#never mind it is a crime to not know all the lore if you’re making headcanon and everything like

[macroglossus]

come on dude

[ma1dita]

solipsism

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.1k

summary: (post-TLT) drink responsibly… trouble doesn’t; you punch luke in this lol (novelization spoilers? kinda canon-compliant)

The one where you finally pray to Hestia to keep your home safe, even if he's also trying to destroy it. Luke visits you four times during college, in a timeline opposite to yours (doctor x river song-coded) (lore expansion & explanation here) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: i hurt myself with this one. anyways its canon (to me) that we’re roommates now !!!! more to come like i promised even during my birthday break ! scream at me in the comments and feel free to reblog :)

(post 3/6, edited/betad @hotchfiles )

—

solipsism (the idea that only one’s mind is sure to exist)

You didn’t mean to send a prayer out into the world so strong that it would will an apparition of an Olympian, but burning cookies seems to be your specialty. Arguably, they weren’t the good kind, just the ones you grab in the freezer aisle of Walmart, and still, somehow they set your fire alarm off. Opening a window and waving through the smoke— Hestia, goddess of the hearth and home was standing next to the rickety dining table you bought off Facebook marketplace. 

“Holy shit, you scared me!” 

There’s mirth in her eyes at your reaction, though for all you know it could be annoyance—it’s not often that an immortal could be badgered enough to reveal themselves for an accident like this one.

“Dionysus was right. You’re too much like him for your own good,” she grins, taking a seat at the table like she’s an old friend. There’s a warmth to her unlike anyone you’ve met before—fire crackling in her eyes and an aura of serenity swaddling the air that you’ve never felt before in your student accomodations.

“I’m sorry I just… with all due respect, what’s going on?”

You go to toss the hot tray of cookies in the trash bin, before hesitating and putting them on your nicest plate. A gentle shove slides them over the table to the goddess, and she takes a crunch out of one happily.

“You were praying,” she states, like its common knowledge, “so strongly, in fact, I thought I’d make a visit to one of my most loyal devotees. Though in this case, you’re the object of his devotion, yes?”

Your hands are clasped across your lap and a familiar feeling spreads through you, then she jerks her hand up and points, “There. You’re doing it again. Y’know, it’s about time you start reciprocating the effort. Hermes’ son prays for you with intention.” You were thinking about Luke before she appeared—and hope glimmered like a tiny open flame. It’s still there, in the slow beating of your heart.

“He’s waging war with the gods. I don’t think he prays to them anymore,” you reason. Luke's offerings to the hearth must have been extinguished by the wrath he’s rained on Camp Half-Blood by now. The perfect storm.

“Not when it comes to you. Mortals never fail to surprise me. But it seems you’re a special case, my sweet. He’s made a home of you.”

To love Luke feels like having to keep a secret and never being able to tell anyone, but Hestia reaches for your hands across the table and looks at you knowingly.

“When I gave up my seat on Olympus for your father it wasn’t a sign of weakness, even if I did it so that others could be happy. I think your soul is a lot like mine in that you’ve given up so much of what you want to protect others. In turn, he’s doing the best he can to protect you; I listen to him every day, sweet girl. You are not weak for loving him still. There are generations of strength in your bones.”

“What else am I supposed to do? I search for him in everyone I meet and I’m not sure I’ll ever find that type of love again.”

These are thoughts you’d never told anyone—not Annabeth, not your father, not even yourself and surely never aloud.

“I hope you never do,” the goddess says, and you know it too.

i. no winter lasts forever (a night out after a drive home from virginia)

Flick. Flick.

“Come on, Hestia. Not you too. Don’t fail me now,” you mumble. The frigid metal of your zippo lighter rubs against your thumbs as you cup it in your hands, shielding the tiny flame that fights the harsh winter wind. Trying to focus as you lean against the brick of the Inferno, you take a deep inhale of smoke to warm your bones. Healing was never supposed to be easy.

Breathe in.

It’s somewhat of a routine you’ve made since getting back from visiting Annie. You’re a regular at this pub now—not even acclimated to the ins and outs of your sleepy college town, and though you don’t know the name of the hall your classes are in, you do know there’s a barstool in the corner of the Inferno with your name on it. There’s something funny about using your father’s gift as a form of fake id, and you wonder if he knows how heavily you indulge in your vices. Five vodka redbulls down the hatch have your knees feeling weak under the alley light until a stranger looms over you like a shadow.

“Those things are gonna kill you one day.”

Breathe out.

“Gods willing,” you laugh, stumbling over your boots and Luke catches you like he was never meant to let you go in the first place. The leather of his jacket is musky and his hair is buzzed. 

Either you were wasted or uncaring of who he was (both), you toss him your car keys and climb into the passenger seat. It’s a silent ride to your apartment besides you giving him the directions and Luke wonders how bad he must have hurt you for you to lay out for a stranger and waste away like this. But he’s the farthest thing from a stranger, even in this error in time and you’re still the daughter of the god of wine so after the third time you try to put your key in the lock he helps you because he hopes you’ll let him in.

“Y’know Annie would get a kick out of your haircut. Come inside.”

You’ve always been able to see right through him.

He’s standing in the hallway with his hand around your waist and he’s already broken too many of the titan’s orders by being here, so he scoffs, “You’re not gonna remember this by morning.” But you leave the door open anyway, dragging him by the wrist and your hand still feels the same in his even after all this time. What more is there to resist when there’s not much left of him to lose? 

This is the last time, he reminds Kronos, and there are monstrous hands around his brain, but yours are still gently holding his heart. The little part of his soul that hasn’t been eaten away holds on for a bit longer, tethered to your being by the way your hands are tied.

“I can, if you want me to.” 

He looks ready for war, and he is— yet you have him following you around the tiny living room almost in a trace as your arms loop around his neck. Luke doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know if you’d want to see him sober, especially when his absence is still fresh for you.

“Baby you look different from the last time we met,” you slur, stepping onto his feet as he takes you for a spin around the coffee table, dancing in the quiet. He’s older than you’ve ever seen him, voice deeper and colder. This is not the boy that ran from you in the forest many months ago. This is a man who’s seen horrors you haven’t lived through yet. You can deduce that he’s the cause of them too.

“So do you. Though still as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers like he’ll get struck for saying it. Your eyes are unfocused as he inspects your face, still soft and young with hope. The titan grips his features now, almost burning through his sense of self—though it’s not tangible he wonders if you could see it.

“I see you all the time. I just… usually have to drink enough to make it feel real. I just miss you.”

He looks pained at your words, and for a moment you wonder if he even heard you. Luke pushes you towards your room, an aura of darkness spreading through him like fire but he relents, pushing past the flames. He’s on borrowed time now, but Luke would gladly waste those minutes tucking you into bed.

Lifting your arms up, he pulls an old shirt of his over your shoulders, and his eyes catch onto the fact that you’re still wearing the dragon scale necklace he made you. Luke digs through your medicine cabinet while you sloppily wash your face and his calloused hands rub serums and moisturizer into your cheeks like how you taught him once upon a time. These are the things he won’t forget. Kronos can take it all away, as long as he gets to keep you. You lean against his chest and shut your eyes, scared that if you open them again he won’t be there.

“You’re not supposed to be here, are you? Are you mine?”

“I’m always going to be yours,” he says with no hesitation, “Four years later, and there is still not one living thing worth losing you,” he says, lips chasing after your fingertips as you trace his jaw. Your eyes flutter in exhaustion, and Luke’s eyes survey your room and he finds traces of you that he’s missed as he rubs your back lovingly like he has all the time in the world.

Your hands cup his face, making him look at you, and he surrenders himself to you as you pull him into a kiss. He’s a ticking time bomb about to detonate in your arms. The warnings that Kronos is beating into his head is nothing compared to the pain of knowing he won’t be with you for much longer. And he kisses you like he could save you from his blaze by doing so, lips and tongue and shattered breath saying I’m here, and this is real. Maybe your worst vice is not being able to wean yourself off the taste of him.

“Tell me what I need to hear. Even if it’s not true…Even if you’re not real,” you say between gasps, and your position on his lap makes him wonder why he’d ever give the world up and burn it down when it’s sitting right here and staring at him with violet eyes.

“It’s always going to be you and me. I’ll love you until the end of my days and then some.”

You laugh in the way that drives him crazy—though he already is, for loving you still. Luke lost all sense of himself when he left camp four years ago. All that remains is you, pushing him so that his back hits the bedspread. He lets you consume what’s left of him, and he’s on fire.

You wake up the next morning with a jolt. It’s still winter, and you’re still alone but despite the chill, you feel warm.

ii. autumn years (with a familiar visitor who finally shows up on time)

Knock, knock.

There’s someone at the door, but your date isn’t supposed to be here for another 10 minutes.

“Babe, someone’s here for you!” your roommate Jo calls out, and you tell her it’s fine to let them in.

The pantyhose clings to the lotion on your thighs and you fix the bracelet on your wrist, stepping out from the bathroom hollering, “You’re early, Kit! Don’t tell me you’re skipping to the good part; I’m a lady i–”

“Who’s Kit?”

Luke’s standing in the doorway of your bedroom and his eyes flit to the reflection of your naked back peeking through the undone zipper of your dress. You look stunning, lips painted red and eyes smoky, but you’re also furious. Too bad he’s always thought you looked extra hot when you’re mad.

“None of your business. As you can see, I don’t exactly have the time for this, Castellan.”

He shrugs, closing the door behind him gently and with the raise of his brow, Luke is leering at you like a teenage boy. Respectfully, of course. The glint of celestial bronze against his hip reminds you who he’s become though.

“I’ll make the time if you say the words, trouble.”

Sighing, you step forward, but then he does that thing again from the last time you saw him out on sea, twisting the crick in his neck like he has to resist your touch.

“You’re still funny. Some old habits die hard I guess,” you scoff, turning and lifting your hair out of the way so that he can zip you up. He opts to not touch you, sliding the dress closed until it fits against your body. You think you can feel his fingers ghost above your skin, and goosebumps rise where he leaves and his breath is warm on the back of your neck.

“Leave your weapons at the door. I run a tight ship, unlike you.” 

Gliding away from him while his hands are still in the air, you turn and sit at the edge of your bed, crossing your legs as you nod at him. Luke picks up the pair of heels next to where he sets the sword against the wall, and like it’s nothing out of the sort, he gets on his knees. You offer a foot to him while he speaks, “I could tell by the taser on your bedside table. You’ve killed monsters before, why a taser?”

There’s freckles on his tanned cheeks and he smells like the sun. You wonder what he’s done to come see you tonight.

“I’ve found out that not all monsters are mythical. When…are you?”

His eyes dart away from yours, securing the buckles on your ankles, and his touch sears through the mesh of your pantyhose.

“A few months ahead.”

There’s an eyelash on his nose, and your finger reaches out to touch it, but he flinches away. Face pulling into a frown, you spit, “You never slow down enough to let me catch up with you, huh?”

You can hear the microwave whirring in the kitchen, your roommate none the wiser of the sound of two hearts breaking. The both of you suddenly realize this is the first time you two have been alone (and the same age) since he left camp. There’s a silent question of if it will ever happen again as he gets up from the floor.

“So you’re seeing other people. Must’ve been easy, h—”

You punch him in the face before he finishes speaking, and all he can do is laugh. You would never let him off so easily.

“Fuck you. What, you think you can just hop in here and act like everything’s okay? What do you want, Castellan? For me to grovel at your feet and beg for you to fix what you broke?”

And you’re right, he supposes. This is the closest to peace that you’ll get in this life you’ve created without him. He won’t be able to take you on nice dinner dates like Kit can, or hold your hand without feeling like fate is going to smite him for existing. You scoff at the lack of his response.

“What happens next?”

Luke watches you chew on your lip, and even if he shouldn’t touch you in fear that you’ll will away his reason for defecting, by the gods does he want to.

“What do you mean?” he mutters. The cord of his necklace is tucked into your dress now that he looks closer.

“If I’m right,” you say (and it’s rare that you’re not), “each version of you that comes to see me knows less, and each time I see you I learn more. You were 23 last time. Why didn’t you see me at 22?” You know he won’t have an answer, but this is the only time you’ll be able to ask the real him. The one that’s yours, just a few steps ahead.

“There’s already been a lot that’s happened since I last saw you.”

“Are you going to hurt me?” you offer him, like he hasn’t already. He can feel the bruise blooming on his cheekbone and he grimaces with what he’s about to say.

“Never intentionally. I’ll try not to.”

It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth and you feel stupid with how empty you feel just watching him. He’s made a home of you, choosing moments in time to visit, but when he inevitably leaves, then what? Luke taught you how to be a home, forgetting you exist until it’s convenient and now there are things about yourself that you can’t unlearn yet don’t know what to do with.

Your roommate knocks on your door asking if you want a shot of vodka before your date starts, and Luke is already walking towards it since he’s overstayed his welcome. He raises his sword to open a portal but you shake your head.

“Go out the way you came,” you swallow, fiddling with the copper pendant around your neck, “and take the purple umbrella in the hall. It’s raining outside.”

When you walk into the kitchen moments later, the front door shuts gently and Jo’s sitting at the table with a mouthful of ramen noodles.

“Is he warming up the car? Your date’s hot as fuck, babe,” she grins, steam coating her glasses.

Knock, knock.

Your phone buzzes and there’s another knock at the door. Kit is 15 minutes late.

iii. auld lang syne (ringing in the new year with an old friend, or more)

Your apartment is filled with friends and acquaintances, but who the fuck cares anyway? There’s 10 minutes to midnight and you’re crossed out of your mind. Holding onto a half-empty bottle of prosecco, your heels clomp over to the window in the living room as you crawl onto the fire escape. 

Clack, clack.

The air is chilly as you hug yourself, and you hear someone step out onto the stairs behind you. 

“What are you doing out here alone?”

You sigh, not even turning to look at him, “What are you doing here, period?”

He takes the bottle of prosecco out of your hands, making you swivel your head to look at him as he takes a big gulp. He’s younger again, and it makes you laugh at how fucked up your luck must be to never be able to see him when you want. It’s always been on Luke’s terms.

“You’re too young to be drinking that,” you drawl, knees bumping against his when he takes a seat next to you. Long Island is quiet at night, and the lack of city lights is nice when you can see the stars so clearly. Music blares through your JBL speaker in the living room, and the sound of cheers gets louder when The Neighborhood starts playing.

“We used to do worse,” he laughs, but something in it sounds hollow. The breeze picks up and you shiver, taking the bottle back from him and swigging it.

“All these visits…you sure do know how to make a girl feel special. But you never come in the summer.” 

He clears his throat, before leaning back on his elbows, “ I haven’t gone a summer without you since we were 14.” This Luke doesn’t know what’s ahead of him yet, but you realize that he’s right. Even now, he keeps up the habit of pissing you off and raising hell on Camp Half-Blood every summer. You notice he’s not wearing his camp beads, and he notices you shiver again in the chill. 

Clack, clack.

Your heels rattle the metal of the fire escape as you readjust your position. He takes off his jacket to sling it around your shoulders and neither of you realize you’ve missed the countdown until fireworks burst in the sky above you. The red and blue reflect off the planes of his face, but what stands out to you is the orange of his shirt, and you comprehend now where he just came from.

“I had to see you. I didn’t get to say goodbye when I left,” he says, and you take another sip before handing him the bottle to finish off. The only new years’ kiss you’re getting is through the lips that hold the last remaining drops of prosecco. 

You nod, remembering it all too well as you both watch the fireworks in silence. He wasn’t able to watch them properly the last time he was with you, Annie, and Percy just a few hours prior.

iv. spring cleaning (only big days are ahead for the both of you) 

It’s quiet in your college apartment this morning. 

The moving boxes are half-packed and stacked against the wall of the entryway and the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the French press on your kitchen counter permeates the air. Perhaps the idea of caffeine is the last thing on your mind, hands twitching as they smooth over the black polyester of your graduation regalia. There’s a few hours still before the ceremony, but you’ve never liked being unprepared. Pollux is driving your dad down the Island because despite the war you’ll inevitably be fighting in once you cross the stage and get your degree, D specifically told Zeus that he’d wage another if he was made to miss your big day.

Parting your hair to fit under the ugly graduation cap, the tassel swings in front of your face as you grab a few bobby pins from the side table. A golden medallion of Castor’s smiling face almost whips into your cornea and you stifle a laugh. D said in his Iris message last night that all three of them would cheer so loud you’d be able to hear it from Elysium (and honestly, jokes aside—he probably has a way of making that happen). A staggered breath leaves your lungs, and you’re filled with anticipation, though you’re not sure what for. 

Time is a thief and you know that too well by now. After all, you’ve spent the past four years running from the truth of your heritage—dodging monsters between study sessions and grief welcoming you every time you come home. Four years later, and who are you trying to fool? While walking across that stage later you might as well take a bow. After all, your ex-boyfriend is the reason why there’s going to be a war of both blood and ichor, mortal and undying and still, you find yourself in the middle of it. You’ve found yourself fielding questions this last semester like dodging celestial bronze, the questions always a little too close to home and the answers you give are too entertaining to be considered the truth.

So, what are your future plans? 

Oh no big deal, just going home and dealing with generations-old family drama. If it drives me crazy enough I might enlist! 

Gods. 

How do you even articulate that these past few years were those future plans? That you didn’t expect to be alive this long, much less have the comfort of feeling secure enough to dream… It’s been years since you’ve had a good dream to work towards with a boy you once knew holding your hand through it all. But the expensive piece of paper you’ll be receiving later feels fake somehow. 

Who does that belong to? Surely not you…surely, someone who dreams without bearing the weight that comes with it. Someone who doesn’t have to look over their shoulder everytime they walk to work in the mornings, who can convince children that monsters aren’t real without having to lie. Psychology was a great field to learn from the mortal side of things—to know the reasons why brain chemistry affects us so deeply instead of just willing it away with the touch of your fingers. You like making people feel better. But who can ever do that for you?

A gust of wind sweeps through your room, the multicolored tassels hanging off your neck swaying from the force and you shut your eyes knowing he’s there again. Citrus and musk, and something that’s just him. He knocks over your hamper, cussing under his breath until his eyes follow your motionless figure in front of the mirror.

“Shit. I can explain, um… I thought you’d still be asleep,” Luke sputters, his converse falling into your laundry pile like quicksand. He bends over, stuffing your pajamas and sweatshirts back into the bin with fidgety hands as his eyes take a quick scan of your room. There are no pictures of you and him on the bedside table. For a moment, he wonders what that means but then his cheeks redden when he picks up a pair of your lacy underwear. He shoves that down too.

“Big day today. You know I can’t sleep when I know something is about to happen,” you smile wistfully, and you keep your eyes shut for longer, because like this, it’s almost like he’s actually there in real time. In a world where things went your way, this would be his apartment too, and his clothes would be scattered around your shared bedroom like how they used to back in cabin 12. You always used to put them on The Chair, as he would call it—but Luke’s known to make a mess of your life regardless of your efforts.

“When isn’t there? Something’s always going on when you’re around, trouble.”

Click. Scattered memories flicker in your head like images through a view-finder, spinning through your vision as you hear the sound of his laughter, gently tapping away at your heart again. Click. In the ones you pre-selected, he’s draped in sunlight, honey eyes sweet and kind, and his kisses are perpetual instead of an indulgence. Click. He’s always wearing faded orange, worn-out, but most of all well-loved. Click.

You open your eyes and they meet his own in the mirror. Time stops for once, letting you catch your breath.

Right now, he looks just as you like to remember him, as you knew him four years ago. Multicolored camp beads are resting easily against his broad neck instead of weighing him down, and he’s wearing the red converse his dad gave him. He’s too young, and so in love with you that it blinds him, but even then…now, he knows the look on your face and it makes him ask, “It’s not my first time visiting you is it?”

“You’re usually more discreet, the door right behind me wouldn’t have been your first option. But you’ve never failed to surprise me before. Tell me about your day, Luke.”

A hesitant smile crosses his face as he sheathes Backbiter against his hip, adjusting under the weight like he’s not used to it yet, and then he speaks, “We ate strawberries in the fields today, straight off the vine, but I argued that the ones you conjure will always taste sweeter to me. You smushed one against my face and I carried you home. You?”

You nod, turning around to face a ghost of your past, and the both of you meet in the middle only a hairs distance away as you admire each other.

“I graduate today. Annabeth’s driving up with her boyfriend and the rest of my family is coming to celebrate.”

He doesn’t know of Percy yet, of Chris’ insanity, of your brother’s death, and the immense hurt he’s caused everyone. The smile that lights up his face makes you realize he thinks he's still a part of this—you. And you miss him—even when he’s right here, fuck, you miss all the versions of him that have come to visit, even the ones you don’t know of yet. Tears brim your waterline as you take a deep breath; the last thing you want to do is scare him away.

“This was his promise to me. By showing me something I was sure of—and I always knew you’d graduate and make it big. Wanted to see it for myself, baby,” he grins, tangling his fingers with yours like your strings of fate, and though you know the answer to your next question you still take a chance, just in case.

“If I tell you what’s happened since…you. Would it be too late to change your mind?”

“Trouble, do you want me to? Kronos’ plan is already set in motion. I think…” he swallows, and your vision blurs without your permission as tears start to fall. Through the film over your violet eyes, Luke frowns and pulls your fingertips to his lips, kissing each one. He hasn’t done that in years.

“Did I make a mistake? Do I lose you, in the end?”

“Angelface…” you sniff, leaning your cheek against his hand, “You were so scared of losing me that you didn't even stop to think of what losing you would do to me. I lost you so long ago, Luke. And you’re not mine anymore. I don't think you have been in a long time.” In these heels, your forehead is closer to his lips so he kisses that too, hoping that somehow this time he can will away your pain instead of his. He doesn’t know what to do but hold you until you say something again.

“I’ll tell you something you need to hear. And no matter what you say or think, babe—it’s the truth. Even without all the glory in the world I would still be yours. I still am, even if I can’t bear it.”

Though he’s holding you, it somehow feels like the opposite—a purer version of him in your embrace while he holds the broken pieces of you together with his golden touch. Right now, you look into honey instead of gold. The both of you look at each other in the mirror melded together like kintsugi, something good still shining through the cracks of you two together like this.

The sound of keys jangling in the lock of the front door lifts you from his embrace, and with one look you both know its time for him to go; Luke’s brows furrow as he mutters, “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this, and we’ll be together. I promise.” You nod anyway, hoping at least one of you believe it.

“Go home, Luke. She…I still need you. I’m always gonna.”

He’s already got Backbiter in hand and one foot through time when he looks back at you. Your voice sounds a lot like how it does when you tell him you love him. Luke wonders how long it’s been since you did. Your bedroom door opens with a bang and some laughter.

“Hey troublemaker, you left the dryer on! All your clothes are gonna shrink,” Jo grins, peeking her head through the doorway of your room and she’s looking at you in your graduation gown standing there alone.

“Were you on the phone? Who were you talking to?”

It’s quiet in the apartment again. Your fingernails make indents in your palms, bunching up into fists before you let go. A sad smile crosses your face as you let the settling wind kiss your cheeks, before reality kicks in and everything settles back to how it was before. 

“Just someone I used to know.”

—

“And no one can ever figure out what you want, and you won’t tell them, and you realize the one person in the world who loves you isn’t the one you thought it would be, and you don’t trust him to love you in a way you would enjoy.” -Richard Siken

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?)

1/2 luke taglist: @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko@bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303  @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r@visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri

[fluentmoviequoter]

Me and the Ring

Part 2 of Me or the Ring

Pairing: Hal Jordan x fem!reader

Summary: After Hal broke your heart and failed his mission, the Guardians send Kyle to pick up where he left off. You can't trust Hal, but that doesn't mean you don't love him.

Warnings: angst to fluff, some suggestiveness/objectification (it's innocent, just Hal Jordan flirting), lots of DC Lantern lore references. ignore the incorrect timeline of the GLs

Word Count: 2.9k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist | DC/Hal Jordan Masterlist

Coast City isn’t the same without Hal Jordan. Every time you see Green Lantern fly across the sky or a picture of him on the news, you miss your Flyboy a little more. Leaving Hal was the right choice, or so you keep telling yourself. As you walk out of a mediocre coffee shop, because you’re too nervous and heartbroken to return to the one where you met Hal, you accidentally bump into someone.

“Sorry,” you murmur without looking up.

“I’m not,” the man replies.

You glance up at his face before dropping your eyes again. He moves his arm, and you see something green reflect the sunlight.

“I’m not interested,” you say. “Excuse me.”

“Look, I know I started poorly,” the man continues, moving to block your path. “But let me start over? My name’s Kyle.”

“Okay. Kyle, get out of my way.”

“Where’s Gardner?” Kilowog mumbles. “Guardians sent ‘em both, but I ain’t seen him since we left.”

“I’m not worried about Guy,” Hal replies. “She keeps backing up. She’s different than she was with me. This is all my fault, Kilowog.”

“You’re right, poozer. But don’t give your apology to me.”

Hal sighs as he watches you. He can’t hear, but Kilowog’s Bolovaxian ears pick up every catch of your breath.

