked something quiet open in the chest.

and just like that, it hit daniela.

she didn’t care that lara was the one in the dress. didn’t care about the interviews or the reviews or the fact that somewhere out there, vogue was already tweeting photos of their work under headlines like two designers, one moment. she should’ve cared. she’d worked her entire life to care.

but all she could think about was how y/n looked right then. tired, maybe. sharp as ever. but softer, too. looser around the edges. real. daniela had spent weeks building armor around herself just to survive working next to her, and now it wasn’t working. not anymore.

because the truth was ugly and sudden and impossible to ignore.

it hadn’t been hate.

not when y/n had stepped out in the test fitting and daniela forgot how to blink. not when they’d argued for twelve hours over fabric choice and daniela had secretly saved one of y/n’s sketches just because it made her feel something. not when she’d said that awful thing backstage and hated herself for how fast y/n’s face fell.

and not now. not tonight. 

she didn’t hate her. she wanted her.

the problem was that she wasn’t sure if it was too late to make things right.

[onlybeeewrites]

A Heart’s Overture

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: drinking, Coryo being himself, mentions of violence, death, and killings.

The Valley Song Series: Previous

Tag list: @v-love @stinkii-boii

~~~~~~ This wasn’t unusual sight for Coriolanus to see that night at the hob. But not usual either. The heat of the summer sweltered in the building of the Saturday night. Chatter and laughter carried in the voices of hundreds of district people. 

Miners who were happy to have the night off.  Shop keepers happy to enjoy themselves too until they would have to work the next morning. Peacekeepers who were able to leave the base and enjoy a night of music, dancing, and beautiful girls to occupy their time.

And that’s exactly where Coriolanus Snow was. Where else would he be?

It had been a week since he had first saw you and he swore he felt his breath leave his lungs. You were beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Like sunshine peaking through mist in the early morning. 

A white off-the-shoulder top with bell sleeves. A beige corset with a floral pattern and lace-up detail is layered over the top. A mid-length, rust-colored, full skirt with a gathered at the bottom. 

And making you just a few inches taller, A pair of maroon-red Mary Jane shoes with a small buckle. Worn and old. But you made it all look beautiful. 

Your hair was down in its natural style. The front of it pinned to keep out of your face with a silver like comb. Baby’s Breath sat, bringing a natural innocence to you as you stood to the side, watching the stage where the covey preformed. 

An innocence that wasn’t tainted with anything but the hardships of the district. Calloused hands from your guitar and sewing—that was something he had learned from Lucy Gray. You were the one that always made the clothes. Helped sew patches in holes or took old rags and made them into beautiful clothing; as beautiful as you could get with scraps. 

But even so your hands knew hard work. But they didn’t have blood on them. You were innocent in that way. Like a dove. You didn’t have one mean or killer bone in your body. Your hands and conscious was free from that weight. Unlike Lucy Gray. Who had killed. A few people. That wasn’t acceptable.

Lucy Gray was tinted with that darkness now and she would never be the same girl that got off the train when they first met. He wasn’t able to help her prevent herself from killing. He had handed her the weapon to do it. But in the end she had done it. Killed. 

And he did too. But that was different,

But you?

Coryo took notice of how you weren’t preforming 

The strum of a worn guitar mingles with the raspy hum of a fiddle, and your family’s voices rise above it all—familiar, steady, filling the space in a way you should be, too. But tonight, you’re not on that makeshift stage.

No, Coryo noticed that you were waiting.

And he knew exactly. Who you were waiting for.

Sejanus. 

You were waiting for fucking Sejanus.

You lean against the wooden beam near the back of the room, your eyes darting to the door every few moments, a quick hope rising each time you catch movement. But the door remains empty, and the familiar dark curls you’d been anticipating never appear. Your stomach twists, a small knot of worry tightening with every passing second. Where is he? You replay the promise in your mind—the one where Sejanus had assured you he’d come, a little hesitant but earnest, offering to meet you tonight.

The music shifts again—another slow, quiet song. You glance at the dancers in the middle of the room, each one caught up in the melody, and the knot in your stomach grows tighter. You force your gaze back to the door. Maybe he got caught up with something… Maybe he had to take care of something with the peacekeepers or maybe—

“Still waiting for someone?”

The voice cuts through your thoughts like a knife, and you jump, swallowing as you straighten quickly. You’ve been caught. You turn to face him, the one person who’s been shadowing you all night. Coriolanus. His gaze holds a teasing, almost amused quality as his eyes flicker over you, head tilted just enough to make you wonder if he’s been watching you for longer than you realized.

You clear your throat, trying to pull yourself together, but it’s impossible to ignore the slight disappointment lingering at the edge of your thoughts. You push it away, replacing it with a forced smile. “No,” you lie, the word sounding hollow even to your own ears. You try to mask the vulnerability creeping through your voice, but it’s no use.

How foolish you must look. You spend a few hours with Sejanus, share moments with him, allow yourself to hope that tonight could be different. You even made a promise to take the night off, to spend it with him, dressed in one of your best outfits, only for him to not even show.

Coriolanus watches you carefully, a glint of curiosity in his gaze. “Are you sure?” he presses, his voice soft but insistent. “You don’t seem very convinced.”

Your heart tugs, the familiar ache of being stood up only adding to the weight you’re carrying. You shift, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it affects you. You clear your throat again, but the words come out wrong, the fragile calm you tried to construct crumbling beneath the weight of your frustration. “It’s nothing.”

Coriolanus’s smile widens, a little more knowing now. “I’m not sure I believe you.” His eyes flicker to the door, then back to you, lingering. “But I suppose it’s his loss.”

His words are a playful attempt to ease the tension, but there’s something in them that makes your chest tighten. The night is still young, after all, and maybe it’s better to let go of Sejanus—for tonight, at least—and enjoy the music with someone who actually showed up.

You want to protest, to explain how this isn’t just about Sejanus—it’s about the time you spent building something, only to have it slip away at the last moment. But instead, you just nod, unable to speak the words.

He hums, pulling you out of your thoughts. He sounded unconvinced, but doesn’t press. Instead, his gaze flickers toward the stage, toward your family playing their hearts out while you linger in the shadows. “Shame you’re not up there,” he muses. “I was looking forward to hearing you.”

A warmth creeps up your neck, unexpected. “Not tonight.”

“Hmm.” He steps closer, close enough that you catch the scent of whatever clean, expensive cologne he wears. “Then it’s a lucky thing I came. A girl like you shouldn’t be left waiting in a place like this.”

You open your mouth—whether to argue or agree, you’re not sure—but before you can find the words, he offers his hand. “Dance with me.”

It’s not really a question.

But a part of you almost likes it. 

You hesitate, only for a second, but then his fingers brush against yours, and it sends a quiet thrill up your spine.

The music shifts again—something lively, with a quick tempo and a beat that pulses beneath your skin. Coriolanus is still watching you, waiting, his hand outstretched. You shouldn’t. You know that much. But Sejanus isn’t here, and Coriolanus is.

So you take his hand.

His fingers curl around yours, warm and sure, as he pulls you onto the crowded floor. He moves with an easy confidence, despite the uneven planks beneath your feet, despite the way eyes flick toward you both—some surprised, some amused, a few narrowed with quiet suspicion. 

But Coriolanus doesn’t seem to notice or care. He leads you into the dance like he’s done it a hundred times before. Even though this is District 12.

“See?” he murmurs, voice just loud enough for you to hear over the music. “Not so bad.”

You scoff lightly, but your pulse betrays you, quickening as he spins you with practiced ease. “You act like you planned this.”

He grins, the kind of grin that makes it clear he probably did. “If I had, would it be such a terrible thing?”

You don’t answer, because you don’t know.

His hand settles at the small of your back, guiding you through the steps as the song picks up. You fall into rhythm, your body moving on instinct, the music threading through your veins like it always does. Coriolanus is sharp and smooth, his movements precise but never stiff. He keeps up with you easily, his grip firm but never forceful.

And the worst part? It’s fun.

You know you should be more cautious with him—you know that. He’s a Capitol boy, a Snow. And yet, there’s something magnetic about him, something that makes it easy to let yourself get caught up in the moment. 

Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, like he enjoys your company more than he should. Maybe it’s the way he speaks, how he makes compliments feel like secrets. Or maybe it’s just the simple fact that Sejanus never showed, and you don’t want to spend the whole night waiting.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Coriolanus says, his voice quieter now, meant only for you. “But I suppose you always do.”

Your breath catches, heat rising to your cheeks before you can stop it. You tilt your head, forcing a smirk to cover the flustered feeling creeping in. “Do you say that to all the district girls?”

His smile widens, sharp and knowing. “Only the ones worth saying it to.”

Before you can form a reply, he spins you, smoothly, effortlessly, and when you return to him, your fingers curl a little tighter around his.

He leans in slightly, just enough that his breath brushes your ear. “You’re blushing.”

You roll your eyes, but the heat creeping up your neck betrays you. “You’re imagining things.”

He chuckles, low and amused. “I don’t think I am.”

The song swells, and he takes the opportunity to spin you again—faster this time, his grip never faltering. When he pulls you back in, your chest nearly collides with his, and for a brief moment, the world shrinks down to this: the warmth of his palm against yours, the heat of his breath as he exhales, the way his gaze locks onto yours with something unreadable but undeniably intent.

The song slows, the last few notes hanging in the smoky air, and you realize suddenly, sharply, that you don’t want to step away.

Neither does he.

Coriolanus follows your gaze, then tilts his head back toward the stage. “You could sing now, you know,” he says, a casual invitation laced with something deeper. “For me.”

And you don’t know why, but for the first time tonight, you think you just might. “Maybe I will~” you mused before the music starts up again. And so do the both of you.

~~~~~~

The rest of the night has unfolded in a blur of music, laughter, and maybe one two many drinks. 

You and Coriolanus have danced together for hours, the rhythm of the music syncing with the unsteady beat of your hearts. The alcohol has flowed freely, each drink adding a layer of warmth and daring to your interactions.

As the final song fades, you find yourselves alone amidst the dissipating crowd. 

The air outside is cool, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of the dance floor. Coriolanus’s grip on your hand is firm, guiding you through the quiet streets. His proximity is comforting, yet there’s an undeniable tension, a magnetic pull that neither of you acknowledges aloud.

You blink, trying to push the buzz from your head as you meet his gaze again. “You’re not nearly as terrible as I thought you’d be,” you murmur, your words a little slurred, but you don’t mind. He’s close enough that you can smell the faint tang of liquor on his breath, the warmth of his skin pressing against yours. The space between you both has shrunk since you started walking.

Coriolanus chuckles, the sound low and rich, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “And here I thought I was living up to all your expectations.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a simple gesture that sends a jolt of warmth through you.

You laugh softly, the sound mingling with the night air. “Hardly,” you reply, your voice teasing but laced with an unfamiliar vulnerability. “But I suppose you’re not as insufferable as most Capitol boys.”

He stops walking, turning to face you fully. The streetlamp casts a soft glow, highlighting the mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Is that so?” He steps closer, reducing the already minimal space between you. “Then tell me, Covey, what do you find insufferable about us Capitol folk?”

The question catches you off guard, but the alcohol emboldens you. “Oh, where to begin?” You place a hand over your heart in mock offense. “Perhaps it’s the way you all talk as if you’re the only ones who matter. O-Or maybe it’s the way you think your money can buy anything.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Touché,” he concedes, his voice laced with genuine interest. “But not all of us are like that, you know. Some of us are just trying to survive, same as you.”

You study him for a moment, the alcohol-induced haze making it difficult to read his expression. “Survive?” You echo, your tone skeptical. “In the Capitol?” 

He nods, his gaze steady. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be But that’s a story for another time.”

You shrug as the world feels pleasantly hazy, the effects of the evening’s revelry settling comfortably in your limbs. You sway and stumble occasionally on the dirt road back to your home with Coryo by your side, and find yourself humming a tune, the melody flowing effortlessly from your lips. 

The cool night air wraps around you both as you approach your doorstep. The last few notes of the music still echo in your mind, and the alcohol lingers in your bloodstream, making everything feel a little lighter, a little more daring.

Coriolanus pauses when you reach the steps, turning to face you. The soft glow of the streetlamp casts a warm light over his features, and for a moment, you both just stand there in silence, the tension between you palpable. His gaze holds yours with an intensity that makes your heart flutter.

“Hey Covey~,” he says, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Your family, they all have names from poems, don’t they?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. It’s a topic you’ve grown up with—poetry in your family is as natural as breathing. Each member of the Covey family is named after a different poem, a tradition that’s been passed down for generations. Your own name has a story, of course. You just never expected anyone from the Capitol to care.

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice a little quieter than you intended, “we all have one. It’s… kind of our thing.” You pause, looking at him curiously. “Why do you ask?”

His smile deepens, and there’s a glimmer of something you can’t quite read in his eyes. “I want to know yours,” he says simply. “What poem are you named after?”

You tilt your head, considering for a moment. There’s something about his request, the way he’s looking at you, that makes you want to tell him. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s asking, that he wants to know you, not just some Capitol boy making idle conversation. And maybe it’s the alcohol loosening your tongue, but you find yourself giving in.

“It’s called Rose in the Dark,” you say softly, the words flowing easily now. “It’s about… being hopeful and waiting for goodness, even in the darkest of times. Even when it all feels hopeless,”

His eyes narrow slightly, intrigued. “And what does that have to do with you?” His voice is quiet, like he’s trying to draw something out of you, trying to figure out who you are, what you’re made of.

You take a deep breath, the alcohol spinning through your head in a warm swirl as you start to sing the words of the poem. The poem that you were named after.

“In a garden of dust where the shadows creep, She bloomed in silence, in the dark so deep. Her petals were soft, her heart full of fear, But she held on, despite the pain drawing near. The winds they howled, and the storms they  raged, But still, she stood—unbroken, unaged. Her roots were strong, though the earth was torn.

In the darkest night, a rose was born. She reached for the stars when the sky was dim, Sang silent songs with a voice so grim. Though the world around her crumbled away, She whispered to the night, “I’ll find my way.” “

Coriolanus watches you, his gaze unwavering, as the words hang in the night air between you both. You continue, your voice growing a little steadier as the poem wraps around you like a familiar cloak.

“Her gaze was steady, but her soul was wild, A mystery untold, the sun’s lost child. In the coldest winds, she never would bend, She walked alone, but she’d never end,”

Your voice falters for just a moment, but you push through, feeling a deep sense of connection to the words you speak, to the hope that they carry.

“Her name was Y/N Rose, a song in the breeze, A spirit that dances through the trembling trees. And when you hear the wind softly moan, Know that even when hope lives on,  She is still gone and all alone.”

You finish the poem, and the world feels strangely still, like time has paused around the two of you. There’s a silence that stretches out, and you suddenly feel vulnerable, exposing something deep within yourself. You look at him, and for a moment, you’re afraid he’ll laugh, or worse, make some cutting remark. 

Instead, his eyes soften, his lips quirking into that familiar, enigmatic smile. “You’re hopeful,” he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? Hope.”

You swallow hard, taken aback by the simplicity of his words. It’s the first time anyone has ever looked at you and seen that—hope, not just some girl from District 12, not just a Covey. Not even Sejanus has looked at you like that.

You nod, your chest tight with the weight of something you’re not sure you fully understand. Your mind muddled with the liquor.

“That’s what I am,” you say, repeating his curious words, your voice a little softer now, quieter. “Hope.”

