#tatters the bat

[tatters-the-bat]

First 'sona art of the year! Hello 2024! :3

(OC: Tatters (She/They))

[holidaybrews]

obsessed with these two frames

[pybun]

what animals would AJ and tatters be if they were furries?

[nightly-ruse]

I like these two they are very cool

These are @caninepaw ‘s characters (goobiestar) and I love them both. Whirlpool (He/It/Shine) is on the left and Caninepaw (They/it/howl) on the right. I’m liking just messing around with my art especially with the pupils and lighting. While we haven’t seen too much about them both I adore them with all my heart<3333

(Whirlpool is on the left and is a short black, brown, and white colors cat with teeth that stick up and wing like ears. It has a yellow pupil and red scalars, a scar across shine’s right tooth splitting it in half and eyebrow that is chipped. His paws are white with brown and tan toes, red stained claws, and a white stripe going down his forehead to shine’s chest. A mysterious expression is on its face, like he’s processing what shine’s done as orange stars circle it’s head. Shaded in deep purples with washy yellow lighting and the signature “Nightly Ruse” on the bottom in yellow.)

(Caninepaw is looking over their shoulder with its eyes looking directly at the camera in a eerie glow. Howl’s pelt is entirely white with red sclera, orange pupils, and white in the center of their eyes. It’s fur is very messy, usually curling up. Their tail goes over howl’s back and falls down, limp almost, a curling tuft of hair their head and rather round large ears. Howl’s eyes are incredibly large helping to push the odd feel of the cat, and it’s long fangs that stick out of their mouth adds to this effect. A pale pink pretty much white shine glows on its fur and makes howl’s white pupils blaze like the full moon. In the bottom corner is the signature “Nightly Ruse” in red. End ID)

[bloo-the-dragon]

8 for the ask game!

8. what's the most fun and the least fun parts about your process

The most fun is definitely the initial sketching phase and the (post flats) rendering! The sketch part is when i am able to get the idea onto paper (so to speak) and i can roughly sketch out the poses/expressions i'm going for freely and without worrying about making it look good yet

And the rendering part where i add the shading, lighting, extra details and effects etc and watching it all come together is just a really fun part of the process! Like hehehe yeessss it's all coming together *rubs my lil bean hands together*

The least fun for me is the lining and flats stages :'D the lining because thats the point when you gotta make it look pretty and flats mainly because it can be time consuming and a lil boring gfjgh

[ciaoteamo]

Milk and Water (Pt. I)

pairings: doppelgänger!Milkman x fem!Reader

summary: One of the newest residents’ very first doppelgänger comes in, trying to sway you into to letting them in. Will you..?

pt.II

art credit (twt: loafuu_chii)

warning: 18+ content

“…what’s the story behind your um… ears(?)” You ask the doppelgänger before you. It was a clone of one of your favorite neighbors actually, her name was Maria.

A woman around your age that you became really close friends with over the few months of you working here.

“@&! !$?&” The doppelgänger let out a series of sounds.

“right, so give me one second” You press the bright red button next to the window and the steel blinds shut with a blaring alarm sound.

You call D.D.D. and they clean up their mess per usual. You once again, you were just thankful you didn’t have to work on that side of the glass.

You check your wrist watch, and happily sigh at the fact that you only had one more hour left to work.

“ mmm, someone’s eager to go home i see” A familiar voice speaks up.

“oh, Mr. Francis” You give the man a polite grin. He gave you a sly one in return. You knew it wasn’t him off the bat. Francis was usually shy towards you, making you want to tease him into blushing whenever you saw him.

Well, you suppose you could kill two birds with one stone. Flirt with the doppelgänger of your crush, and have some entertainment.

“how are you pretty girl” He asks, sliding an I.D. and sheet through the slot.

You examine the documents and identification and beam a smile up at him.

“the date on the I.D. is a little expired hun” You declare. He lets out a small chuckle and leans a little toward the glass.

“mmm, been busy with the milk business, love. must’ve slipped my mind to renew it” He replied. His eyes were low but he still held his sly grin. You leaned back in your chair, with a bored look on your face.

“you’re not like my Francis” You huff and tilt your head with a disappointed look.

His grin faltered and he stepped closer. His breathing had quickened a bit and he took off his hat. “who knows, i could be better” He suggests.

Now that his confidence had depleted a little, you were growing bored of him. You checked the time again and you had 45 minutes left.