“Hal,” he grunts. “He’s taking her somewhere.”

Kyle sighs, and when his shoulder rolls back, you see the unmistakable ring on his finger. Another Green Lantern. As if one breaking your heart wasn’t enough, they still think you are guilty of some intergalactic crime spree.

“Kyle, I’m late for a meeting. Maybe I could give you my number?” you suggest.

Playing along seems like the best option. He smiles and moves again, blatantly showing off the ring. You accept his phone and input a fake name and a fake number.

“Now, lying isn’t nice,” Kyle says as he takes his phone back.

“What?”

“That’s not your name.”

You take a step back as your face drops in worry. Hal was never this pushy, and you wish he was here now. Before you can turn on your heel to run, Kyle reaches out and wraps a hand around your arm.

“If you don’t willingly go back to Oa and confess to your crimes, I will drag you across the worst planets I can think of on the way,” he threatens quietly.

You fumble with your phone at your side, navigating to your favorite contacts with only one name in mind.

“C’mon, you’re my girl,” Hal murmurs as he watches Kyle lean in to speak. “You know what to do. Don’t trust him.”

“She just said your name,” Kilowog announces.

A single second later, Hal’s phone rings. At the same time, a sapphire portal opens behind you and Kyle. Hal is angry for you, at Kyle, at the situation, but he doesn’t bother to answer your call as Kyle pulls you closer.

“Rayner,” Hal greets as he lands beside you. “Let her go.”

You lean toward Hal, and Kyle’s eyes remain on the opening portal.

“This isn’t over, Jordan,” he responds. “She’s coming back to Oa.”

“Don’t do this,” Kilowog says as he lands behind Kyle.

Your eyes widen at the sight of Kilowog, another Green Lantern. Hal steps closer to you, and you find comfort in his proximity. The other Green Lantern is large, but he seems to be with Hal, unlike Kyle.

“Last chance,” Hal tells Kyle. “Don’t make this worse.”

Sapphire sparks fly off the portal as it reaches its peak. Kyle hesitates before releasing his grip on you. His suit forms around him before he flies away, but you use your new freedom to turn toward Hal. You grip his suit, although you’re surprised you can actually feel it, and hide your face against his chest.

“This is Kilowog,” Hal says calmly. He presses a hand against your back to keep you close before promising, “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, pretty girl.”

As Kilowog steps back urgently, you anticipate that Hal will break yet another promise. The portal begins shrinking suddenly, and Kilowog yells something before an unseen force pulls you closer to the pink circle.

When you open your eyes, Kilowog groans in a language you don’t recognize. You step back, out of Hal’s hold, and look around.

“Where are we?” you ask softly.

“Zamaron,” Kilowog answers.

“Why can I breathe?”

“My ring,” Hal says. “I can create an atmosphere for you.”

“How am I supposed to go home?”

“I’ll get you home, I promise.”

“Stop promising! Tell me how!” you demand.

Hal sees the fear in your eyes and shakes his head. “I don’t know yet,” he admits.

“Okay. What now?”

“Hal!” Kilowog alerts. “We’ve got company.”

“Hello,” a pink-skinned woman says as she lands before you.

Hal moves quickly to press himself against your back. You want to find comfort in the touch, but you’re terrified and don’t want to fall for another Hal Jordan trick.

“The Guardians- the guys who make the rings thought you were working with her,” Hal whispers.

You turn to look over your shoulder with wide eyes. The accusations have a new layer of unbelievability, now. There’s a sapphire ring on her finger, and when she doesn’t acknowledge the Green Lanterns with you, you tense your shoulders nervously.

“I’m sorry,” Hal adds.

“Save it,” you snap. “Tell me when you get me back to Coast City.”

Hal nods, and you turn away. There are more women before you now, and you unconsciously lean against Hal before he is pulled away.

“Take the men to their quarters,” the woman commands. “Welcome to Zamaron, human.”

“Where are you taking my friends?” you ask.

One of the women lays a hand on your back, but you step forward to preserve your personal space. They let you follow at your own pace, though they do not answer your question.

“Where did you take them?” you repeat loudly.

“Do not be concerned. Our atmosphere has adapted to your presence, so you no longer need the men to protect you,” someone answers.

“We are taking you to my palace,” the first woman says. “I am the current leader of Zamaron, and I would like to extend our hospitality to you.”

“I would appreciate a plane ticket home a bit more than hospitality,” you argue.

“In time. You will have the chance to return home, I assure you.”

You continue in silence. The palace appears as you turn a corner, and you wonder where Hal and Kilowog are. If you needed him, could he come? Would he?

“We have to get out of here, Kilowog,” Hal says before hitting the prison bars again.

“You know we can’t,” Kilowog replies.

“She is out there alone! I’m not going to just sit here and accept my fate!”

“I’m not tellin’ you too, poozer. I’m sayin’ that you need a new approach. You’re not a hero, remember?”

Hal nods as he begins pacing. “Right. I’m not a hero. But I am a Flyboy.”

Kilowog agrees before asking, “Is this a translation problem or are you making up words?”

“They’re going to offer her a ring, Kilowog,” Hal says. “I trust her, but she doesn’t know what the Sapphires do.”

“You broke her heart. If she accepts the ring, you’re her first stop.”

“Trust me. I know.”

“She called for help, Hal. Work on finding a way to do that.”

“You have strong emotions toward the human Lantern,” the leader of Zamaron muses. “Is there love?”

“Not anymore,” you answer.

“I see. My friends and I here are the Star Sapphire Corps. Do you know what that means?”

“I don’t. We humans aren’t well-versed in the whole ring thing.”

She chuckles, her laughter just as royal and majestic as her voice. “Star Sapphires are a race built on love. As our first members said, ‘Life without love is blasphemy.’ Tell me, what would you do for a life of love and power?”

“Work,” you answer. “Love and power aren’t given; they’re earned and created.”

“Poor child, you have no idea of the possibilities in the universe. Accept a ring, join our people, and the life you crave, the love you no longer have, can be yours.”

You shake your head, determined to get off of this planet. “I just want to go home.”

“And you may. A portal can be made available to you.”

“Thank you. Can I see my friends now?”

“I fear you misunderstand. We, women, are the only beings who understand what love truly is. There is no place for men on Zamaron.”

“You’re going to kill them,” you realize. “You kill all men.”

“We free them from their failed responsibilities. They cannot love, so they cannot live.”

“That’s not true.”

“Your Hal Jordan could not love you as you deserve. What proof do you have?”

“I- I can show you.”

“Green Lanterns are not to be trusted. Prove your worth with a ring or return home. Without your unfortunate friends.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath before saying, “I would like a ring. Hal Jordan used me, and he must learn what life without love is like. He takes but never gives. It’s my turn.”

Your dramatic speech wins over the Sapphires, and the leader nods. Another Zamaron kneels before you and slides a pink ring onto your finger. Power surges through you as sapphire ribbons circle your form.

“Go and eliminate blasphemy.”

Hal makes using a ring look much easier, and as you shakily take flight, you wish he was here to help you. Here and now, it’s your turn to help him. Hal Jordan hurt you, but he doesn’t deserve to die on an alien planet. As you fly, you use the ring to scan the planet. It happens without much conscious thought, and when you find the prison, you raise your arms and increase your flight speed.

“Hal?” you whisper at the first opening.

“Pipe down,” a woman calls from inside the prison.

The prison is full of men from different planets, but you don’t allow yourself to think about what will happen to them. They need help, but your mission is to free Hal and Kilowog. When the bars beside you shake, you follow the sound of impact around another corner. A large, green bulldozer is ramming into a wall of bars, and you shake your head in concerned amusement before raising your own ring. You form a pink coffee cup, which causes the green machine to disappear.

“Whoa,” Hal says in place of greeting. His eyes are wide at the sight of you, and he asks, “Is that a new outfit?”

“Shut up,” you demand. You haven’t looked down at the skin-tight pink bodysuit more than once, but the mention of it makes you shift uncomfortably. “We need to get out of here.”

“The door won’t open. I’ve tried everything.”

You grab a bar and open the door with minimal effort.

“Your ring’s the wrong color,” you say.

Hal and Jordan step out, and you lower your gaze to the ring momentarily. You shake your hand, and all of the cells open. The men walk out before running for cover.

“How do I get this ring off, Hal?” you ask.

“You have to prove you love and are loved at the same time, with the same person,” Kilowog answers.

“How do you know that?” Hal asks.

“Did you mean any of it? What you said at Ferris Air?” you interrupt.

Hal turns toward you and nods. “I meant all of it.”

You look into his eyes, and he sees that yours have a depth and a hurt that he missed. The hurt is his fault, but what lies behind it caused him to fall in love with you. With your eyes locked, you think about everything that Hal has done to prove he loves you, and then admit to yourself that despite his seeming betrayal and how he used you, you love him, too. The sapphire ring hits the prison floor with a clang and Hal rushes to adjust the atmosphere for you.

“You did it!” he cheers before pulling you into his arms.

“Hal, something’s wrong,” Kilowog says.

You try to agree, but everything goes black before you can.

“Ma’am are you okay?” someone asks above you.

Your head pounds until you open your eyes. The Coast City sky above you is clear and bright, and you sit up quickly at the sight and feel of earth. There’s a crowd around you, but Hal and Kilowog are nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Green Lantern?” you ask.

“He hasn’t been seen in days,” the man kneeling beside you says. “Did you hit your head?”

“I have to go,” you say as you push yourself up to stand.

Several people yell for you to wait, but you run past the coffee shop where you first met Hal on your way home. There’s a list in your mind of things you need to do. First, you have to find some comfort, and then you can worry about Hal and where he is.

“Don’t you people know how to make a phone call?” Hal complains when he realizes he and Kilowog are on Oa. “We would’ve come if you’d just sent an invite.”

“Quiet, Green Lantern Hal Jordan of Sector 2814,” Ganthet demands. “This is a trial, not a debate.”

“A trial for what?” Kilowog asks. “Bein’ imprisoned?”

“The Intergalactic Court sent you to find a woman guilty of murder, yet you allowed her to take you to Zamaron. She has been sent back to Earth, where Green Lantern Guy Gardner will do what you failed to do,” Sayd explains. “Failing in a mission that was requested is punishable to the full extent of Rimbor law.”

“We didn’t fail!” Hal argues. “She is innocent! She saved us from the Sapphires; would a killer do that?”

“Have you any proof?”

Kilowog grumbles before summoning a hologram from his ring. A blurry video of your arrival in the prison plays for the Guardians, who then turn to one another and whisper.

“Can you send me that video?” Hal whispers as he leans toward Kilowog.

“Focus, poozer,” he replies.

“The Guardians have decided to investigate this occurrence in more depth. Green Lanterns Jordan and Kilowog, you are free to go. Be prepared to return to Oa at a moment’s notice,” Ganthet announces.

“Go,” Kilowog demands. “Or you can watch that video in your dreams.”

“I think I’ll do that either way,” Hal says before disappearing into the clouds.

“Where are you, Hal Jordan?” you ask as you click another search result.

Plenty of people have claimed to see Green Lantern today, but none of them are your Flyboy. Someone knocks, and you ignore it as you add “Coast City” to the search again. The knocking continues, and you groan as you stand.

“Coming!” you yell.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Hal says as you pull the door open.

“Hi,” you reply softly. “You know, when I called you this morning, I didn’t expect anything.”

“I’ll always be here for you. You can hate me, tell me you never felt anything, but I’m yours.”

“Hal, I-“

“No. Look, I’m not going to pretend like I know what I’m doing or that I’m relationship material. But I love you, and I will help you no matter when or where. Not because of the ring that I wear, but because of who you are and how wildly in love I am with you.”

You raise your brows as he speaks, and when he finishes you say, “Love. Do you know what that means?”

“You know I do.”

“Then you know I feel the same way. But I can’t let you use me again, Hal.”

“I never thought you were guilty, and I was trying to convince the Guardians to let it go. I’m sorry that I failed and got you into even more trouble.”

“It worked out,” you remind him. “Because I love you.”

Hal smiles and grabs the jacket you’re wearing – his jacket, you remember suddenly – to pull you against his chest. “Thank you,” he murmurs before kissing you.

You grip Hal’s shirt and return the kiss, giving and receiving love at once. Your life hasn’t been short of love since Hal walked into it.

“I love you,” you say as you pull back. “I’m sorry for reacting like I did.”

“I don’t blame you for that. Walking away wasn’t,” Hal hesitates before finishing, “It didn’t change anything for me. Except make me hate myself a little for hurting you.”

“Consider it forgiven and forgotten.”

“You,” Hal says. “I choose you. Tell me that you want me to prove it and I will throw this ring into the sky and let it find a new bearer.”

You purse your lips as you consider how the ring works. When Hal raises his hand, you wrap both of your hands over his knuckles and the ring.

“This ring is part of you, so I love it, too,” you promise.

“You really do love me,” Hal says with a smile.

“Obviously.” You gesture dramatically to his jacket on your arms to reiterate your point.

Hal leans forward and drops his voice to ask, “Enough to find a sapphire outfit? To remember old times?”

You roll your eyes before walking farther into your home. “You wish, Flyboy. The jacket’s as good as it gets for you. At least until you put a ring on my finger.”

[kiwanopie]

Tell us more about lord crime sakusa please 🙊❤️

1.4K more crime lord!Sakusa lore + more lore for reader

Lemon sugar soap and airy high notes, your buoyant little song is cut in two the moment you see it in your living room.

The moment you see him in your living room.

Your face immediately drops. Freezes and then lours in broadening terror, until fright is stained across your face. Tears welling as you step back - you’re more exposed in your pajamas shirt than you ever were in those skimpy little getups they make you wear.

Because he’s not supposed to be here. He’s not supposed to cross that straight little line you’ve drawn. All the effort - the horrible things you’ve done to make sure those two sides never touched. Making yourself invulnerable, untouchable, non-existent. Breaking your back to make yourself as elusive as possible, and now he, Sakusa Kiyoomi, the most feared man in all of Asia is sitting in your living room.

He’s sitting in your living room.

You don’t even try to care about how utterly devastated you look, tears already running hot down your cheeks. He just threw all of that hard work in your face. Your peace of mind in your face. He’s not supposed to be there. He’s not supposed to be here. This is your safety. This is your everything.

Fresh flurries of earlier shower aroma whiff into the empty air of your living room as he stares at you from the couch, little hearts curling into the air and drifting in his direction. You smell like bundt cake.

Sakusa clears his throat as the tendons in his jaw flex, trying and somewhat failing to keep his body language as confident as possible. “I’d like to-“

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

The way your voice trembles only sets jagged edges onto the way you address him. “You’re not…” You shake your head. “You’re not supposed to be here-“

He raises his hands in an attempt to placate you. “I know. I’m sorry-“

“How did you find my address…?” Or get past your motion sensors. Lay a hand on the door knob without your blink camera alerting you, or break into your home without your dog so much as barking. “How long have you-“

Your eyes flicker to the aforementioned dog, who’s lackadaisical amble speeds to a giddy trot at the sight of the intruder. Tail waving contentedly as he raises his two front paws to perch them on Sakusa’s lap, and turning your world upside down as the grief in your stomach tightens.

Sakusa rubs distractedly along his floppy ears. “A while.”

He has the decency to look guilty about it at the very least. A little stiffened in his slouch as the apples of his cheeks turn a soft flowery. He’s in his usual two piece suit he wears during work hours. Save for the jacket thrown over the bridge of your couch, and the few relaxed buttons on his crisp button up; few enough to turn his collar loose.

“There’s a better way to do this. I know that.” Sakusa claps his hands in his lap. “But I knew this was the only way to get you alone.”

Your feet brush against the edge of the carpet as you slowly retreat - like a frightened rabbit. “What are you-“

“I’m not gonna hurt you.”

But even still you lock up as he stands, long legged strides now moving in your ever shrinking direction. All the more smaller when he’s tall enough to touch the ceiling with his arms bent. Fit from youth and exercise, veins in his hands and scabs on his knuckles. You don’t even realize through your terror that he’s only in his socks, padding your wooden floors in an effort to show you the respect that you deserve.

You notice his cheeks are actually a thin rouge now that he’s close enough. It softens the perpetual scowl oftenly carved into his face. “I’d… like to offer you a proposition.”

Sakusa tries to keep his composure at a glance of those misty doe eyes. You’re breaking his heart by looking so frightened. “I know how miserable you are working as a scout, and how much you despise being involved with those people - or even this business altogether,”

He surmised at first. It’s hard to imagine a pretty thing like you being treated kindly by an ugly trade like this. Short bruises on you that are close to healing nearly every time he sees them, but it’s a given that they’re renewed in his absence. The cold stare of your mask. Frigid and resentful the way you avoid the eyes of your employers the few times he’s seen you with it off. You’re young and beautiful, wilted and wounded on the inside as is everyone else with an early start to this profession. It’s only common sense that you’d be unhappy.

But then the Azure Dragon contract happened. And your reputation of being clinical and concise was disrupted by a slaughter that would even make a man like him a little queasy. - He had heard there was some bad blood between their leader and the people at your organization. Something buried in the past, but as all disputes with your employer's enterprise it was kept secret with that trademark air of taboo wafting around it. He was there when you were informed of the contract, he could see it in your body language. Locked up and afflicted, so much ire in the air that he could all but taste it. On watching you step out of the room, the first thought that crossed his mind was:

“It was a mistake to send her.”

“Hm?” Your handler lifts her head from the string of documents laid out on her desk.

Sakusa’s eyebrows cinch as he points his gaze toward the door. “Why not send a more… unkempt scout? She doesn’t seem right for a role like that.”

And although obscured by a mask, the look of quiet contempt on her face is visible in her tone. “All my scouts are killers, Sakusa-san. Especially in my elite class.”

“Yeah, but-“ But he stops there. There’s no way to make a gut feeling seem like an appropriate rebuttal.

Though still, She seems intent on making sure he leaves with little to no peace of mind. “She’s the one who asked for it, if that makes you feel any better. The women in our lineup very seldom leave their business unfinished.”

At hearing that, that piquant taste of ire sours to a pungent note of despair.

He wasn’t surprised when news came that the clan had fallen. After a few days of radio silence, Seiko Akie’s head was found perched on a spike, the word “COWARD” etched into the skin on his forehead.

What an ugly path to take. He thought. For you it was. For the goodness that still radiated off of you, for all the times he’s seen you hesitate at the sight of depravity, for your integrity. For anyone keen enough to look between the lines it’d be written all over you ~ that you had your limits, and even the few you’d crossed would fall further of the butchering that took place during that contract. You were being corrupted. What little good in him only shone through seeing the surplus of genuinity you had in you and if that was gone…

If that was gone…

He’s not going to let that happen. “I wanna give you a way out of it. All of it. I could make it disappear.”

“…What…?”

Sakusa’s gentle as he gathers your palms in his, tender over soft silken skin, unroughened even through your years of work. He holds you like you’re jewelry. Treasure sparkling in his grasp as he looks down at you with the kind of adoration you could only sing about. “I’ll buy out your licensing and have my lawyers write out an order that would make you completely inaccessible to them. I could even get your name wiped from their record just to be extra thorough about it-“

“What? W-Why?” Your tears still fall down the tops of your cheeks. “Why would you… do that for me…?”

He swallows hard. It’s strange to see a man like him look so meekend. “Because it would be right. Because that’s what you want, and it would be best for you.”

You stare at him a watery moment.

And then soberly, so removed from your current devastation that you almost sound like a different person. Wrought with the kind of baseline aprehensity that should come from a seasoned business woman, at least in this line of work.

You ask: “What do you want for it?”

He inhales deeply.

And he promises, swears on his life and the lives of all who he has ever cherished - that this’ll be the first and the very last time he’ll ever disappoint you.

He answers: “I want you to marry me.”

He answers: “I want you to marry me.”

He answers: “I want you to marry me.”

[nerdyenby]

Orange time :D Ranboo pov

Pregame

Oh my goodness this bit

Sir you do not get to “Hey everybody” us after all of this

Garfield Kart????

WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS?? /aff

Ran made it a whole 12 minutes without laughing at himself, I’m so proud of them

“I don’t know who you think you are, Philza- phil- philza? I don’t know who the hell you think you are but his favorite food is goddamn lasagna” garfieldfan2487 my beloved

“Stop making me think, get out of here you ganti” losing my absolute mind

The eye contact and “… you like Garfield?” killed me

GARFIELD KART IS REAL?!!?! I thought they were clowning

Leaving himself a message and creating lore for their MCC scuffed persona is so Ranboocore

Aimsey instantly becoming Garfieldfan2487’s best friend can be so personal

Ran and Callum’s interaction is everything

“Just like Garfield gets destroyed by Mondays, I am getting destroyed by the IRS”

Ran FINALLY breaking character, it’s been almost an hour my liege, cmon /lh

So I was under the impression Martyn was pg, guess not lol

All the skins 😭

The music just being a single kazoo note on repeat is so good

Bingo but fast!!! :D

BINGO BUT FAST?!!

MCC really said no to democracy and I respect that

Bingo but Fast

Are… they actually all going to be bingo? I don’t know if I want to believe that

Shoutout to Martyn for actually having played this game before

Why are there elytras???

They have to say bingo 😭

I feel like they’re killing it but they’re in fifth lol

Ewwww why is the savannah green?????

Battle Box

Excuse me why isn’t this game sillier?? /j

Thus Noxite and Ranboo’s rivalry begins

Sneeg mvp :))

Martyn mvp!!!!

Eat the carrots!!

ORANGE V YELLOW MY BELOVED!!!

“Fist up or die” so true Kara

Magic school bus conversation my beloved

Ran and Phil throwing their chickens at each other is so silly of them

Hole in the Wall

The hitw logo <333

Ran is so excited, I can stop smiling

Ranboo could I get you to consider: accents

This whole event is just going to be overstimulation central and I’m ready for it

Martyn’s “Nuh uh, if my parents couldn’t get me to eat me vegetables then you can’t either”

Sot music <333

THEIR SPRINT :((

MY STREAMER POPPED OFF

Garf permission granted, still don’t know what that means tho

They’re so real about how ideal the stimulation of hitw with hunger is

Ranboo zooming in and making eye contact is so intimidating what

Survival Games

“I’m so garfed up right now” “damn dude” KARA

THE SURVIVAL GAMES LOGO <33333

What does MCCAF stand for?

Everyone laughing at Martyn taking fall damage is so silly of them

The way the music cuts out just before they encounter their first other team is legit terrifying

“Is there a /top command?” 😭😭😭Ranboo my favorite Techno stannie

“You can now use /top” MCC MY BELOVED 😭😭😭

No clue how or when they got in first but I love that for them

Phil is merely playing Rocket Spleef, okay? Let the man enjoy himself /lh

The scoring is scuffed, don’t worry about it

SYLVEE TOP 5!!!

High key thought my computer froze when Ranboo just walked up to Phil and stared into the camera

TGTTOSAWAF

“I’m trying to maximize our garfage, okay?” “You can’t garf when you’re dead, Sneeg! There’s no garfing in hell!” […] “Of course you can, you’ve never been more surrounded by orange, that’s where we’re supposed to be” “I jump into the lava to be reunited”

I expected the dark to be darker ngl /lh

Now THIS is dark darkness

This is exactly the level of chaos I was craving

I was restraining myself from making a “gay on gay crime” joke when Ant justified punching Ran with “the chick-fil-a took over my keyboard, I’m sorry”

Slow falling into the void is so painful

“Who’s being a guy?” “Not me” RANBOO 💕💗💖💕💕💗💖 or should I say 💛🤍💜🖤

Kara asking if she can swear in game 5 is iconic, Sneeg is right there queen /gen

Kara going feral, as she deserves <333

Why is Martyn surprised? He was popping off

Martyn getting a screenshot of himself in the top ten “Sending that one to mum” I love him, okay??

“Dodgebolt with multishot” Sneeg is so real for that

Kara just had a kazoo on hand?? And perfect pitch??????

Sands of Time

Kara and Martyn having a whole “no you first” “no YOU first” over who gets to run is so!!!

Ranboo calling H a nerd, my streamers <333 (but seriously I don’t know if they’ve really interacted? Like they were both on dsmp but I can’t remember anytime they’ve actually spoken)

That sound effect is so cruel but if that’s the only thing scuffed about sands I’m happy

Omg what if all the vaults were down the same path

“Oh surely” “don’t call me Shirley”

Ranboo you idiot

You died in lava pal, the key is gone

They are merely gaming

That reaction was so delayed lol

Ran snickering at “under where?”

That was terrifying but so cool, it’s really lucky that they went in with like 30 seconds left

I really do want Ranboo to get third

Martyn being terrified of buildmartmanager!Grian is so real

Ranboo is so Techno-coded this MCC :((

Big Sales at Build Mart

Awww it’s the og map

The new game logos are everything, I would sell my soul for stickers of them

“Oreos!!” “No, that’s ore” “Oh” me too Kara, me too

Ran falling twice in a row and Sneeg just laughing at them

I’m actually down for the little nether run

Ran and Aimsey stopping mid game to wave at each other my beloved

Noooooo

Wow they are really bad at this /aff

Skyblockle

This event is just a love letter to everyone who’s been here since the beginning and it makes my heart really happy

The way they made a scuffed logo for this game because it’s the only time it’s getting played does something to me

WHY IS RANBOO TAKING A SELFIE???