Coriolanus seems to study you for a moment longer, as if trying to decide what to say next. The air between you both feels charged, heavy with more than just the weight of the words you’ve shared. There’s something else—something unspoken.

He steps closer, his hand brushing lightly against yours, sending a shock of warmth through your body. “Well, little Rose,” he says with that same knowing smile. “I think I’d like to keep that hope around.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, you’re unsure if he means it the way you think he does. If he sees the real you, or he’s trying to get to that level to see it. 

Coryo leans in, his lips brushing your cheek in the softest of kisses. To tender, so soft, it makes your stomach flutter. Causing your eyes to close and your eyelashes to flutter against your cheeks.

You stand there for a moment, your heart racing, feeling like the world is spinning around you. 

As he pulls back, you open your eyes, the gentle smile on his lips makes your breath catch in your throat. “Goodnight,” he murmurs, his voice warm, almost intimate. With a nod, he turns and head back down the dirt path towards the Seam, further back to the barracks of the peacekeepers. 

You watch him walk away, the lingering touch of his presence still electrifying the air around you. He was so different than Sejanus, it was strange to see them as friends.

Letting out a breath you step inside your home, the door closes behind you, you rest your hand against it. 

The echo of the poem’s words swirled in your mind as the  sensation of Coryo’s lips lingering on your skin. 

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

Introducing... Storm Young

for consideration at @simsbyyelhsa's Love Island

NAME: Storm Young AGE: 20 LIFE STATE: Human ORIENTATION: Pansexual. EA has a way of resetting my defaults so mebbe doublecheck when you download her. Jealousy settings should be for woohoo only. HOME WORLD: Chestnut Ridge, currently based in SanMy TRAITS: Cheerful, Goofball, Perfectionist, Lazy, Outgoing ASPIRATION: Lady of the Knits CAREER: Fashion Model, unofficially a disability advocate (she's hard of hearing in her left ear) SIGNIFICANT SKILLS: Wellness and knitting are her two highest but nothing is above a Level 6. I don't have Lovestruck so if most of the other contestants have the Romance skill, please be kind and cheat her a little (I don't know how much it impacts success in love or not).

read more

what she is looking for in a partner

"Someone with a sense of fun but still a decent set of ethics! Models have a bad rep but really that's because our hours are long and our jobs high pressure - and with most of us being young and still developing our life skills, sometimes the stress just gets to us. In reality you gotta be professional and easy to work with to succeed in the industry, aaaand with travel I'm usually rooming with other models and have to juggle a lot of different personalities. So a good attitude is a must."

"I work hard but when I'm off-the-clock, I flop and have pretty low-energy hobbies. So I'm cool with someone who's more active and athletic than me but just don't expect me to match your pace, yanno? With my job I also travel a lot, so you gotta have a life of your own and not be dependent on me to recharge your social battery."

"Also as some smart women once said, "if you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends." I may be young but I've been working since I was 15 and living away from home since I was 16, so I'm kinda the unofficial den mother of the younger girls. I have my own social circle and I'm a richer person for it, so don't cramp my style and I won't cramp yours."

misc facts

Second youngest of four children.

In this Watcher's universe, real world discrimination against sims (apart from rich versus poor, which is present in gameplay anyway) doesn't exist. So Storm realising that she was pansexual was merely met with "happy coming out or whatever, now go muck out the stables" by her dad 😅

She good-naturedly describes her style as "a little Y2K, a lot confused."

Being a model she can walk in heels, but generally limits them to her formal and party looks. She similar only wears make-up for those looks and prefers to let her skin "breathe" between gigs.

Along with her knitting set, she carries a large nail file in her bag to scuff up the soles of new shoes and make them easier to walk in for shows (old model trick).

Was scouted at a rodeo.

Took up knitting to keep herself occupied while on casting couches. While she has some practical skills due to growing up on a ranch, she dislikes exercise and prefers to maintain her shape through yoga.

lookbook

cc is: genetics (non default eyes, mouth preset, hair, eyelashes + nose shine in "skin details" and cleavage overlay in "face paint"), fingernails and some makeup, yellow sneakers in second everyday outfit, suit and shoes in formal look (shoes are also the same as in her party look) and hoodie in her cold weather look.

her cc lashes clash with rings so just be aware of that. also her hearing aid conflicts with earrings.

the only defaults i have are feet, but i'll remove them before i send you her zip, so there should be none. below is an unedited close up of her in cas so you can more easily match her eye colour.

TOU: I'm cool with outfit changes according to theme and her maybe borrowing some clothes from other contestants (she is young and still experimenting after all 😊), but please don't alter her hair, ethnicity, skin colour, body type nor any other type of genetics, unless it's to replace with your defaults. If there's a problem with anything, please contact me ❤️

Let me know if Storm needs to pack her suitcase, @simsbyyelhsa!

[faerghusfucker]

hello tumblr user faerghusfucker, I love your character design takes. The detail in the Felix hair take fascinates me, because I personally know nothing about hair. Do you have any other hair-headcanons about other characters in the game?

hello tumblr user maxthewickedgoblin!!! the answer is yes i do, and i just need to preface this post by stating just how excited this ask got me. i got it in the middle of working on a pile of assignments and i decided to make answering it a reward for when i finished them all bc this is a topic im so passionate abt that even just giving myself time to THINK more abt it is like a treat.

also this is the first post im making from my computer instead of my phone lol, i anticipate itll be a long one so. it's real keyboard time. btw if yall want me to expand on any of these more you need only ask and i will yap for all eternity. i hold this information in my soul all the time i love yapping abt this shit

An Eclectic Collection of FE3H Hairstyle Headcanons

ingrid's father doesn't allow her to cut her hair. it's like unwieldy long pre-ts and it looks super split ends-y, probably to make her more "marriageable" and appealing to the noblemen that he sends her proposals from. In both houses and hopes she defies his wishes by joining the army, and i think her cutting her hair is a symbol of that defiance as well. she is COMMITTING to the knighthood thing, marriage is of no concern to her, and so she changes her appearance as a result

similar thing with mercedes!!! she has the same marriage conflict as ingrid does (it's a little different with her tho, ingrid loves her father and mercedes. well you know), and i think the hair thing caries over too. she becomes a nun post-ts in houses and cuts her hair way shorter, but there's also a noticeable lack of the fluffy, wavy texture it has pre-ts. idk if this would be a requirement for nuns in the church of seiros, but it seems that in turning herself fully over to her faith, she also reduced her focus on worldly/selfish things such as fancy products for her hair and spending hours on styling it, so maybe that's why it's so much straighter in addition to being shorter

i know i already yapped abt felix FAR too much so here's a cutesy one lol i think he lets ppl play with his hair if they want to. he lets mercedes brush it and put braids in it when she misses emille and he didnt protest too hard when annette wanted to put flowers in it for the ball (spoiler for my ball felix design). he also takes SUPER good care of it. of all the characters in the game except maybe hilda, his hair routine is the most detailed. you know he has special brushes and oils and shit, his hair is SILKYYYY

you didnt think i JUST had blue lions headcanons, did you???? SURPRISE

i think dorothea's natural hair texture is her post-timeskip houses one, and in every other design she's curled it. i mean come on, she was a diva in an opera company, of course she knows how to do her hair super nice, and she carried that skill with her to the academy to try and attract a good spouse. but as we learn more about her and she grows up a little more, she starts to drop her flirty facade and be more authentic instead, and you guessed it, wearing her natural hair more :3

linhardt is VERY picky abt his hair length. obviously hes autistic and so he probably doesnt like how it feels when the cold air hits his neck. but at the same time, when his hair gets longer than his shoulders it tangles too easily, and it's far too much work to brush all of that hair. his hair has to sit AT his shoulders (in hopes he gets too busy with the war effort to cut it and so he's in-between haircuts in that one. he hates it so much. someone give my dear son a trim)

ferdinand's hair grows CRAZY fast. did you guys see the length of it in the houses timeskip????? unreal. like linhardt he starts out very meticulous with it-- a nobleman must be well-groomed, after all-- but once the war starts and he loses his territory i think he gets a lil depressed and kind of just. doesnt do it anymore lol

this one's a little out there but i think hubert is blind in his hidden eye and thats why he puts his hair over it. hes never told anyone abt it bc it would be a major weakness in battle if someone knew he had a massive blind spot. this is part of the reason he takes so well to magic thats super big and destructive so he doesnt need to be super precise abt where he's hitting. he struggles with weapons A LOT so he makes sure hes an absolute beast in magic to make up for it

marianne never learned to do her own hair, but she learned to braid horse manes after spending so much time with them and so she just applied that knowledge to herself. after getting closer to hilda, she very nervously and quietly asked if she could show her how to make her hair look nice, and homegirl JUMPED at the opportunity (hilda had been wanting to fix her gf's hair up for so long but she was being nice abt it)

lorenz lets his father cut his hair for him. need i say more

byleth (both of them) trims their hair with a dagger, and they've gotten really good at it. mercenery work doesn't pay well enough for things like hairdressers, and they've never really given much thought to their appearance until arriving at the monastery and having everyone ogle at them all the time.

that SHOULD be everything but i'll probably think of more later. i legit thought of a few new ones as i wrote them lmao. i'm actually going to school for game design rn and specializing in concept art so this is the type of shit i think of. for my career lmao it's super fun. please spam my askbox with headcanons or questions or whatever the fuck i love to talk and i think it's bonkers other ppl like to read what i write lol. see you next time with that felix drawing :3

[erinfern0]

simon "ghost" riley as a father

dad!simon spent endless hours building the tiny furniture and painting the nursery walls. Of course, all the equipment was picked by you, as he didn't really have a taste for those things. If he were to choose, the room would end up looking like shit.

dad!simon who smiled the whole time as you folded the new clothes and blankets, stealing some of them to feel the fuzzy material, so calming to his growing anxiety.

dad!simon dreamed of this day for so long, but couldn't help the knot in his stomach at the idea of actually being a father. The fear of turning out to be the same as his old man was disgusting, but never left his mind.

dad!simon who discussed every thought and decision with his therapist, making sure he was really prepared. Coming back after every session, he'd sit down with you and discuss everything, being so happy to feel your touch and reassuring words.

dad!simon who thinks it's a true miracle that he lived so long to carry his little kid home. Holding their tiny body in his arms, the love of his life beside him as he stepped into the house.

and now:

girldad!simon who is completely smitten with his little girl, those huge eyes staring at him as if he was some sort of angel.

girldad!simon spends his free time studying how to style her hair, different ponytails and braids, all depending on his princess's wishes

girldad!simon who lets her color in all of his tattoos, watching her trembly hands holding the newest set of body markers.

girldad!simon who teaches her how to defend herself from a very young age, starting with simple lessons on assertiveness and boundaries, through various self-defend practices.

girldad!simon who spoils her rotten, he just can't deny that pouty little face whenever he tells her no. He has his limits, but most of the time she gets all the dresses, toys, and ribbons she gets.

girldad!simon gets a tattoo of her favorite stuffed animal somewhere on his body.

girldad!simon who encourages her passions, especially when it comes to sports because that's one of the few he has any expertise on. He spends a lot of time getting to know others, so he always has topics to talk about.

girldad!simon who feels pity towards any possible love interest that might even think of hurting his little girl.

girldad!simon is often seen walking around the park, holding her hand at all times. All his scary mysteriousness disappears the moment she talks to him, Simon just turns into the sweetest parent in seconds.

girldad!simon always kneels down in front of her so she feels taller.

girldad!simon will watch any show or movie she wants, doesn't matter how 'girly' it is. Secretly enjoys Barbie movies.

girldad!simon watching her grow up and getting into make-up makes him feel very happy, but nostalgic. Reminding himself that not so long ago she was running around and playing with little bugs.

girldad!simon who always drives her around, a personal taxi driver whenever she wants to hang out with her friends.

and:

boydad!simon who focuses on making sure his boy doesn't pick the same field of work as him, no matter how much his boy idolizes him.

boydad!simon who spends most of his time with his son outside, running, playing soccer, or building him some DIY shelters around the house with branches, leaves, and stones. (my ass can't get this out of my head, such a stereotypical polish childhood)

boydad!simon who adores his boy's interest in the military, but like I said, always reminds him to pick something else. This doesn't stop him from spending hours talking about little details and stories.

boydad!simon spoils him by buying him little cars, wooden models, and sports equipment.

boydad!simon makes sure not to push his boy too much into the toxic masculinity he had to grow up with. His son can be as expressive and sensitive as he wants, there's no one to stop him.

boydad!simon who becomes his son's best friend and savior whenever he has nightmares.

boydad!simon tries to be on-trend with electronic devices, spending lots of time to learn how to play his son's favorite video games whenever the little one is asleep, so he can help him if he struggles with a mission/achievement.

boydad!simon who has to make sure his son is a responsible person, giving him adequate punishments so he doesn't think there are no consequences to his actions.

boydad!simon studies dinosaurs just because his son finds them oh so cool. After reading some articles, he finds himself fascinated with them too, sharing all the facts and sources for them.

overall:

dad!simon would do anything to keep his child safe. He'd let the world burn if it meant his little one was the happiest kid on the planet.

dad!simon gets anxious if his kids don't answer him immediately, so he made sure their phones have their locations turned on all the time.

dad!simon doesn't argue with you around the kids, any serious discussion is only between the two of you, so in case emotions take over they never witness it.

dad!simon thinks it's crucial to show up, so he rushes from his deployment to make it to his child's school play or graduation, just to be able to support them.

dad!simon encourages his kids to go and see a psychologist, even if they don't struggle with much. He understands that there are just things important to talk about, but the kid might not want to open up in front of their parents about everything.

dad!simon turned out to be the father his old man could never be. In his kids' eyes, he's a true hero and the best dad they could have.

masterlist | request info

[imorynn]

── ᯓ between fleeting moments and significant interactions ᡣ𐭩

ᯓ pairing: alice wu-gulliver 〆 fem!reader

ᯓ genre : fluff, mentions of alice’s family trauma , emotional struggle and alice discovering her feelings for you, descriptions of internal conflicts, anxieties, self-doubt coming from alice , mild workplace tension

ᯓ word count : 3.7k

ᯓ author’s note : i’m between contemplating if i like the way this turned out and actually loving this very much — i adore alice so much — she deserved the world i freaking swear ohmygosh — those reading this piece and carrying that same strong love for our girl, alice, lol, i hope you enjoy this ! I look forward to writing for different characters within the coven <33

── IF ALICE WU-GULLIVER were to attempt recalling every interaction she had with you — a task she had long since lost track of after the first 25 — the most probable outcome would be likely to find herself flabbergasted.

It was as though she'd never truly thought about how often paths crossed with others until you came into the hers.

The majority of those encounters had been trivial, almost forgettable, their significance lost in the blur of everyday routine. But some of them, the ones that lingered just under the surface, held a weight she was not entirely ready to acknowledge. Those moments, though seemingly casual, seemed inevitable — after all, you shared the same workspace, the same environment.

But even so, there was something more to them, something that stirred her in ways she couldn’t quite put into words. She told herself they were just a product of proximity, of the placement. Yet, deep down, Alice knew — if only subconsciously — that there was more to it. She was not ready to admit it, but she found herself looking forward to those fleeting exchanges, a little too often, and a little too much.

The first, perhaps, was the day when she had, much to her dismay and recommended to, submitted an application for a rather favored clothing store by this generation. That clothing store being none other than Hot Topic.