“well i’ve gotta get you moving now. it was nice to see such a handsome face though, so thank you” You beam and reach for the button

“you don’t want to do this, trust me” He states with a warning tone. This wasn’t unusual, getting threats after realizing they’re doppelgängers, but being that this one was this aware… they must be evolving.

“and why would i trust you?” You ask out of curiosity.

“i mean look at me” He smirks, one arm leaned against the top of the window. His irises turned from their chocolate brown and into an empty pure white.

“hm” You nod and press the button.

“(Y/N)!” He roared with what you assume was his fist banging the glass.

You call D.D.D. and wait for them to clean their mess, again.

The steel blind begins to lift and you sit back in your seat, checking your watch again but noticed the new pink lighting that shone in.

You furrow your eyebrows and look up in horror as you see blood streaks on the window in thick, and dripping amounts. You jump out of your chair and put your back against the wall.

About 5 D.D.D. workers were piled up, bloody and battered in the corner of the room, and there the doppelgänger was.

Staring at you.

His eyes were low, his shirt was torn, revealing his pecs and the start of his abdomen. He was panting with his (surprisingly still) neat hair and an almost psychotic expression.

“oh no…” He starts with a laugh, still breathing heavily.

“what did you do..?” You cover your mouth with your hand.

“it’s what you did. you got me all riled up.”

He looks down for a brief moment and you swear you hear a zip. He holds his tie and the end of his tattered shirt in his mouth and looks up at you with knitted eyebrows.

His breath fogging up the window as he asks you. Looking like a poor starving puppy. “will you let me in now…? I need your help…” He slightly groaned.

“…what. the. fuck.”

[shewhowillrise]

Taking down a human organization was horrifyingly hard for the Justice League, but they were able to shut the system down. Deep inside the blinding white abyss, were cells, holding the ecto entities that the King of the Dead had begged their help to save.

Every cells held a being, that cowered away from the opening doors, flinched at gentle hands, whimpered at every movement. Slowly but surely they emptied the building, freeing those that were tortured.

At the end of the hallway of the wing Batman and Nightwing were assigned, had a heavy metal door. It had dents, both inward and outward, specks of blood all over it, as if Stephen King made his own interpretation of a a Pollock.

It was the only door that ruined the white aesthetic.

Batman slowly opened the door, Nightwing next to him, a hand grasped around one of his eskrima.

White light painted across the floor of the dark room as the door opened, illuminating the figure huddled in the corner, who looked like a boy. A boy with black hair that had a shock of white, in a tattered formal suit covered in dirt and blood.

The only sound was the clang of the stick falling out of Nightwing’s slack grasp, startling the being in the corner.

His eyes, that were more green than they should have been, that they haven’t seen in years, opened to stare at them.

“Little Wing?” Dick’s voice was barely a decibel above a breath.

“Jason,” Bruce’s voice was more firm than his eldest son’s, but if you knew the man well enough, you would be able to hear the waver in it.

“B-” the being started, before grasping for breath, “Bruce,” his voice was raw, like it wasn’t used to speaking. Tears followed the horrid voice, coming down like rivers.

Bruce rushed forward, dropping to his knees as he gathered his son in his arms. Jason’s head still fit perfectly under his chin, his hair still as soft as it was when he buried him, his hands clutching the bat suit as tightly as he did on Cathrine’s birthday.

Bruce’s senses was aware of Dick moving next to them, his arms joining in the reunion, but Bruce himself didn’t notice, to busy wrapped up around the cursed miracle in his arms.

His boy was alive.

[rahhhbananas]

✭ ✭ ✭ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐎 𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐄 - ft. hobie brown ✭ ✭ ✭

summary. Just bros being bros

warning(s). He/Him pronouns, mentions of sex, very short, foul language

a/n. sphenopalatine ganglioneuralgia (My obsession with Hobie is beyond unhealthy)

“Bro…that was amazing..”

Hobie paused, setting aside his half-eaten ice cream and gazing down at the slightly shorter male before him. "I've just fucked you, and now you want to call me your 'bruv'?" Hobie's expression turned somewhat sour. Y/n met his gaze, unyielding. "Yeah, should I start calling you sweet, cheesy couple names instead?”

A mischievous grin spread across Y/n's face as he straddled his boyfriend, batting his eyelashes in an "innocent" manner while puckering his lips. "Oh, Hobie boo boo bear, that was the most splendid lovemaking experience of my life!" Y/n teased playfully. Hobie responded with an unamused stare. "I'm not doin this today." The Brit pushed Y/n off, letting him tumble wherever he may.