I’m so down for end crystals actually

Sneeg mvp!!!

“I think I’m the April fool” we been knew Ran

Martyn mvp

Oli my beloved

BLUE!!!! IM SO PROUD OF THEM!!!

GEM WON!!! MASSIVE DUB FOR WOMEN EVERYWHERE

Yeah yeah, I may be a Ranboo fan first and foremost but I’m rooting for almost everyone but him, they deserve to maintain their status as career loser /aff

Dodgebolt

HELL YEAH!!!

Ok I got spoiled (saw Skeppy won) but yellow and green!!! Aimsey and Oli!!! My bois!!!!

I think Oli wins no matter what, actually

PUNZ /pos

OLI MY BELOVED 😭

This is insane, I want a 1v8 here lmao

JOEL!!!! Blue was my pick going in so I’m happy no matter what lol

THAT TRADE!!!

FROG WIN!!!!

INSTANT BETRAYAL!!!

ANOTHER TRADE?!!?

Revenge lol

“Babes I died” “It’s okay babes” GLOWDUO OWN MY ENTIRE SOUL

Punz and Krinios are IN SYNC

EMPIRES WIN!!!

Martyn popped off <333

Chicken infection????

THEY ADDED THE PLAGUE TO MINECRAFT

Martyn’s chicken noises are everything

Every MCC should end with zombie tag, actually

I love this team so much

Martyn just sounds like Elmo now 😂

“I’m working, honey. You gotta bawk to pay the bills” I’m dying

Can’t believe Noxite is vaccinated smh /j

I’ve said it a million times and I’ll say it a million more: SCOTT SMAJOR NEVER MISSES!!! He always does a superb job of making teams and matching vibes and he absolutely deserves to be proud of that

[devilfic]

It's me, cain! Since your last fic (as of the moment i'm writing this) is about stranger things (which is somehow "inspired" by the ask i sent and it makes me feel like i requested it), then i want to officially request something different. I still have ideas for stranger things, but for now... may i request a continuation of boogeyman???

❝boogeyman❞

II. no god in gotham.

parts: previously. plot: your shadow has a task for you. it's best you accept it. pairing: edward nashton x gn!reader. cw: detective!reader, dark, religious themes, use of handguns, murder, slight dumbification, conversations between law enforcement that should reasonably have them put in prison, non-graphic allusions to child abuse. words: 3.9k.

a/n: of course!! we get some further lore for the reader and a new hairstyle for edward.

When you were just starting out, the GCPD had put a gun in your hands and asked you to just hit your target. It was a fact of life in Gotham that most citizens had at least held a gun by fifteen, if not shot one, but you were a special case. You’d held a gun before. Held a gun and threatened to shoot, even, but you’d never pulled the trigger. Your fellow recruits called you “soft”. Soft was a word you could shake off anywhere else but here.

You spent hours training, impatient, wondering what you were doing wrong. That’s when you first met the man who’d change your life for the worse, “You ever killed somebody?”

Anywhere else, one might’ve balked. Another fact of life in Gotham was that if you lived long enough, you’d have some blood on your hands, “No, sir.”

Instead of calling you soft, he smiled—Lieutenant Dwyer, his nameplate boasted—and pointed at the poor target you’d been abusing all night. Then, without mincing words, patted your shoulder and asked you, “But you’ve wanted to, right?” Someone in your position couldn’t say “yes” and get away with that, could they? It had to be a test. Dwyer didn’t mind your silence, “It’s a bit easier to aim if you have someone in mind.”

“Isn’t that... dangerous?” You’d skirted around the word “immoral”, “In the field, I mean. If you’re thinking about a specific person. You could end up profiling.”

“Of course. In the field. But you just need to pass this test, right? Then you’re in? So do what you have to to get in.”

Why he cared that you pass when there were far better recruits he didn’t need to waste breath on was beyond you back then. Why he congratulated you, personally, when you did pass, you had no clue. Why he had taken you under his wing and ruined your life... you found out eventually, at least.

"I think you should take me off this case, Chief."

In all your years of knowing Chief Bock, of two things were you certain: one, you didn't make demands of the man. And two, you didn't question his authority. You'd effectively done both in the time it took for you to walk from the front door to his desk. It's only because it's you that he humors you, wiping his lip of coffee and giving you the floor, "You got a life-threatening disease I should know about, detective?"

Someone is going to die, "It's just getting a little crowded." Bock's face tells you that was the wrong thing to say.

You felt like a child. Bock, your "parent", insisting you were the very best on the force. Gordon, his "parent", indignant that the Bat could be trusted beyond the system. Both with their hands on yours and Batman's shoulders, shoving you two into the spotlight and saying "Look! Look how much better this one can be."

It always ended up with you and Batman in the middle. Your only solace was that he seemed to hate it as much as you did. "Did Gordon bully you into this? Huh? Five years ago and you'd have been singing a different tune."

Five years ago, you were still honest. "No, sir. But it's obvious what you're doing. Batman solves one too many crimes and suddenly people are questioning the GCPD's competence," Bock snarls at that, "so you put me on the scene. All it's doing is taking away from the work."

"I put you there because you're smart."

"With all due respect, sir, you put me there because you can't take him out. Because no one wants him out."

And it was true. With every public takedown of another crazed villain, Batman shot higher and higher up the popularity polls. Questions had steered from "Is the Batman a threat?" to "Who's the Batman's next threat?". He was a celebrity, and while there were still plenty who opposed him, the tides were changing.

To remove Batman from a case was like dooming it to fail.

Bock stews in his anger, clearly caught in a trap. It helped that you were one of the few who had yet to pick a side between the Bat's fans and adversaries. At the very least, you could see the situation for what it was. "Do you not want this?" Bock demands, finally.

"Of course I want this."

"But you wanna leave it to the vigilante and run off with your tail between your legs?"

It would be easier for you to agree with that. Let him think you a coward and save yourself the stress. "I just... I want to know why I'm still here. Why you believe that I have something to offer that the Batman doesn’t. And don’t say a badge."

Bock grinds his teeth behind his pursed mouth. You’d like to think it was because that’s exactly what he was going to say. He takes his time coming up with something else, "I trusted Lieutenant Dwyer. I trusted Detective Kenzie. I trusted every goddamn man I put on this force. And then I wake up one morning and... Dwyer's dangling over the harbor and I find out he's been putting bullets in skulls for hush money. And you," Chief Bock's scornful finger points your way, "standing there on that same harbor. You two used to be attached at the hip. Couldn't figure out for the life of me why you weren't hanging right there with him."

You both had that in common. It probably kept you up at night more than it did him.

He continues, "But then I thought about it, about all of it. If you were someone I couldn't trust, that psycho would've made sure of it. And yet you're here. Truth is, you've always been a good kid. I'd rather you on this case more than anybody else. I don't say that lightly."

It twists your gut, his earnest eyes. You can't look at him when you know the truth. "...Thank you, sir. I'll... think about it."

When it was time to pull the trigger in the field for the first time, your bullet had missed. It went flying off somewhere into the smog, flung too high too quickly to hit much more than a passing bird. Briefly, you’d wished that they’d get away.

Another bullet flew through the air shortly after yours and the suspect fell to the ground, dead. Your partner had taken the shot that time. They hadn’t held it against you.

“Did you do what I told you to?” Dwyer sipped absently at his coffee, not bothering to look you in your pitiful eyes. 

“I... I couldn’t.”

“Hm. You may not be so lucky next time.”

The Batman is a big man. It’s probably all the Kevlar and armor and the pointy ears of his cowl that make him seem enormous, or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself as you stand by his side. The corridors are too small for him, cops weaseling past the two of you even as you press your heels against the wall. The Batman isn’t as accommodating, simply watching them struggle by.

With Bock and Gordon in a screaming match behind the chief’s office door, you supposed he had nothing better to do than strike up a conversation, “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“You don’t scare me,” you probably aren’t helping your case with the wounded rabbit look on your face, “where’s this coming from?”

Batman clears his throat, keeping his face turned forward. He almost looks... embarrassed. “The other night. When I drove you home.” Your confusion only grows. “I don’t want you to think I was trying to intimidate you off the case.”

Your first instinct is to laugh. Then, you roll your eyes. You could hazard a guess as to who put that thought in his mind, “Did Bock say that to you?”

“He insinuated it.”

“I was thinking about leaving, but not because of that.” Batman stares down at you, asking with his eyes. “I just figured you’d have the case covered. Seeing as you’ve got experience with... him and all.”

Referring to him as him and not your shadow, the ever present demon jerking you around by the strings, felt just as wrong as saying his real name. “We don’t know if it’s him yet.”

“But it probably is, right?”

It wasn’t like he was dead. It wasn’t like the GCPD didn’t still have a warrant out for his arrest. He was very much still a wanted man.

When the floods had broken out that night, no one could be blamed for thinking of themselves. Those who were lucky enough to live above sea level sheltered in place, wondering when help would come and if they’d be locked in for days without food or electricity. Those who weren’t had their bodies flushed out with the draining of the city. Worries went to jobs, possessions, families and friends. Why would anyone be thinking about Arkham’s finest breaking out in the chaos? Those worries didn’t come until after.

Some hoped they all drowned in their escape. Others hoped they’d leave Gotham and never come back. Others, like you, knew they lied in wait. The floods weren’t bad for everybody.

The Batman had sworn to find them before they could cause any more harm, but then the Riddler had showed up in the dark of your bedroom and the rest was history.

“When I talked to him in Arkham, Edward was... smart. Meticulous. All his plans were like he’d laid out the chessboard and the pieces moved themselves. I was one of them,” The Batman gets this far off look in his eyes, shame mixed in the pits of blue, “everything down to the T had his signature. The councilman’s murder is familiar, but not exact. Something’s wrong with it.”

Your breath is stilted, uneven. You’d had your doubts that he knew who was hiding in your shadow, but asking him would give it weight. You had to be careful, “Because there was no riddle?”

“A man that proud of his work and he doesn’t sign off on it? Something’s changed.”

A lump begins to form in your throat. Gordon and Bock are still tearing into each other mere feet away. You feared your heart beat loud enough for them to hear it. 

You don’t mean for your eyes to wander off but the Batman doesn’t seem to mind. He takes to surveying the area again, always on the lookout. You wonder through your mounting anxiety if anything ever truly flies under his radar. It only solidified to you how little you could compare. How close you were to being caught.

It’s a miracle when Gordon throws open the door, panting, and ushers the two of you inside.

Bock is at his desk having shifted from glaring down Gordon to glaring down your caped companion. The Batman, again, doesn’t seem to mind. You wonder what all that screaming could’ve accomplished when Gordon speaks up from the other side of you, “We’ve been getting letters taking credit for the murder.”

The chief drags a sack onto his desk and out spills about a hundred different envelopes, all different sizes and colors, all different addressees. One clearly says “To the Batman”, another “To the GCPD”, and another “To GOTHAM”. Most of them are for the Bat, but all of them are a clear imitation of one another. Their inspiration was not far off in distant memory.

You watch as the Batman takes one addressed to him and peels the flap up to retrieve the card inside. It’s a cheap greeting card. Just like- “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” he thumbs it open, revealing an unruly script inside, barely legible even as the three of you gather ‘round to read it, “the Lord punishes and the Lord rewards. Who’s side are you on?”

Your stomach is doing flips. Bock looks annoyed, clearly frustrated with the turn of events. Gordon looks unsettled. The Batman... his mind is working. “You religious, Bat?” The chief mocks. “I’m starting to think there is no God in Gotham.”

There’s still a church to pray to him.

It’s changed a bit since the bombing. You remembered seeing the Batman blown across the room with the detonation of the bomb, wondering if that would be the end of him. How hadn’t it killed him? How hadn’t it unmasked him, cracking his cowl (and skull) in two? He was lucky. More lucky than the man whose brains were splattered all over his suit. 

There were metal detectors out front now. Ugly, modern things that clashed against the cathedral’s ornate bones. They were ugly but necessary. You’d read the impassioned editorials on this godless city, your city, and how it was all the citizens’ faults for not believing in a higher power. For trusting in a false god to cleanse the city of its evil.

His black head turns toward you as you approach his pew.

Riddler rarely went out these days. When he did, he was skulking along the worst parts of the city where people would sooner run in the other direction than call the cops. His friends in the underground kept him safe enough, but when he needed to be in public, he took to changing his face. He wasn’t very proficient with a makeup brush and concealer, but it changed enough of him that no one really looked long.

It had startled you the first time you saw him like that. It made you finally call him by his name, “Why here?”

He had your apartment. Free reign of it, in fact. He had the dark alleyways. He even had the Penguin’s new and improved Iceberg Lounge if needed (as thanks for putting him on top of Gotham and Falcone beneath it). Why the church he sung in as a little boy? The church he killed a man in under the eyes of heaven?

“I thought a change of scenery would be nice,” he smiles, broad and unsettling as always, “and I wanted to see if they’d let me in. Please. Sit.”

His hair had grown significantly since the floods. With it dyed black now, he really did look like an entirely different person. Without the coke-bottle lenses taking up half his face, you really got to see more of him. New parts of him. 

You take the seat he allots you at the very end of the pew and he immediately scoots closer until you’re sandwiched between his thigh and the arm rest. His proximity at home- in your home was nothing new, but in public? Where a stray priest might see? You squirm, focusing now on the papers folded in his hands. “What are those?”

Riddler... no, Edward, turns his face toward you with a closed-lipped grin and hands you the papers.

Most of them are old prints of the front page news. The dates range from the 80′s to the 90′s, some bleeding into the new millennium. The only thing any of them had in common was the same white, wrinkly face printed black and white on every page. You had to live under a rock not to know who this guy was. “Scott Winthrop?”

Edward crosses an arm over you to highlight a headline you’d skimmed over, “Gotham old money. Older than the city, practically. They came over from down south.”

“What about him?”

Your eyes meet Edward’s in the breath’s distance between you both. “He’s got a dirty history, detective. Generations worth. You know how I know him?” Your head twists to make sure no one might be sneaking up on you, “He used to come here every Sunday. In this very pew. He visited the orphanage too. Donated a couple blankets one winter. We all fought over them.”

“So what’d he do to you?”

“Nothing to me. I wasn’t his... type.”

Your head spins the moment you get it. You’d seen this man on TV. He’d donated to charities for years. He owned a portion of the city. He owned the block you live on. “What... did nobody try to stop him?”

“He donated shoes, too.” Your revulsion is harder to hide up close, as is the furrow in the middle of his forehead, “Of course we did. We were kids. But he paid very good money, detective. He only stopped coming ‘cause his wife caught him. Well... that, and I burned the place to the ground.”

“And you want...” Your breath shudders. The guy was too rich of a target, wasn’t he? He had to be hiding behind layers of security to rival Arkham. Bruce Wayne had been one in a million. There was no way he’d get that chance again. “How?”

Edward’s shoulder pushes into you as he shifts, hand reaching into his back pocket for something. A phone. It was his burner gifted to him by the Penguin himself. He flips it open and shows you a text on the screen.

Saturday. I scratch your back, you scratch mine.

- O

No doubt “O” was Oswald Cobblepot. “What’s Saturday?”

“A celebration,” a sparkle lights up in Edward’s eyes; you’d think he was a boy in the candy store, “the old man’s turning the big seven-zero. And I have an invitation to the party.”

“How in the hell-”

“People will pay anything to not think for themselves. My sponsor is very generous.”

“So you want to do it at the party? Even with an invitation, you’re not getting close to the guy. Let alone close enough to... dress him up. I know you hate the guy and I don’t blame you but you’re crazy if you think that we can-”

Your teeth clash together with the force of his hand gripping your jaw. His big, spindly fingers hold your cheeks close together, bruising the soft flesh of your face until you’re only inches away from his face. There’s a hard look in his eyes. You tuck your chin as close to your chest as he’ll let you, hoping not to alert the scattered devotees throughout the room. “I’m not stupid, detective. Let’s stop pretending like you’re the one who thinks for the two of us, hm?”

Naturally, you nod. His fingers cup your jaw instead of clenching it now. Once upon a time, you would have never let someone put their hands on you like this. “You just need to trust me. I promised to keep your secret. So trust me.”

You could’ve laughed if you weren’t certain it would end badly, “Do you trust me?”

Edward laughs for you, practically cackling and drawing the attention of those nearby. His hand drops as soon as their eyes turn your way. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” You could strangle him. “Oh, and don’t worry about how you’ll get in. If your precious GCPD is as diligent as you say they are, they’ll make room for you at the party.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve already sent word ahead. You’ll find out soon enough.” The furrow in Edward’s brow smooths over then, his face returning to calm. He was in control again.

He glances quickly at his phone once more and takes the papers back from you, folding them into the pocket of his rain coat. You always felt this dread every time he left. You didn’t know when, or how, but he’d pop right back up in your life again and you’d be right back to where you were before. Anxious. Exposed. Dragged by the scruff and forced to keep up appearances until he left again.

Part of you wanted to always see him. To keep an eye on him. At least so it’d come as less of a fright. But you knew where he was. He was your shadow, never too far behind. Even if it scared you sometimes, deep down, you knew it was always there.

Edward rises on his long legs and scoots past you into the aisle. The words come out before you can stop them, “Will I see you before the party?”

He blinks a few times—a consequence of the contacts he wasn’t used to wearing. The faux freckles dotted along the bridge of his nose stretch underneath his smile.

Seeing him coming doesn’t stop you from flinching when his hand touches your cheek again. The heel of his palm presses into the side of your mouth while his fingers curl toward your nape.

He pats your cheek twice and leaves you there.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

Dwyer startles at the sound of your voice. You’re smart enough not to touch the picture frame in case it might be overstepping, instead keeping a finger pointed in it’s direction. It’s a beautiful picture. You could tell it was taken on one of Gotham’s atypical sunny days.

A host of emotions cross his face, but the most prominent is foreign to you. Pride. Your parents hadn’t had much of that for you. “I did,” the sorrow, though, was familiar, “she was killed when she was fifteen.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Your hand drops to your side.

One look at your face and he goes back to cleaning the action of his gun. “It’s alright. I got the motherfucker. You gonna finish your coffee?”

You’re just leaving the church when the shrill of your ringtone bounces off the walls. You quickly grab the belting thing and answer before anyone could say anything, shuffling out into the light drizzle, “Hello?”

You’re surprised to hear Gordon’s voice on the other line. His number in your phone was starting to be more ornamental than useful, “You might wanna get down to the precinct soon. We think we might have found something.”

“Did something come up?”

“A card, actually. The Bat noticed it in the pile of... letters the Riddler’s fans left. It’s the only one with anything concrete to it.”

“A clue?” A riddle, you mean to say. You hug your coat tighter to yourself and get as close to the road as you can without getting splashed by the cars that race by.

“Yeah... and an address.” So that was the word. You hiss through your teeth and shake your hand in the air, cursing each taxi that speeds right past you. “You think you can get here in the next ten minutes? Chief wants to go over our next move.”

Might be twenty, you want to growl. Since when did anyone in Gotham turn their nose up at a little extra cash in their pockets? It was like you were a ghost.

Just as you’re about to give up and start down where you’d come from on foot, a bike’s roar makes the concrete under your shoes shake and tremor. You hear it before you see it pull up in front of you, careful to slow down before your legs could get splashed with the city’s toxic rainwater.

The Bat is a welcome sight up until you realize that you hadn’t told anyone where you’d be going when Riddler had texted you to meet him.

Gordon’s distant voice calls through your phone. Batman explains, giving nothing away. “I thought this would be quicker.”

Was he watching? Did he know? Had your shadow really left, or was he pushed up between two buildings, watching you? Egging you on? Begging you to take this chance. You’re smart, but the line between reality and your reality blurred everyday.

Gordon calls your name again and you quickly recover, choking out, “I’ll be there in five.”

[multiples-fandomswontkillme]

~Metal Family headcanons~

These are like my... general hcs)? which means I didn't include my main hc that Glam, Ches and Vicky are polyamorous, married and started dating after Glam met Vicky, and absolutely everything that implies for the kids and the relationships between each member of the fam. Maybe I'll make a separate post for that or maybe not! Who knows lkfwnlfqnf

Glam

Bisexual

Glam has constant nightmares and ocasional night terrors ever since he ran away home and is an active sleep walker. Ches helped him through the worse ones when they were younger, and learned how to deal with them, always preferring not to wake him up but being with him until the episode passed. Vicky has learned how to deal with them, though she normally asks Ches for advice with it cuz she comes out short sometimes.

He has PTSD. I bet it's diagnosed too, he takes medication and goes to therapy, it doesn't mean he still doesn't have his bad days anyway. He's trying to get better.

Glam has talked to Vicky about his past, his father and his family. This is a direct contradiction of Alina's confirmation that Glam doesn't talk about it with anyone but man FUCK THAT. We love good communication in this house, Vicky tries her best to help him, but there's only so much she can do to help.

Glam enjoys gardening, cooking and making models, he also likes doing his make up, painting his nails and dressing up in fancy, extravagant clothes even if he has nowhere important to go.

He likes taking care of everyone's hair, and constantly helps Vicky brush her hair cuz there's so much of it, Dee when he gets stressed over how tangled it can get, buys Ches hair products so he actually takes care of it, and chases Heavy so the kid actually washes, untangles and brushes his hair.

This one is kind of weird, but I refuse to think any adult in the family is unarmed at any time. Glam owns a taser and pepper spray. They're bright pink and sparkly.

This man cried his eyes out while watching Coco. He's hell to watch movies with cuz he talks and predicts what's gonna happen during the movie, judges them with scores at the end and all.

Vicky

Also bisexual!

Vicky's the one who does everyone's laundry most of the time. She prefers it that way since she's the only one that knows how to wash their black clothes so the colors stay vibrant. (This is based on my gf shaming everyone but Vicky cuz their black clothes always look so muted and almost gray, but Vicky's whole outfit is always the same vibrant black colors, so we decided that neither Glam or the kids know how to wash dark clothes)

She has anger issues, if it isn't obvious. I think she also has PTSD, mainly survivor's guilt due to her surviving the accident her brother died in. She blames herself and cannot bear to talk about it, in some sort of deep denial. If she can't remember, it can't hurt as much, right?

She has scars on the right side of her back and her hip, from the road rash she got on her brother's accident, she never treated it due to grief and it scarred badly. Apart from that, the scar of the caesarean section from Heavy's birth. She doesn't really mind both of them, they happened, nothing to do about them.

She likes watching boxing competitions, brawling matches and motorcycle repairing on TV. Loves doing BBQ's and going to the pool. Also an enjoyer of teasing her kids, kissing and loving her husband at random times, spending time drinking and bonding with Ches and bragging about her family and punching anyone who thinks they're not that cool.

Not particularly a fan of make up, skirts and dresses or any traditionally femenine-perceived stuff. But has been making exceptions due to Glam and Ches being unashamed of being seen as femenine, and actually rocking the looks. The internalized misogyny is kind of slowly dissapearing.

Apart from the guns she carries in each arm (I mean her biceps, have you looked at the size of those?? She strong) she has brass knuckles on her at all times. Glam gifts her new ones sometimes, she loves having multiple choices to punch people teeth in.

Loves horror, thrillers and action movies. Falls asleep during rom-coms and dramas. Ironically, loves gossip and talking shit about people. Enjoys hearing Ches talks about the gossip going on in the nursery home even if she doesn't know who the hell he's talking about.

Rest of the family under the cut!

Heavy

Heavy is a trans boy! He doesn't know his sexuality yet though, he's still figuring himself out. When he's older, i think he definitely dated some men but had better luck with girls.

Heavy has had innocent crushes on some girls on his class before, but they never turn into anything more cuz he's not the best at expressing himself. He follows the bother-the-girl-to-death-until-she-hates-you gimmick, and unsurprisingly, it doesn't work.

I'm sorry to break this to u but Heavy totally had an among us phase, and uses so much reddit and twitch slang... You know he does.

Likes bullying and teasing his brother to death. You know that when Dee had his first romance, Heavy was ALL up in his business being a tease and a bad attempt at a wingman. He means well tho.

He's not squeamish at all. Also has great pain resistance. This kid has picked cockroaches with his bare hands and loves cats, of course the cats have scratched him. He's tough!

Grows up to be the charming himbo he was always destined to be.

Dee

I hc him as demisexual. Kind of inherited his dad's tastes for the takes no crap, intimidating but pretty kind of people.

Can't cook. He tries but he can only do basics like rice, cereal, chicken nuggets or eggs. Complicated meals always burn or don't taste like anything at all. It drives him crazy.

Dee was a quiet and very well behaved toddler before Heavy was born. He never threw tantrums or got whims. After Heavy was born though, and despite the fact he understood his brother was small and needed special care, he started craving attention often and cried and got mad at little things. Typical jealousy of the oldest sibling.