“You start next week. Mall opens at 10, so get here an hour early, sharp. You greet, and you make sure no one shoplifts. Don’t screw it up, got it? I’m gonna be checking in on ya, but the one who’s gonna be showing you a bit around should be here any minute. Don’t screw that up, either.” were the words the store’s manager ( and security guard who stood mere feet outside the store ) had curtly uttered to her the second the employee’s uniform came into her hold.

‘Don’t screw it up.’ A phrase she collided with too often, if she was sincere. Screwing up came with the misfortune of the curse that had become a part of her. And it seemed that misfortune had been set in motion the second you came entering those open doors, and the words, “Ah, there she is.” came tumbling out of his mouth.

A screw-up (— if not incidental such as pretty much all the ones that came with the consequences of the curse —) had come across her midway through her fast-paced walk — with the slight determination to get to the shop because she indeed needed this job — before she had officially received her employee shirt. It had been a minor, unintentional act on her part, it being her bumping into you on her way past the escalator.

Alice has had her fair share of people not liking her for the simplest of reasons, and she rather not have another person apart from them being a stranger not liking her — just to play it safe. She had inhaled sharply — involuntarily drawing in a fragrance enriched with something floral and sweet clinging to this person’s sweater — wanting to be proper with her apology towards the person her shoulder had just jabbed, and she could not help pausing midway as her head tilted up.

That was the first time she had laid eyes on you; your wide eyes were, to put it frankly, very pretty and shockingly bright despite the furrow of your brows, and hair styled in a way that framed your features. She was a bit mesmerized, not sure if it was an under or overstatement, until you cleared your throat, cheek hoisting into what seemed a tiny — distasteful like all the other ones she’d received ?Odd? — smile, about to walk in the other direction.

Though, now that she thought more about it, you were most definitely walking towards the similar destination — if only she acknowledged you more than she already had, yet that would have been a tad bit demeaning. So she averted her gaze, muttered a swift “sorry” as she passed, and that was that.

Or so it seemed about 10 minutes ago or so, and then right on came the second interaction.

She inhaled sharply at seeing you. She had recognized the sight instantly regardless of the fact that she had seen your face only for a split second. Warm colored iriss and soft contour of your cheeks glowing slightly beneath the store’s dim radiance as you walk deeper within the store, murmuring a polite greeting before your curious gaze lingered on her, followed by that little smile you had given her earlier.

It was then that she had a name to put on you as the manager introduced you to one another, nodding every now and then and letting out a quiet ‘yes’, ‘okay’, and ‘got it’ to whatever he said.

And when she departed from the building she was bound to come back to in a few days, she found herself unconsciously gripping the employee shirt in her hands which shook little enough for her to ignore it, and continued with her day.

However, she could not avoid the unrelenting memory of you with those eyes and smile, unaware that, before long, the precise thought of you within her mind would become inevitable.

At nine am on a Monday, she arrived, shirt slackly tucked into her cargo trousers, the manager was juggling a handful of boxes, each one marked with the familiar logo of the store, without much more than a glance in her direction, head nodding toward the back, voice barely rising above the sound of cardboard shifting in his arms as he briskly informed her of the employee room in the back and something along the lines of you arriving momentarily.

A few minutes later, she walked out of the staff room while inwardly stating she could have very least stayed in bed instead of taking a pointless job until a particularly semi-familiar presence with bright eyes came into view, and she found herself grumbling less about where she was — more so questioning how does a single person comes to have eyes like that this early in the morning — as you walked over to her.

A warm ‘good morning’ had left your lips, and all she could find herself offering you was a thin-lipped smile and curt nod (you had yet to understand how rare her smiles were, forced or otherwise), and you proceeded to assist and guide her through the workplace.

Patience was something you easily possessed as you demonstrated essential tasks such as greeting those who entered, offering assistance if needed, being aware of the store’s layout, and answering questions she may have, which were not many, though you did not seem to mind that she didn’t.

“So,” you had given her a smile, similar to the first two ( or eighth that you've given her the past hour, she could not recall — ) though this one was warmer and lopsided, as you were across from her, both of you standing in front of the store’s window display. “Do you have any questions for me, Alice?”

Her lips subtly pursed at the way you said her name, and once again she found herself freezing except for her blinking. That was the first time she had heard you say it. She stayed quiet for a while, staring at you, at the way your smile became a bit wider until her eyes dragged to the side, clearing her throat with a shake of her head, a quiet “no, thank you,” leaving her.

She heard you hum, your steps slowly and quietly descending backwards. There was a bit of disquietude in her head that perhaps her action may have drawn you away from her, internally cursing at herself, her gaze then fixed on the ground while waiting for you to fully walk away.

“Okay then. I’ll be behind the register, in case you have anything to ask … or if you just want a bit of conversation, you know where to find me.” She looked up at you again, and she was taken aback to see your smile remained, the spark in your eye unwavering. And with a soft “good luck”, you turned and made your way behind the counter.

And so, that was when it all began, the few of many interactions to come. Over time, Alice learned that you were always patient and kind. Two adjectives were an understatement to the entirety of what, and who you were, yet they seem to fit you to perfection.

Kind enough you were to always greet her with a warm ‘good morning’ and question ‘How are you?’ when she walked early into the store or you were the one to arrive only a handful of minutes after her. And you did not just do it in the sense of just making formal small talk – you engaged in conversation with her.

Whether her response was small, at times remained the same, or she let herself truly speak for a moment, you actually listened, acknowledged her in more than what she believed herself to be, and responded.

Kind and patient you were when it seemed her entire world felt like it was against her. Kind you were when something wrong occurred that she believed was her fault, like the other day when she had tackled some rebellious teenager for shoplifting, and the store’s supervisor was about to get onto her case until you jumped into her rescue. You always had something kind to say to and do for her.

Long boring hours of settling near the entrance and faintly greeting those who entered ( which most of the time went unanswered, but what did it matter when you’d glance briefly at her and give her one of those lopsided smiles she grew to like ) but then you found a way to make it entertaining for her.

Interactions were both fleeting and lingering with you, but they were all significant nonetheless — warm, familiar, at ease for the reason that you did not push her into any more than what she gave, and for a moment she did think that would push you away from her, yet it didn’t. You had found a way to make her look forward to the next shift and every single one that came after that.

There were times when, while sitting at the front of the display window bright and early, it felt tedious for the very reason that you had not arrived. It had been ten minutes, and you normally arrived at the very least five minutes after she would. ( and if it was the other way around, she arrived three to four minutes after you ).

How did her mind jump from finding itself waiting for you to arrive to wanting to leave the building if you did not? She was not certain, nor did she allow herself to think much more of it than what she already did. Two minutes passed and her dark-polished fingers drummed impatiently against the ‘Queen’ button pinned to the pocket of her joggers ( a pin that you had gifted her with when you briefly learned the band was one she favored. Alice convinced herself it was a simple gesture of friendship. She then learned that apparently, this was the longest form of friendship she had had in a while).

Three minutes had her knee bouncing relentlessly, and when it nearly came to four it had her considering the idea of ruining her 3-month streak in keeping this job.

Just as she was about to get up and gather her items, you tumbled into the place, wisps of your hair rebelling against its standard styling, chest heaving, your attire rumbled, your beaming face being met with her hitched-up brow.

“The escalator to go up was broken, so I had to go up the one that goes down …” A soft giggle bubbled up your throat as you stood in front of her, and her heartbeat could not avoid the continuous jitters it created. “Very chaotic experience, you should try it someday, Ally.”

Alice was not accustomed to … whatever this was with you — if there was even anything to label with you besides a decent friendship. Her life had been built on discipline, on maintaining a steady grip over her emotions to keep both herself and those around her safe.

The curse she carried and tried to keep away, an inherited darkness bound to her by blood, had obligated her to draw thick boundaries, separating herself from anything or anyone that might break her focus.

She believed anything tied to dating, being with someone was a luxury she could not afford— too perilous, too unpredictable. That was before you.

The idea of liking you had lurked within her in quiet, unexpected moments, moments that threw her off balance. It had occurred though in this moment, striking her when you — in a disheveled state paired with that lively grin of yours ( not to mention, you took habit in calling her Ali, something she never let anyone really call her besides her mother. Yet it didn’t feel so bad when you called her that ) — softly laughed at her expression, truly laughing in a way that illuminated your entire face, the sound vivid with warmth, those vibrant irises piercing right through her defenses when they met her chocolate ones.

She could feel the stir of something unfamiliar, something that frightened her more than any spell or demon she had ever faced. Her pulse quickened, her carefully crafted composure wavering. She found herself wanting to see you smile in that way again, to be the reason for it — and that terrified her.

At first, she resisted the feeling, brushing it off as a fleeting, irrational notion — just another trick of false hope her mind fabricated, she told herself. But now that she looked back at every interaction experienced, she found herself lingering in your presence a moment too long, her eyes randomly but purposefully fixated on you throughout the day.

Such as when you worked behind the register when customers were doodling with that black pen you always used, strands of your hair brushing your forehead as you tilted down to focus on the little sketches upon the stacks of sticky notes you kept tucked into the counter’s small storage spaces.

( the times she stood behind the register, which was pretty rare, was when you had gone to help the manager with something and she was entrusted to be back there — she caught clear sight of what you did with those doodles; they practically decorated and brought the dark colors of the shelves to life. she may or may not have tucked one very endearing doodle into her pocket, one she recognized to be the pattern of the jewelry she wore being drawn upon an endearing cartoon character .)

During break times or the time you and she had gone down to the food court, she found herself tracing the gentle lines of your face, the warmth that radiated from your eyes, the politeness in the manner you spoke as you ordered both for you and her, already knowing her preference by heart. And every time, her chest would constrict, a subtle but unmistakable tension rising within her, unsettling in its unfamiliarity. Her stomach would twist, an agitating excitement she could barely recognize, let alone comprehend, creeping into her thoughts.

She would force herself to look away, to stifle the sensation as if quelling a spark before it ignited into a flame she feared she would not be able to control. It was both maddening and intoxicating, a quiet chaos beneath her skin that she did not dare admit to herself.

Her reactions continued nearly involuntary. That protective nature she contained honed when around you, almost instinctual. If customer was disrespectful, or if someone tended to cross a boundary, a limit with you, she was there to check on you, to interfere with whatever issue that person was giving you.

She would catch herself worrying over small things — if you had eaten enough, if you were conscious to your surroundings when you went to the food court or anywhere that was not near her.

If you were sleeping well when she’d catch you dozing off, or when she’d go on break, she’d bring you back a water bottle just to make sure you’re hydrated. She would find reasons to ensure your well-being, offering her assistance in ways that were tenuous but frequent.

She grew excessively aware of you, attuned to each movement, every gesture, every shift within your tone. The times you would sneak away from the task you were supposed to be doing to sit with her and talk about everything or nothing at all.

Or when you would stand so close to her to the point where that sweet scent of yours lumbered and your shoulder brushed hers — the pressure increasing just so very slightly, or when your fingers grazed hers — even if the proximity was coincidental, it felt odd. Odd but comforting, and she found herself wanting to live in that feeling just a bit more before she would pull away. Her breath would catch before she forced herself to steady it.

She could not remember the last time she had been so rattled, so affected by someone’s presence. And the more she tried to dismiss it, the more inevitable it became.

And then there were interactions that followed with the remnants of quiet weariness and sorrow Alice let herself feel when it came to her life, her mother. She came to reveal only pieces, admissions of herself to you, and of course, you being you, you remembered every bit of it and wove them together.

This specific moment was given when it was near closing hour, shops emptying while employees got ready to start heading home, yet while fixing the place up a bit, a recognizable melody Alice wished to forget played filled the atmosphere.

You noticed the shift in her demeanor, a partial reason for it, and when she sunk to the floor with her back against the wall, her pounding head clutched between her quivering palms, a silence suddenly replaced the song — your doing.

She still had not lifted her head as one of her hands fell over her knees, yet she felt it. She felt your presence descend beside her, that floral fragrance of yours wavering and blanketing her aching soul. That familiar pressure against her shoulder, and the light curl of your fingers around hers. An ease, a steadiness flowed through the familiarity of this contact, alleviated the silence.

“Rough day, no?” you murmured quietly. There was a hint of gentle mirth woven within your voice, she detected. It was light enough that it did not press though let her know you were there, ready to bring a bit of levity if she it was what she needed from you. It was then a light laugh rose from her, aerated, barely discernible, but she was certain you heard it.

“Guess you could say that,” She watched as pads of your fingers took action in lightly tapping up against the back of her hand before going down, repeating the action once or a few more times, and it felt as if you had done it countless times before. It came natural when her own fingers unconsciously spread apart, just a bit, as your touch soothed up and slid between them. “it feels just a bit better now, though.” Because of you.

Your thumb then swept over the outer lining of her thumb in a quiet rhythm, allowing her the space to sit with her thoughts, to simply be as she was without needing to mask anything.

Closing hour was near within seconds, and she did not bother looking up at the manager as he threw a questioning look at you both but said nothing of it, simply pointing out for one of you to close up in a few minutes before he left you to sit there in silence.

You set her at ease in moments similar to these. Perhaps part of the reason she liked you so much was that you made her feel comfortable with herself, if only momentarily.

“You … you don’t have to stay here with me, y’know. You can go, I’ll be fine.”

You hummed lowly at her words — words she always repeated and knew she didn’t mean for the reason being that she hoped you could stay with her just a moment longer — her skin searing beneath the touch given, whether it was done out of a friendly gesture, of possibly reciprocating what she tried avoiding, it did not matter. “I’m not going anywhere, Alice. We can just stay here until you’re ready to go, okay?”

Her lips parted, gaze focusing on the gentle movement of your hand. Allured with the way your complexion blended with hers beneath the golden glow the store provided. The way that this felt right — when was the last time something felt right in her life?

Everything she came in contact with, she believed it all turned to shit. But the more she looked at your joined hands, the more she found herself feeling that maybe she could make an effort in turning it all around. And when she peered up through strands of scarlet and black, her vulnerable brown gaze met your intent one, she had her response, finally let herself acknowledge that pestering feeling.

She liked you. It was more than perceptible, of course. Another truth she tried pushing herself to avoid, yet it was one did not want to anymore. Not when this truth brought her contentment as much as it brought fear.

Under the wires of anxiety and the tangles of pessimistic thinking of this, of truly putting the effort in making this part of her life work, there was a piece within her that was positive this would all be okay. That all of this will perhaps work.

She trusted you far more than she could ever imagine trusting another person besides herself — hell, not even herself. Not with the concept of the curse crawled within her mind and interfered with her every action.

Yet with every interaction with you — just you alone gave her reason to hope, even if it was false that could waste her energy in hoping for something more with you that may not happen. She wanted to clutch onto that twinge of hope you prospered, of light you carried, of founding motivation for every day you brought into her life.

[imagineanime2022]

Uta As A Father

Uta X Fem!Reader, Uta X Hybrid!Daughter

Requested: Anon

Request: Good evening, I wanted to ask for a request please from uta x human reader, how would it be to take care of a hybrid child and how would uta be as a father?

Warning: Talks of eating people, bad pregnancy.