"I've learned to embrace eccentricity at that society, but here?" Hobie pointed a finger, "you are in a league of your own." Y/n looked up, momentarily squirming before rolling under the bed and meeting Hobie's simultaneously disappointed and amused expression. "In all my years of existence, I've never encountered someone as delightfully peculiar as you." Hobie couldn't help but smile as he slipped on his shoes, reaching for his tattered clothes that lay discarded from the previous night.

Y/n's smile widened. "Ooo~ I must be quite special! But, where you off to?" Y/n playfully kicked his feet against the floor. Hobie stood up, retrieving his mask. "I have a meeting." Y/n feigned shock. "Hobart... are you actually listening to Miguel?" Hobie moved toward the window, Y/n trailing behind. Hobie turned around, locking eyes with Y/n. "Of course not. I'm going to meet Pav. He's got something to show me." Hobie approached the window, Y/n joining him. Just before he leaped into the bustling city streets, Hobie looked back at Y/n. "See you later, dear. If I haven't returned by midnight, call Pav. I've probably dozed off at his place." With that, Hobie gave a final kiss to his boyfriend before leaping himself into the lively city, swinging through dark alleys until a sudden pink glow materialized and dissipated as quickly as it had appeared. Y/n stood there, his expression distant and contemplative.

“My boyfriends name is Hobart.”

[monster-slxt]

You are an exorcist that specializes in exorcising demons.

Currently, you are investigating a small town that's had an unusual amount demonic activity.

You questioned the towns people, however, most seem unwilling to even mention the stranger going ons in their town and simply avoid your questions before quickly walking away.

Lucky for you though, you manage to overhear a few of the towns folk gossiping with each other.

Apparently, for the last few months, a terrifying creature has been roaming the streets seemingly search for something. What it is looking for no one wants to know...

Even more terrifying was that anyone foolish enough to still be out at night would go missing. Only to be found the next morning unconscious with their clothes in tatters.

You then visit the local church to see if the priest if he knows anything.

The priest is surprisingly welcoming of you. Quickly leading you inside and even offering some refreshments.

You explain why your here and ask if priest may know of anything. But the priest sadly shakes his head.

With a sigh, you get up to leave, but are quickly stopped by the priest. He says that it is too dangerous to go out this late and that you should stay in the church with him at least until sunrise.

Deciding it's probably a good idea, you agree.

That night as you sleep in the bed given to you, the priest silently creeps into the room. He stares down with glowing red eyes at your sleeping form.

He so desperately wanted to crawl on top of you and rip that teasingly thin layer of clothing from your oh so tempting body and fuck you until your moans like a bitch in heat.

But ah, he can't. Not yet at least. It simply wasn't the right moment.

It ironic really, before he would have condemn such lecherous thoughts. Back then he was a devout servant of God. A truly holy man.

But that was before he got possessed by the demon. Before his mind and soul were beyond redemption.

Now he was nothing more than a monster that indulges into his own sin.

For the past few months his demon had been searching for a mate, but has had no luck.

None of the humans he found were right. Sure they were decent fucks, but they broke way too easily and left him unsatisfied.

Then you appeared.

The moment he saw you, he knew you were perfect. A single whiff of your scent was enough to have the demon in him purring.

Oh he couldn't wait to see you round with his offspring! All in good time, love~

Kissing you on the mouth anon this is so good-

Of course, in the morning the priest would offer up the bed for as long as I needed to rid the town of its demonic influence. And of course I'd suspect nothing from a holy man. The next few days would go on much the same, getting nowhere with the locals during the day and sleeping in the church at night. The priest taking every opportunity to leer at me while I sleep, weakening my defense slowly with his unholy magic. At least The townsfolk seemed to ease up a bit with the lack of recent attacks.

It was only when I'd finally gotten frustrated with getting nowhere and decided to go out at night myself that I'd catch a glimpse of anything demonic. A huge hulking beast unlike anything I'd seen in all my years as an exorcist with a goats head and huge bat wings. The most I'd ever dealt with was a tiny imp. So I panicked.

All I could think to do in the moment was run for the church, the beast lazily keeping pace. It was clear as it followed me onto the holy ground that there was nothing I could possibly do. The sudden hint of arousal mixed into the fear the beast could smell of me finally became too much to bear- lunging forwards and easily catching me in its claws.

"I've waited so long for this" a rumbling deep yet somehow familiar voice purrs in my ear as long claws shred my clothes like butter. My attempts to flee were quickly stopped by an ungodly long tongue licking down my neck and a sudden weight on my stomach.