The first time Dee fell in love with someone, he didn't recognize it was love at first. He just thought his interest on the person was born out of curiosity and aesthetic attraction, but as soon as he realized he seeked validation and companionship, that he liked seeing them smile, that he wanted to protect them, that he yearned for more time alone with them and that he wanted more than what just a simple friendship implied, it was an instant 'oh hell no'. He wanted those feelings to get the hell away, but unfortunately, they were there to stay.

Canonically likes MLP, psychological and horror anime like Death note and Hellsing, so I'm deciding he also watched Death Parade, had a FNAF phase, is very into The Walten Files. This guy enjoys any kind of specially dark ARG's and knows a ton of lore of real crime, unsolved cases, ghost appearances and other stuff. Doesn't believe in the supernatural, but sure is entertained by it.

He's a mess at romance. Flirting? His attempts at compliments are hardly flattering. Giving gifts? The best he can manage is jewelry and you can kind of tell he asked his dad for help. Dates? He's so nervous he's silent for most of it, but begins getting comfortable and having fun if his partner really knows how to get him down from his negativity cloud.

Ches

Pansexual.

He's very good with kids. He has the patience of a saint and he's laid-back, chill and fun but still is an authority figure who knows how to put limits. Sure, he's gonna let the kids light up a house on fire BUT hey, now they know everything about fire precautions, burns and how to treat them AND how to get away with arson. What an educational evening, am I right?

Due to certain info from the "Goodbye" official comic, I headcanon Ches as depressed. I don't want to elaborate a lot 'cuz of spoilers, but... God, everything related to his mom fucking hurts, man. How did he deal with all that?

Ches has been Dee and Heavy's babysitter so many times he cannot count them with all his fingers. He learned how to put those kids to sleep almost immediately (Sing Bon Jovi's "This ain't a love song" and any cheesy love song in a slow lullaby style and they're out), which movie were their favorite as kids (Heavy loved 'Monsters Inc.' and Dee never looked away during 'Meet the Robinsons'), how to console them after nightmares (Heavy needed reassurance, sweet words, and to be with someone until he fell asleep again. Dee just had to be tucked in, get his nightlight turned on and kissed in the forehead). He practically raised those kids along with Vicky and Glam.

More than once, Dee and Heavy have slipped and called Ches "Dad". Ches immediately gets his shit eating grin on and answers "Yes, son?" and does a couple of dad jokes just to mess and embarrass them. He's actually very flattered and surprised at how proud of himself he is for being a father figure to both kids.

Has a scar on the left side of his forehead due to a bottle his mom threw at him when he was younger, around the time he met Glam. He hates the scar with passion, it's a permanent reminder of the fact she never cared, that's why he always keeps it covered with his headband. Gets sad about it sometimes.

Ches likes to spend his time with a group of grannies of the nearby nursing home. He genuinely considers them his friends and gossips and hangs out with all of them on weekends. Bingo, billiards, walks in the park, soap opera marathons, you name it. I even designed them, gave them names and backstories... God, i just love the concept too much. I'll make some art about Ches and his granny gang FOR SURE, you're NOT ready for them.

Carries a pocket knife on him at all times. This man grew up on a bad neighborhood and absolutely knows how to defend himself, he can be intimidating when he wants to be and will pose a threat if needed. He's fucking terrifying when genuinely mad. Just cause he looks harmless doesn't mean he is, darling.

That would be all!

[redorich]

May I request the aftermath of Cleo learning about the magic restrictions please and thank you.

The unfortunate thing about the Dream SMP is that there is no such thing as neutral ground. Everyone's in a faction, and everyone's got beef with everyone else. The only "neutral ground" is the unsettled wilds. When Philza reports this back to Cleo, who reports it back to Xisuma, Cleo wears a put-upon look and says that her and Joe's castle will do just fine, thank you, so stop worrying about it.

The day of the meeting comes, and though Philza is hesitant to return to the castle that scared Techno half to death and activated Ranboo's main character energy, he didn't spend all that time with Cleo handing out the invitations for nothing. Cleo herself won't be present, but her partner in crime Joe will be.

Inside the castle, past the courtyard teeming with armor stand faux-life, there is a meeting room with a table. There are exits on each of the four walls, so no one feels trapped, and the table is circular so that no one feels less important than anyone else. It's all a very Socratic setup.

At the far end of the room, where the head of the table would be were it rectangular, Xisuma sits calm as can be despite the powder keg of important people with grudges he's invited into his presence. On his right is Joe, whose eyes are lit up bright white, though he's still wearing his glasses. To Xisuma's left is Grian, and to Grian's left is Doc. Continuing around the table, next sits Eret representing the Pride Palace and, to a lesser extent, the Dream SMP as a whole. After them, the next person is Philza representing the Syndicate, then Bad representing the Eggpire.

Given the antagonistic nature of the Eggpire, Bad's neighbors have been chosen very carefully; on his other side sits Ghostbur representing L'Manberg. (Philza had awkwardly told Cleo that inviting a L'Manberg representative wasn't necessary, since the place was gone, but she insisted that it was "the principle of the matter". Ghostbur seems happy enough to be invited, anyway.)

On Ghostbur's left, Sam attends on Dream's behalf. Obviously, no one is going to invite Dream, and as Dream's would-be warden, Sam was nominated to attend in his stead. Next to Sam there's an empty chair for George; Philza and Puffy both warned the Hermits that George was allergic to "lore", whatever that meant, but his place at the table was set nevertheless.

The last person to fill in the table is Tubbo, representing Snowchester. He quietly expresses to Sam that he's wary about how few Hermits there are in proportion to the number of Dream SMP citizens. Sam shrugs, and murmurs back to Tubbo that there's probably more Hermits hiding somewhere nearby. After all, isn't that what the Hermits do?

Xisuma claps his hands together once in a polite bid for everyone's attention. They settle down slowly, and once they do, he stands.

"Right, everyone-- thank you all for coming. Let's get right into it, shall we?" He smiles, though it's hard to see beneath the helmet. "With some help from Puffy and Philza, my friends and I were able to figure out why we were trapped in your server."

Sam crosses his arms. He doesn't give much of a shit about the Hermits, he tells himself, unless they have something to do with Dream-- Sam's greatest failure. (It's a lie. He looks at Doc, the only other creeper-person he's ever met-- the first creeper-person, who fought a god and won the right to live for all mob hybrids who came after him. Doc, whose eyes are fixed solely on Xisuma.)

Clearing his throat to cover up the moment of weakness, Sam speaks up. "That's great and all, but why do we care? No one was living in L'Manberg anyway; it was practically free real estate."

The callous words net Sam a glare from Tubbo and a hurt look from Ghostbur. Before either can protest, Xisuma cuts in smoothly.

"It's an issue with your server," he says, "one that Dream should have fixed. It's the reason for this meeting, actually; if there was a responsible admin in the server, I would have just told them. First, a history lesson-- Doc, if you please?"

Doc nods somberly, savoring the opportunity to ham it up a bit. "For those of you who don't know, there are three Eras. The first is the beginning of time, when Mojang created the world as we know it. Players had infinite respawns, the world was less advanced, and redstone had just been created."

"Don't you think you're going a little too far back in history?" Bad asks skeptically.

"He's getting there," Eret defends.

Doc picks up where he left off. "In the Mojang pantheon, there was a god named Notch who wanted to expand the world's horizons, to give them new biomes and mechanics and blocks they'd never seen before... but you can't make something out of nothing. He needed magic to make his big updates a reality, and he stole it from the players behind the other gods' backs."

Ghostbur gasps, horrified. "He stole magic?"

"And so the gods killed him and gave the magic back, end of story," Sam snaps, then instantly regrets it. He's too on edge.

Thankfully, Doc either doesn't mind it or doesn't notice. "Not quite," he says. "When Notch took the magic from players, they lost the ability to respawn at all, marking the beginning of Era Two-- the Hardcore Era. When the gods found out, they were angry at Notch, so they exiled him to the Void. They tried to give players back their magic, but Notch had already taken too much, and servers and updates kept needing more and more... That's how Era Three started. It's the one you live in now, with the three life system."

"So... why does this matter?" Tubbo asks. "I mean, what does this have to do with why you're stuck in our server?"

"There's a parasite on your server, eating up all the magic," Xisuma says carefully. "Your server needed extra magic to keep up, so when we went through the infinity portal it grabbed us. As a group comprised mostly of Era One players, we have the magic that the server needs to compensate for the parasite."

Most of the Dream SMP citizens look either nauseous or extremely worried at the thought of a parasite. With a furrowed brow and a chewed lip, Eret breaks the silence.

"Do you know who it is?"

They all look around the table with wary gimlet eyes, attempting to suss out the imposter among them.

"A parasite..." Sam snorts derisively. "Sounds like that damn egg."

"Language," Bad snaps, but doesn't resort to violence.

"No no, he's got a point," Grian speaks for the first time. He'd been told to stay silent, but he's not a man who will ever pass up an opportunity to meme.

Bad's face falls, and he takes on a placating tone in an attempt to persuade the Hermits to his side. "Hey, don't be like that, the Egg's never done anything wrong!"

Sam's eyebrows raise practically to the ceiling. He looks at Bad in disbelief. "Never done anything wrong?" he says. "Remember when you--"

"That was me, not the Egg," Bad cuts in with a nervous laugh.

"You tried to kill Puffy over it, then killed Foolish instead," Philza says solely because he wants the Hermits to be mad about the Egg.

"Hm," Joe hums to himself. Up until this point the man everyone knows as Herobrine has been quiet, fading into the background, but now that he's made his presence known they can't help but be wary.

He drums his fingers on the table. "Yeah, I think we need some backup. False, Iskall?"

"On it," Doc grumbles, and reaches under the table to flip a couple trapdoors.

Out of nowhere, as though they'd ender pearled in, a blonde woman and a cyborg man appear behind the Hermits' end of the table. Bad stands up suddenly, knocking his chair backward, but Doc presses another button and all four entrances to the room are shut by pistons.

The woman, False, vaults herself over the table with nothing but upper body strength and tackles Bad to the floor. While the demon is still stunned, Iskall dashes around the circumference of the table to flank him. Doc once again presses a button and the floor opens up to reveal a secret staircase, which False and Iskall drag Bad down kicking and screaming. Once they disappear into the depths of the basement, the floor closes back up and the doors reopen like nothing ever happened.

"Well," Xisuma says with a small smile, lacing his fingers together as he addresses the group.

They stare back at him in horror.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "So, with the removal of the Egg, your server will stabilize and we Hermits will be able to leave you in peace..."

"I'm sensing a but," Eret says tentatively. They take off their sunglasses with a minute sigh, reminding themself that it's because of these Hermits that their curse was removed, that they can take off their sunglasses and have gray eyes again.

Taking a deep breath, Xisuma speaks. "We think we have a way to fix the three-life system."

[infinitewarden]

Osiris isn’t Savathun.

Great! Now that I have your attention:

Man you guys tire me out about Osiris. If you truly believe this is Osiris I don’t mean to sound like That Guy that’s like “you don’t know what you’re talking about” but... You don’t know what you’re talking about.

So.

Let’s talk about how much Osiris cares about the City and humanity and why the Osiris in Epilogue is not actually Osiris.

Alright. Let’s start off with context. I think it’s super important to see what we do know as Osiris’s views. From my heavy analyses of him since 2020 I can confidently say these are what he views as the most important things a person can do:

Keep promises

Speak their truths

Protect the City & Humanity

Know that the Vex are true Evil.

Now, I won’t be doing a breakdown of each one individually but I will be talking a great deal of how important honesty is to Osiris, the City, and his views of the Vex.

Speaking honestly and bluntly.

I don’t know how many of you were into Destiny before Beyond Light, so if you were unaware of this it’s not your fault. However I’ve seen a very strange change in tone when it comes to how people view Osiris. Before Season of Hunt people hated - and I mean hated - Osiris. Why? Because he was blunt. They viewed his bluntness as rudeness.

To see a sudden switch to him being secretive and scheming is... alarming, to say the least. (And to see people think that this is the norm is also alarming but in other ways.)

The Osiris before Hunt was not secretive and scheming. He sought knowledge openly. He sought, specifically, the truth. I must stress just how open he was about his plans. First I’ll give you a few in lore examples:

I admit, I found your questions divisive and disloyal, and I feared you might be capable of breaking our unity when the City's position had grown so tenuous. Why divert attention away from the Traveler, our only hope? And then it got worse, dabbling in thanatonautics, Ahamkara-lore, chasing after Xur and the tricks of the Nine. Launching expeditions into the Reef and beyond at a time when ships were irreplaceable. Your quest split Guardians along ideological lines. This was your greatest crime: Hunters chose to pursue your visions instead of protecting refugees, Titans assembled teams to chase the legendary Vault of Glass instead of striking the Fallen, and Warlocks turned away from the study of the Traveler in favor of  your  ultimate obsession... learning the exact nature of the Darkness. ... Perhaps what drives a Warlock to madness is truth.

Osiris.

"Do not romanticize this burden. We wield a weapon." The Speaker shakes his head. "The Light wields you, Osiris. You are what you make of it. A glorious extension of its majesty, in many directions." Osiris paces at cadence with his words. "Then it would do well to speak clearly. To better direct me." The Speaker cocks his head. "Without will? Then it would be no better than the Darkness." "I am asking only for guidance; it is a delicate game we are playing." Osiris's voice, distressed. Regal again, the Speaker motions to the stone garden. "Will you sit with me?"

13: Margins Part II.

And, while I don’t particularly like using the Fall of Osiris comic as a source, it does have very important lines on his viewpoints that I find relevant yet.

Fall of Osiris #1.

Hell he was open about his plans to fuck with time itself to bring Saint back.

Sagira narrowed her eye at the rogue Lightbearer and lowered herself to Osiris’s shoulder. “Why’s he here?” she asked quietly. “I asked him to consult on the engineering work,” Osiris replied, crossing his arms. “You sicko,” the other man declared, walking a circle around the Warlock, his eyes darting along every surface of the Sundial around them. ... “Just one more question, then. Why all the fuss?” “I owe him.” “I owe a lotta people, Warlock. You’re opening the gates of hell with a Vex key.��� “When the Traveler brought me back, I had no friends. No family—” “No one had anything in the Dark Age.” “But Saint was always there. And I saw him grow from neophyte to demigod.”

The Sundial.

"You haven't left the Forest in years," Ikora said to Osiris, the only one to address him directly. "I need help," Osiris replied. "I know," Ikora responded, hands clasped behind her back. She stared intently at her former mentor. Back in her Crucible days, that uncompromising gaze was often the last thing her opponents saw. Aunor glanced sidelong at her superior. Harper coughed and looked down at his datapad. "Two years ago, Guardians entered the Infinite Forest," Osiris continued. "They aided me in defeating the Axis Mind Panoptes, preventing a Vex apocalypse from befalling this system. "In the process," he looked between each of them in turn, "Some Guardians reported a body they found in the Forest depths." Ikora sighed. "Saint-14 never came back from that last mission to Mercury. We finally knew why. I reacted to it the only way I knew how."

Desperate Times.

“I do not understand all of this code. This is Geppetto’s specialty,” Saint-14 says while standing bent over a wide desk covered in data tablets. Holographic images of the Lighthouse shimmer in the Hangar lights. “We could use the Crucible right now. Your trials. This will be very helpful. You mean to stay, yes?” “I will. Long enough to show you how to implement the simulation; but tonight, I must disembark,” Osiris says. “So soon?” Osiris tenses his jaw in forced silence. He twiddles with code. “I’m worried about what Vance found.” Saint places a heavy hand on Osiris’s chest. “Let go of your obsession. Do not leave chasing phantoms again.” “Phantoms… You think the Darkness is satisfied? This is just the first move. I need to know the next before it’s made.” “If there is something you fear, let me help you. We face this together.” Osiris’s mind drifts to the Dark anomalies. Saint doesn’t need another burden. “The safest place for you is the Tower, Saint. Time... tends to renege on its gifts.” “So, your mission is dangerous?” Osiris considers lying. “Potentially.”

Immolant I.

There are many more sources I could list on his bluntness and honesty but there’s honestly too much. What is important to extrapolate from all of it is this:

OSIRIS SPOKE THE TRUTH NO MATTER IF IT GOT HIM IN TROUBLE. IT IS ONE OF THE MAIN REASONS HE GOT EXILED.

Protecting the City & Humanity

Idk where people get the idea that he’s abandoned the City and humanity. And I don’t understand where people think it’s “typical Osiris behavior” to choose to put the City in danger.

I want to make something very clear here:

Osiris was exiled. He did not abandon the City. And though others view him as abandoning it, that wasn’t his intention. He never intentionally abandoned it. Everything he did was in pursuit of a brighter future for humanity. Let’s look at one of his lines from the Sundial activity during Dawn.

“By the time I left the City, many believed my practices to be sacrilege. But my methods have prevented countless futures not unlike the one you walk now. When it is laid out before you, would you not sacrifice anything to see this future shut?”

The Sundial.

He left because he weighed his options and he saw that humanity would have better use of him if he left. He cares A great deal about the City. He cares almost too much about it. He would never give Lakshmi the technology to cause it harm, especially knowing that she’s unstable. And I’ve seen some people think he’s playing 5D chess? In what world would he ever choose to bring harm upon humanity for some sort of... agenda; which I’ve already cleared up earlier, he’s open about his plans.

Let’s look at more known lore about Osiris’s feelings of the City & humanity.

"You've wrapped your mind around an idea of your own making. I have always tolerated this fawning 'movement' of yours, but this is a step too far." Osiris seethed. Brother Vance was awestruck. He stared blankly at Osiris, unsure of what he could say to quell his anger and dissolve his frustration. "What I have discovered…" "…is dangerous enough to destroy every man, woman, and child in existence. You're meddling with forces outside your grasp," Osiris reprimanded. "I warn you here and now, remove yourself from this Lighthouse. Find a simple life. Start a family. Write music. Leave Mercury and this fool's errand behind."

Chapter 8: Idolatry.

Osiris was furious to find out Vance was experimenting in his name by endangering people for his goals. And he was especially mad that he would dive into such dangerous areas so much so that it had the potential to destroy humanity.

"It's truth." Osiris considers this. "Truth seems subjective these days," Osiris says, finally observing his entourage for the first time. Among them, a small group of men and women, stand two wayward Guardians—Warlocks, it appears—and a child. Their forlorn faces resonate with him. Castaways and believers. The weeks since his departure from the Last City have worn on him. He was used to working alone, knowing he could fall back to the City's resources should he need them. Now, adrift in the expanse of purpose, he finds himself longing for a place he could return to. A sanctuary.

Chapter 2: Postexilic.

Here’s a few lines from Season of Dawn:

“The Traveler, mutilated. Mercury, a desolate warzone. This is the bleak future the Cabal wants for us all. We do not know what has become of humanity here. I hope we will not find out.”

.

“There are many terrible futures, but I have not grown numb to seeing them. The future the Cabal wish for is a nightmare for humanity.”

.

“If the Traveler fled the system, there is a chance that the Darkness would ignore our region of the galaxy entirely. It would sacrifice our second awakening, our ability to wield the Light, but potentially continue our Golden Age. There are too many variables at risk, but it's a variant path worth investigating in the Infinite Forest.”

.

“This battered Mercury is a blueprint for our system. Lightless, bowed, and nothing more than fuel for an endless war. It must never come to pass.”

The Sundial.

There are many. Many. More lines I could put here about how much Osiris doesn’t want to see humanity suffering. And especially how he doesn’t want the City to be at risk. But I think you get the picture.

Know that the Vex are true Evil.

So. We all know Osiris as “the Vex guy.” His whole thing is on fighting the Vex. However it seems people think that he’d be okay with using them for grounds of a higher purpose? Or something? I don’t know, everyone I see rebuffing Osiris’s actions with Lakshmi don’t seem to be interested in explaining this one.

So anyways. Let’s talk about how Osiris views the Vex as true evil compared to other species.

“The Fallen are not so different from us. How hard would you fight if the Light were taken from you?” “Those stories ring false to me,” said Saint. “They are not a noble people. I’ve fought them, and so have you.” “I have not fought them all,” the Warlock replied, pulling his hands apart to create an intricate web of hovering cubes and points of light. “They are nothing, no threat—not like the Vex. Not like the Darkness.”

Vanguard Commander.

[u.2:06] Have you spoken to the House of Light, like I asked? [u.1:07] I would rather not speak with Fallen. [u.2:07] They may need our help. Their cause is just. [u.1:08] What happened to “trust no one?” [u.2:08] What happened to your sense of right and wrong, hero?

Maintenance Operations Log 30037.

The unenlightened wonder at my so-called "fixation" upon the Vex. They believe our gravest existential threat is the Hive, for those beings have made a pact with the Darkness itself via the medium of the Worm Gods (according to Toland, at least, and I see no reason to doubt him in this). But Darkness is not merely absence of Light. Darkness is an entity unto itself. Put simply, Darkness is not Nothing. But the Vex? The Vex seek neither Light nor Darkness. They seek Convergence, the reduction of all life to its simplest, most meaningless form. An entelechy of zeros and ones. "Evil" is a word for sentimentalists and fools. But, in the ontology of the sentimental, the Vex are more deserving of the term than the Hive. Given a choice between Darkness and Convergence, I would choose Darkness. It is a logical choice. Yet for this they banish me.

Kairos Function (Hunter).

This one is important because Osiris doesn’t subscribe to the idea of “good” and “evil”, and that he would go so far to say that the Vex are Evil shows just how much of a threat he views them as.

It’s just. Mind boggling to me that people think that Osiris would be okay with a Vex invasion. That Osiris would encourage Lakshmi to open up a rift to “send the Fallen away” (Despite being one of the earliest sympathizers!) Osiris isn’t ineffable, he’s just a man trying to do his best to help humanity. His actions aren’t difficult to understand, they have been written to be very clear and with understanding his motives.

Saying that it’s natural for him to be secretive and have contradicting opinions and actions is just. Wrong. It’s not him. It’s not how he’s supposed to be understood. Even in Curse of Osiris I don’t think his actions didn’t make any sense.

This is going to sound very mean but I want to be 100% clear: If you think that Osiris would actively choose to put the City in danger of the Vex, if you think that he would actively choose to stand calmly and watch as his lover was about to die to the very things he spent millions of lives to save... You don’t understand Osiris. Go back and reread his lore.

I leave you with this:

The Vanguard is dubious of our intent and ability, fearing corruption and displacement. They do not trust me. You were held in similar contempt for speaking your truth and empowering free thought. You know what it feels like to be chastised and labeled a traitor. We are mere steps away from a disintegration of our institutions, and they cannot see destruction staring them in the face. ... For so long, we have clung to the Light, denying the strength offered by the Dark. By using Stasis, we will end this war. We see this contest for what it truly is: a game, played by our adversaries. And we have been the pawns. We are pawns no more. This is not a battle I want to wage without you, although we may not have a choice in the matter. Wherever you may be, please come back to us.

To Osiris.

[interact-if]

Day 2 of Pride Month interviews! You know them, you love them…. give it up for Ames!

Ames, author of Attollo and Metamorphosis

Pride Month Featured Authors

“…and it was a singular, terrible thought, which burrowed itself into your mind like an engorged maggot. This was not a man nor a monster. This was a concept, an ideology, a terrible myth, which had personified itself to stand before you now.You were, to put it simply, screwed.”

After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your sibling’s apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s going on and, hopefully, be home before the weekend.

Too bad it’s never so simple.

Demo: Attollo, Metamorphosis (TBA)

Tags: cybernoir, thriller

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: Tell us a little bit about your project(s)!

Attollo is a cyber-noir horror set in a walled city off the coast of the Atlantic that’s been a victim of a nuclear disaster. After several years of radio silence, you receive a message from your younger sibling that carries a strange sense of urgency to it. Either out of familial concern or boredom, you embark on a journey from your residence to your sibling’s apartment in New Hampshire to see what’s going on and, hopefully, be home before the weekend. Too bad it’s never so simple. Attollo is a 17+ game that deals with heavy topics and a lot of moral questioning; from cults to corrupt government, it has no shortage of monsters in the dark—both metaphorical and literal.

Metamorphosis is a crime/horror story based in the world of crime scene cleanup, where there are three simple steps: Get the call, clean the scene, and don’t ask too many questions. These are the rules that you live by under the employment of Noctua’s Crime Scene Services, and you credit them for keeping you alive.

However, after a routine house call brings forth nightmares of memories that are not your own, you find yourself pulled deeper into Noctua—a city of both monster and man—in a bid to find out the truth behind the murder of Deirdre Callow, and better yet, how her memories came to be yours. Your job mandates that you don’t dig too deep—but could this finally be the exception?

Metamorphosis is 18+ and will have explicit content; follow the last moments of a stranger to find out not only who took her life, but how this connects to the underbelly that Noctua works so hard to hide.

Q2: Why interactive fiction? What drew you to the medium?