🎭 I’m not going to lie this would have to be life changing for him considering his world views and plans throughout the Tokyo Ghoul series but that being said when he does care about something he goes at it 100%. 🎭 So let’s start with his relationship with you, the weird human that always shows up at his shop. 🎭 You didn’t want to buy anything, just liked the look of the masks. 🎭 He remembered the day that he almost killed you, you commented that you thought his masks had the same style as the ones ghouls wore but there you shrugged. 🎭 That was when you started preaching about the ghouls' right to live in this world too, now that made you a lot more interesting. 🎭 He spoke to you a lot more after that, enticing you to talk about your views and what you wanted for the world. 🎭 He didn’t mean for you to find out that he was a ghoul as early as you did but you had a pension for getting caught in situations that you shouldn’t, lucky for you he was around to save you. 🎭 Uta rarely used his Kagune which meant that you didn’t see it for a very long time but it didn’t scare you like he had expected, you guys kinda took off from there. 🎭 He still kept you a secret from everyone else, he was over protective for many reasons but he wasn’t going to lose you. 🎭 Neither of you expected that you would fall pregnant but when you did you asked him if there was any way that the baby might survive. 🎭 When he explained eating human flesh, you said that you would do anything. Uta was by your side through every meal, he cared for you a lot. Your pregnancy and everything about it was kept a secret especially from the clowns. 🎭 The pregnancy was hard, you assumed because of the baby that you were carrying and the fact that there was no doctor that you could go to for help. 🎭 The birth was like any other birth and at the end of it you had a healthy baby, you and Uta decided that there would be no way that you could move away, any other ward was far more dangerous than this one. 🎭 Now I don’t think that his relationship with his daughter would change based on when she was born but I do think that it will change what they did together. 🎭 We’re going to go with her being born before Uta met Kaneki and with that being the case Uta taught his daughter how to hide in plain sight. 🎭 When she was old enough, he explained everything to her, and even the differences between her and him. 🎭 He taught her how to defend herself and eventually made her own mask, Uta sourced her food for her so she doesn’t have to worry about hunting until she’s much older, he does eventually teach her though. 🎭 He’s the first person that she asks to play with her, makes pictures for him when she’s at home and gets him to tell her stories. 🎭 Uta is over protective of his daughter but it’s not open, he’ll be keeping an eye on her or at the very least knowing where she would be at any time. 🎭 He’s not particularly strict on anything, considering his beliefs and the way that he dresses. 🎭 Uta struggles with her getting older, he doesn’t really know how to let go, not that she wants to go that far. 🎭 She works with him at the store when she’s old enough and you visit them when you could. She shares his talents for art and textiles. 🎭 They are close no matter what, I think that he will always be the person that she comes back to but not without running it past you first to gauge how angry his going to be about it.

Request Here!!

[strong-with-the-sarcasm]

Part 20: I speak in tongues

"I'm not like you, I speak in tongues. It's a different language to those of us, who’ve faced the storm against all odds and found the truth inside." -can u see me in the dark? by Halestorm, I Prevail

Regent Masterlist Part 19 AO3 Mundane Macabre (Main)

When Ellie first began traveling, she’d (rightfully) assumed that she would never stop being surprised by humankind. Humans are curious creatures, capable of both kindness and cruelty in equal measure. 

(The Fentons were prime examples of cruelty)

(Cruel towards the living, dead and those who lie in between.) 

(Their children suffered, maybe even more than the ghosts they tried to hunt) 

With time, Ellie had decided to create her alter ego of Wraith, the quiet being of shadows that was just eerie enough to pass as something other regardless of what form she was in. Wraith was Ellie’s favorite mask to slip on, to hide from the living world as she tried to help where she could. 

Ellie Nightingale was a nomadic medium with a preference for punk rock, bleached hair and her leather jacket. 

Wraith was the opposite in ways that mattered, was created to help with the violence the halfa was witness to, fists bruised and weapons bloody. 

Ellie was not. 

Perhaps she’d broken herself into too many pieces, too many identities, for a solid visage to form. Cracked like a mirror, dirty and covered in old marker messages from friends long gone. Messages she’d carry with her no matter what name she went by, or style of hair, leather jacket or denim- halfa or not. 

That’s what made her unique. 

(Clone.) 

(Failure.)

(Danielle.)

(Ellie.) 

(Wraith.) 

Vlad had been her origin story, her beginning, but he was no longer her master. Slave to no one, daughter of nobody. 

But she was a sister to good people. 

Sometimes Ellie caught herself thinking ‘what would Danny do?’ when confronted with an extraordinary problem, trying to channel his brilliance despite their distance. He might not consider himself very intelligent, but Danny was the cleverest (and kindest) person she’d ever met. He loved her, his clone made as a violation of his bodily autonomy and by his fruitloop of a godfather. 

(Superman had not treated his clone the same.) 

(She understood his feelings of violation) 

(Kon was a living being and needed support too.) 

However, Jazz was her idol. 

Many people would’ve written off the woman as a know-it-all golden child, but those in the inner circle knew the truth. Jazz was the first child of the Fentons, who had nobody but herself to teach or to guide her. When Danny was born, Jasmine devoted everything to caring for him, to raising him as their parents should’ve. 

(His first words, his first steps)

Jasmine Fenton was a woman who loved fiercely and so, so very deeply that she’s willing to sacrifice her own wellbeing to ensure the happiness of the ones lucky enough to be given her love. 

With the rise to Regency and the subsequent downfall of her progenitors, Jasmine Fenton was left to rot in the basement with Danny’s grave, just like the yellow flowers she so fondly left in memorial. 

(Ellie would forever grieve the loss of Jasmine Fenton, the mother she so desperately wanted.) 

Yet, the Lady Nightingale arose from the grave, ash and blood staining her name, a ghost in an inhuman shell, ready to remake the world should she have to burn it down. 

(Jazz carried so few regrets, but they weighed her down like anchors.) 

(One day they might drown her in the dark depths.) 

(Her template’s younger visage admist the spectral mist spoke volumes.) 

(Maybe one day the faces of the elder Fentons would fade away.)

(Ellie could only hope.) 

The Regent, despite having staked her territory in the Ridge alongside Phantom, was unofficially claimed as one of the Crime Alley’s own. Defending the working girls, helping kids with homework or getting them away from ner-do-wells, the Regent had not hesitated to reach out a helping hand even after being targeted by those who would break her will. 

Black Mask, for instance, had put a bounty on the woman’s head with an eagerness that disgusted many others. People knew what a man like him would do with powerful woman, what enjoyment he’d receive breaking her. 

It was also no secret how much the Mask wanted to get his hands on the Red Hood. 

The helmeted vigilante had been a frequent pain in the ass ever since his debut some years ago, destroying his black market operations and getting the Big Bat involved. Sionis wanted little more than to rip off the fucker’s head- helmet and all. 

However, Sionis had tried his hand at subtly for once- he’d hired freelance to take out Hood’s second-in-command while the guy had his guard down with his girlfriend, a pretty red-haired civilian Sionis wouldn’t mind a turn with. The idea was to throw Hood’s gang leadership into chaos so Black Mask’s men could sweep in. Jason Todd was high in the ranks that his death would do just that. 

Figures the guy would survive. 

Jason had been seen with his girlfriend in the Ridge only days after the failed assassination attempt, no worse for the wear. Red Hood had come sniffing around his operations, with Regent stalking his men and the Phantom destroying his latest shipment of merchandise. Though, with the under-the-table job he’d hired out for, Hood found nothing linking him to the attempt on his second-in-command. 

It was time to change tactics. 

The Regent was confirmed to be in a romantic relationship with Hood, if the various Gothamite twitter posts and the sub-reddit r/RedHoodRegent dedicated to commemorating their obvious status, was to be believed. 

There wasn’t many problems with targeting the older sword-wielding vigilante; unlike Robin, Regent didn’t have the Big Bat for backup, but did have the Phantom. The ghost-like meta (or actual ghost, Sionis wasn’t sure how much he believed the rumors) was the biggest obstacle between him and Regent. If Mask could distract (or get rid of) Phantom, then his men could sweep in and eliminate Regent when the vigilante inevitably falls to his numbers. Sure, Sionis was sure he would  lose quite a few men, but it's Gotham. The numbers can always be recouped later. 

Perhaps when Red Hood tries to save his girlfriend, Mask could finally get his hands on him. 

Two birds, one stone. 

Oh yes, Sionis liked this plan. 

He had some calls to make.

A/N: I'm back! This was supposed to be posted on my birthday back in August, but I wasn't in the best headspace for writing or even being on any social media. I have several pieces waiting in the wings to be finished and edited, but I'm back and ready to write again! (Famous last words.)

(To those who guessed Black Mask had something to do with the bomb, kudos.)

Also, for those who might be uncomforable with Sionis' thoughts about Jazz, just remember- he's a bad guy, deranged and over all not the kind of morally upstanding person you want in charge of anything. Things get really dark where it concerns Sionis and what he plans for the future. Just a warning, because those who've read my other works know my penchant for angst.

[lilgarbitch]

Running In Circles - Two

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Reader

CW: suggestive scenes, alcohol

Word Count: 8.5k

Author’s Note: (Original note) I won’t base Y/N or her band on any specific artist or band, but I will use certain artists multiple times purely because I either want the lyrics/ genre of song to fit a theme or for particular surprises. (New note) I’m not sure if it’s dumb or not to upload these fast, but since these were already written, the first 7 chapters will be going up in quick succession. After that, the chapters will be uploaded as I work on writing them.

Part One

Noah

A loud groan escapes my lips as I run a hand over my face. She looks so much different than she did all those years back. Yet, the exact same. And she was going to kill me. I had to hide it, but everything she did had such a substantial impact on me. From her personality, to her tattoos, her voice, and her absolutely beating my ass in Mario Kart. I don’t care what anyone says, she was the most perfect person I had ever met. 

Being reminded, I look down at the switch in front of me and pull out my phone to take a quick picture of our score. I open Instagram and go to post it on my story, about to tag her, before remembering I haven’t actually followed her on my main account yet. I’ve followed her on my secret account for years, so easily remembering it, I type in her username, hit follow, and then go back to posting the picture. 

It wasn’t until it was fully uploaded and I looked over at the boys that I felt the giant smile I had on my face. After catching some looks from them, I played it off, trying to let it falter, but a small smile still stayed. 

“Yeah… That’s her. For sure. I- I felt it again the second she introduced herself to me. I don’t know if I wanted to believe it, even after seeing those pictures. But seeing her in person again today just… sealed the deal.” I answered them, throwing my head back onto the couch and staring up at the ceiling. 

I just couldn’t help but think of all the memories I’ll get to make this tour. Don’t get me wrong, every tour was exciting, from traveling to beautiful places, trying new restaurants, and spending it with my brothers. But this tour would definitely be one to remember. I didn’t even care if she felt the same way, as long as we could become close and I could spend time with her. I’m just happy I finally found the girl that has plagued my mind for the longest time.

The boys and I were about to play our first festival. We managed to catch a bit of Erra’s set but had to run back to our stage to finish setting everything up and doing our warmups to get ready. I was more nervous than I’d ever been, but I knew that if I just got through this set, I would feel like I could perform anywhere. Plus, we’ve had technical difficulties in the past, but everything worked out well, and none of them were our fault. I practiced enough this week that I could probably do the whole show in my sleep. So there was nothing that could go wrong, right? 

We got the signal that we were going on any moment now, and did our best to hype each other up. We all gave Folio a quick high five before he ran out on stage. Instantly, I could hear the entire crowd cheering, and that was all I needed to be ready for this show. 

Jolly and Nick ran out a few moments later, and now I just had to wait for my signal. Shaking out my hands and feet, ensuring every last drop of my nerves were gone, I heard the music start. The crowd was louder than ever, and I felt my confidence building more and more every second. With one last exhale, my cue to run on stage was now. 

I walk around the stage and get a good view of the crowd's size as I start singing Mercy. The passion I felt in this moment was unlike anything else. The crowd cheering and singing along with every word, trying to reach and carry every note as I do. The hands in the air. The range of age and style. These people all came together to hear me, or at least wanted to hear me for the first time. I felt like a fucking king in this moment. 

Over the next few songs, I really started to get into the zone. I felt connected with each of my brothers on stage with me, every person in the crowd in front of me, and especially the lyrics as I sang them. I sang the last line of Malice and let the arm that held my mic fall, letting my breathing relax. Turning to my brothers on stage with me, I gave them all a proud smile. They all returned it in their own way as they set up for our next song. Jolly gave me a laughing smile, and Nick gave me a smirk. I walked towards Folio behind me and reached out my hand, him grasping it over his drums and giving me the brightest smile. We’ve come so far and nothing was stopping us now. 

Stepping away and back towards the front of the stage, Jolly and Nick start the first notes of The Worst In Me, Folio immediately following their lead. Putting back on a more serious demeanor, I get closer to the people in front. 

Is there nothing left to keep myself awake?

To keep these walls from caving in?

When all they ever do is try to bend and break?

Is there forgiveness in the end?

I lower to a crouch as I sing the lyrics, scanning my eyes over the people at the barricade. Their faces light up as I look at each of them and try my hardest not to smile at the reaction. 

I had you in my grip, but you’re starting to slip

Bring out the worst in me

And now it’s come to end, I think I’m giving in

You set my demons free

I watch as everyone sings along with me. I hold out my hand to them, and a few reach out, but they’re all just too far to touch. I stand and move more to my left to see more faces, not wanting to prioritize the ones right in front of me. 

I need relief, a failure’s coming on

Just breathe in deep, It’s taking far too long

I need relief, this weakness carries on

Please be a dream, or was it all along?

I stand back up and let my eyes roam over the ones standing behind those before as I continue to sing along, making eye contact with everyone I can.

It’s better when you’re with me

My eyes trail across their faces.

But it’s better left unsaid

I see them all singing along.

It’s better when I’m empty

I even catch a few tears falling down some of their faces. Matching those that fell down mine as I wrote some of these songs.

But I still let you in

Then, there it was. There she was. I had never seen her before, yet something in me knew her. I tried to move my eyes past her, but they stayed glued to hers.

It’s better when you’re with me

She wasn’t moving or singing along with the others. It was like we were both locked in a trance. I felt electricity flow through my entire body. I felt like I had been transported to a different world.

But that’s better left unsaid

When she blinked, the movement reminded my brain where I was. Reminding itself what was happening

It’s better when I’m empty

But I’ll still let you in

I was thankful a part of my brain kept working, singing on complete autopilot. Because nothing else wanted to work. I couldn’t move my eyes. My legs stayed glued to the floor. I had to try to fully rip myself away from the moment to even regain control of my body. 

Blinking a few times, I finally move from my entranced state and finish the song, keeping my eyes on anyone but her. As the song ended, I turned my back to the crowd, closed my eyes, and let out the biggest exhale. I had to refocus. We still had half a setlist to get through. 

I looked up at my band, and Nick gave me a weird look, silently asking what was wrong. I completely ignored him as I turned back around and got ready for Said & Done.

With my mind almost on full autopilot, I managed to push through and finish the rest of the set. Cheers roared through the crowd. I pulled out one earpiece to listen to them, hoping they bring me back to reality. The boys and I all walked to the front of the stage, bowed, and said our thanks, to the people in the crowd and to the festival for having us before tossing random shit out to the crowd and saying our goodbyes. 

As we were heading off the stage, it was almost like I could no longer fight it as what felt like a magnet pulled my eyes back to hers. She was still looking at me, and a shiver ran through my body. I almost think I saw the same happen to her, but I forced myself to pull away and off the stage before I got completely stuck to her again. I did my best to shake off the feeling and push it to the back of my mind as we walked back to our tour bus. The boys were eerily quiet as we walked back, or maybe my brain was just so overwhelmed with emotions that I was blocking everything out. All I knew was that I needed to sit down. 