Risking a glance I felt faint. The demons cock was so huge there was no possible way it could fit inside me. Though he seemed intent on trying, pulling back and lining up with my cunt.

Without warning half the huge rod slammed inside of me, the stretch unimaginable. He wasted no time in pulling out and jackhammering back in, each thrust forcing more and more of his demonic cock in me. It was only then that I dimly became away of the familiarity in the demons voice; the priest. He moaned how I would be such a good broodmare, taking his corruption so well.

All night he fucked me, never once slowing down. Pumping me full of his demonic seed over and over again until sun rise. Leaving me with my stomach huge and swollen with cum, no doubt already knocked up, to go get ready for Sunday mass.

Nine months later I'm showing a group of church woman my engagement ring, stomach round and tight with twins. How lucky I was, the ladies cooed, that the priest was willing to marry me pregnant with an exes child. Not many men would, but he was just so good and holy.

If only they knew they knew they were praying with the father of the hellspawn kicking in my stomach

[poppy-metal]

listen. i’m blowing up your inbox and im sorry but i’m a wreck. TALK TO ME AB THE EMOTIONAL I NEED YOU SEX.

eddie’s passionate, and that definitely extends to sex, but you both are so overcome with love and gratitude that you’re both there and okay, and you’re being so gentle with him he wants to cry because he loves you so much. yall figure out why they call it “making love” that night

I was made for loving you.

a/n: this is my fix it fic. my comfort. my delusion.

cw: past fwb eddie x reader. feelings. reader is bad at them. soft sex. soft dom!eddie

why does the term 'making love' warm me up on the inside? i am disgusting.

thinking of being in a fwb situation with him before you went and saved the world together. you'd always kept him at arms length, he's just a punk and you did ballet type shit. but stumbling into your big empty house, dirty and grimy and sweaty, you don't seem that far apart. from that different of worlds.

he'd almost died. you'd had that second of bone chilling fear deep in your gut when the bats had taken him down. the screams you let out had your throat still feeling raw. you hadn't let go of his hand the whole ride home. the whole time he was being attended to. you hadn't spoken much.

you're still silent now, nawing on your bottom lip as you let him use your shower. the distant sound of the water fills your room and you can't handle it anymore. the distance. the being away from him.

he jumps, predictable and dramatic, when you open your bathroom door. he's got the shower running but he'd been sitting on the closed lid of the toliet, scrubbing his hands down his face, still fully clothed.

"jesus." he says, startled. he runs a hand through his bangs, making them stick up. "ever heard of knocking? what I'd been indecent?"

you come to him, knowing he's deflecting. "seen you naked before, munson."

he looks down at his hands on his lap. bites his bottom lip. "right."

you kneel down in front of him and put your hands on his knees, looking up at him. he has such big eyes. expressive. they can't hide anything from you. right now you can tell he's still terrified.

"you almost died, eddie."

you see his throat work around a swallow. his knee under your palm starts to shake a little. bobbing up and down. "i know. yeah i-" he takes a breath. closes his eyes and then opens them again. they look wet. "i know."

you grip him a little hard. your bottom lip trembles. "i almost lost you."

he smiles then. its a crooked, half little smile if a bit wobbly. "can't get rid of me that easily, sweetheart."

you know he uses jokes like this, his sarcasm, as a defense. usually you roll your eyes at it, let it roll off your shoulders like water and maybe say something biting back, even if you don't mean it. you can't find it in you to joke right now.

"I don't want to get rid of you." you say, completely serious. "eddie, you know that right? you know that i- that you-"

he looks at you. his eyes are that intense kind of dark they get before he kisses you. when he knows you're bluffing when you say something casual. like he can see inside you so easily. like its nothing. it never fails to make you feel stripped bare. naked.

"that you what?" his voice is soft. testing. his hands cover yours on his thighs, thumbs stroking over your knuckles.

you'd kiss him now usually. to avoid the truth of your feelings. to cover up, at least metaphorically, how naked he made you feel.

you swallow and instead of covering up, you stand slowly. his eyes track the movement until he's staring up at you, wide eyes framed by pretty lashes.

"that i need you." you say, simply. and then you're raising your hands to unbutton your tattered blouse. your hands trembling.

you've undressed in front of him more times then you can count, had him undress you. this is different. this means something. this is you letting him in.

he watches you, entranced. he always looks so worshipful. before you'd always dug your nails into his back to avoid those looks, dug your heels into his ass and taunted him in some way to make him fuck you hard not gentle.

gentle was what people who felt for eachother did. gentle was making love. gentle was being in love.

when you step out of your panties you're already slick between your legs. but you ignore that for now and reach for him. you want him bare too. you want nothing between you, nothing but skin and bones and flesh and aliveness. hes alive. hes okay. hes here.