Lmaoo, oh man. I think it really all began last summer when I first found examples of interactive fiction. I don’t even remember how I came across it, it might’ve been that I saw it mentioned in a post or I saw it as a tag on Itch.io, but at some point, last summer I began to investigate it more. I think what really drew me in was the ability for the player to control the narrative; it was like playing an old RPG, but modernized, and the fact that I could see a story unfold that was influenced by my decisions was so fascinating to me. Not to mention that IF allows so much more character depth than regular novels, in my opinion.

I’m 99% sure my first exposure to interactive fiction was through the game Crème de la Crème (a fantastic game, by the way) and I just enjoyed it so much that I went haywire for the genre. Then Temple of the Endless Night came out (another fantastic game that I’m looking forward to!), and that was really the turning point for inspiring me to give it a go. Now, almost a year later, here I am working on my own two games!

Q3: Are your characters influenced by your identity? How?

My bisexuality doesn’t have much of a major influence on the game, but I do think it contributed to the way that I view and write relationships. I figured out my sexuality around high school (I kissed a girl in high school and found out I liked it just as much as when I kissed a boy) and since then I’ve been very involved in the LGBTQ+ community of both my hometown and uni town.

I think this involvement, like being able to hear about other people’s experiences and share my own, has made me feel a lot more comfortable writing some of the characters in the game. Although Attollo and Metamorphosis both don’t focus heavily on relationships (both have murder in them, which I feel is a bit more pressing), I do keep the option for any RO’s to be romanced by anyone, regardless of gender or preference, because that’s simply what I’ve become so attuned to. In terms of side characters relationships as well, I think my involvement and my own experiences have allowed me to write far more diverse relationships than I might have, and I think that this has also allowed a more fulfilling experience for players when reading through.

I also have incorporated some struggles that I’ve faced before because of my identity into the games. For example, I and a few others have faced issues with religion due to who we are, and I incorporate this into both games. Dreamwalker, Pariah, and Sysba from Attollo all have shadows of this experience in their character origins, and Ilali and Ariston from Metamorphosis has a major point involving identity and beliefs. Both games also have undertows of ostracization and division between groups, which is also something I’ve experienced in the past. Being able to grapple these moments and control them via a narrative has been eye opening for both myself and others involved, and I’m hoping it can be a learning experience for the readers as well.

Q4: What would you like to see more of in LGBT+ fiction?

I think, now, the amount of progress in LGBTQ+ fiction is expanding at a wonderful rate. There are so many interactive fictions with options to select sexuality, select gender, select beliefs, etc. However, despite this expansion, there’s still a good deal of backlash against some aspects of LGBTQ+ fiction.

For example, as a bisexual woman who has dated men, I know there are some individuals who may not consider me a part of the LGBTQ+ because of this aspect. Not only is this incredibly disheartening, but it’s a viewpoint that I think should be educated against, and fiction is a fantastic pathway to do this. Another example I can think of is a friend of mine who identifies as asexual but is sex-neutral rather than sex-repulsed. Most people can’t believe her when she says this, and she often faces backlash for this declaration as well. This is another thing that I think that, with exposure through a medium such as fiction, can be worked on.

What I’m trying to say here is that I think LGBTQ+ fiction can be a brilliantly educational platform—if used right. Although it already teaches so much with what it has, I think having that representation of different subgroups of sexuality, of their experiences and beliefs, so people can become aware and knowledgeable of these options, is something I’d like to see more of.

Q5: What or who are some of your biggest inspirations?

Oh man, I struggled to list off inspirations because I know I have some, but as soon as someone asks me who they are my brain just goes ‘brrrrrr’ LMAO.

In terms of the games that I write and the worlds that I build, I think David Lynch and Robert Chambers are probably the two that I somehow incorporate. Attollo and Metamorphosis both have a lot of surrealist horror, which are what these two really specialized in. Shirley Jackson is also another person who inspired me a lot when it came to the writing and creation of Attollo, especially the intrapersonal relationships between the characters.

In terms of life, this is something else I really struggle to answer. I don’t really have celebrity inspirations or anything like that, but I do get inspired by my close friends and sister a lot. Seeing them go through the struggles that they face and absolutely thrive really drives me to push through my own struggles. They’re the strongest, most brilliant group of people that I know, and I consider myself incredibly fortunate that I can be a part of their lives. Not only that, but we also all collectively encourage each other to push further and to chase our dreams (as cheesy as that is LMAO) and that’s something that I think is another stroke of good fortune. I struck gold when I met them, and they’re some of the biggest inspirations in my life.

Q6: What’s a super vague spoiler for your current project?

For Attollo, I’d say ‘Home is where the heart is.’ For Metamorphosis, to quote John Berendt, ‘Always stick around for one more drink.’

Q7: Lastly, what advice would you give to your readers?

What advice would I give to you all? Oh my, I’m not exactly a wise woman here, but I’ll do my best to give you something lmaooo. I think what I really want you to walk away with, from both my stories and this interview, is that if you’re passionate about something, then share it with the world. Don’t let anyone deter your passion.

I remember listening to this painter once who commented to his friend how he ‘really liked painting’, and his friend’s first response was ‘but are you good at it?’. He then compared this to the scenario of walking; would you say, ‘but are you good at it?’ to someone who said, ‘I really like walking’? No, because it simply wouldn’t make sense, and it doesn’t make sense to say that to anyone who’s doing something out of passion.

To put it simply—if you love something, then don’t let anyone take that passion from you. I began writing these stories because I’m passionate about Attollo and Metamorphosis; I love each character, each bit of lore, and I share it with you because I want you all to enjoy it as well. Am I the best writer? God, no. Does everyone like what I write? Definitely not. But will I let this stop me from writing, from enjoying what I’m doing? Never, and I want you to do the same.

Explore your passions, embrace your passions, and let what makes you happy continue to do so

[x--daughters-of-darkness--x]

20 WOMEN VOCALISTS IN METAL WHO ARE A DRIVING FORCE FOR THE GENRE

Lzzy Hale

If you haven’t heard of the colossal Halestorm and their show-stealing frontlady Lzzy Hale by now, how’s it been living under that rock? Out here in the real world, both rock and metal have been battling to claim Halestorm and Hale’s presence since the band’s first EP, (Don’t Mess With The) Time Man, in 1999. From the vitriolic masochism of “I Miss The Misery” to the heart-wrenching “Here’s To Us,” Hale’s vocal range reaches each extreme of moving emotion and devastating attitude. We couldn’t pay tribute to Hale without also recognizing her guitar talents. Check the sassy leading line from “Love Bites (So Do I)” as an example of this phenomenal lady’s ability to step beyond musical expression and into aural artistry.

SKYND

True crime has never been more compelling than at the hands of Australian electronic-metal sensation SKYND and their mystifying frontwoman of the same name. Tackling a new real-life mystery with each track, covering the disappearance and mysterious death of “Elisa Lam” and the doomed cult following of “Jim Jones,” SKYND’s haunting vocals tell each tale as if they were acting out in front of you. SKYND’s dedication to her theatrical persona (plus the ability to keep her real identity a secret), her iconic look and the creation of lore around her exposition of real-life crimes is a mystery the metal world may never solve, but perhaps it never should.

Taylor Momsen

Gossip Girl? We don’t know her—we know Taylor Momsen as the sultry tones commanding metal’s sassiest frontrunners the Pretty Reckless. With her gravelly vocals offset by her signature blacked-out eyes and suspenders, Momsen is an all-around powerhouse frontlady who bends all of your stereotypical expectations of a female vocalist. Take the hissing attitude of “Make Me Wanna Die,” the iconic summer anthem through “Messed Up World (F’d Up World),” the doomed “Going To Hell” and the gloriously filthy “My Medicine”—she’s not here for your entertainment, simply to make music in her own inimitable devil-may-care way.

Sharon den Adel

Where symphonic-metal outfits go through vocalists like water, Within Temptation’s Sharon den Adel has held on to her throne at the very beating heart of the genre since 1996. The band that introduced you to the dark side in high school has come a long way from “Angels” and “Our Farewell” to their most recent sensation “The Purge,” but the enduring talents of the angelic den Adel at the helm remain as moving as ever. Whether your heart breaks or races along with the captivating stories told through her cherubic vocals, den Adel’s talents have kept this legendary band alive and relevant for 25 years. We’re hanging on the edge of our seats for a new album.

Amy Lee

Most millennials were introduced to the world of metal through Evanescence’s invasion of radio airtime in the early 2000s, making vocalist Amy Lee an initial encounter in female presence in a heavily male realm. With an unforgettably haunting vocal range that can reach into your chest and pull out your heart with a single note, Lee’s trademark sound has lived in our minds since 2003’s Fallen and has no intention of letting go. From the iconic “Bring Me To Life” to her solo career’s “Speak To Me” and most notably the captivating “My Immortal,” Lee’s inimitable voice of an angel showed metal how to truly capture the mainstream.

Melissa Bonny

You’ve never seen symphonic metal quite like Switzerland’s Ad Infinitum and, consequently, you’ve never seen a frontwoman quite like Melissa Bonny. With her compelling vocals at the helm, each track tells a story steeped in historic struggles and triumphs as the band members each adopt a story of survival during the time of the Black Death in Europe. Every member appears in a plague doctor’s mask except Bonny, commanding the narrative as her show-stopping range transitions from heavenly cleans to venomous screams with ease. Ad Infinitum and Bonny’s towering talents begin an epic quest through the ranks of metal, and nothing will stand in their way.

Simone Simons

Symphonic-metal outfits face a constant challenge to stay relevant and move forward with the scene around them, more so than any other subgenre. However, the dreamy contributions of Simone Simons have kept Epica at the forefront of their genre since 2002. The band that once created “Storm The Sorrow” have matured to the lofty heights of “The Skeleton Key” with Simons’ operatic tones at the helm, bringing her angelic range to the band’s cinematic instrumentals and occasional death-metal infusions.

Maria Brink

Since their inception in 2005, In This Moment have redefined performance art and metal all at the same time, thanks to the command of iconic vocalist Maria Brink. Challenging religious imagery alongside feminine stereotypes, Brink’s presence both on and offstage has decimated the white male dominance of the metal genre. It takes a certain conviction and attitude to pull off the likes of “Whore” and “Blood” without trivializing their core moral messages, but Brink has rewritten the book on expectations of women in the heavy music industry. Long may she reign.

Larissa Stupar

Vicious, teeth-baring uncleans are the domain of Venom Prison’s Larissa Stupar, death metal’s brightest rising star. Whoever said women had to be the saccharine, angelic feminine contribution to metal clearly never met Stupar, who belts savage growls as if delivered from the gates of hell itself. The likes of “Uterine Industrialisation” and “Slayer Of Holofernes” prove devastating both live and in the studio when this unrelenting powerhouse gets her chops around them.

Alissa White-Gluz

Arch Enemy’s screamer-in-chief makes belting superhuman notes look easy. Alissa White-Gluz’s cord-shredding talents are the result of a career that started when she formed the Agonist at the age of 19. Joining Arch Enemy in 2014 gave White-Gluz a platform to showcase her range and also gave us her contagious live presence on a bigger stage. Providing her distinctive tones to regular collaborations with Kamelot and Delain, the voice behind Arch Enemy’s “War Eternal” and “You Will Know My Name” is no stranger to framing racing riffs with her guttural chops and showing off her heavenly cleans when the instrumentals allow.

Cristina Scabbia

The dual vocal onslaught we know and love from Lacuna Coil compels and fascinates, thanks to the storming presence of Cristina Scabbia. Dominating the metal scene since the ’90s, the enduring Italian crew pour richly gothic melodies over devastating riffs. Scabbia’s heavenly clean vocal is the cherry on top. From unforgettable classics such as “Our Truth” to their latest show-stopping “Save Me,” her dream-like range has been an invaluable gift to metal for over two decades and hopefully many, many more.

Tarja Turunen

The thought of losing founding Nightwish vocalist Tarja Turunen to the abyss of former symphonic singers when she left the outfit in 2005 was too much to bear. Luckily for us, Turunen kick-started her solo career the following year, and she’s been a mainstay of the metal scene ever since. The heavenly operatics that once heralded classics such as “Wish I Had An Angel” and “Nemo” now belts “Innocence” and “Tears In Rain” with the most celestial, earthbound vocals the genre has seen to date.

Suzuka Nakamoto

Easily the youngest member of our ranking, Suzuka Nakamoto, known as Su-metal, is the founding member of Japanese sensations BABYMETAL. With all the maturity of an artist twice her age, this 23-year-old puts us all to shame with her consistent energetic vocals and seemingly endless energy supplies while performing impeccable dance routines onstage. Between the iconic “Gimme Chocolate!!” and BABYMETAL’s latest “Kingslayer” collaboration with Bring Me The Horizon, there’s no denying she has a long and prolific career ahead of her.

Amalie Bruun

Myrkur has become a relentless hot topic in metal since its inception in 2014, and we have only recently discovered the identity of the haunting vocals at its heart. Now we can credit multi-instrumental composer Amalie Bruun with the rise of this mysterious Danish project, led into the wilderness by her raw screams bursting through cherubic cleans just when you least expect it. Often singing in Norwegian as an authentic twist on her own style of black metal, the theatrical “Ulvinde” and “Juniper”’s lingering atmospherics merely scratch the surface of Bruun’s compelling storytelling talents.

Elize Ryd

Amaranthe’s triple-threat vocals fetch their lighter tones from Elize Ryd, the Swedish outfit’s not-so-secret weapon who brings cherubic notes to their modern take on organized metallic chaos. Also known for her additions to Kamelot, both live and in the studio, Ryd’s heavenly cords and quirky songwriting add a bucketload of atmosphere and depth to the likes of “Amaranthine” and “Maximize,” making Amaranthe’s unique versatility one that continually sets trends for years to come.

Cammie Gilbert

Houston doom-metal upstarts Oceans Of Slumber have found themselves on a near-vertical trajectory over the last few years, a movement fronted by the tireless energy and boundless talents of their powerhouse vocalist Cammie Gilbert. Upon joining the band in 2014, Gilbert’s towering range came to the surface as her vocals neatly expand the lulling melancholy of “Winter” and the desperate cries of “A Return To The Earth Below,” as if her vocals project both fragility and strength at the same moment.

Heidi Shepherd and Carla Harvey

We couldn’t separate the two ladies commanding Butcher Babies, so this slot goes out to both Heidi Shepherd and Carla Harvey as the double-trouble onslaught who have brought us “Monsters Ball” and “Magnolia Blvd.” If you’re looking for a nonstop, indulgent party with the possibility of a snapped neck or two, look no further than L.A.’s dirtiest metal export that have become a staple on everybody’s festival bucket list. This versatile pair have made thrash their own ever since their 2013 debut, Goliath, showed the metal scene what it had been so desperately lacking—two relentless ladies who know exactly how to have a good time.

Chelsea Wolfe

Surprisingly the only strictly solo appearance on this list, Chelsea Wolfe has made metal her very own since her arrival in 2010, draping a veil of folk-y atmosphere and gothic depth over seductive doom-metal undertones. Combining her boundary-smashing approach with a sadistically dark visual style, Chelsea Wolfe somewhat ironically injects life into doom by refusing to conform to the genre’s ’90s stereotypes. She wraps her smooth vocal swathes around the compelling melancholy of “Feral Love” and “16 Psyche,” as if redressing the world around her in her own image.

Tatiana Shmayluk

You’d be forgiven for thinking Ukrainian outfit Jinjer tell their lyrical tales through the voice of three separate individuals covering melodic cleans, ear-splitting screams and guttural snarls and somewhat effortlessly slipping between them. The single towering voice behind this band’s meteoric rise belongs to Tatiana Shmayluk, flexing her multi-talented chops on “Perennial” and “Sit Stay Roll Over” just to increase your vocal envy. We’re still not sure how she pulls off such smooth transitions between the polar opposite personas onstage, but we can’t seem to look away.

Floor Jansen

Taking on the mammoth task of fronting the pioneering outfit Nightwish in 2013, Floor Jansen donned her new role as if she was born for it. Jansen’s inimitable honeyed tones ushered in a new age for the symphonic-metal icons, weaving her slick melodic range through the band’s trademark cinematic instrumentals. The theatrical atmospheres tracked on “Élan” and “Noise” give Jansen the room to flex her operatic range while she narrates the vibrant, tall tales we know and love from Nightwish.

[goldenpixel]

The scene with Wilbur in Quackity’s latest lore stream made me Think some Thoughts, and I wanted to get all of my SBI family headcanons together in one place, so here’s this post

First thing, this is their age order:

Philza -> Techno/Wilbur -> Tubbo -> Ranboo -> Tommy

- Techno and Wilbur were born on the same day, so most of the family refers to them as “the twins” but they are not blood related

- Philza did not know how old Techno was when they were ruling the Antarctic Empire, he thought that Techno was around 21 when he was actually around 14-16

- this is a fact that haunts Phil to this day, because he committed a massive amount of war crimes with an actual child, and also for reasons that will soon become very clear

Philza and Techno

- they’re married

- they got married with them each thinking that the other was close to their own age (Phil thought Techno was in his early 20’s, Techno thought Phil was in his late teens)

- for more on their marriage, check out this post

- despite Techno and Wilbur being the same age, Techno is mentally much older due to his past and his general status as the Blood God

- Phil did most of the work raising the older kids, but Techno did his fair share, and you can definitely see his influence when you look at the kid’s behaviors

- both of them are immortal

- Techno is a new immortal, the Blood God has only just come into existence, but he isn't leaving anytime soon

- Philza is an old immortal, he was there when the world was born, and he'll be there when it dies

Wilbur

- Wilbur and Philza are the only blood relatives in the whole family

- as much as he loves him, Wilbur has always been a bit bitter towards Techno, because when they were teenagers, Techno was off ruling and adventuring and having fun with Phil during the AE, and Wil was left home with a young Tommy to look after

- Wilbur’s hair is naturally blond, just like Phil and Tommy’s

- no one knows who Wilbur’s mom is (unfortunately mpreg is the norm on this server, so Phil carried him, and he’s got some ideas on who Wil’s mom is, but he honestly doesn’t care enough to look into it)

- Wilbur has wings

- they’re much smaller than Phil’s, he can barely fly with them, but they’re the same color and shape as Phil’s

- because of how fragile his wings are, Wilbur should not technically be able to fly, but he literally sheer force of will-ed it and threw himself off the roof of their house so many times that he can glide when he jumps from high places, and if it’s a really high place, he can get in a few good flaps of his wings to get him some extra distance

- Phil doesn’t learn that Wilbur can semi-fly/glide until one day they’re off adventuring together and Wil is being dramatic and theatrical and walking backwards while he talks, and he falls off a cliff

Tommy

- Tommy has been with them since he was a few days old

- because of his light features, most people assume that he is Phil’s son by blood, and he just didn’t inherit the wings

- (at ages 10 and 16, Tommy and Wilbur did the blood-brothers handshake where they cut their palms and then shook hands, so if you ask them, they’re blood brothers through and through)

- Techno taught Tommy how to sew

- Tommy is a young god, but he hasn’t grown into most of his powers yet

- Tommy is a god of death, the future Death himself, Kristen is his mother

- (this is how Phil comes into possession of him. Phil, being the Angel of Death, was really the only reasonable choice when it came to Death herself finding someone to raise her son)

- Tommy has light features, even though Mumza has dark features, because she purposefully made him out of the light, she wanted him to be good and kind, so she created him from the literal light that you see when you're dying

- because he was born from the actual moment of death, despite Tommy's eyes being blue, they hold the void itself in them

- if you look too closely into Tommy's eyes, it can be easy to lose yourself and fall right in

- sometimes Mumza comes to visit, these are very bittersweet moments for Tommy

- he loves his mom, and he loves seeing her and seeing Phil happy to see her, and she usually takes him along on her next trip, ever so slowly teaching him how to be Death, but he also hates that that is his future

- he doesn't want to be the next Death, he doesn't want to outlive all of his friends and his brother, he just wants to be normal

- because of this, Tommy represses pretty much all of his godly powers, trying to seem as normal as possible, the one he represses the most is his automatic healing, when he gets hurt, he wants to stay hurt

- he represses everything so well that its years before Tubbo finds out that his best friend is a god

Ranboo

- Techno raised Ranboo more than Phil did

- (because of this, he’s the only kid who actually views Techno as his father. Despite him literally being their stepdad, the others see Techno as more of a brother or an uncle)

- Techno found Ranboo when he was around 12 years old on the edge of a warped forest in the nether (if you want some more nether-boys hc’s, check out this post)

- at that age, Ranboo hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet due to malnutrition, so he was much smaller than the average human 12 year old, and everyone thought he was around 8-10 (because of his memory issues, Ranboo thought the same thing until Tommy kept pestering him about when his birthday was and he remembered the year)

- Ranboo is brought into the family when he’s 12, Tommy is 11, and Wilbur and Techno are 17

- as I said before, Techno may have been 17 when he took in Ranboo, but he was definitely a father to this anxious amnesiac preteen

- because of his height, Ranboo is constantly slouching to fit through doorways, inside houses, and to make himself appear smaller, so he grows to need a cane

Tubbo (and Dream)

- street cat

- they fed him once and he just kept coming back

- sometimes he’ll disappear for a few weeks, but he always turns up eventually

- boy’s got some family issues, some real bad family issues

- his dad is Schlatt, who left him and big brother Dream to fend for themselves when he and Dream were 6 and 11

- luckily Dream has an excellent sense of direction and memory, and got them to Aunt Puffy’s current port before she pushed off on her next adventure (but not before getting briefly separated and making some friends)

- (the few weeks they spend separated are when Tubbo first gets found by Wilbur and Tommy and forcibly adopted by Phil, and Bad lures Dream home with food and he meets Sapnap)

- both boys have ram features - floppy ears, horns, etc., Dream also inherited their Aunt Puffy's rainbow hair (he dyes it blonde semi-regularly. It's dyed when he meets sbi, and Wilbur and Techno have the exact same reaction to it when they finally see his natural hair: relentless teasing. Like father like son amiright?)

- Tubbo and Dream are half brothers (same dad, different moms), Tubbo is 1/2 ram and 1/2 human, Dream is 1/2 human, 1/4 ram, and 1/4 what he and Sapnap think is demon (basically Dream had a human-ram hybrid dad, and a human-demon(?) hybrid mom)

- when Tubbo introduces Dream to his new brother-in-law, Dream feels a bit of a kindred spirit, but he quickly brushes it off

- Dream spends most of his time either with Bad, Skeppy, and Sapnap, or on the sea with Puffy, so Tubbo mostly fends for himself

- Tubbo is more than happy to fend for himself, he actually prefers it most of the time. He doesn't like people fussing over him and sheltering him, so whenever his mood switches and he decides that he does, actually, want some family time, he just appears on sbi’s front porch

- Tubbo first meets Ranboo when he comes to visit after a few months away. No one told him that Tommy was with Mumza for the weekend, so when he arrived at 3am, 2 days before he told Phil he’d be there, he just let himself in and threw himself on top of the sleeping figure in Tommy’s bed, only to be met with a startled enderman screech that woke the whole house

- (Ranboo was in Tommy’s bed because he might not be a part of the official Clingy Duo, but the boy is as clingy as they come. He regularly sleeps in his family’s beds, both when they’re home and when they’re away, because his sense of smell is heightened as an enderman and he needs to be surrounded in their scent when he misses them or when he’s feeling sad (especially because these are the only scents he knows, he doesn’t remember any of the scents from before Techno found him))

Big brothers being friends

- one day, after Tubbo’s near-constant raving about how great the Minecraft family is, Dream agrees to visit with him

- this visit happens to fall during the AE, so the only ones home are Wilbur and Tommy

- Dream and Wilbur take one look at each other and their similar situations in raising their chaotic, problem-child little brothers, and never let go

- the four of them live together for a good 5-6 months before Dream gets a letter and he and Tubbo need to leave

- after this visit, Dream and Wilbur stay in contact, and they visit each other even without their brothers around to drag them along

- I know I said that Wilbur makes fun of Dream for dying his hair, but that’s only in public

- in private, Wilbur confesses to Dream that he also dyes his hair, that his hair is naturally blond and he dyes it darker. After this, Dream and Wilbur start dying their hair together, it becomes something scheduled that they both look forward to immensely each month

- the next time Dream and Tubbo visit together, Wilbur is off with a water spirit who stole his heart (I refuse to write about fish Sally, fight me), and Phil is showing Ranboo some cool builds in his current hardcore world, so it's Techno and Tommy who welcome them in

- Techno starts out pretty hesitant of Dream, but Dream almost instantly is like

- "I'm gonna annoy the blood god into being my best friend"

- and whatever Dream sets his mind to, he achieves

- so the visit sort of ends with Dream and Techno making Tommy and Tubbo promise not to burn the house down, and leaving them home alone to go off to cause some chaos together

Father/son relationships

- As I said earlier, Phil primarily raised Wilbur and Tommy, and Techno primarily raised Ranboo, with Tubbo coming in and out like a feral cat

- to Wilbur and Tommy, Techno is more of a cool uncle who brings them valuable trinkets from his adventures, and they want to be like him one day

- Ranboo and Phil’s relationship is almost exactly the same as Wilbur and Tommy’s relationship with Techno

- when Techno brought Ranboo home, Phil pretty much decided that he had his hands full enough with raising his two chaotic boys, and he declared that it was finders-keepers, Techno found Ranboo, so he gets to raise him

- after L’Manburg, Ghostbur and Phil learn sign language, because the explosion blew out Phil’s hearing in his left ear, and Ghostbur’s so soft-spoken that it’s sometimes really difficult for him to hear his son speaking

For more random hc’s I have about these characters and the characters of the smp in general, check out this post

Some quick tags for people who commented on my post asking who wants this post, thanks for the support guys :’) @anotherweirdohere @haveadayasgreatasyou @jupiterjordan

[killing-all-joy]

Sometimes Having Terrible Aim Is Worth It

Pairing: Analogince Word count: 4,492 Logan uses he/they pronouns cw: swearing, snowball fights, mentions of murder, implied bad parents, i might have made lore for this at 1am while bored whoops

Overall, Roman and Logan were happy with their neighborhood. The location was convenient for both of their works (the theatre and the high school) and the environment was very lax. It was a low-crime, middle-class neighborhood with people who seemed very nice.