Finally reaching the bus, I sit on one of the couches in the lounge and throw my head back, shutting my eyes. I wasn’t sure if I was trying to replay the moment or force everything out of my brain. All I knew was that the only thing I could see in my head was her eyes. And I couldn’t stop wondering what the hell that was. Who was she? What was that feeling? Why did it truly feel as if my body was being pulled towards her? Wh-

“Noah!”

My eyes shot open as I quickly sat up and looked at the boys all sitting around me.

“What?” I blandly ask, trying to play it off. I got a few odd stares in response.

“What the hell was that?” Ruffilo asked. 

Shaking my head, I replied weakly, “ I don’t know what you’re talking about,” which caused him to raise an eyebrow at me. 

“Well, first of all, something distracted you during one of the songs, and then you looked completely out of it the rest of the set, and then you ignored all of us on the walk back.” He gave me a stern look, telling me there was no lying or getting out of this. I let out a sigh and ran my hand over my face, trying to collect my thoughts. 

“I..really don’t know. I can’t even explain without sounding stupid.” Then Jolly sat beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. 

“Come on, you say stupid shit all the time; I think we’ll understand some of it,” Jolly said, causing me to give him a weak smile. 

With another sigh, I started talking. I tried my best to explain the weird trance I got put under. About how I got locked in her eyes until I literally had to rip myself away. That caused Jolly to ask if she was just really hot, to which I responded with a smack to his chest. I explained how, for the rest of the show, it was like there was a magnet I was fighting against. One that finally pulled me back in before we left the stage, and that time it felt even harder to rip away from. I did my absolute best to explain the feelings that shot through my body the entire time, but since they were nothing like I had ever felt before, I had nothing to compare them to. By the end of the venting, I had my face in my hands, trying to reground myself. 

I sat up and ran my hand through my hair as I looked back up at them all. Each more confused than the last. 

“I really don’t know how to help you here, bro. I mean, it sounds like some divine intervention shit.” Folio finally said. That caused a groan to erupt from my throat. If it really was, why now? To a person I will probably never see again? I’ll never be able to find her again. What the fuck is even happening.

2 Years Later

The thought comes and goes. It’s more like a dull yet burning yearning in my chest that hasn’t left since that day. It’s been so long that I’m starting to get convinced that I’m just going to be stuck, thinking of those eyes, until the day I die. 

I pull out my phone and look at the time, groaning when I see that it’s now two in the morning and I am just lying here, stuck in this endless cycle of thought once again. Then my eyes land on the date, causing an even larger groan. It’s been over two years since that show. It’s been over two years of the same ruminating thoughts. I roll over in my bed and open my phone, knowing that just sitting here in my thoughts will keep me up all night anyway, so I might as well try to distract myself. 

I open Instagram and switch over to my alternative account, one that can actually follow interesting things without fans speculating on why I follow so many people. I scroll through the timeline, liking a post here and there, seeing a few bands posting news or a few memes that actually put a smile on my face. Getting stuck in the endless doomscroll, I finally landed on a post that genuinely piqued my interest. It was one of Bryan’s photography friends who liked to travel and find new bands to help out with pictures. I always loved discovering new bands to listen to, so just seeing his username caught my attention, but then I finally looked at the pictures he posted. 

Oh, fuck. It was her. It was her. I could recognize the face anywhere. Even though I caught it for barely a minute, it was so engraved into the folds of my brain; seeing it every single time I closed my eyes, there was no way I couldn’t recognize it. I noticed she now had a neck tattoo that she hadn’t before, peeking over her crew neck shirt from the first picture. I scrolled through the photos, almost burning a hole through my phone as I eyed up each one with her in it. She looked utterly beautiful as she performed. I finally let my eyes fall on the caption. 

‘So incredibly thankful to have found this amazing band while traveling around the East Coast. Check them out at @ Praisingdeities and definitely check out their music. It was unlike anything I have ever heard.”

Praising Deities. Now, that’s something I could absolutely do now that I finally found her. I click on their username, it sending me to their page, before instantly following them. I scrolled through their pictures, not getting enough of finally seeing her again. I saw that there were people tagged in one of their posts, so I clicked on it and saw that one tag was right on her. @ PraisingY/N. Clicking on that, I got sent to her personal page. God, she was fucking beautiful. I was glued to every picture of her face. I almost had to force myself to scroll to the next post, my eyes not wanting to leave the last. 

Finally realizing I had spent way too long staring at her, I exited the picture and scrolled back up to the top of her page, ready to tell someone that I had found her, when I saw her bio. 

“Goddess’ out now!”

Fumbling with my phone, I hurriedly opened Spotify and typed in their name, instantly getting results. I clicked on the song ‘Goddess.’ Within seconds, my ears were filled with the most beautiful voice I had ever heard. 

You’re like a goddess in disguise

I’m drowning slowly in your eyes

It’s like you kill me by design

You’re all I desire.

Fucking tell me about it. I wouldn’t blame anyone if they wrote this song about her. With a surge of energy running through me, I bolt up out of bed and out of my room. I peek into the hallway, seeing that both of the Nicks’ doors were closed, but Jolly’s was open. Glancing into his room, seeing that he wasn’t there, I ran down the stairs, searching everywhere for him. Finally, I make it to our studio and practically burst through the door. Jolly and Folio are sitting in there, chatting, as Jolly held his guitar. They both look up at me in shock the second I come through the door, and I almost run to them, holding out my phone, Y/N’s Instagram account pulled up on it. Jolly’s hand reached out first, so I handed the phone to him as he looked at it confused. 

“IT’S HER! THAT’S HER!” I say, not trying to yell but accidentally doing so. Nick leaned over in his chair towards Jolly as Jolly pulled the phone closer to his face to get a better look. 

“Her? Like..her her? The one from the show?” Nick asked, still looking over at my phone in Jolly’s hands.

“Yes! I found her! She’s in a band. Oh my god, guys. She sings, and it’s like heaven. She’s like heaven. I can’t believe I fucking found her.” I say, practically pacing around the room. Nick pulls his phone out and pulls her band up on Spotify, hitting a random song, and instantly, her beautiful voice plays through the speakers.

Petrichor on the floor of your mind

I’m sorry for the pain that I caused

The rain I left behind

Petrichor, we’re left paralyzed

A battlefield of vortex we shattered from the fight

I stopped and stared at them as they stared at her profile on my phone, waiting for any reaction from them. They hear this, right? As I watch them scroll on my phone, looking over her selfies and group pictures of the band, one of them occasionally pointing out a tattoo or an instrument, suddenly, her voice changes, causing us to immediately stare at Nick’s phone as she starts screaming.

I’ve got an ache in my heart

Can’t fix this hole in my head

Didn’t think we could restart

Maybe we’re better off dead

We all look at each other, Jolly with amazement, me with shock, and Nick with a smug look. 

“I think you found your perfect match, Noah,” Nick said with a chuckle. I felt heat rise to my cheeks. She was perfect, wasn’t she?

We talked about it until we all decided it was too late and should head to bed. I’m not sure whether it was finally finding her, or if the amount of energy I just let out finally wore me down, but I was able to get some sleep. The next day, Jolly mentioned that he followed the guitarist of their band and reached out, telling him that he loved their sound, which came with the response from their guitarist, Finn, fangirling a little bit from the recognition. Jolly said that they had a lot in common and had been chatting about music and other interests, which was fucking fantastic.

I get brought out of my daydreaming to the sound of her voice floating through the air as they do their soundcheck. I sit up and look at the boys whose attention was also caught by the noise. I stand up and go to walk towards the stage, not so far that I’m within their view, but just enough that I can watch her as she sings a few lines of a song with her eyes on the front of stage crew, looking for confirmation that everything sounds good. Each member tests out their instruments, and then they do a small run-through of a song before heading off stage. I turn around and walk back to the boys, or try to, before realizing they were all standing behind me, watching as well. 

I give Ruffilo a small smack on the arm, laughing as we hurry back so we don’t get caught. Sitting back down in random seats, trying to play off that anything suspicious happened, her band came into the room, with the stage manager trailing behind them. 

“Alright, boys, you’re up.” the stage manager commanded, making us all stand and follow her. 

“You guys sounded amazing. I can’t wait to see your full set,” I heard Folio tell the other band from behind me as we passed them. I turned and went to give them a proud smile as a way of agreeing, but I instantly caught Y/N’s gaze, getting locked in. Within a split second, I got lost in them, only being able to break out when Jolly patted my shoulder to keep me moving. With a few blinks, I finally sent them a warm smile, quickly turned my head, and returned to heading towards the stage. 

Y/N

Bad Omens does their soundcheck as my band and I plan out our set, going over if our setlist was exactly how we wanted it to be, what we wanted to add in, where the best break would be, and what surprises we should add, as it’s something we loved doing to connect with the crowd. The next hour was a bit of a rush as the crew ensured everything was perfect, and both bands checked to ensure everything was ready. The next thing we knew, we were about to head on stage. 

I peek around the side of the stage and see the massive crowd, all either chatting with each other, hyping themselves up, or singing along with the pre-show playlist. This was it. We’ve had large shows in the past, but this was our biggest yet. Bad Omens being the first well known band to let us tour with them. I jumped up and down a bit, shaking off my nerves as my band and I got ready. Suddenly, the venue's lights darken, and the stage lights turn green, our signature color. 

“You ready?” I hear in my ear. I turn and see Damien looking down at me with a huge smile, causing me to instantly return it and give him a nod. He pats my back a few times before running on stage, waving to the crowd as they all start cheering. I watch as he sits behind his drum set and spins his sticks a few times, both putting on a show and letting out some nerves. Finn and Cal follow lead, each giving me another pat on the back as they pass me and head to their designated sides of the stage, earning more cheers and screaming from the crowd. 

All three make a little noise to get the crowd even crazier, Cal strumming loudly, followed by Finn playing a little riff, then Damien playing a few beats. My face was starting to hurt from the smile on my face as I watched it all play out in front of me. 

They all started the beginning of our first song, causing the crowd to quiet down and signaling that it was now my turn. After a few moments, I wait until the vocals start and walk on stage. I sing the first few lines of our first song, and the crowd goes insane and starts singing along. I had to force myself to keep my composure and not smile too wide. Over the next few songs, singing along with Cal in some of them, and having a chorus of fans in front of me join in on the ones they know, I felt so connected to everyone. I occasionally glanced at my band and felt so proud of us. It felt like being on top of the world, with my best friends standing with me the whole time. 

We finished the fourth song of our set, and I mentally prepared for our next one. It was ‘Goddess.’ I wrote this one after Finn forced me to start journaling my feelings when I wouldn’t talk to anyone about why I was always so stuck in my head. I took all the least heartbreaking feelings out of my entries and then quickly wrote down some of the things I said and tried to make them sound as good as they could as lyrics. After the band looked over it, we made some changes, making it flow better, and then Cal mentioned that maybe we could gender-bend it to make it make more sense and cause less confusion about who I could be singing about. I won’t lie; most of our newer songs were about Noah, or at least he was in mind when writing them, but this one was probably our most blunt song, the words being my exact thoughts and feelings. 

With a cue from the band, I began singing, them joining in later.

You’re like a goddess in disguise

I’m drowning slowly in your eyes

It’s like you kill me by design

You’re all I desire

Cal and Finn join in as we sing the next few lines.

You’re like a goddess in disguise

I’m drowning slowly in your eyes

I could cross the great divide

But only you decide

Then the music finally starts, and I get a moment to breathe before continuing, knowing that the person I wrote this about was nearby, and I honestly didn’t know how to handle it. I look forward and see everyone having an amazing time, some acting as if this was their favorite song with how they even mimicked the guitar. My eyes continued to trail over the people and then towards my bandmates as they played. Then something caught my eye. On the side stage, I saw Noah and Jolly rocking out to the music. Who knows how long they’ve been there, but now I didn’t know what to do, Noah’s presence throwing me off. With a deep exhale, I began to sing the next part, trying to rip my eyes away from Noah.

Tell me you love me

He was singing along.

Tell me you need me

He knew the words. He was staring right at me, singing along, and I couldn’t help but stare back.

Tell me you’ll never ever think about wanting to leave me

It was almost like we were singing to each other. If only he knew that I genuinely was singing to him and had been since I wrote the song.

You’re Aphrodite

God I’m in love

I tried breaking away from his gaze, but between the magnetism forcing it together and my deep desire of wanting to sing this to him for the longest time, I just couldn’t.

It’s time you ascend to your rightful place perched on your throne up above

He actually knew every word. It caught me so off guard. 

Go and take your seat at Mount Olympus

I’ll do anything for you my temptress

Even if I’m innocent, I’d confess

Kill to watch you undress

Feel your body close pressed up

The dark look in his eyes sent fire straight to my core.

Against mine

He stood there, crossing his arms against his chest, staring at me with a look I couldn’t explain.

Heart beats

In Time

Feel your chest rise

You’re all I desire

A look I could explain. A look I absolutely mirrored as I continued singing the song. A look full of desire. One that could part the Red Sea just so we could meet in the middle. I knew my feelings when I wrote this song. I knew the feelings I had when I’d stare at new pictures or videos of him at night. My eyes trailed down from his eyes to his lips as he sang along, ones I needed to feel on mine, then his neck, covered in a tattoo I so desperately wanted to touch, down to his muscular arms that have caused unspeakable thoughts to cross my mind many many times, but before I let them move down further, even though I so badly wanted to, I brought my eyes go back up to his, before finally getting the power to pull them away and look back towards the crowd as I finished the song. 

Everyone cheered as the song ended, and I did everything in my power not to look back at Noah to see his reaction. I refused to falter, especially while on stage.

We played the rest of our set, even a random song that someone in the crowd requested as it was a part of our show. At one point, while looking at my bandmates, my eyes glanced at where Jolly and Noah once stood, but they were no longer there, probably getting ready to go on stage themselves. Thank god. Hopefully, I wouldn’t run into any of them until the show was over, and I could let myself cool down in the meantime. 

We said our thanks to the crowd and hyped them up for the band they were mainly here to see before leaving the stage. The boys all ran to me, and we had a small group hug as we made our way backstage. They talked about how amazing our show was and how fun it was to have such a large crowd, especially with people singing along. I laughed and agreed, letting them take my mind off everything until we finally reached the room and sat down. Jolly and Nick were still there, chatting and messing around until we joined them. They both stood up and ran to us, giving us their praise. I looked around and let out a sigh of relief when I saw that Noah wasn’t there and I just let the boys talk until Bad Omens had to head on stage. 

Eventually, Ruffilo joined us, also sending compliments before chatting with Folio and Jolly. 

“Yeah, I don’t know where he went. He was with me watching their set for a while, but after a few songs, he just left, and I haven’t seen him since,” Jolly responded after Ruffilo asked if anyone had seen Noah. 

“We go on in less than ten minutes, so whatever the hell he’s doing, he better be quick,” Folio said as he pointed the drumsticks in his hand toward the stage. 

“If he’s not here in the next few minutes, I’m sending out a search party,” Ruffilo groaned out.

I hope he’s okay. But depending on which song he left after, I have a slight idea on where he could be. I immediately shook that thought out of my head, unable to handle if it went any further, and turned to my boys and tried letting them be my distraction from my mind as we all waited to see if we had to help search for the missing boy. 

Noah

I stood in the bathroom, washing my hands and trying to collect my thoughts. God, that fucking girl. 