"wanna feel you." you say, almost pleadingly as you guide him to stand. he's taller than you, your nose at his shoulders. your fingers delve into his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders. "need to- need to know you're okay. is that- is that okay?"

you'd never asked something like that before. but you genuinely want to know. maybe this isn't what he needs right now.

you hear his shaky inhale and then his hands are helping you, shaking just as much as yours to divest him of his clothes. you swallow when he steps out of his jeans. his body is beautiful. a work of art. pale and lean. your hand pets through the hair trailing down his navel, marveling at how his stomach flexea under your touch.

"i need" he stops and then starts again. "i need you too. so much. you don't know how much i do."

you peer up at him and let yourself smile as your hand reaches down to lightly grip the hard flesh between his thighs. his eyes flutter when your palm envelopes his velvety cock. stroking it once. "show me?"

when he looks at you, he looks pained. "I don't know if i can pretend I'm not fucking in love with you tonight, baby. i can't- i can't just fuck you like you weren't the last thing i saw before i thought i was gonna kick it."

you feel your chest crack open. you regret so much of your past. so much time spent pushing this beautiful boy away when you should have been pulling him closer. so much closer. letting him love you.

"i don't want to pretend anymore, eddie." you lean up on your tip toes to brush your lips against his. "make love to me."

he lets out a broken sound. a whimper almost, and then he's kissing you. hard at first and then gentle. his hands cup your face. tongue flicking against yours, melting into your mouth. "let me clean you up first, yeah? think we both need to not smell like sewage."

and you do. let him. and he lets you. you step into the lukewarm shower together and its the most intimate you've ever been with eachother. wandering hands gliding over wet skin, fingers massaging shampoo into hair. you hold eachother, chest to chest for awhile under the spray, fingers dancing between his shoulder blades as his stroke down your spine.

when you step out, you don't bother with towels, both needy now. you let him guide you back to your room, to your bed, where he lowers you down onto the soft plush of your bed.

"so pretty." he says against your stomach, kissing his way down. "you've got such a beautiful body. know you don't like me spending too much time on it- but god. that's all i want to do. take my time with you. love every inch of you with my mouth."

he kisses your pubic bone and you close your eyes. "let me?"

you spread your legs in response.

his mouth between your legs is wet and slippery. your cunt is a wet and open gash between your legs, weeping its blood, your slick, into his licking mouth. he's gentle, flicking your engorged clit with the slick muscle before gently wrapping his mouth around it.

one of his hands glides up the bed and you immediately let him enterlace your fingers, gripping onto him hard as he eats you out impossibly slow. he's looking up at you as he does, and you widen your legs as far as they'll go for him, feel the lips of your sex part under the insistent pressure of his lips and tongue.

you don't look away, holding his hand as you look down at him licking between your folds, delving his tongue deep between them. your mouth drops when he pushes it against your hole, trembling when he starts to lick it inside you. deep and broad strokes.

"eddie, i-" you can't finish the sentence, overwhelmed.

he comes up, his mouth wet and red from your juices and you feel the cool metal of his guitar pick necklace glide between your breasts as he lowers himself on top of you, melding your bodies.

he sees your eyes on the necklace and his shoulders are hitching in the next moment, as he distangles it from around his neck and through the mess of his hair.

you hold your breath, tears pricking as he places it around your neck. fingering it where it rests in your clavicle. "you look good with a little me on you."

your eyes water and you don't try to push back the tears as you spread your thighs around his waist. lift your hips to aid his gentle rocking between your legs. "you've always been on me." you swallow. "in me. i-in my heart. always."

he rests his forehead against yours, both of you holding your breath as the spongy head of him prods at your entrance, gliding between the slick folds and pressing against that tiny hole. it opens for him, as always.

"fuck." he sighs as he slides in. slides home. your body welcoming his inside it easily. "you're imprinted on my f-fucking soul, honey. drove me crazy that i couldn't show it to you."

you grip his back, feeling the muscles flex with the movement of your bodies swaying on the mattress. you're meeting his thrusts, moving your body with his, toes curling at his sides where they dangle around his moving hips.

"never- never gonna push you away again." you gasp, overwhelmed. this feels so good. intense. "dont let me eddie- need you. need you so much."

he shakes his head, sweaty forhead against yours. he's pressed so close to you, you can feel the sticky sweat between your bodies making your skin slip and slide against eachother. your cunt is making wet sounds around his cock filling you over and over.