Roman, the sociable one, had made friends with many of the people on their block, only leaving a couple of houses alone. He had told Logan that all the people he had talked with were amiable people worthy of their friendship. So, Logan had accompanied his boyfriend during conversations with their neighbors on occasion, despite being an introvert with a general disappointment in the human race.

It wasn’t with ease that Roman was able to leave the house on their right alone. He had been warned not to bother the man who lived there as soon as he had moved in and started to make friends with his new neighbors. A blonde woman who Roman guessed to be about twenty years older than him had knocked on the door the evening after the two had moved in and given them the gist of the neighborhood. Her name was Janet, and she had told them about which houses had kids (as well as which kids were the best or quietest), how many people lived at each house, what each resident was like, and finally, about the man who lived next door.

Apparently, he was introverted and creepy, didn’t have friends, had the scariest Halloween decorations, worked at an age-old psychiatric hospital, and was rude and disagreeable. Janet had sufficiently discouraged Roman and Logan from interacting with him, but even if she hadn’t, the reports from their other neighbors would have done the job.

One kid said she had knocked on his door on Halloween, and he had opened the door and snarled at her with a realistic vampire outfit on, laughing evilly as she ran away. One mother said she had gone to his house to ask for a cup of sugar, and he had given her a cup of salt instead. Three kids all said they had seen him near the haunted house on Fridays. There was a rumor going around that he had killed the previous owners of the house Roman and Logan now resided in because their cat had made a small scratch on his car (Logan and Roman were less inclined to believe that last rumor; it was evidence-less, unlike the others).

But, other than the next-door neighbor they were both terrified of, Roman and Logan liked their living situation very much.

It was January, right in the middle of winter. The weather refused to let their area forget this fact; the week had started out with a snowstorm and after one day of pause, it had snowed every day for the next four days. It was now Friday, the fourth consecutive day of having snow, and the neighborhood kids had calmed about the state of the weather. Earlier in the week, Roman and Logan would often look out their window to find kids playing in the snow. Now, the excitement had dialed down and the kids were exhausted. The couple figured that sometime in the middle of the next week, the kids would be back to causing snowy chaos, but there was still almost a week until that hypothesis would be put to the test. At the current time, the block was quiet.

Roman appeared next to Logan, who was reading. He perched himself on the armrest of Logan's armchair and put an arm around his boyfriend.

"Hey, Logan?" Roman asked, taking a lock of Logan's hair and twirling it between his fingers.

"What is it you want, darling?" Logan replied, not looking up from his book.

Roman frowned. "I never said I wanted something."

"You called me Logan," he explained like it were obvious, "so, you want something."

Roman rolled his eyes, wishing his boyfriend wasn't so observant. "I want to have a snowball fight outside."

Logan raised an eyebrow, keeping his eyes on the novel in his hands. "I assume that you want me to join?"

Roman nodded. "Who else would I fight?"

"I also imagine you will annoy me about this subject until I acquiesce, or the snow melts?"

Roman nodded again.

"What's in it for me?"

Roman furrowed his eyebrows in thought. "Well...maybe, after the fight, we can curl up next to each other on the couch in our blankets, hot chocolate in hand, and we can watch Doctor Who or whatever while we snuggle."

Logan bit his lip.

"You know you want to."

Logan rolled their eyes. "I most certainly do not."

Roman grinned at him cheekily. "Bullshit," he said sweetly, "now come with me."

He took the book from Logan's hands and set it on the table. He grabbed a receipt from nearby and put it on the open pages, before slamming the novel shut and pulling his boyfriend to his feet.

Logan made a noise of surprise as he was dragged to the door by his boyfriend.

"Roman, wait!" Logan exclaimed, putting a hand on Roman's arm. "Let me get my gloves and hat on first."

Logan, who was already in a blue patterned sweater and dark purple scarf, dashed to his and Roman's room. He opened his closet and picked out his navy blue beanie and red gloves. He put them on quickly, not wanting to have to deal with Roman's manhandling once again.

He raced back to Roman who was waiting for him at the door impatiently. When he saw Logan, his expression brightened to one of adoration.

"Oh my gosh, mi querido, you look adorable!"

Logan huffed. "I am not adorable."

Roman laughed. "Yes, you are."

Logan knew that arguing was hopeless.

They took the accusation to heart for a moment. "What if the neighbors see our fight and it ruins my reputation and they never take me seriously again?"

"One, they will be too far away from us to recognize you. Two, they won't care. Three, I'm going to be annoying you for the next two months about a snowball fight so if you refuse, they'll judge you for choosing someone as loud and annoying as myself as your boyfriend."

Logan nodded. "Fair enough."

The two exited their house. Logan put his arms around his torso and shivered, the sudden change in temperature shocking his body, but Roman ran ahead. He immediately crouched down to the ground and formed a snowball, aiming directly for Logan’s stomach, and missing by a couple of feet. Logan gave him a disappointed look.

Roman huffed and returned to building a snowball. Logan shivered again, watching the small flecks of white flutter down from the clouds above and land on their suburban neighborhood. Logan was removed from their thoughts when a snowball collided with his stomach.

He stumbled back half a step, but steadied his stance and glared at his boyfriend. Another snowball was thrown his way, but Logan dodged and watched it disperse against the door.

“You might want to join me in the yard, Specs, if you don’t want me to break a window.”

Logan followed his suggestion, running to the front yard and immediately forming a snowball. They threw it at their unsuspecting boyfriend who was in the process of making another snowball. It hit him square in the chest, making him fall backwards.

“Oh, you’re in for it, mi luz.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You’ve hit me twice, I’ve hit you once. I’m hardly the-”

A snowball to the lungs effectively shut them up.

---

Roman and Logan were hiding behind their respective walls of snow. Throughout the fight, they had been creating their own walls to hide behind to avoid getting hit. The fight would continue until either surrender or unconsciousness occurred, and both knew the former would be the hardest to achieve.

Since the two were both overachievers and never half-assed anything, their respective snow walls were two and a half feet high, roughly four inches in thickness, and approximately two feet wide. Roman had drawn an ‘R’ into his for dramatic effect, and Logan had hit the ‘R’ purposely with a snowball twice.

Neither knew how much time had passed, nor could they sense just how cold they were. All they could think about was demolishing their beloved in a violent war of snow, where only one could be crowned victor.

They were so unfocused that they didn’t notice a door opening and closing. Their eyes were so zeroed in on each other that Logan couldn’t see anything but his weapon and his target.

Logan knew the second the snowball left his hands that he would not land the shot. They were off by at least a couple of feet. They paid it no mind, however, and focused on evading Roman’s next attack.

The snowball landed with an audible smack.

That was unusual; dodged snowballs normally landed soundlessly on the ground.

What was also unusual was the yelp accompanying the sound.

Two shocked heads turned and watched as an unfamiliar man was thrown off his balance from Logan’s ruthlessly packed snowball. He didn’t fall to the ground, no, he was too scary and intimidating for that kind of humiliation to ever befall him. But, he was inconvenienced just enough so that Roman and Logan were terrified for their lives.

Logan hadn’t hit any old neighbor that lived on their block. He had hit the man who lived to their right.

The man who was evil, scary, probably a serial killer; the person that even the adults were scared of. He overdid Halloween, had no friends, and worked at a psychiatric hospital. He could probably kill them if he wanted to. According to the rumors, he had killed for lesser motives.

His eyes locked with both of the men at once, and Logan and Roman had never been more scared in their time together. He was terrifying.

With a black shirt, black jeans, black and purple hair, and a black hoodie, the man next door with tattoos creeping up his neck and black eyeshadow under his eyes looked very much the part the rest of the street had cast him as.

Logan and Roman were truly and undeniably fucked.

When the neighbor stopped glaring at them and walked to his car, Logan and Roman simultaneously craned their necks back to face each other, a terrified look in both of their eyes. Suddenly, all their competitive fire was extinguished and they looked at the snow on the ground with fear and regret instead of devious fun.

Their neighbor got something from his car and returned inside, casting sideways glances at Roman and Logan as he passed them. He slammed his door shut, causing both men to flinch.

From day one, the couple had been warned by kindergarteners and middle-aged women alike that they were unfortunate to be neighbors with the man next door. It was today that this was proven. All they could do was wait for their demise.

Roman threw a snowball at Logan’s face in anger at his actions and bad aim. For the first time in this fight, he wished he had been hit by that snowball.

There was a four minute period where the two were internally debating their options of either going back inside or apologizing to their fearsome neighbor. Occasionally, they would make eye contact with each other, but no words were actually spoken. Roman, the extrovert, considered knocking on his door to make a quick and hasty apology while Logan, the introvert, thought about writing an apology letter and sliding it under his door.

Neither of their ideas needed to be put to action, however, since the neighbor exited his house once again.

The two resisted the overwhelming urge to cower in fear. They had never seen him before, and now they had seen him twice in less than ten minutes? Clearly, they had ticked him off.

In an effort to not make it look as though they were staring, Logan and Roman stuck their gazes on each other. Each could tell that their partner was resisting their instincts telling them to run as far away as they could as fast as possible. But they couldn’t be rude—not when that man lived right next to them and could approach their house at any time. The serial killer rumors suddenly seemed more plausible.

What greeted them (or rather, Logan) instead, was a snowball to the back.

Logan, who was tenser than a taut rope, stumbled from the harsh impact. When he was able to regain his stance, his head whipped around to look at his attacker.

The neighbor had on, of all things, a smile.

He had discarded his hoodie for a fluffy black sweater with purple bats on it. He was now in a black beanie and had on midnight blue gloves. While his winter attire was surprising considering he already had a hoodie and didn’t seem to leave his house much, the mischievous smile was the most perplexing of all new things about their neighbor. Neither Logan nor Roman could make sense of it, except that it let them see the infamously creepy stranger in a new light.

Logan huffed out a bemused laugh, staring at the neighbor (who looked to be similar in age to them) like he was a gripping plot twist in a novel that unexpectedly ended happily. He shook his head a bit, but crouched down and formed another snowball. He made sure not to throw it as hard as the first one he had thrown at the stranger.

The man dodged it with ease, running closer to the snow-covered couple’s house. He swiped some snow off the porch rail and quickly packed it before throwing it at Roman, who was too busy being bewildered to do anything to dodge. He gasped in offense and coughed when the snowball collided with his sternum, and directed a playful glare at his attacker. He threw a snowball at him in return.

The neighbor easily dodged that one, but wasn’t able to dodge the snowball Logan had thrown his way. His attention switched over to the bespectacled assailant, looking at them just in time to see him throw another snowball at his boyfriend.

“How the hell did you make a snowball that quickly, cariño?”

“I have a snow wall, Ro. What do you think I put behind it? Action figures?” Logan retorted sarcastically.

Roman rolled his eyes and formed another snowball, sending it through the air and smack into Logan’s wall. “Every man for himself!”

The neighbor laughed at that, and the snowball fight continued.

---

As it turned out, Logan and Roman were at a disadvantage from already being out in the snow before their neighbor joined in. He was able to make them both surrender eventually, but not before Roman had aimed a snowball at a precise place on the back of his neck where the snow fell down the back of his shirt.

Logan was the wiser out of the couple and had surrendered first (not without a fight, though). He figured he deserved it; he had been the one to disturb the stranger, after all. This made him able to watch as both Roman and the stranger started to shiver more and more as the fight had continued.

When Roman finally did surrender, Logan laughed in his face and then put an arm around him. Logan took one hand in his and was able to tell his fingers were numb.

“You just never know when to quit, do you?” they sighed fondly.

“I did eventually!” protested Roman indignantly.

The stranger chuckled from beside him. “Would’ve been easier for your poor body if you’d surrendered when you knew you were gonna lose.”

It was the first time they’d heard him speak; snowball fights weren’t exactly the best place to start a conversation. His voice was low, about as deep as expected from a scary man in all black. However, it didn’t hold any fearful qualities or scratchiness like the kids had described. The couple thought it sounded like coffee on a cool winter’s morning (which didn’t make sense since coffee wasn’t a sound, but it was all that they could use to describe it, nonetheless).

“And when would that have been?”

“The second I joined in.”

Logan hid a laugh behind their hand. Roman glared at him for encouraging their neighbor.

“No idiot surrenders the second another person joins,” Roman muttered.

“Exactly,” the man said with a wink. Logan was able to spot him curling his arms around himself, probably from being cold.

Roman gasped loudly when he finally realized what the stranger was saying. “How dare you!”

He stumbled out of Logan’s arms and collected more snow off the porch railing, making it into a large, messy ball and chucking it at the stranger.

It hit his face. Not hard in any shape or form; no harm would be done, but it was still a bunch of cold water shoved in his face and falling into the front of his sweater.

The stranger furiously batted at the snow on his face.

“Serves you right,” Roman mumbled.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Sorry, that must’ve been freezing.”

The man nodded.

“Come on in,” Logan invited, opening the door. “We can make you some hot chocolate.”

Roman rushed inside, running to the storage closet that had extra blankets.

“A-are you s-su-re?” the stranger said, syllables separate and repetitive from his shivering. The snow in his face caused his teeth to chatter.

“Of course,” Logan said, “it’s our—well, mostly my fault, that you got cold anyway. I’m Logan. He/they pronouns.”

Virgil chuckled. “L-log-an, h-uh? Was st-st-starting to thi-nk y-you were j-just gi-v-ven a b-bunch of p-pet names at b-birth.”

Logan blushed furiously, but laughed. Roman referred to him with Spanish terms of endearment more than he did his legal name.

“At this point, I might as well have been. I tend to respond to any unfamiliar word that vaguely sounds like Spanish now.”

They ushered the freezing stranger inside. Roman had returned from the storage closet with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and another under his arm. Logan took the blanket that wasn’t shrouding his shivering boyfriend and wrapped it around the stranger’s shoulders, who tugged it tighter around himself eagerly.

Logan went to the kitchen, putting three mugs of milk into the microwave and setting it for two minutes. They then returned to Roman and their neighbor who were shivering in silence.

“Thanks for joining us,” Roman said, “that was fun.”

“It was,” he agreed, shivering starting to calm down. “T-thank you for letting me p-participate.” Not fully, however.

“Of course,” said Logan, putting an arm on Roman’s shoulders. “I totally meant that snowball as an invitation. Fully intentional.”

The other two laughed, knowing that was a lie. The microwave beeped, and Logan left them to take the mugs from the microwave. He put the hot cocoa powder in and stirred the mugs, before picking them up.

He entered the living room to see that Roman had sat on the left of the couch and the stranger in the middle. Logan put their mugs in front of them and put down a mug for themself. He sat down next to the stranger.

“Might I ask your name, oh Master of the Snowball?” Roman asked.

The stranger snorted. “That’s much better than my name. My name’s Virgil. He/him.”

Logan smiled to himself. “Not at all, that’s a very nice name.”

Virgil choked on the hot chocolate he was sipping. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Fits your aesthetic,” Roman remarked.

Virgil opened his mouth, looking offended. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

It was obviously a joke, but Logan and Roman knew they had to tell Virgil of the rumors and his reputation. Especially now that they saw him as a good guy.

“Halloween,” Roman started to list, “everyday-is-spooky-season aesthetic, seems like the type of guy to work at a haunted house.”

Virgil scoffed. “Those places are stupid; not scary at all. If you want to go to a haunted house, make your house the haunted house.”

Well, now they had the Virgil-goes-to-a-haunted-house-weekly theory debunked.

“You do have ghosts on your sweater,” Logan supplied, taking a sip of the hot chocolate.

“They’re cute ghosts, though,” Roman said as soon as Virgil opened his mouth to argue. He pointed at one on his sweater. “See? Look at the lil’ faces.”

“My sister got it for me for Christmas.”

“If I knew your sister, that would probably explain the cute faces.”

“Oh, believe me, it would.”

Logan chuckled as he watched the two exchange conversation. He took another sip of his hot chocolate.

“So, um, I heard moving trucks outside your house about a month ago. Was that y’all? You new here?” asked Virgil.

“Affirmative,” Logan confirmed.

“Yeah, it’s our very first house together!” Roman said happily.

Virgil smiled. “That’s sickeningly adorable.”

“I am sickeningly adorable,” Roman said like it was a badge of honor.

“I agree,” Logan said.

A comfortable silence befell the group.

Virgil fidgeted, looking at Roman nervously. “Bit awkward question this far into the conversation, but I never caught your name-”

“Roman~” sang the man in question. He would have held the note out for an impressively long time if he didn’t take a sip of hot cocoa.

“Cool,” said Virgil awkwardly. “And I suppose, Roman and Logan, oh wow y’all’s names rhyme that is so romantic, anyway-”

Roman gasped, covering his mouth. His eyes lit up. “They do!”

“Are you just noticing this, Roman?” asked Logan.

“Of course!” Roman exclaimed in reply. “If I knew our names rhymed, I would have already written many a rhyming poem about our love.”

“That’s very nice, Love.”

“Don’t be snippy, mi cielo, you know you’d love it,” Roman huffed. “Virgil, don’t you think he’d love it?”

Virgil just rolled his eyes fondly, not wanting to get caught up in the middle of a lover’s spat.

“Don’t bring Virgil into this, Roman. You should put the subject aside, considering he was in the middle of saying something before you interrupted.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask. Did our neighbors happen to...um...tell you what they thought of me? Ruin first impressions? It would explain your terrified expressions when we first saw each other.”

Roman and Logan looked at each other worriedly.

“...Maybe?” Roman asked quietly.

“There’s a small possibility...” Logan whispered.

“Y’all, I’m not mad if it happened, I just wanna know.”

Logan sighed. “Yes, yes they did.”

“What’d they say?”

“Multiple people said different things,” Logan began. “Janet talked to us first. She’s the blonde, short-haired, blue-eyed-”

“-Used to be a soccer mom, baby blue house?” Virgil asked. Logan nodded. “Met her when I first moved in, and once after that.”

“Her, yes. She told us, quite frankly, to not come near you.”

Virgil started to close in on himself. “Like how?”

“Said you were creepy, rude, introverted, no friends, freaky-as-all-hell Halloween decorations, apparently knew where you worked,” Roman told him, then noticed Virgil’s shrinking and stopped with the accusations. “I doubt almost all of that now, since you’re obviously not creepy and definitely have friends with that personality, but she may have been accurate with Halloween decor.”

“She was,” Virgil confirmed. “Go big or go home.”

“I believe you are normally home during Halloween, are you not?” asked Logan, confused.

Roman laughed. “Of course, mi amor.”

“Where do I work, in Janet terms?” asked Virgil, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Some old psychiatric hospital out of town.”

Virgil doubled over in laughter. He put his mug on the coffee table so it wouldn’t spill and held his head in his hands.

When he regained himself, still giggling, he replied.

“That’s inaccurate,” Virgil said plainly. “I don’t have a degree for that. See, there’s an old abandoned psychiatric hospital two miles away from the airport that is on the same road as the airport. It’s out of use, so that’s a stupid assumption to make. I guess I could maybe see why she made it though; I work at the airport.”

“Oh?” asked Logan, intrigued.

“Yeah, I’m an air traffic controller,” said Virgil with a shrug. “It ain’t that interesting. I recently got fully certified, though, which is cool. It pays well, I’m good at paying constant attention to things that could potentially end badly, and the high-stress comes from having to give my unwavering and full attention, which is something I can do well.”

“Less stressful than home and college, I guess, huh?” Roman guessed.

“Exactly, it's a spa compared to my parents,” Virgil said with a laugh. “But yeah, that’s hysterical. I definitely do not work at a psychiatric hospital.”

“I suppose what the kids said is untrue if what the adults said is false,” Logan mused.

“Oh dear lord, what did they say,” Virgil groaned.

“One girl told us about the rumor that you killed the people who used to live here,” Roman said, and Virgil immediately laughed. “Her mother said she asked for a cup of sugar and you gave her a cup of salt instead.”

“I hadn’t slept in five days and realized my mistake two hours later,” Virgil explained immediately. “I remember that one.”

Logan snorted. “One boy said you go to the haunted house on Fridays, which is obviously untrue.”

“Yeah. One, they’re stupid, two, that one’s only open in October and November, three, that one ain’t even scary. It has a good and free parking lot, though, and I volunteer at an at-risk youth center every Friday a couple blocks down that has really shitty parking.”

Roman shook his head. “Wow, we really got you wrong.”

“You were misled,” Virgil corrected. “It’s not your fault.”

“You know what, you’re right!” Roman agreed. “We were robbed.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Of what?”

“Of friendship,” Logan said, taking a sip from his drink. “Roman would have been banging on your door two days after moving, wanting to get to know you. But, after a momentous amount of ‘rude’ and ‘disagreeable’—” Virgil frowned, “—he was persuaded not to. Our loss, especially considering you are neither of those two adjectives.”

Virgil smiled. “Thank you.”

Logan looked into Virgil’s chestnut brown eyes, and was able to spot the specks of gray in them. They gave Virgil a warm smile. “For what? It is our pleasure to be given the chance to know you.”

Roman groaned. “I try 24/7 to be dramatic and you do it without trying.”

Virgil, blushing, giggled. “You’re both good at it.”

Roman beamed at him. “I’m thrilled you think so, Nico di Angel-o.”

“Nico’s surname can be interpreted to mean ‘of the angels’ already, Roman, I don’t think you need to emphas-”

“Shhhh, Specs, let me shower our guest with compliments.”

Virgil’s face was on fire. “Do y’all have any movies?”

~

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @fander-fic-recs @neo-neo-neo

~

I wrote most of that when I went into a blur for three hours and looked at the time after I finished the draft to see that I had wasted all the time I had to do homework. It was worth it. I don’t know why but I’m really attached to this AU? If you want to see more of it please tell me. I hope you liked it!

[demibats]

Unsteady - BENEATH THE BLOOD MOON

summary:  Bludhaven and Gotham take a fearful turn when a new threat is posed in both Batman and Nightwing’s territories, neither of them equipped for it. That is, until Dick crosses paths with an unlikely new ally...

  word count: 4k warnings: brief mention of violence.

A cool breeze ruffled Dick’s hair as he looked over the city of Bludhaven, way up on the tops of the buildings. He’d been hunched over, listening intently on his police scanner for far too long. It was too quiet of a night. Not even the common street criminal was causing a disturbance. The silence was far more vexing than any goon he’d come into contact with over the past week. 

Dick tried not to let the little noises pester his paranoia further, though it was hard.  The sound of an animal rustling in a garbage can or a car’s horn was enough to make him jump. Dick stood, taking in a deep breath before he flipped from one roof ledge to a lower one. Landing with a hard thud, he turned over his back, eyeing the spot he’d just left and the gap below. Below, consumed in the darkness, he swore he heard voices.

Dick turned and peaked down, seeing nothing in the bleak emptiness between crumbling buildings. He continued his typical patrol around the tops of the buildings, looking over the city. It was the first night in months that not a thing gave him a good chase. While he felt like he deserved a break, the sudden change in activity felt odd. It was as if an entire world of crime just stood at a stand still, completely unmoving as Dick traveled the rooftops of Bludhaven. 

Faintly, Dick heard a grunt and blows landing. It was quiet, but Dick’s trained ears focused on it and could make out a cocky ‘that all you got?’ He did a front somersault off the ledge and slid down the opposite wall, skillfully as to not disturb the others in the alleyway. He turned on his heels and crouched down behind a rusty dumpster, peeking his head out to survey the scene. 

A woman was facing with her back toward him, striking whatever was in front of her with her palm, upward into her attacker’s nose. Jesus Chirst, Dick thought, usually now is the time I have to come in. She spun around and delivered what should’ve been a near-fatal kick into the attacker’s ribs, but he only stumbled before throwing his hand into the woman’s head. She took barely a second to steady herself before grabbing her attacker’s next hit by the wrist to twist it upward. At an impressive speed, she unsheathed what looked like a wooden stake and plunged it into the chest of her attacker. Dick caught a glimpse of the man’s face, seeing it contorted and molded with yellow eyes before it burst into dust. 