Night after night, after finally finding her and hearing that exact song for the first time, not once did I have control over myself. I don’t know what I was expecting when I knew I would finally hear it live for the first time, but I wasn’t expecting her to practically serenade me in front of thousands of people as if the words were meant for me. If only she knew the effect she had on me. 

Finally feeling like my hands were clean enough,  I glanced up at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed a bright red, either from thinking of her or my previous actions. I quickly bent down and splashed my face with cold water, hoping it would help, before drying myself and leaving the bathroom. I made my way back to where everyone was and let out a few deep breaths, breathing in through my nose and out my mouth, hoping to feel a little more grounded. 

“There he is!” I hear as I step into the room, making me give Ruffilo a sheepish smile. 

“Alright, let’s head over, we start any minute now,” and with that, I get pushed towards the side stage. As I moved, I happened to glance over at the other band, who were looking back at me. I gave them a smile and a quick “You guys were amazing” before I continued to be pushed. My eyes were met with Y/N’s for a split second, but I quickly shut them and turned away. I couldn’t handle that right now. I can’t let any thoughts fill my head when I need to be completely mentally on stage. 

Somehow getting my brain working again, the band and I had a blast on stage. I let myself live in the moment, not caring about anything other than singing and having the crowd sing with me. The screams and cheering were even heard through my earpiece, which was absolutely insane. We made it through most of the set, only having our two encore songs left. But that was when I was brought back to reality. As much as I tried to play it off, the boys knew who was on my mind when I wrote ‘The Death of Peace of Mind’ and ‘Just Pretend’. One getting more shit than the other, as they knew there wasn’t anyone else on my mind when they were written. Especially when she was all I ever spoke about. Actually, many of the songs on this album were written with her in mind, just with some help, or should I say arguing, from the boys, so we didn’t make this whole album dedicated to my feelings for her. But these were the two that I had fully written out while thinking of her, and the boys liked them so much that they just went with it. But I did have to lie and tell fans that I wrote ‘Just Pretend’ as a joke to not cause any suspicion. And surprisingly, they became fan favorites, so now I had to play them every night.

I had to do everything I could to not think about her while singing. I knew this would be a problem when the talk of touring with them was simply a subject, but with the emotions I went through not even an hour ago, I absolutely could not get lost in my thoughts while in front of thousands of people. 

Pushing through, I managed to get through The Death of Peace of Mind with a straight face and complete composure, pushing her face out of my mind every time it popped up, no matter how much the look in her eyes as she sang to me flashed through my head. But now, the one that held all of my emotions would be the hardest to perform without cracking. 

The song began, and as I sang, I tried my hardest to think of anything but her. I put on the best performance I could, knowing I had to show a little emotion while singing it but doing everything I could not to feel it too much, knowing the one I wanted so desperately was just backstage. I did the best I could, but the second I hit the chorus, emotion came crashing through my body. 

I can wait for you at the bottom

My eyes started to get drawn to the side of the stage, not wanting to do what she did, I only looked through my peripheral.

I can stay away if you want me to

She was there, watching.

I can wait for years if I gotta

And I have. God, I’ve waited years and years to even see her again. And I’ll wait more if it means I could get closer to her.

Heaven knows I ain’t getting over you

As much as I didn’t want to, I sang that line to her. My eyes locked on hers as I did. I hope it wasn’t as obvious to her as it was to me, but those words were for her 110%. I moved as far from her as I could, pretending like I wanted to get closer to the crowd, but it was so that I could break away from her as I continued the song. 

Finally, the song ended, and as much as I wanted to run off stage, the boys and I said our thanks and goodbyes like we always did. We tossed some memorabilia to the crowd before we could finally leave. We filed off the stage, and I let out a long sigh as the boys all high-fived each other. All I could think was how I hope these shows would get easier. 

Y/N

I honestly don’t know why I decided to watch their show with all the thoughts running through my head. Noah looked utterly mesmerizing up there in front of everyone. He was meant to be on stage. He put on the most amazing performance and sounded absolutely beautiful. The problem was that this was the first time I had seen him perform since that day. Thankfully, I was paying attention this time, but that didn’t change the tension I created when I sang to him earlier. 

Everyone was now back together after the boys stepped off stage. Once again, all chatted as Noah and I just kept to ourselves, paying attention to their conversation but not really adding anything. At one point, Nick mentioned that we should do something together to celebrate our first night, which got a mix of replies, from a few people saying that we had to head out soon for our next show tomorrow, to some being more than happy to party a little to start off the tour. Damien checked the time on his phone and said that we had a few hours to do something, we just probably shouldn’t go anywhere and just hang out here before we had to hit the road. That got a lot of good reactions, so I guess that’s what we’ll be doing. 

I started walking towards the door, letting the boys know that I was going to change quickly and just meet them out there, and headed towards the bus.

Stepping on, I walked to the back and opened up my bags, trying to find something comfy to wear, hoping I had something that wasn’t embarrassing since most of my sleep shirts weren’t the most appealing. Rummaging around, even through the other boys’ clothes, the best thing I could find was leggings and a tank top, only wearing pants because it was still a little chilly out. Tossing them on, then throwing on my slippers, I took a look in the mirror to make sure I didn’t look insane.

I wiped under my eyes to get any mascara that had smudged over the day, fixing a few of my piercings, making sure my septum wasn’t crooked, and none of the others had anything on them, and glanced over my outfit one last time. Many of my tattoos were showing because of the tank top, and I couldn’t wait to see what the other band had to say about them, knowing they were covered all day with my now dirty sweater. After one final once-over, I figured I looked good enough and walked off the bus to see the boys talking outside.  

Finn, Cal, Jolly, and Ruffilo were all standing outside the Bad Omens’ tour bus chatting, and I assume Damien, Nick, and Noah were inside doing who the hell knows. I walk towards the group of boys outside, standing between Finn and Ruffilo, and give Finn’s arm a squeeze to let him know I was there, to which he turned slightly to see me and smiled as he continued to talk to Jolly about a guitar shop in one of the places we toured. I smiled at the rest of the boys, earning some back before Ruffilo’s eyes trailed to my arms. He made an exaggerated face, creating an ‘O’ with his mouth. 

“Dude, those are sick,” he said as he reached a hand out to grab my right forearm and slowly twisted my arm to check out the sleeve I had. I laughed as he looked at it in amazement. I stepped closer to him and held out both arms so he could get a better look. He eyed up the black ink sleeve I had on my right arm, the one that had cybersigilism print flowing throughout some of the pieces, connecting them all into a full sleeve. Then he looked at my left arm, which made him gasp, catching Jolly’s attention. My left was full of American Traditional pieces that all collectively came together. Jolly stepped closer to me to look at them all before his eyes caught my chest piece, a large bat with flowers around it. Finn and Cal laughed at their reactions, knowing this was a common thing when people into tattoos saw me. I just smiled at them as they moved my arms. All of a sudden, Jolly pulled away and walked towards the door of the tour bus. 

“Yo, guys! You have to check this out!” he shouted in, causing the three boys to eventually trickle their way out, confused. I looked over and laughed when my eyes met Damien’s, who was also laughing when he saw them inspect me like I was some crazy art piece they found. Nick and Noah walked closer, not understanding, until they got close enough to see what their friends were freaking out about. Folio joined the rest of them as Noah just stood back and watched as they pointed out specific artworks. 

“You guys wanna see something cool?” Cal asked them while laughing, making them all look over at him. That’s when he grabbed me and turned me around, which I immediately understood so I pulled my hair off my back and onto my shoulder, showing off my upper back tattoo of Baphomet that I got a few years back. It was one that was usually hidden because of my hair, but I did love showing it off. 

The second I turned away from the boys to show them, I heard a soft groan in the distance, which caused a snicker from a few of the other guys. I didn’t understand what was so funny, so I kept showing off the tattoo. 

“Dude, your tattoos are crazy.” I heard Folio say as I fixed my hair and turned back around.

“Thank you. I honestly just wanted to get covered as fast as I could, so I only have a few meaningful ones, but most are either in areas always covered or on my legs,” I replied with a smile. I earned a few more compliments before they all returned to talking about their own thing. I noticed Noah glancing at me occasionally, so I shot him a smile, trying to play off the tension I know he also felt. He gave me one back, just not a full one, almost like he was too distracted in his own head. That’s when Damien chose to get our attention. 

“So, we drinking, or what?” he asked us, clapping his hands together, causing a groan from the boys in my band, knowing how hard Damien wants us to go, and cheers from the other band. Damien jogged to our bus as the rest of us piled into the other since we were going to be hanging out there.

“Don’t touch my Fireball!” I shouted at him with a teasing smile, knowing he hated drinking Fireball; well, all the boys did, which is why it was mine. He, and multiple other buys, made a chorus of disgusted noises in response, making me laugh hard. 

“Of course you like Fireball, you’re the most insane girl I’ve met,” Ruffilo said to me teasingly as I walked on the bus, causing me to laugh harder. 

“I’m honored,” I replied with a sweet smile before taking my seat next to Cal. Damien came in a minute later holding three bottles that he packed the day before when we got on the bus, and even though I gave him a little shit for it, I’m beginning to think he had the right idea as Jolly set an equal amount of bottles on the table next to his.

Finn asked where the cups were, and Jolly started looking at the bottles, thinking about which would be the best to start off with. Finn set some solo cups down, understandably the only option we had, as Jolly started pouring us all shots of tequila. Great. Well, let’s hope I don’t embarrass myself. 

We all toast to the tour and take our shot, the liquid fire going down painfully. I exhale as I feel the fumes in my throat, and honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if I breathed fire, not having tequila in at least a year. Thankfully, it settled in my stomach fine, even though I hadn’t eaten anything since the drive here. 

We all chat about anything and everything as a few more shots get poured. We all sat cramped in the lounge of their bus, The Bad Omens boys sitting behind the driver's seat, Jolly the closest to it and Noah the farthest, and me and my boys sat on the other side, Damien across from Noah and me across from Jolly. So I was the closest to the door, that was still open, and even though my body was heating up from the alcohol, the occasional breeze still caused goosebumps. I rubbed my arms a little bit, hoping that the alcohol would heat me some more.

 I held my cup out to Jolly across from me, signaling that I wanted a refill, and he took it, asking if I wanted anything in particular, to which I responded by shaking my head no. He poured a little vodka into my cup and handed it back, which I accepted with a smile. I guess that’s when my goosebump-covered arms caught his attention. 

“You cold?” 

“No, just a small chill from the breeze; I’m okay,” I replied

“Hun, let me run to our bus and grab you a hoodie,” Finn offered, giving me a slightly concerned look. 

“I promise I’m okay. I’ll warm up after I take this,” I said with a giggle, lifting my refilled cup. Suddenly, Noah stood up and reached his long arms around into one of the bunks and grabbed a hoodie, handing it out to me.

“Just wear this until you warm up.” He said. I was about to protest again, but he almost seemed annoyed, or maybe that was my drunk ears playing tricks on me, so I didn’t want to argue. I reached out and took it, giving him a smile and a small ‘thank you’ to which he responded with a slight nod and returned to talking with the boys. I put my arms through the hoodie, pulled it over my head, and slid it down, the bottom being a tighter fit, so I had to put a little extra effort into getting it over my chest, but once it was on, it was the most comfortable thing ever. It was definitely the alcohol affecting it, but going from chilly to warm with a soft hoodie felt like heaven. 

I turn my attention back to the multiple conversations happening at once. My eyes caught with Noah’s, as he was staring right at me. He cleared his throat and tried to turn away like he hadn’t been caught staring, but I just flashed him a bright drunken smile. He did a small double-take before looking back at me and laughing a little as he gave me one back. 

I mouthed the words ‘it’s so comfy’ at him as I hugged the hoodie closer to my body, and he responded with a small chuckle and mouthed a ‘good’ back. I giggled as I reached into my pocket, wanting to be on my phone for a while as I wasn’t as interested in the boy’s conversations. I clicked on the power button to turn on my phone and saw that I had a bunch of notifications, a lot more than usual, which confused me. Thinking maybe it was just me being tagged in photos from tonight’s show, I clicked on them and got taken straight to Instagram. I click on my notifications and see that they're all comments on my last post, talking about Noah once again, but this time saying how it was either cute that I kicked his ass at Mario Kart or how he went easy on me, which made me laugh, knowing how it actually played out. But I was still confused on how they knew, before I scrolled enough and saw that I was tagged in a story.

I let out a loud laugh as I clicked on it, catching a few of the boy's attention, but I waved them off as I tried silencing my giggles. I liked Noah’s story before replying to it.

“That’s what cheaters deserve ;)”

I saw Noah shift as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, and I watched as he clicked on the notification and chuckle to himself before looking up at me with a smirk and then typing on his phone.

Noah- Me? The cheater? Who was the one who smacked the controller out of my hand?

I giggled before replying.

Y/N- Says the one who picked the hardest map of the whole game!

Noah- You literally got first place. you didn’t struggle that bad. 

Y/N- You’re still an ass

I heard him let out a huff which made me giggle more.

Noah- Whatever you say, sweetheart

My heart skipped a beat, but I did my best to play it off. I look over at my cup I had forgotten about and take my shot, it going down a lot easier than before, but I still made a face while shaking my head. I heard a laugh and looked up to see Noah watching me. I give him a scrunched up face to exaggerate the disgust, which he continued to laugh at.

“What are you two giggle-fucks laughing about?” Damien asked us, making me us laugh harder. “Come on, we still have a while to party, let’s get some more rounds going!” he suggested, resulting in some groans and chuckles. This tour is gonna be the death of me. 

After a few more rounds of shots, me trying to deny most of them, it was finally 3 A.M. and we had to hit the road. We said our goodbyes and headed to our bus, Finn having to hold me as I walked up the stairs. I really should wash my face, but that’s a problem for tomorrow. 

I fell into my bunk, ready for sleep to take over as I was utterly exhausted from our first night. I pull my arm up under my head and face the wall of the bunk, closing my eyes. That’s when the smell of a citrussy amber and musk filled my nose. I lifted my head and looked down at my arm, and realized I was still wearing Noah’s hoodie. I let out a soft giggle before burying my head into the sleeve and letting sleep take over me. I fell asleep before I could see a new notification coming from my chat with Noah.

Noah- Here’s my number incase you need it ***-***-****

Noah- or to let me know when you wanna give that hoodie back ;) See you tomorrow

Part Three

[slothpower-central]

Here's my super early before everything Canto 8 bingo card

You all asked for it so I shall hand it over, keep in mind this is subject to change massively based on things like the intermissions, I want to be the first person to make a Bingo card for way in the future, call it a....long term investment Here is my super early Canto 8 Bingo card!!

Okay so I kinda wanna explain the board choices for funsies!

Hong Lu is a rock-.....obviously the big theory is on here!

Mothershu crumbs-So my friends and I refer to like character moments and hints as crumbs and mothershu is what we refer to as Ryoshu being a mother or like alluding to that(like with smth like Spider Bud)

Sinclair snaps-We get another moment similar to his shut the fuck up moment in Canto 7

Freak Lu- uhm this one is more of a silly one since with the number of times that man is tied up or smth and is chill with it (What do you mean it was a unique and fun experience?!?!) my friends and I think he's into it, so we included it for fun

No romance plotline-sigh. Wishful thinking on the part of a Hong Lu yume shipper(me) one of the original novels main plotlines is a whole romance love triangle thing goin on with Baoyu. My friend an I were going back and forth on if/how they could adapt that madness so to subvert expectations,we said no romance

We go to the Land of Illusion-Look if Baoyu goes there in the original, who's to say we won't go in Limbus

Outis Family crumbs- Outis saying anything about her family or home or Penelope or any of that

Uhm the Lin Daiyu space is self-explanatory aside from the descriptors, it's more in reference to my friend's bingo card she made for Canto 7, and it had "Dulcinea is a baddie" on there so I had to carry on the joke

That Grey Bastard appears-uhm.... that's in reference to Demian. My friend group is not a fan of him (I'm literally close friends with the real reincarnation of Emil Sinclair, of course we have conflicting feelings on Demian)

Levels copy the style of chapter names- So the names of levels last canto matched up with the way chapters in Don Quixote are titled and it was the same way in Canto 5 so Amia and I thought it might carry over to Canto 8 ^^

Heathcliff crumbs-We kinda threw his one in here but y'know more Heathcliff family moments or more Heathcath

Baoyu name reveal-Okay before you say, "But Sloth, they did reveal it to the sinners!" uhm no, look at who was in that convo. It was Wei, Xichun and Hong Lu, the other sinners do not know, or they just really decided to not comment on that

Chapter with the most npcs-This one is a prediction because guys. The original novel has like 400 characters in it.

Story Dungeon in Canto-So I always like to ask whether we'll get one since in Canto 6,we didn't get a dungeon,so we put it on there

Hong Lu is a "Charon situation"- I proposed some kind of crazy idea that Hong Lu was like overwriting Baoyu's personality/old self or smth and Amia responds with "Charon situation" since in Leviathan Lapis gets herself overwritten by one of her mirror worlds, that being Charon. So maybe something of a similar nature happened to Hong Lu (Yes this is different enough from rock theory to me)

Hong Lu doesn't distort- Ha you thought! Amia and I are like *convinced* the Hell's Chicken line is a red herring meant to throw us off. Like Quixote distortion was a big theory for a while and she didn't distort (Can bloodfiends distort? Idk) I know we're in the minority but like unless something changes my mind, I'm gonna keep being in the minority

[sigg-vbj]

Fan Video's

Bakugo didn’t usually waste time scrolling through social media—it wasn’t his style—but even he had those moments where boredom hit like a truck. Today was one of those rare days. Propped up on his couch, his phone in hand, he mindlessly swiped through random videos of heroes doing flashy crap. Most of it was predictable: same moves, same interviews, same dumb flashy quirk stunts.

Then a thumbnail caught his eye.

“Scarlet X’s Big Dog Moments”

The title alone made him pause. Vanessa had gone to America a few months back, and while he knew she was holding her own, he hadn’t really seen her in action over there. He tapped the video, the familiar fiery red 'X' in the thumbnail already intriguing him. What started as curiosity quickly turned into something he hadn’t expected.

The video opened with a bang—literally. Vanessa stood on the edge of a skyscraper, throwing up two middle fingers with her tongue out, looking like she owned the damn skyline. Then, without a second thought, she tipped back and free-fell like gravity was just a suggestion. The timing was perfect, the base of some heavy New York drill track dropping as the scene cut to her mid-air, cosmic red energy glowing around her like she was the queen of the world.

Bakugo blinked. "What the hell...?"

This wasn’t the Vanessa he’d seen at UA, calm and collected with that rare mischievous smirk. This was Scarlet X, fully in her element, showing off like a certified badass.

Whoever made this video wasn’t just good—they were a genius. The clips were fire, blending her coolest takedowns with moments that showed just how much of a presence she had on the streets of New York. Without realizing it, Bakugo hit follow on the account. Of course, it was one of his throwaway accounts—no way in hell would he let anyone know Dynamight was binge-watching fan videos of his... Vanessa.

Each clip had him more hooked than the last.

In one, she spun on her heel after flooring some villain and started Harlem shaking like she was on a stage at Madison Square Garden. "Aye! Aye! Aye!" she shouted, finishing the impromptu dance with a smooth spin and throwing up peace signs.

“Idiot,” Bakugo muttered, but he smirked, shaking his head.

Another video showed her going toe-to-toe with a muscle-bound villain twice her size. At first, she faked out a straight punch, then dodged under his swing before planting an uppercut so clean it looked like it came out of a comic book. The guy went flying, practically orbiting.

Bakugo burst out laughing. “Damn right, show ‘em who’s boss, Puffball.”

Then came the "GET OVER HERE!" moment. Facing the camera with a cocky grin, Vanessa turned and threw a glowing red X at a fleeing thief. The X latched onto his back, and with one sharp yank, she pulled the guy through the air like a ragdoll straight into her grip. The reference was crystal clear.

“Cheeky,” Bakugo muttered, letting out a snicker. "Where’s the fatality, huh?"

But the videos weren’t just goofy or flashy. There were moments where she was simply... Vanessa. Sitting on a stoop, eating a slice of pizza someone handed her as thanks. Floating in mid-air, her cosmic energy gently swirling around her, her face serene like she was meditating. Those clips were quieter, but they hit different. They showed the side of her that wasn’t just a hero but a person.

His smirk softened. His chest warmed a bit—annoyingly so. She wasn’t just Scarlet X; she was Vanessa. The girl who trained with him, roasted him for being too loud, and could take him down a peg without even trying. Seeing her like this, fully in her element, surrounded by fans, showing off for cameras without losing herself—it made him proud.

Bakugo scrolled to the comments.

User123: “Scarlet X is carrying the hero industry in NYC right now.” FanOfScarlet: “No way, she’s too good. That cosmic energy is insane.” ThrowawayGuy99: “I’m down bad for Scarlet X. She can punch me into the stratosphere any day.” DynamightFan47: “Scarlet X and Dynamight collab WHEN?”

His eyes twitched at the last one. He quickly commented on his favorite clip—the one with the uppercut—under his throwaway account.

TotallyNotDynamight: “Yeah, she’s badass. Don’t get used to it, though. She’s got competition.”

He snorted after hitting send. If Vanessa ever found out about this, she’d never let him live it down. But for now, he kept scrolling, rewatching the clips and feeling a rare sense of admiration—for her and her ability to own the spotlight like no one else could. End

[sp00ky-sh4rk0]

ALRIIIGHT PORTAL 1 CORES LETS GOOO

(Yeah I know kinda fucked I made refs for these guys but not the portal 2 cores, WHO CARESSSS ENOUGH TALKIN ABOUT MEN ANYWAYS)

yeah some little notes about these guys!

-Iris is the oldest as you can see and is in the early/middle stages of Alzheimers(Which is why the cake recipes she says are always kind of,,,,off) yet has not been let go from Aperture yet for retirement despite working with the company for a good portion of her life. Wheatley is her nephew and he acts as somewhat of caretaker to her, despite not being that great at it sometimes, but he tries.

-Mahira is a close friend of Iris, as they’ve been working together for a long while now and despite her illness, Mahira always is next to her and is there for her as best as she can be. She’s also definitely one of the more respected employees of Aperture, especially to Craig(Fact core). Of course she is also(ironically) a voice of reason, think like Master oogway kinda. She treats Anne and Carrie like her grand kids and Also she’s blind, somewhat, her vision is just very foggy.

-Carrie I feel like switches fashion a lot, like she’s just so curious about different styles she can’t pick one, same with hairstyles. Also she got her eyebrow piercing on impulse. I feel like she started working at Aperture a little bit after her brother, Kelvin(Space core) started working there, and she was a test subject, but because of how she was the higher ups just figured she’d be more useful on the Glados project. Also when not asking questions she just stares,,,with them,,,big ol eyes….She kind of acts annoying sometimes, and will just press buttons n shit like Deedee just to see what happens. But she’s genuinely a sweet person, especially to Anne, even made her a friendship bracelet teehee

-Anne at the start at working at Aperture was definitely,, a very different person, more emotionally intelligent, had it more together. But after a couple of months she started just kinda losing it. I feel like she def had some already established emotional disorder that she regulated but after working at Aperture the stress of it just kept getting to her, so she just kinda stopped and doesn’t take care of herself anymore, which is REALLY BAD obviously. Plus also yeaaah, she rips out her hair sometimes which is why it’s like that. She genuinely loves her friends though, especially Carrie, and also butts heads with Rick from time to time(I’ve seen people have this idea and I just fw it too hard). Also Iris freaks her out highkey, Anne will never admit it, but she does.

[kyywritess]

CHAPTER 5: KNOW ITS FOR THE BETTER

pairing: aged up!katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

summary: After six intense years in Japan, YN LN has firmly established herself as a renowned gym owner. She's known by many pros for her charm, strength, and boxing abilities. She has a strong support system and amazing friends... her life in Japan was everything she dreamed it would be.

But everything changes one fateful night when a mysterious package appears on her doorstep. No note, no return address—just a plain box wrapped with a single pearly pink ribbon. As she unravels the contents of the box, she’s drawn into a dark, twisted mystery that seems to reach deep into her own past—a past she thought she had buried when she left her old life behind.

wc: 2.8k

---

Staring out at the skyline of Musutafu, Bakugo sat at a conference table with other pro heroes, the atmosphere heavy as grim photos flashed on the screen.

“There’s been another casualty,” a senior hero announced, their voice grim. “A young woman, found in her home last night. However, we managed to recover some security footage.”

Bakugo’s attention snapped to the screen, his heart skipping at the mention of a young woman and camera footage. His mind immediately jumped to you, but the knot in his chest loosened when he saw the images—it wasn’t you.

Still, he hadn’t seen or heard from you in days. He’d stopped by your place during patrol the other night to check on you after you’d taken a bad fall and hit your head.

When you hadn’t answered, he’d let himself in with the key you’d given him, scanning the apartment for signs of forced entry. Nothing seemed out of place—until he called you, and you finally answered.

The sound of another man’s voice in the background had caught him off guard.

Bakugo wasn’t one to get jealous. He didn’t chase after anyone. But you? You were different. You weren’t just anyone.

From the moment he met you—the sharp-tongued gym owner who could spar with him almost as well as you could trade barbs—he’d been hooked. There was something about the way you carried yourself, the spark in your eyes, your effortless strength.

Over time, his admiration had deepened. He noticed the little things: the slight change in your perfume, the way you’d stopped wearing your hair in a certain style, the way your laugh could disarm him like no villain ever could.

You were the exception, the one person he’d chase to the ends of the earth if he had to. And he wasn’t about to lose you to some extra who probably couldn’t throw a decent punch.

Snapping back to the present, Bakugo narrowed his eyes at the screen. Something in the footage caught his attention—a detail others had missed.

“Zoom in on that image,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the room.

Deku, holding the remote, adjusted the image, focusing on the man in the footage.

“More. His wrist.”

The screen zoomed in, revealing a tattoo on the man’s wrist. The word Omertà was inked in bold, an unmistakable symbol of the mafia’s code of silence.

“He’s flaunting it,” Bakugo growled. “The bastard knows we’re watching.”

Todoroki frowned. “It could be a coincidence.”

“No way,” Bakugo shot back. “He made sure the camera caught it. He wants us to know.”

Deku suddenly pulled up an old news report on his laptop. “This might be connected. A few years ago, an abandoned warehouse in the U.S. was blown up. They only recovered a few bodies, but every one of them had that same tattoo.”

“If this is an American mob, why are they here?” Todoroki asked, his voice steady but curious.

Deku shook his head. “The report didn’t give many details, and when I searched, there weren’t any follow-ups. Officially, they called it an accident.”

“Someone buried it,” Endeavor said, his tone grim. “The question is, who?”

“We need intel,” Bakugo said, his fists clenching. “Get the American Hero Committee on the line. If they’ve been dealing with these guys, they’ll know something.”

“I’ll handle the calls,” Deku offered, already typing.

Bakugo pushed his chair back, rising abruptly. “Do that. I’m not sitting around while these scumbags think they can move in on our turf.”

“Where are you going?” Endeavor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Got somewhere to be.” Bakugo muttered, heading for the door. “Keep me updated.”

The team exchanged glances as Bakugo stormed out.

He couldn’t shake the thought of you, though. Whatever was happening, Bakugo knew one thing for sure: no one messed with his city—or with you.

---

YN’S POV

The past few days had been a blur of caffeine-fueled frustration as you and James worked tirelessly to gather intel. Despite countless hours and far too many coffee breaks, the pieces of the puzzle still didn’t fit together. Meanwhile, life didn’t slow down for your obligations outside the investigation. Running the gym meant you couldn't rely on your employees to pick up the slack—it wouldn’t be fair to them.

Tonight’s task was a children’s class, and your special guest was nowhere in sight.

You glanced at the clock, the start of the class just five minutes away, while kids eagerly laced up their gloves, their excited chatter occasionally turning to questions about your promised guest. Anxiety crept up your spine as you called him yet again, only to be met with voicemail for the umpteenth time.

It wasn’t just about tonight—you hadn’t spoken to him since the night you hit your head. Something about his silence gave you the nagging suspicion that he was mad at you. But you hadn’t expected him to be petty enough to completely ditch the class.

“You didn’t think I’d show, did you?”

The voice startled you, low and full of smug satisfaction. Spinning around, you found yourself face-to-face with none other than Katsuki Bakugo himself.

“Katsuki! What the hell?” you exclaimed, punching him in the arm with more force than necessary.

“Oi!” He winced, rubbing the spot with an exaggerated glare. “What was that for?”

“You were supposed to be here ages ago!” you huffed, arms crossed. “Do you know how many voicemails I left you?”

“I dunno, ten? I didn’t count,” he shot back, the smirk creeping onto his face only fueling your irritation. “Relax, I’m here now.”

“Barely.” You gave him your best stern look, though his lack of concern made it feel like you were trying to lecture a brick wall.

He quirked an eyebrow, his crimson eyes sparkling with mischief. “A meeting ran late, okay? I came as soon as I could.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, still not entirely appeased. “Help me grab these pads. We’re working on defense today.”

As you handed him a few pads, you retrieved the rest from the tote and launched into your explanation. “The kids can throw decent punches, but their defense is still pretty weak. I figured we’d give them a proper demonstration to help it click.”

Trailing behind you to the mat, Bakugo’s expression softened when he noticed the kids’ wide-eyed stares and excited whispers. The realization that Dynamight was standing in their gym had lit a fire of enthusiasm you hadn’t seen in ages.

“Alright, everyone,” you began, clapping your hands to gather their attention. “As promised, we have a special guest today—Dynamight himself!”

Gasps and cheers erupted, the kids practically bouncing with excitement. You spotted one in the corner nearly vibrating out of their shoes.

“Dynamight is here to help us with defense drills,” you continued. “And if you’re lucky, you might even get to fight him yourself.”

The kids collectively lost their minds, one of them outright shouting, “I’m gonna destroy you!”

Bakugo snorted, muttering under his breath, “Bold of ‘em to assume.”

“Dynamight, do you want to say something?” you prompted, nudging him lightly.

He stared at you, clearly out of his depth, but the silent plea in your eyes pushed him forward. “Can’t wait to see what you’ve got,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

You raised an eyebrow, your expression screaming that’s it?

Groaning under his breath, he added begrudgingly, “If you do good today, I’ll let you throw punches at me.”

The kids exploded in cheers, their excitement reaching a fever pitch.

Rolling your eyes, you motioned for them to line up against the wall. “Alright, me and Dynamight are going to demonstrate some basic defense moves. You’ll practice with pads while we suit up with gloves.”