He was in awe. Of all the metahumans and villains he’s faced throughout his entire life, he’d never come across something quite like that. Maybe he’d read about them but seeing one perish in person was an entirely new ballgame. He stood up from his spot, stepping out from behind it, but didn’t trek toward the woman. She was relatively new and, to be frank, scary. “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that maybe now isn’t the time to ask questions?” Dick spoke clearly, despite being unsure of this new vigilante, if that’s what she was. 

She flinched at his loud voice and whipped around, fists clenched. When her eyes laid on him, her mouth dropped, but her shock didn’t last long and was soon replaced with some form of annoyance, “Nightwing, is it? A little birdie told me to watch out for you. Well, another little birdie.” She said, poking fun at his alter ego.

“In the way that we’d be brawling like your little friend or just as a precaution?” Dick quipped.

“Neither. Just a piece of information I needed to have before I moved here.”  Her shoulders relaxed as she walked toward him, “We done here?” Her shoulder bumped into his and which only spurred Dick’s talking on more. 

Before he could get a word in, she said, “You were watching for a while before I dusted that creep. Is it a part of the job to leave capable dames to their own devices now? I definitely could’ve used the help.” Her tone was sarcastic, Dick couldn’t tell if she meant it, or was just annoyed simply by his presence.

Dick blinked a few times before answering, “I have no idea what that was. Or what or who you are. I was a little taken aback, needed time to plan my next move.” he responded, following her out of the alley. 

She stopped in her tracks and turned around, narrowing her eyes on him. She examined his face for a moment and Dick grew anxious that she was trying to figure out his identity for a split second. Shaking off the uneasy feeling, he furrowed his eyebrows. “You really have no idea what I just killed?”

The fact she’d said ‘what’ instead of ‘who’ returned the uneasy feeling, but this one was different, “No, I don’t. Mind telling me? This seems like crucial information I should’ve known when I moved here.” He mocked, but the woman could only smirk at it.

“It was a vampire. Like, a genuine dracula. Blood-sucking demon of the night, fangs and all. There have been sightings and nests popping in Atlantic City, Gotham and Bludhaven more and more recently.” She explained, continuing her walk down the empty street. Dick didn’t realize he was supposed to follow her.

He jogged up to her, slowing down and matching speeds with her pace. Dick never walked through the neighborhoods at night, too busy flipping from the rooftops to realize how things looked down here at night. Gazing at the woman through his peripherals, he sucked in a breath, “And you’re.. What? Just doing a public service by driving stakes through their hearts?” he asked, question after question popping into his head. If she was a civilian, where’d she learn how to fight and defend herself like that? Why was she absorbing blows that should’ve knocked her on her ass? How did she know all this? Especially that these supposed nests were in Bludhaven?

“I’m the Slayer. It’s my destiny, or whatever, to hunt them down and send ‘em back to hell.” She clarified, sounding less than enthused.

Dick chuckled, “Whoa there, try to contain your excitement.” 

Rolling her eyes, she picked up speed, wanting to shake the nuisance that was Nightwing, “Look, I’ll go my way, you’ll go yours. There’s no need to be all buddy-buddy. I’ll kick vampire ass, you’ll beat down criminals, simple as that.”

Dick stopped on their walk, grabbing her wrist just for her to rip it from his clutches, “Would you listen for one goddamn second?” he raised his voice, surprising her, “If these creatures are as dangerous as I’m thinking, and to the extent you said, you’ll need help. This doesn’t sound like much of a cakewalk. I’m not an idiot who wears a mask and punches cat-buglers, okay? There are more important skills than brute strength, ones I have, that could help you.”

He could tell she was considering it. It took only a few seconds for her to answer, “This isn’t something that’s a team effort. I’m the slayer, and whether I like it or not, I have to do this on my own.”

Dick let her go off on her way this time. He couldn’t wrap her head around the events of that night, especially not the fact that Bludhaven and Gotham, his home and former home, were riddled with creatures like the one she’d just fought. Grotesque, monstrous creatures that were preying on the innocent the way that they were. He feared for the citizens of Bludhaven, knowing that he might not be able to protect them from the vampires he knew nothing about. Sighing heavily, he took out his phone and dialed a number he hadn’t saved but could recite from heart at any given time. It only rang once before a familiar voice spoke. “Master Dick, it’s been too long.” Alfred chimed. 

“I miss you too, Alfred. Tell him I’m driving up. There’s something brewing in both our cities and we might need all hands on deck for this,” he paused, “I’m gonna send you some information of my current location, can you please use the cameras in the area for facial recognition for the woman I was with tonight?”

“I’ll hop to it, Master Dick. I’ll let him know, as well and make preparations for your sleeping arrangements.” Alfred spoke in his typical calm and calculating, yet stern tone. 

“I’ll get a motel, just tell Bru-”

Alfred cut him off, “I’m afraid not, Master Dick. You will be staying in the manor and there’ll be no arguments made against it. The facial recognition you requested will be done within the hour.”

Rolling his eyes, Dick smiled, “Yeah, alright. See you soon, Alfred. Thank you.” And with that, Dick ended the call, inhaling sharply. His night just became a lot more eventful than he could’ve ever guessed. 

“Fuck.” 

-----

Dick pulled into the long stretch of driveway through the gates, his tongue running over his teeth. It’d been some time since he’d been home and it still felt cold and distant. He didn’t plan on staying too long, but would stay as long as needed to research and learn about any lore pertaining to vampires and ‘The Slayer’. Bruce had more money than God and enough books to educate a small community, some of those might even be older than God.

The sprawling grounds of Wayne Manor, while being the apple of any remotely smart person’s eye, made Dick feel more alone than he ever had. However, he did what he learned as a child, and pushed those feelings down, trying to focus on the task at hand. After stepping out of his car, now parked in the garage, he met up with Alfred. That old rascal always brought a smile to Dick’s face, even after the time he’d seen him. “Nice to see you, Master Dick. Master Wayne is waiting for you. The facial recognition was successful.”

Dick couldn’t help but grin at the butler before clapping him on the shoulder, “Thanks, Alfred. I owe you one!” He shouted as he booked it toward the indoor entrance to the cave. 

The manor was always remarkably clean, thanks to Alfred ( and sometimes Bruce ) . With Alfred’s older age, you would think that he was ready to give up the butler life, but there was no way he would, not while Bruce was running rampant in the streets wearing a cape and cowl. Dick waited patiently in the elevator ride down, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He shoved them into his jean-pockets as the door opened, revealing the dimly lit cave.

Bruce was standing before the bat computer, pictures and records up on the large screen. He was hunched over the tabletop in front of him, rather than sitting in the chair. He wore a black tshirt and dark jeans, rather than the full form of the batsuit or head-to-toe formal wear. Bruce heard Dick’s footsteps and straightened his back, turning toward the younger man. “You look different,” Bruce said in monotone. 

Dick chuckled, “Yeah, living on your own does that, I guess.” He knew that Bruce wasn’t one for physical affection but that didn’t stop Dick from giving him a brief hug, which to his surprise, Bruce reciprocated for the short while it happened.

“So, did you pin-point our mystery girl?” Dick said, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyeing Bruce as he pulled up what looked like an ID photo.

“Y/N L/N. Goes to a community college in Bludhaven, lives alone. She previously lived in Chicago, graduated from high school, got accepted into a community college there, held a steady job, but moved here after her mother was killed eight months ago. Coroner’s report says animal attack but given the information you sent, I’m guessing that whatever she fought off last night is one of the things responsible for the murder of her mother. Who is she to you, Dick?” Bruce slowly turned to face Dick, raising his eyebrows in curiosity. 

Dick shrugged, “I’m interested in her line of work.” He said, but Bruce knew exactly what Dick wasn’t saying. He let it slide, obviously not wanting to open that can of worms. 

“I’ve pulled up every known instance of vampires over the past twenty years and… a lot of it is complete nonsense, Dick. Very slim picking of what compares to Y/N’s vampires. Something about Twilight-” Bruce was about to continue but Dick cut him off. 

“Steer clear of anything marked under that, you won’t get anywhere.” Dick turned away from the computer and walked toward the dark oak bookshelf away from where Bruce stood.

“And where are you going?” Bruce asked.

Dick turned over his shoulder as he walked, “There has gotta be something in one of your dusty old books that’s more helpful than you skimming teenage fanlore.” He chuckled, eyes running over the spines of all the books. He didn’t have too much to go on, but anything would help them at that moment. 

Bruce and Dick spent hours researching vampire lore, hoping something would point them in the direction of some sort of slayer prophecy. Of course, it would’ve been much easier if Y/N complied with Dick in the first place, but she was dead set on avoiding Nightwing like the plague. While Bruce appreciated literature, he knew how to find needed information on the web better than anything else. It bothered him that he wasn’t coming up with much, but he’d never tell Dick that. 

“Any luck?” Bruce called out.

“Not on the slayer, but this volume and the one like it talks all about what they are and the lore behind them,” he paused for a moment, then realized Bruce was waiting for him to continue, “They’re essentially demons, soulless creatures from Hell. They can only inhabit earth if they possess a human corpse. Apparently they’re considered hybrids, less pure than other demon species.”

Dick looked up from the pages of the worn book, seeing Bruce look absolutely lost in thought. He cleared his throat, hoping he’d have some sort of feedback. “What are they doing in Bludhaven?” Bruce asked.

“Add that to the pile of answers we don’t have.” Dick huffed.

The two men were up into the early hours of the morning, almost 5AM before Dick had a breakthrough in one of the thousands of books in the cave. “Here!” he called out, getting Bruce’s attention. The older man quickly made his way to the table that Dick had been hunched over, reading and researching. 

“Every generation, one girl is chosen to be the Slayer. She wields the power to fight demons, vampires and other forces of darkness. Apparently the first slayer actually had the gifts of a vampire given to her by said vampire.” Dick read.

Bruce was silent.

“Are you going to say anything? We’ve been at this for hours and I finally find something and you’re a statue.” Dick was annoyed and tired and beyond ready to burn every book in the manor and then go right to sleep.

“That’s just it, Dick. We’ve been at this the entire night and all we’ve learned is that some otherworldly force picks a woman to fight the undead. We’re still at square one in my book. Get some sleep, we’ll regroup and pick it up again after some rest.” Bruce said, turning to shut down the computer.

Dick grumbled, gathering up all the books he hadn’t read through, along with the one who explained who the Slayer was, and went to his old bedroom. He would probably only get a few hours of sleep before he would be up and at it again. He needed to find more out before going back to Bludhaven to find her again. He wanted to be prepared, knowledgeable. Dick knew that there was no way Y/N would let him help if she had to teach him all there was to know about vampires. He still didn’t know if she could be swayed even if he had already learned. 

As soon as Dick hit the mattress, books surrounding him, he was out like a light. He hadn’t pushed himself to the extreme of staying up over 24 hours in a long time and he felt like he would go insane from lack of sleep. That first night back at Wayne Manor, Dick had nightmares. He was in his Nightwing suit, except for his mask, standing in an alleyway that seemed like it went on infinitely on both ends. He tried to run one direction but felt like he was getting nowhere. On all sides of him he heard someone crying out for help and a hiss that felt too familiar. The cries continued as did the hisses for what seemed like mere minutes, but when Dick opened his eyes, he’d realized it was nearly three o’clock. 

He felt like he’d been hit by a semi-truck, or maybe a large pick-up at the least. There was a cup of coffee next to his bed on his nightstand, still steaming. After all these years, ALfred had a knack for knowing when his boys would be awake. Dick grabbed it sluggishly and took a small sip as he sat up. The room was still and quiet, while he enjoyed the peace, sometimes it was deafening. After he’d downed most of the coffee, he pulled his shirt off and headed to the shower. 

-----

“Let’s just say that she does allow you to work with her, will you keep me informed?” Bruce posed the question as Dick looked over yet again, another book. He peaked over the pages of the book he was reading, lips on the rim of his coffee mug.

Bruce looked like he’d gotten enough sleep for the both of them, had his healthy breakfast and already did his eight mile run. It was appalling how easy it was for Bruce to hide his fatigue, while Dick, Jason and Tim had always looked tired, constantly. 

“If what she said is true, that Gotham as well as Bludhaven, has these nests, then yes. You’ll need to stay in the loop and be hypervigilant during patrol. These things are no joke, Bruce.” Dick answered, “Mind if I take the books with me back home? I’ll scan over any information I deem important.” 

Bruce nodded, but before Dick could exit the kitchen to pack up his belongings, the older man called out, “Be careful.” Bruce might not express his fondness or affection for his son, but he knows that Dick knows exactly what his simple words mean. 

Dick turned back and nodded. “You too.”

The drive back to Bludhaven was tense. Dick knew he’d have to betray what little trust he’d managed to create the first night he met Y/N by essentially breaking into her apartment. He fought with himself mentally about his next move. He still had research and planning to do if was going to seriously enter this world. He was too stubborn to just let Y/N tell him no. He didn’t care if it was her destiny to battle these things alone. He was going to make sure she wasn’t on her own and that he upheld his oath to protect Bludhaven.

Within the wall of his Bludhaven apartment, he stood in the kitchen, unmoved as he pondered his options. There weren’t many. It was either he’d help Y/N and go to her apartment, maybe get his ass kicked if she was startled or not help her and go about his regular vigilante activities. It shouldn’t even be a question. Dick tried to put his impulsivity aside, tried to think before jumping immediately into this unprepared.  Y/N told him to stay out of it, he should respect that. But what if it becomes too much for her to handle on her own? Wouldn’t she rather have an ally? Someone to depend on? There had to be a reason why she was so harsh about it.

A million more questions spurred Dick’s thoughts on, but in the end, he decided he’d rather have her be pissed off at him interfering with the slayer business than her, laying in an alleyway, dead because of some demon. He’d set out to find her before it got dark, he didn’t want to risk getting a wooden stake to the torso because she couldn’t see the black and blue suit.

He donned the Nightwing garb as he seemingly flew over the rooftops, cartwheeling, backhandspringing, flipping, somersaulting all over the ledges and landings to get to her apartment which was about ten blocks from his own. From the roof of a building opposite to her apartment complex, he could see into her living room through a window. The curtains were parted and the soft lighting illuminated Y/N on her couch, a bowl of cereal in her hands and a textbook in her lap. The domestic scene almost completely masked her slayer personality. She simply was a college student, trying her hardest to be normal, plagued with the responsibility of protecting innocent life.

Dick slid down onto the fire escape below him before leaping to one on Y/N’s building, careful not to cause any reason for a passerby to look up and see him. Perched on her fire escape, he carefully knocked on the glass of the window. She nearly jumped ten feet in the air, almost spilling her cereal. Looking over to her window, her expression showed pure confusion. Dick was surprised, he expected blind rage. 

Getting off the couch, Y/N placed her cereal and textbook on her coffee table before storming over to the window, sliding it open. “What the hell? Are you stalking me now?” She whisper-shouted. 

Dick shook his head, “No, no. It seems like that but I promise that’s not the case.”

Y/N sighed deeply, clearly unamused. She remained silent, crossing her arms as she stepped out of the way of the window frame, “Come on in.” 

Dick slowly climbed into her apartment, hunched over for a brief moment before standing tall, scanning the room. It was simple and neat. She had multiple potted succulents and a few framed photos on the wall. She had a couch and a bean bag in her living room as well as a small tv stand and coffee table, which looked to be covered in books and paperwork. It wasn’t at all what he’d expected it to be like.

Before he got lost in thought about her apartment decor, he turned to her, “I read about the vampires and slayer lore. We didn’t have much to go by, but I found out the basics.” Dick could tell she was on the verge of interrupting, “Let me finish. I know that it’s your so called destiny to do this on your own, but I say fuck that. I want to help and technically speaking, if I’m not working with you, I’d just be hunting them down on my own. We can work together. Two minds are greater than one. You don’t have to babysit or coddle me, I get the gist of what you’re up against. Let me lighten the load. If you don’t like working together after some time, I’ll hit the road. Just give me a chance to show you I can be worth your while.”

Inhaling sharply, still with her arms crossed she spoke finally, “You’re not gonna leave me alone are you?”

Dick grinned, “Couldn’t get rid of me if ya tried.”

Feeling defeat sink in, Y/N rolled her eyes and walked back over to her couch and coffee table, resuming her spot where she was studying. “The second you get on my nerves, I’m kicking your ass.” She said, not a hint of sarcasm in her tone. 

“I won’t. Scout’s honor.” he did the hand salute thing before taking a seat next to her on the couch. 

Once more, she rolled her eyes and felt the weight of her decision start to sink in.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Talk So Pretty, But Your Heart Got Teeth

AYO another day another oneshot as a part of the MGI Trope Tussle! BUT WAIT THERES MORE thanks to @nightlychaotic for letting me continue her oneshot that can be found HERE! 

Fics Masterlist

Dickinette Oneshot 2.8K words 

Summary:

“Nightwing was desperate to figure out Kit Noire. For reasons beyond professional.” 

without further ado:

Some days, you're the only thing I know

Only thing that's burning when the nights grow cold

Can't look away, can't look away

Beg you to stay, beg you to stay, yeah

It had been two weeks since Nightwing had last seen Kit Noire. While the lack of thefts and reported break-ins was doing wonders for his day job, he found his nightlife severely lacking its usual luster. He had done some research into her powers, cross-referencing with some of his more magically inclined coworkers. Aquaman had an interesting story about some god of destruction but it was Atlantean lore that led nowhere. He was drawing blanks on what his next move was going to be. Conflicted on whether to bring her to justice or to help her get justice. 

His team was of no help either. Batman was adamant on chasing her out of Gotham, her destructive powers too dangerous in the city, while his siblings were more engrossed in teasing him about his affections for the cat thief. Jabs about ‘learned behaviour’ and ‘truly being the next Batman’ went ignored for his own piece of mind. He loathed to admit it but his intrigue in her, his adamance to be involved with her case, stemmed from less professional intentions. He was compromised in this investigation but he was unwilling to relent to anyone else.

Kit Noire was his to solve. 

Sometimes, you're a stranger in my bed

Don't know if you love me or you want me dead

Push me away, push me away

Then beg me to stay, beg me to stay, yeah

He finally found her one night by the Gotham Harbour. She was in the middle of an altercation with the same guy who had stolen some grimoire from her. ‘Guardian’ he had called her. 

Rather than intervene immediately, Nightwing hung back in the shadows, observing the two of them. The man was obviously much older than her and was particularly equipped to combat her style of fighting. He used what appeared to be a wooden staff and was dressed in Buddhist-inspired robes. Another piece to add into his investigation. 

Their fight was approaching a stalemate, neither willing to yield to the other. Nightwing decided to make his presence known. A couple smoke bombs were tossed into the fray, halting the fight. Taking the opening, he jumped in between and threw two bolas at the old man. He was wrapped securely in the wires and collapsed gracelessly on the planks. Not giving him anymore attention, he moved to intercept Kit Noire; choosing the evil he knew over the one he didn’t.

“Sorry, songbird.” She spoke with more bite than usual, her frustration with the older man still clinging to her. “But I already have plans tonight. None that involves you sadly.”

“What?” His casual drawl, partnered with his carefully crafted smirk did nothing to placate the hissing cat in his arms. “I can’t let the kitty have all the fun.”

“Please,” she scoffs; she slackens in his hold only fractionally. “As if I need a little birdy like you to give me permission to do anything.”

She slipped under his grasp and shot a leg up directly into his chin. He was taken completely by surprise and before he could react, one of his own smoke bombs was thrown at his feet. He was disoriented and by the time he switched his mask to infrared, she was already gone with the older man. His discarded bolas were the only thing that remained between the clearing haze of smoke.

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

He was pulling into the precinct parking lot for his morning shift with a poorly concealed bruise on his jaw and excuses already on his tongue for how it got there. His ego wasn’t fairing much better but that was concerns for his punching bag back at his home gym. Now, he was Dick Grayson, rookie cop at the GCPD. Now, his nighttime problems can’t reach him.

Or so he thought.  

He didn’t make it ten feet into the building before detective Montoya was slamming a file into his chest. He quickly glanced into the file, partially listening to her debriefing of the case, then immediately wished he hadn’t. In the file there were pictures taken from the most recent crime scene and sitting on top of the pile was a picture of a wall from the local aviary. The words ‘Sorry about last night, Songbird -KN’ were spray painted in steel blue. 

He felt his irritation flare as heat crept up his neck while a weight settled in the base of his spine. His warring feelings drowned out everything around him as he fixated on her very obvious declaration. Kitty Noire had been gaining infamy for never being caught by both the cops and the bats. Some in the precinct hadn’t believed she was actually real, just some urban legend the streets were stirring up to cause trouble. To let herself be caught like this, and to admit to contact with one of the bats— it didn’t take a genius to guess which side of the law she was calling out with ‘songbird’— was damning to say the least. 

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

It was another week before he was crashing into her midleap, throwing both of them down onto the nearest roof. They rolled a couple of times before he stopped them by pinning her down. Both of her arms were held above her head; his grips were tight around her wrists, avoiding her palms in fear of what her destructive powers could do. They were on top of the platform that had the doorway to the building’s stairs. Her distracting smirk curled up further as she was about to speak. Probably a suggestive comment but he wasn’t in the mood for their usual back and forth.

“Enough games, Noire.” He shifted his knees to brace on her shins, in case she had any ideas. “You need to tell me what’s going on. You’re bringing suspicious people into the city, dangerous people, and it’s my job to drive them out.”

“I’m not bringing anyone into the city,” she all but spat at him, the fury in her eyes burned bright at the accusation. “He tracked me here.”

“And he is…?” He was getting tired of being out of the loop, meta-abilities and magic are safety hazards if left unchecked in Gotham. He needs to put a lid on this before it spirals any further.

“He is my business and soon to be not a problem for the both of us.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You have no other choice, songbird. Above your paygrade, remember?” She mumbles something he doesn’t hear but from the shape of her lips it looked like Cataclysm. He didn’t have time to react before the roof was caving in under them. 

The freefall was disorienting but he could see from his periphery that Kit Noire was prepared. She had extended her staff out to fit between two walls and was hanging on, dangling over what was probably twenty flights of steps. Nightwing wasn’t so lucky and he had to angle his fall to crash into steps a couple flights below her.  

“It was nice crashing into you, songbird, but I have things to steal and people to rob.” Retracting her staff, she let herself freefall to the bottom floor of the building. Nightwing dove after her, shooting out his grappling line to one of the higher railings. She had reextended her staff, this time aiming for the height of the building, and was sliding down it like a pole. Banishing the improper thoughts of ‘Noire’ and ‘pole,’ he questioned how the staff was even able to extend that far. 

Right, magic.

Once they were more comfortable feet above the bottom floor, she paused in her descent and let him over take her. He wasn’t given a chance to question her actions as she immediately swiped at his grappling line, snapping it with her rather sharp claws. This time he was prepared enough to brace himself for the fall. He landed on his feet and crouched to roll out of the harsh impact.

“I thought it was cats that landed on their feet, not birds,” her jeer echoed against the walls. He looked back up to see her rapidly climbing her staff. She was gaining distance fast and he was running out of options just as quickly. He didn’t trust climbing her staff so he took to climbing the steps from the railings, jumping and swinging himself around to gain altitude.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.” She had made it to the door that led back to the roof and her staff retracted in an instant. He was still a couple flights away but he knew he wasn’t going to catch her. He resigned himself to knowing that tonight was another failed night. He had let her go again.

Some days, you're the best thing in my life

Sometimes when I look at you, I see my wife

Then you turn into somebody I don't know

And you push me away, push me away, yeah

Something Kit Noire had said was bothering him. She said she was a hero once. That she had given it up because of accusations that ruined her reputation. He had half a mind to not believe her. Write it off as one of her tricks to try and get under his skin. But the other half, the louder, more desperate half, implored him to keep searching. To uncover the cat themed enigma he had grown frustratingly fond of. 

He expanded his search, looking for anything or anyone cat themed with destructive powers. A deep web search had him discovering an old video. It was labeled ‘Reflectdoll’ and nothing else. It was a part of some long forgotten blog that had an entire catalogue of videos labeled in similarly vague ways. Desperate for answers, he rationalised that if anything else, he would cross this source and narrow the search further.

The video was quite the fanfare, looking something out of a movie with impressive CGI. He was about to label this video as another bust but something paused him in his tracks. Her. Kit Noire, or at least a younger version of her, lept into the action. Her and some ladybug patterned partner dealt with the fiasco and Nightwing watched, enthralled and hopeful, as the two worked to take down the foe. He was both impressed and even more confused because he recognised that infamous tower but had no memories of there ever being attacks of that caliber in the city of love. He had done several missions there over the years, and there was never any call for help or an attack to get his or the League’s attention.   

Just what was going on? 

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

He had her pinned again, one of his hands holding both of hers above her head, the other was fisting her braid in a tight pin. They were staring at each other, neither wanting to tip the scales in their own favor. The air was charged and each breath felt like one step closer to a dangerous precipice. Nightwing was struggling with what to do. He had a responsibility to this city. This was his home. And he was letting some magical ex-hero trample all over it because he let his infatuation get to his head. He was too involved but he didn’t care. She was his case to solve. 

“Something you would like to share, songbird?” Her smirk was enticing and infuriating. He couldn’t look away. 

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“What? Is keeping me here not entertaining enough for you?”

“I’m not keeping you here for entertainment.”

“That could be rearranged.” She had surged up to kiss him, her lips soft and inviting. He would be a fool to pass up the opportunity.

Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

You're looking at me like you don't know who I am

Blood on my shirt, heart in my hand

Still beating

She was hurt. The old man found her again and left her with a painful reminder of who she was up against. Nightwing wished he could track him down and beat him to bloody pulp but right now he was more concerned with patching her up. She was lucky he found her when he did. The gash on her side would be easy to stitch but he first needed to get her to somewhere safe. His options were limited. No clinic would take them in, she was still a notorious criminal after all. Batman would have his head if he brought her to any of their safe houses. The cave was completely out of the question. 

But she was still losing blood. 

“Why the long face, songbird?” Her voice which was usually jovial was tinted with strain. 

“Oh, you know, just getting blood on my suit while a cat bleeds out in my lap.” He tried to lighten the mood and her chuckles were relieving. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just need to find somewhere to put you.”

“Oh, is the birdy worried about his kitty cat?” She was teasing him, he knew, so he decided playing along would do more for his own peace of mind than trying to refute.

“And if he is?” He mirrored her own joking tone but he couldn’t help the taxes of sincerity that slipped in. She caught on if the slight widening of her eyes were an indicator.

“Oh.” The stunned look she had on her face would be adorable if it weren’t for their situation. “I have a place, not far from here you can drop me off there.”

“Lead the way,” he said, picking her up bridal style. If he pulled her closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck then no one had to know.  

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Nightwing never noticed this before but Kit Noire was small. Her waist fit in the palms of his hands so well and her legs were slender and lean as they tied themselves around his hips. He looked like he could overwhelm her but he knew better. He knew how strong and dangerous she was but the mental image of just holding her down as she submits beneath him spurred him on further. Her lips were cherry sweet and intoxicating. And her weight on his thighs left him reeling, silently begging for more.

“Someone’s eager,” she had pulled away from his mouth to speak but rather than entertain any conversation he just moved to suck bruises into her jaw. The hand she had in his hair tightened and pulled at the short strands. Her breathing became laboured as she pants into the night sky. He wanted to coax out more reactions from her, wanted to see if she can really mewl like a cat. 

A wayward hand had her grinding down harder in his lap. They were in their own bubble on this abandoned rooftop; it sat between two skyscrapers, both casting the roof in an almost impenetrable shadow, one would really have to be looking to see them. The sound of traffic below was nothing more than white noise, a background soundtrack for their current encounter. Using her grip in his hair, Noire dragged him up from her jaw and crashed their lips together again. Her kittenish licks asked for entrance and he eagerly granted it, savouring the taste of her as she mapped out his mouth with her tongue. 

He gripped her tighter, not wanting to let go, blind in the pleasure of her lips and tongue and teeth.

Teeth

Teeth

Teeth

Never, never, never ever let go

[sukiglycerin]

the scrapbook documenting denki kaminari and his experiences with love, subtlety, and volumes of manga || denki kaminari.

* pairing: denki kaminari x oblivious!reader (gender neutral!)

* genre: fluff, normal conflict(??) but not much, uni!au, friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots to lovers

* words: 4.5k

* warnings: brief scenario of intoxication, mentions of maidgirls (one of them has a gun because mey-rin from kuroshitsuji), reader has past bad experiences with relationships, bakusquad is supportive af, reader is oblivious (duh), i love sero, side kiribaku

* original request: Can you do a fluff Denki crushing on the reader but the reader is really oblivious to him just badly flirting and bakusquad gets annoyed and helps them get together 😳

* a/n: this turned out much longer than expected, but i’m satisfied with the turn-out! i call this a “scrapbook” because it’s like a collection of short moments. i’m experimenting with this writing style, so i hope you enjoy it! i started writing reader by basing them off of this one pretty girl i know (and very much like), but then reader started morphing into me projecting myself and oh boy. yeah. fun fact: i actually own the kuroshitsuji manga volume with the maidgirl on the cover (volume 22).

“please don’t like me,” is the first thing you say to denki kaminari. you don’t know who he is, though, when you say these words. all you know is that he’s presumably a college student like you and that he’s quite extroverted. behind him stand three of his friends giggling to themselves. it’s apparent they’re playing a practical joke. 

the first thing the blond boy said to you was, “hey, you’re cute, i like you.” that was thirty seconds ago, after you’d put your manga down when you noticed his friends pushing him towards you.

he cracks a grin upon your response. “alright.” he puts his hands up in mock surrender. “the point still stands - you’re cute.” his eyes fall to the manga you set down. “hey- is that detective conan?”

it’s an old, worn copy of detective conan’s first volume.

“oh, yeah,” you reply.

“can i see it?” he asks. you nod.

he picks up the book, surprisingly gentle with its fading corners and creased spine. 

"i used to read the series all the time," he says quietly, reliving a memory in his eyes. "i always tried to solve the crime before conan." 

you're not sure what to answer, but he introduces himself before you can.

"i'm kaminari, by the way." he slips a piece of paper in your manga, setting the book down on your table. "text me."

“please don’t fall in love with me,” is the first thing you whisper to denki kaminari, hushed under the sheets in mina’s room. you're surprised he can hear you over the quiet murmurings of a ghibli movie playing on the tv; you're surprised he's awake.

“okay,” and it’s the first promise he’s ever broken, voice all low and hoarse from the after-effects of prolonged silence. 

(maybe he should've feigned sleep, he later thinks, as his heart stupidly falls and crashes clumsily into love. maybe he shouldn't have said anything at all.)

he turns onto his back, staring at the ceiling. it's dotted with glow-in-the-dark stars mina and sero had impulsively hung up one friday evening instead of studying. there's a couple moons, too, which bakugou had frowned upon, stating, "where are we, jupiter? there's only one moon orbiting earth." kirishima laughed. 

from the sound of shuffling sheets and a quick glance next to him, denki can tell you're now laying on your back, too. he almost makes a comment about you copying him. he stares at the faux stars overhead, not tired enough to close his eyes and allow sleep it's victory for the night. there's not much to do while awake at the moment other than strain his ear to decipher to the tv's audio. his throat feels dry, but he's not motivated enough to sit up to grab a water bottle. anyway, he supposes you and he are staring at the same sky, in a cheesy way. he remembers reading something like that in a book.

he kills the time and his aching mind by finding stupid constellations in the stick-on stars. there's a slightly distorted dipper of some sort, and a heart. there's a lot of squares. there's a shape he passes off as orion, but he knows anyone a tad more into astronomy than him would gasp at the abstract shape and completely dismiss its resemblance to orion. 

eventually, your breathing slows to a rhythmic pace beside him. the logical part of his mind tells him to sleep now that you, too, are sleeping. he doesn't know why he waited for you to be asleep first. one pentagon constellation later, kaminari allows sleep's gaze to wash over and envelope him. the ghibli movie is still playing.

it seems that his friends have beat him, somehow, to the conclusion that denki kaminari has a bit of a crush on you. it's childish, really. he shouldn't like you, recalling your first words to him. they struck you apart from other people he'd met. back then, though, he never seriously thought about you like that. sure, you were conventionally attractive (enough for him to approach you to give you his number), but it was all in good fun. that's what you were, too, for the longest time: good fun and a friend.

until one day, glances lingered for too long while you weren't looking. one day, kaminari's jokes became more and more aimed for you, to hear your laughter in his ears. one day, kaminari realizes he has your usual coffee and bubble tea order memorized, when he can barely remember his own.

he pretends all of it is completely normal, but mina assures him differently. as does bakugou, which is strange, because he's usually not wrapped up in other people's affairs (when voicing this to the blond, he responded, "it's hard not to notice because you're too damn obvious"). it's kind of hard to ignore when bakugou calls it obvious (he's literally had kirishima pining over him since day one with no notice).

kaminari really does try to ignore the bubbling feeling rising at the bottom of his heart. he really does, but you keep on shaking and shaking his poor heart until it's all fizzy like a bottle of soda. he's weak, okay? one day, he’ll explode.

his friends are all urging him to confess to you already, but he cannot work up the nerve to do so. instead, kaminari drops you obvious hints that he likes you. he doesn't know whether you're completely oblivious to them or if you're deliberately ignoring them.

he's been so painfully obvious, he swears.

he's practically able to write a list of hints he's dropped. he's fairly confident he could publish it as an advice book with the title "how to tell your crush you like them without saying 'i like you.'" by this point, he's the king of obvious subtlety. 

the list would go something like this, in no particular order:

pick-up lines

"did it hurt, when you fell-" you were silent, "-from the vending machine? because you're a snack." 

silence. absolute radio silence. he was extremely tempted to run away from the sheer awkwardness between the two of you. as he turned to leave and freak out in private, he heard you mumble a belated "thanks," which made everything worth it.

he still left to freak out, though (and plan his next pick-up line to tell you).

manga references

"hey, y/n," kaminari had said one day, after a particular burst of confidence. you hadn't looked up from your book.

"if i were shinichi from detective conan, you'd be ran," he'd said, referencing the main love interests from the manga. "or maybe vice versa. you are the smart one in this relationship..."

you didn't bat an eye. "they never get together, though? shinichi and ran."

"they- they don't?!" he'd sputtered indignantly. he definitely needed to read up his detective conan lore. "but they both like each other?"

"true," you'd replied in typical you fashion, neither letting on whether you did like him or not. well, hey, kaminari had thought. you didn't deny it. progress.

hand size comparison (which was, in reality, just an excuse to kind of hold your hand)

kaminari had smoothly been planning this for weeks (which, according to sero, was a little sad). he'd bring up the topic of hands one day in your daily conversations, then nonchalantly slip a "oh, y/n, let's do a hand size comparison!" he high-fived himself mentally upon the formulation of this genius plan - you'd definitely fall for him (or at least, realize his feelings for you - this state of teetering between do they like me or do they not like me frustrated him for months on end). the perfect opportunity presented itself one day as the two of you lounged in mina’s room (which, at this point, had become you and your friends’ hangout spot) studying. 

“wow, you type fast,” kaminari remarked as he pretended to innocently look up from the “work” (changing his laptop wallpaper for the tenth time that day) he was doing. you were focused on your work, sitting on mina’s bed with your laptop propped up by a pillow on your lap. you’d barely registered his words, judging by the way your eyebrows scrunched and how you looked up at him after a slow beat. 

“oh, uh, thanks,” you replied. “i’m just copying some text down. i don’t usually type this fas…” you trailed off, eyes widening as you watched kaminari scooching next to you on the bed. he put his hand next to yours, whose fingers still ghosted the keys of your keyboard.

“look,” he said softly, bringing your hands up to eye level. “hand size comparison.” it was breathed out belatedly, but your crystalline eyes didn’t leave his. he started to curve his fingers in between yours, holding your hand so tenderly. he really, really didn’t want to let go. “we fit.” it was a whisper he wasn’t sure you could hear - did he want you to hear it? “like… a puzzle,” he added awkwardly.

you nodded, dazed, slowly bending your fingers over his. he rocked your clasped hands side to side, a fond feeling creeping through his limbs. it was warm and tingly - and maybe it was contagious. could you feel it too, buzzing past his fingertips to you?

precisely three minutes passed before kaminari’s arm started to ache. he didn’t catch your disappointed expression when he let go of your hand, but he did catch the smile that emerged when he held your hand as the sides of your fingers nudged the bed. you didn’t get much work done after that, sitting in silence with him. 

brushing your hand in a popcorn bucket

movie nights on fridays were commonplace at mina’s. the plan, this time, was created by kirishima, who said that it was manly with just the right amount of romantic. kaminari hoped so. the movie settled on was some romance flick, as decided by mina, kirishima, and sero’s pleading with a very begrudging bakugou.

he can’t remember much of the movie. what he can remember, however, is the very close presence of you next to him as the two of you shared a popcorn bucket (courtesy of sero’s very romantic ideas). your hands brushed a (purposeful, on kaminari’s end) dozen times throughout the film. the last couple were accidents. on the first time, though, kaminari watched with satisfaction from his peripheral view as you looked from him to the popcorn that obscured the place where your hands made contact. he was very satisfied by the time the movie ended. 

truth or drink (which just ended up with you and he both getting very, very drunk)

you didn’t particularly enjoy the taste of sake, but that night was an exception. according to your drunken explanation, you had a very rough day. your exam, first and foremost, did not go particularly well (“who cares about freud!?” you blurted. “i dooooon’t!”). kaminari didn’t have the heart to ask who this freud was. then, one of your close friends confessed to you (which almost made kaminari’s heart stop, when you first recounted it to him), and you had to turn them down. you adamantly refused any sort of relationship, you told kaminari. (“nuh uh,” you shook your head. “they’re not good.”) it was surprising to him that you opened up that night. your first couple drinks left you quieter than usual - which was scary, because kaminari was practically having a conversation with himself then. a couple more drinks loosened your tongue, though. 

“there’s someone i like.” you jabbed a finger at him. “but i’m not supposed to saaaay… and it’s scaaary,” you slurred.

“ohh?” kaminari asked, more focused on the burn in the back of his throat. “whooo is it?”

you looked at your arm outstretched to him, and the pieces fell into place slower than they should’ve. he first looked around, just in case he was covering the person you were really pointing to (of course, you and him were the only ones there).

“this guy?" he asked, flabbergasted and pointing to himself. "him?!"

you nodded solemnly. "but i don't like dating," you said stubbornly. "love is dead!" you announced, flopping on the carpet. 

kaminari watched the heaving of your breaths as you lay on the ground, and strained his ears to hear your soft, soberish murmuring.

"i really like you, denki kaminari."

a dopish grin formed itself on his face. "i really like you too, y/n." 

kaminari then promptly blacked out, but not before hearing you running to the bathroom to throw up.

as of now, he can’t recall anything he or you said that night. on the contrary, he can vividly remember the ringing in his head and the sickly feeling that overtook him the next morning.

"you two are so frustrating!" mina declares over her sweetened iced tea. she points at kaminari, then to you standing with sero in the distance. you’re animatedly talking about some painting (“it’s renoir!” you mooned when you first saw it) while he and the rest of the group sit on a nearby bench. 

kaminari puts his hands up. “don’t look at me - i tried my best!”

“yeah, sure,” mina dismisses. “and i’m the queen of england.”

“i mean, they already told me not to like them!” kaminari counters. “what am i supposed to do about that?”

“shoot your shot!” mina urges. “c’mon, what’s the worst that could happen? …wait, don’t answer that.”

“yeah, kaminari, bro,” kirishima puts his elbow on kaminari’s shoulder. “flirt a little bit more.”

“that’s all you two seem to do,” bakugou grumbles from the other side of kirishima.

“you just need a little push,” mina says. kaminari isn’t sure he likes mina’s definition of push.

“i think i’m g-”

“hey, sero, come here!” mina calls to sero in the distance, earning her a couple dirty glances from others in the gallery. “kaminari wants to look at the painting with y/n.”

oh, god, kaminari groans internally. sero, already walking toward the bench, flashes a knowing grin toward him. 

“go get ‘em, champ.” sero pats kaminari on the back as the blond stands up, emitting a low, audible groan. 

the four on the bench watch as your eyes light up at the approaching kaminari, who’s sheepishly scratching his neck. he says something - then you start again, rambling something about “impressionism” then “salon.” mina watches with clasped, anticipating hands; kirishima’s hand accidentally brushes bakugou’s, who’s holding a juice box and watching the two of you; sero simply smiles with knowledge that the others are unaware of.

“well, what do you think?” you finally ask kaminari, gesturing to the painting. 

“uhh,” kaminari says. he was too busy staring at your face - the twinkle in your eyes, the curve of your lips - to pay attention to any of what you’d said. something about impressing and fleeting moments. he looks at the person depicted in the composition, then back to you. he remembers kirishima’s words - flirt a little bit more. it couldn’t hurt, could it?

“i think it’s pretty,” he leans into you, murmuring so he can be sure no one but you and he hears his words, “but it’s definitely not as pretty as you.”

you look down at yourself; then, for whatever reason, to sero. kaminari looks at sero, too, who’s wearing this stupid smile that sets unease in kaminari’s chest. he gives you two big thumbs-up. he’s so confused by sero’s behavior that he barely registers the light sensation of something on his cheek - a kiss. he looks at you, who’s looking away, then to the bench, where his friends are cheering despite the disapproving looks from those around them. he touches his cheek out of disbelief. light swells in his chest - it’s warm, so warm - but your aloof voice brings him back to reality (which really, isn’t much different from a dream).

“kaminari, you’re very red right now.”

“the two of you,” mina exclaims with the two of her hands clasped together in excitement over skype, “should go to a manga cafe!”

kaminari blinks. “as a date?”

“i wasn’t thinking about it like that.” mina nudges him, a sly smile creeping across her lips. “but hey, that works too. i mean, they did kiss y-”

kaminari cuts the pink-haired girl off before she can finish. “is that something… they’d want to do?”

“mmm…. probably,” mina says. “they were reading manga when you first met them right?”

he can vividly remember the somewhat tattered volume of conan, the detective turned little boy who must solve crime while hiding his own identity. really, the wear was only on the soft cover, nudged and peeling on the corners with faded text splayed on the spine. the pages were in crisp condition, he’d noted one day as he (totally, completely discreetly) watched you read the copy again. the bookshelf in your dorm and the stack of books on your desk is littered with different mangas, ranging from the old classics (astroboy) to some newer works (your lie in april). he only remembers this fact because he really, really wants to borrow a copy of black butler (yes, it’s the one with the maid on it. she looks really hot with a gun, okay?). all your manga are well-taken care of, cared for diligently as if each book has a piece of your heart in it. besides, you rarely lend out any (sero once asked to borrow jujutsu kaisen and you very, very reluctantly handed it to him), so he doubts you’d trust him with it.

“hang on, lemme ask sero if they’d be interested in a manga cafe,” mina says, pulling out her phone. “they’ve been close lately,” she mumbles as she types out a quick text to him, a quiet ping letting kaminari know that she’s sent it.

after a pause, mina excitedly reads sero’s reply: “yeah, probably.”

well, that was a definitive answer. 

“there’s one nearby here,” mina offers. “hagakure told me good things about it, and she has a knack for finding the best spots in town. i’ll send you the address.”

“you think they’d like it?” kaminari says in an atypical bout of self-consciousness.

“of course,” mina replies instantly. “don’t you see how they look at you?”

usagi manga kissa makes kaminari cringe. it’s not the bunny-themed logo on the top of the building, nor is it the wide assortment of manga lining the walls, nor is it the cozy, soft seats nuzzled in the nooks and crannies of the café. it’s not even the life-sized cardboard cut-outs of various anime maid girls (he actually particularly really likes that detail). it’s the name itself. usagi is fine - kaminari likes bunnies as much as the next guy. manga is fine, too - he wouldn’t be here if not for the manga. the kissa makes him cringe for the most immature of reasons, like a five year old just learning basic english vocabulary. kissa innocently shortens the word kissaten, for cafeteria, but suspiciously sounds like the english word kiss. he does not want to think about kissing as he walks into the café with you, and especially not when the lady at the counter asks if you want a couples’ discount (you say yes, solely because it’s cheaper). 

he does not want to think about kissing as he walks next to you, browsing the manga selection and passing the shoujo section that boasts illustrations of happy couples and romantic imagery. he doesn’t want to think about kissing as the two of you walk to a “couple’s” room, you rambling about the plot of the manga you chose and him with some shounen volleyball manga in his hand. kissing is the worst thing to think about as your knee touches his in the cramped apparent two-person room. he is not thinking about kissing at all when you offer him your water bottle, half full, and he’s definitely not thinking about indirect kissing or anything when he takes a sip. that would be crazy. 

fortunate for him, his manga is full of not-kissing, so he’s able to somewhat enjoy it without his mind bombarding him with the fact that your face is less than a metre away. as he finishes up the volume, he realizes how much of a middle school student he feels like. 

“y/n,” he looks up to you and says. you’re watching an old episode of neon genesis evangelion on the computer provided in the room, the manga you were reading sitting on the table beside the keyboard. 

“yeah?” you respond and pause the anime. out of his peripherals, he can see you turn to look at him. he stares at the wall ahead of him, lacking the confidence to face you head-on. 

“remember when we first met?” he reminisces. 

“the cafe?” you say. “yeah.”

“if… i can ask,” he musters, “why did you say what you did then?”

you pause, taken aback. “i… i don’t know.”

“because,” kaminari starts, and you flinch, “i like you. a-and i know you said not to-”

a ghost has crossed your face. your mouth is agape, as if you suspected his feelings but never thought he’d verbalize them. he wonders what the kiss was about. 

“i’m,” you gulp, breath stuttering, “i’m sorry.”

kaminari lied. five days later of zero contact with you, he realizes he’s in deep. he doesn’t like you - he’s in love with you. they say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and here he is, sifting through memories he had with you like they’re books. he should probably be studying instead of lying spread eagle on his bed, thinking of you. he can recall a promise made one night and the moment it was broken; he can remember the plastic stars he studied that night, falsely shining and lighting hope within him. he can remember dozens of constellations, half of which were geometric shapes, that he fell asleep to with you at his side. his heart aches, alighting a dull burn within him like a protostar barely able to burn hydrogen. 

there’s a polite knock at his door, so he assumes it to be either kirishima or sero. mina always enters unannounced and bakugou is far too brash to knock softly. slowly - almost reluctantly - he sits up in bed, standing up and making his way to the door. he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror, telling him that his hair is an absolute mess and in no way presentable. he figures that either kirishima or sero will comment about it, but he never needed to impress them in the first place. turning the knob and opening the door, he’s expecting either of his friends, maybe here to nag him or ask him to come and study or say “hey, why haven’t you spammed the group chat with memes in a while? i missed them.”

he definitely isn’t expecting you, face pulled into a worried expression and lips held in a thin, anticipating line before you meet his eyes. you’re pouring out a waterfall of apologies at a thousand words per second as soon as he opens the door, letting yourself in and hardly taking notice of his bird’s nest hair. he guides you to the couch, attempting to interject and ask you to slow down, but he finds that it sounds rude at any given moment. you’re sitting on the couch, lamentations and explanations spilling from your lips as you grip the plush material of the cushion you sit on, when you finally pause to take a breath. kaminari uses this opportunity to interrupt you.

“woah, woah, woah.” he hesitantly puts a hand on your shoulder. “can you back up?”

“oh, yeah,” you start to move back in your seat and kaminari stifles a laugh.

“no, can you start your story from the beginning?” he asks. “take your time, i’m not going anywhere.”

“i’m really, really sorry about what happened the other day,” you apologize, then look at him finally and ogle his hair. “i got… scared,” you admit earnestly. before he can make any question of it, you continue, “i like you too, see. and i never really, seriously acted on it - i didn’t want to. so when you did the inevitable and confessed… it scared me. the truth is… i’m not the best at romance or relationships. i don’t want to put anyone through that, again.” your voice wavers but finishes strong as you look kaminari in the eyes.

“that?” he asks. he’s afraid he’s crossed a line, but you reply all the same.

“i was in a relationship, once. i wasn’t… i wasn’t good enough. i didn’t do the things that people in a relationship are supposed to do, i guess.” you fiddle with the fabric of the couch, looking down at your fingers. your voice gives away the vulnerability of the topic, wrapped in a stiff disconnection; you’ve distanced yourself from it, probably once too familiar with the feelings you speak of.

“it’s okay,” kaminari says, almost too quickly. he slows himself down. “that’s… completely fine,” he admits truthfully. “we can go slow. i… i can wait.”

“can you?” you look up at him, hope shining your eyes. it dims quickly before you say, “you don’t have to. i don’t want to limit you…”

“the only person i want is you,” he reassures you, hesitantly taking your hand in his. “you’re not…” he struggles for words, “...limiting me if i don’t have eyes for anyone else.”

“are you sure?” it’s an almost inaudible whisper, clutching your hopes in three words that are held together by thin threads. 

“i’ve never been more sure,” kaminari replies confidently, giving your hand an encouraging squeeze.

“okay,” you breathe out, relief tingeing your speech. “i… want to be with you.”

it takes everything in kaminari not to kiss you right there. 

“oh, by the way-” you say, standing up from the couch and leaving kaminari to sit alone, “did you still want to borrow that copy of black butler?”

“the one with the maid who has a gun?” kaminari asks, eyes wide. how did you know about that?

“yeah. you kept staring at it before, so i assumed…”

“yeah. yeah, no, yeah, that’d be really great. amazing, actually. wonderful. stupendous-” kaminari shuts himself up before he can ramble on longer. 

“okay, give me a second,” you respond, smiling, and exit to the hallway to retrieve the manga. 

you return with the volume in hand, placing it in kaminari’s hands. 

“thanks,” he says as he glides his thumb over the glossy cover and mint condition. it’s heavier than kaminari thought, and it feels like the weight of a heart. he’ll be sure to take extra care of it, holding it with ginger fingers and a sweet, sweet feeling in his chest.