Tossing a pair of gloves at Bakugo, you slipped yours on and got into position. “The first move is head defense. Dynamight, take a shot at me.”

He threw a slow, controlled hook toward your head, the smirk on his face daring you to mess up. You blocked it effortlessly, your arm shielding your ear, temple, and chin with practiced precision.

“See? Tight guard. Make sure your arm is tucked close to your face. Now, let’s see you all try!”

As the kids practiced, Bakugo leaned closer, his voice low. “You’re not half-bad at this.”

“Not half-bad?” you echoed, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know I’m a great teacher.”

He smirked, leaning back shrug. “Yeah, yeah. Guess I wouldn’t mind havin’ you as my teacher back in the day.”

“Oh?” You quirked an eyebrow, intrigued. “What about Aizawa? You’re always singing his praises.”

“Tch, he was good. But I mean before U.A. Back when I was a little punk, maybe I’d’ve turned out different if I had someone like you around.”

You nudged him playfully. “Don’t dwell on it. I was a punk too, y’know. Besides, your personality is one of my favorite things about you.”

He turned to you, his expression softening. “You mean that?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

The rest of the class flew by, and true to his word, Bakugo let the kids take turns throwing punches at him. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched him interact with them, his usual sharpness giving way to a surprising warmth.

“Thank you again.”

“Yeah.” Katsuki’s response was quiet, almost uncharacteristic, as he stared off to the side, his brows slightly furrowed like he was wrestling with his thoughts. You could sense there was something else he wanted to say, but hesitation hung in the air between you.

“Katsuki?” you prompted softly, tilting your head.

He shifted, exhaling sharply through his nose. “I wanted to ask ya somethin’.”

A nervous energy settled in your chest, your pulse quickening. His seriousness was rare, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was coming. Before he could continue, though, a hand on your shoulder snapped your attention away.

“Y/N.”

Turning around, you found James standing there, his expression calm but purposeful. He had been stationed in your office throughout the class, a constant shadow ever since his arrival, clearly intent on keeping an eye on you.

“I have a business call to take,” he said with a polite nod. “I’ll be outside when you’re ready.”

He gave a slight bow of his head toward Katsuki before turning on his heel and striding toward the exit. You barely had time to process his departure before Katsuki’s voice cut through.

“Who's the old bastard?”

You blinked, turning back to him. His ruby eyes narrowed slightly, and there was a flicker of something—irritation, curiosity, maybe even jealousy—etched into his face.

“That’s James,” you explained, adjusting the gym bag on your shoulder. “The ‘friend’ I was with the other night.”

“You like em' old?” he quipped, arching a brow.

Your eyes narrowed, and before you could think twice, you punched him lightly on the arm for the second time that evening. “He’s a family friend from America, you idiot. He and his wife are visiting, and I’m showing them around town.”

“Oh.” His response was clipped, almost sheepish, though he tried to mask it with a shrug.

“Yeah, oh.” You shot him a pointed look, your tone laced with mock exasperation. “Anyway, what did you want to ask me?”

It was clear his train of thought had been derailed. He seemed flustered now, his confident air wavering as the faintest pink dusted his cheeks.

“Nothin’,” he muttered, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “Forget it.” He made to turn away, but you weren’t about to let him off the hook so easily.

“Just ask me,” you said firmly, grabbing his hand and tugging him to a stop.

He let out a frustrated breath, looking anywhere but at you. “The hero gala is comin’ up,” he began, his voice gruff, almost like he was annoyed with himself for even bringing it up. “I need a date.”

“And?” you prodded, your brows lifting in encouragement.

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to go with me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “Me?”

“No, idiot,” he shot back, rolling his eyes, though his flushed face betrayed him. “I’m talkin’ to the wall.”

A laugh bubbled out of you as you lightly swatted at his arm. “Why me?”

His lips pressed into a tight line, and for a moment, you thought he might backtrack entirely. But then he huffed, “Forget it. If you don’t wanna go, just say it.”

“No, no, I want to,” you blurted out quickly, a smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll go with you.”

“Yeah?” His gaze snapped to yours, a flicker of relief crossing his face.

“Yeah.”

As you smiled up at him, a wave of unease churned in your stomach, clashing with the butterflies that danced at his gaze—a gaze meant only for you. You were falling for him, and the timing couldn’t have been worse.

---

Bakugo had been riding a rare high ever since leaving the gym. For weeks, he’d been working up the nerve to ask you to be his date to the hero gala, and now that you’d said yes, he felt a weight lift off his shoulders. The corners of his lips twitched into a small, satisfied smirk as he arrived back at the agency, heading straight for his office.

“Kacchan, wait!”

The familiar voice of Deku cut through the hallway, and Bakugo turned to see him hurrying over, a sense of urgency written all over his face.

“What is it now?” Bakugo asked, raising an eyebrow as Deku thrust a vanilla file folder into his hands.

“We got more information. Look at this.”

Flipping the folder open, Bakugo scanned the first page. A detailed report stared back at him, the name Anthony Moretti printed in bold letters at the top alongside a grainy photo of a middle-aged man with sharp features and cold, calculating eyes.

“Who the hell is this?” Bakugo questioned, his voice low and sharp.

“Anthony Moretti,” Deku explained, his tone grim. “He’s a Mafia boss from America. That warehouse that blew up? It was an underground club he was running.”

Bakugo frowned, his crimson eyes narrowing. “Why the hell was this sealed from public records?”

“The explosion was caused by a group of pro heroes,” Deku said, his voice dropping lower. “Not only did the blast kill everyone inside the building, but it also took out civilians nearby. The higher-ups didn’t want the general public knowing that pro heroes were responsible for innocent lives being lost.”

“Tch,” Bakugo scoffed, his grip tightening on the file. “They’re trying to cover their asses.”

“Exactly,” Deku said, handing over another folder. This one bore a picture of a masked hero, her face obscured but her stance confident and commanding.

“Do you remember her?” Deku asked.

Bakugo’s eyes darkened. “Yeah… Nova. She died a few years back.”

“She was the only hero assigned to the case,” Deku continued. “Apparently, all her work was undercover.”

“If she was the only hero, who the hell was she working with?” Bakugo asked, his tone clipped.

“She was partnered with two federal agents assigned by the Hero Committee—Lila Macontash and James Tucker,” Deku said.

“Do we have any way of getting a hold of them?” Bakugo pressed.

“Lila died in the explosion that night,” Deku explained, his voice heavy, “but I’m working on finding James Tucker. After Nova and Lila’s deaths, he went off the radar and stopped working with heroes for a while.”

“Find him. He’s probably the only shot we’ve got at figuring out what went down that night.”

“I’ve already got Todoroki tracking him,” Deku said.

“And what about Moretti?” Bakugo asked, his sharp gaze cutting to Deku. “Where is he now?”

“It’s unclear,” Deku admitted. “Apparently, after the explosion, they arrested him, but he escaped prison a few weeks ago.”

Bakugo let out a low growl, his irritation bubbling. “If his team’s here, then he has to be close. But why the hell would they come to Japan?”

Deku shook his head. “That’s what doesn’t make sense. It seems like they wanted us to know they’re here, but why target innocent women?”

Bakugo’s jaw clenched, his mind racing. “It doesn’t add up. The only two women who went after him—Nova and Lila—are dead. Even if they were alive, Moretti wouldn’t risk being in Japan just to send a message.”

“I’ll dig deeper,” Deku assured him. “I’ll see if he has any ties to Japan. And once we track down James Tucker, hopefully, we can piece together what really happened that night.”

“Good.” Bakugo’s voice was sharp and resolute. “Let me know the second you hear anything.”

---

TAGLIST: @emmaafinchh

If anyone want's to be tagged in the next posts please let me know! :)

[golden-racoon]

How to do character parallels (Acheron & Aventurine) Spoilers for 2.1

It's pretty evident that the writing team for Penacony has knocked it out of the park and they've been getting better by patch. The best part of this patch has probably been the use of the switch POV to show between the two protagonists of this quest.

I mean it's pretty obvious that they're parallels. They're the last survivors of their people, destroyed by an invading force (the Avgin by the Katica and Izumo by Takamagahara). Both survived through their own skill and support from other people and then suffered horribly through the aftermath of survival.

Acheron becomes a Self-Anihilator and loses parts of herself, like her memory (and sense of taste). She has to use emotion to navigate the world because she can't keep a hold of her memory. In The Pioneer Diver of Dead Waters set it's implied that she was Freebas' friend, and if you read the description of the set it's pretty evident that Freebas died journeying into the black hole that is the Nihility.

Aventurine loses all of his people in a single day (his birthday!!!) and then becomes a branded slave forced to participate in a Hunger Games-style tournament for his survival. It's implied that his only weapon for this entire twisted game would have been his chains, which would have been horribly traumatizing for him since every death he committed would be up close and personal.

Throughout this quest we follow each of them as they carry out their own personal agendas and how each of them come to the same conclusions. They even have a single companion for their quests who helps them carry out bothering Sunday (which is pretty funny in retrospect, since five different people broke into Suday's house in the same 24 hours).

And then Aventurine pulls his closing gambit and Acheron is the only one who understands why he's doing this. Because both of them have loathed themselves and wanted to die, and found something they so dearly want above all of this.

Aventurine needs the power of an Emanator to break down the walls of Penacony and he knows the only person in Penacony who can carry out his ends is Acheron.

And then this happens.

Aventurine understands Acheron's version of Nihility more than anyone. He understands what it means to keep holding on, even when you should be rightfully dead. Acheron understands all too well what it means to lose so much of yourself just to survive, and their conversation about Aventurine's scheme is full of nuance and many, many layers.

My favourite recurring motif for these two is Rain. Aceron says that she weeps "like rain" when she activates her Emanator powers. When she "slashes" Aventurine, she creates rain, something that should be impossible in the Family's dreamscape. Aventurine is associated with rain constantly from birth, something his people consider a blessing. However, now he can't even bear getting his outfit wet in the rain, something that may be a rejection of his past. But when Acheron fulfils his wishes and he finally accepts his past, the rain pours.

In conclusion, I'm losing my mind, and Shaoji is responsible. Probably.

[hawtastic]

So, follow up on my other post:

Last year, after I finished HL I got the idea of a story before my mc gets accepted so I went on a spiral and drew about 50 characters before I got burned out and never got to writing the actual fanfiction. Lmao, quick lore drop.

Of course, I can't share it all here, but it followed Lacy's brother – Jacob – and his 'friends' during their 5th year before he went missing.

I actually still dig these designs so hard I love unlikely misfit friend groups. Continues below the cut. (Don't mind Jacobs being different from the other three. I drew that one at the same time I drew the ones for his parents, lmao).

● Margot Oakley

• Patronus: Magpie

She has a kneazle named Petunia

• Wand: Pliant flexibility, English oak, 14-inch – unicorn hair

• Margot is a kooky Hufflepuff airhead with a heart for Herbology and a strong intuition. From a young age, her affinity with nature and creatures was prominent; growing vegetables, herbs, and flowers like no other and connecting easily with even the most stubborn beast unlike any other in her year, however she is no more but mediocore at any other subject placed in front of her.

Aside from her proficiency with plants, she enjoys baking and quilting — often getting called an 'old soul' by adults and 'boring' by her peers. She makes her own clothes and has a unique sense of style. Despite being rather bashful about it, she enjoys expressing herself.

She can be naive. In her first years at Hogwarts, she was taken under the wing of the Hufflepuff head girl, but when she graduated, Margot was left on her own accord; now taking the initiative herself on who she was going to interact with. And despite having been warned countless times by other classmates of hers, her key candidate for friendship was Jacob: the guy who nobody likes.

• She's Jacob's closest friend (or how close anyone could be to him).

• She's the only one who truly knows what happened to Jacob at the end of their 5th year... but she never told anyone.

• She's actually quite strong — despite being a full blood wizard, she carries pots and sacks like any ordinary person would. Since her grandfather was non-magical, she didn't want to make him feel bad growing up, so she used her magic as little as possible as a child, and it stuck even once she entered Hogwarts.

• Out of all four, she probably has the most friends, she's hard to dislike, and she gets along well with students below her year.

• Her Kneazle often gets into trouble— sneaking out her dorm and such. Margot accidentally broke curfew a few times because of it.

● Hugo Lockrune

• Patronus: Weasel

• Wand: Swishy flexibility, Dogwood, 15inch–Billywig Stinger

• Hugo is a Gryffindor known in their year for being quirky, mischievous, and completely unpredictable. He's muggle-born and lives with his parents and four younger siblings in London, where he helped in his father's workshop tinkering with mechanical parts and such. With a habit for endless pranks, nosy behaviour, and an endless search for thrill, adventure, and excitement—he isn't exactly considered popular or well-liked amongst his peers.

He is unable to hold genuine friendships for a long time due to his levity and tendencies to act like he knows better, being a self-proclaimed 'inventor' often tinkering on his next big project which "definitely wont blow up this time around."

Although his personality will be summed up by his peers as 'pesky' and 'bothersome,' there is denying his skill with both Transfiguration and Charms is exceptional.

• Jacob doesn't like him. He finds Hugo just as much of a pest as everyone else, but he feigns friendship.

• Hugo is very expressive. He's usually smiling and grinning; he laughs very easily but also flusters easily— though he doesn't cry much and he's not prone to anger, but he is very haughty.

• He doesn't have consistent ideas it's all very spontaneous. Imagine nerd emoji "eureka" moment.

• He differs a decade from his little siblings – they're quadruplets – he has three little sisters and a younger brother, and he's surprisingly easygoing with children.

• His uncle is also a wizard and the one who gifted Hugo his wand, meaning Hugo doesn't have a classic wand from Ollivanders.

● Rhian Yvaíne

• Patronus: Chestnut Mare

• Wand: Hard flexibility, Hazel, 10¾inch–Dragon heartstring

• Rhian is a Slytherin living in the shadow of her flamboyant twin brother – Reneé – who shares the same house. She excels at quidditch – the only thing she is better at than her brother – and is rather well-known around the school for her position as the teams' seeker. She hails from a pureblood family; her parents both passed away whilst running an errand for the Ministry, which left Rhian and her brother to their aunt.

She's calculated, cunning, and oftentimes presumed to be indifferent to most things whilst she's actually just notably good at keeping her emotions in-check aside from making rude faces and snide remarks under her breath; she's very non-confrontational preferring to be left alone most of the time.

She's good at duelling and flying and can be rather competitive.

• Jacob actually thought she was one of his better classmates even before they started hanging out — She thought he was really weird.

• She was very 'manic pixie dream girl' in her first year because of how badly she wanted to be special— she actually had a lot of friends during that time but then she gave herself the ick one time and opted for a more 'cool lone wolf' vibe which drove most of her then friends away.

• She has no sense of humour... or pretends she doesn't. Hugo gets under her skin, and she wants to rip his throat out.

• Her and Reneé aren't close at all. If they didn't live together outside of school, they could almost be considered estranged. It's almost strange since they were really close growing up.

(They're all vaguely based on the Hogwarts Legacy game companions – or were – I think I lost the resemblance halfway through).

● Jacob Lovette

• Patronus: Runespoor

• Wand: Hard flexibility, Yew, 12⅕inch–Dragon heartstring

• Just there.

• Some guy.

• Massive asshole.

• He's genuinely smart but acts like a douche about it; he underexplains everything or makes shit up. He also doesn't tell the other three jack shit.