"not gonna let you." he moans against your mouth, kissing you hard. he's punching the breath out of your lungs with each thrust. "you're mine. you hear me? mine the second you locked eyes with me in homeroom, mine the minute you approached me after school behind the bleachers, mine the second you let me inside you, mine the second you stepped through that door and told me to make love to you."

"eddie." you whine and pant, gripping yourself to him tight. "eddie im gonna-"

"do it, baby." he looks between your moving bodies where his flesh is steadily meeting yours, watches his cock glide in and out. watches the shine of your need for him coat his cock when he slides out and grunts when he thrusts back home. "you cum on me you're not getting away from this, from us. the moment you wet my cock you're saying you're mine. no going back."

his lips mesh against the lobe of your ear, grinding his pelvis hard into yours. hes so fucking deep.

"so. fucking. do. it." each word punctuated with a deep thrust.

your world whites out as you cum around him, shaking and moaning and clinging onto him. its the biggest thing you've ever felt. your heart feels like it can't even contain all its feeling. Its too much.

"im yours." you cry out, soaking his cock. "im yours, im yours."

he's fucking you harder now, moving against you desperately as he chases his own pleasure. "yeah you are." he moans, his fingers looping through his necklace around your neck and pulling so your head it tugged forward until your foreheads are knocking. "about time you caught up."

when he cums, you both moan. the warm splash of it filling your milking walls. "god your pussy." he whines, "it was made for me."

you wrap your arms around him. both of you anchoring the other.

"i was made for loving you, I think."

[tatters-the-bat]

Normally I always draw my sona's hair in a ponytail, so I thought it'd be fun to do a lil doodle of it with its hair down! :3

[OC: Tatters (She/They/It)]

[eisdendrobium]

mind over matter.

pairings : singer!scaramouche x reader summary : in which scaramouche had to choose his career over you. part 2 here!

the lights dimmed as the bass and drums starts playing, scaramouche stands in the center while holding his mic, eyes casting downwards as he prepare himself to sing the lyrics.

Mind over matter Does it matter to any of us?

scaramouche could feel all eyes on him as he sang the first part, his hand shakes a little from stage fright that suddenly surface.

Don't change the subject I'm heavy on your love I missed that train New York City, it rains

he remember how hard it was to leave, how hard it was for him to choose his career over you. Fly to East L.A. in big jet planes You know you're on my mind?

he wonders, what do you think of him after he left you?

And if the world don't break I'll be shaking it

he wonders, do you know that you're not the only one suffering from this outcome? 'Cause I'm a young man after all And when the seasons change Will you stand by me? 'Cause I'm a young man built to fall

the audience lifts their phone, lighting their flash as they sing along with him. looking up to see his fans he holds the urge to tear up as the memory of you clouds his mind.

Mind over matter I'm in tatters thinking 'bout her

will you take him back after he left you that day? Taste my disaster It's heavy on my tongue

will you believe him if he told you that he still love you after all these years apart? All the lights aglow Tokyo snows

will you believe him if he told you that you're constantly occupying his mind till this day? Go to watch the show Curtain's closed I'm watching you this time

well believe it or not, he still follow your socials because it's the only way he's able to have a connection with you, in a way.

And if the world don't break I'll be shaking it

his eyes scans the crowd and he notice a familiar face. 'Cause I'm a young man after all

he feels his breathing stop as he locked eyes with you. And when the seasons change Will you stand by me? 'Cause I'm a young man built to fall

truth is, you've always supported him anonymously. Always adoring the way he thrive for that dream of his.

New York City, it rains Fly to East L.A. In big jet planes You know you're on my mind?

scaramouche really want to alter his gaze elsewhere but he finds himself unable to do so. As it felt like the missing part in his heart is filled when he sees you -- among the huge crowd, raising your flash at him. All the lights aglow Tokyo snows

he feels warm, he felt peace, the stage fright disappear as he tighten his grip on the mic.

Go to watch the show Curtain's closed I'm watching you this time

he could see your eyes widened when he notices you and that made his anxiety rise.

are you going to leave the concert, just like how he left you that night?

And if the world don't break I'll be shaking it 'Cause I'm a young man after all

he raise his arm towards you as he sang the lyrics. He could see the uncertainty on your face and that made him wonder why you came here in the first place.

And when the seasons change Will you stand by me (Fly to East L.A.)

he knew he have to let you go, and so do you. yet can you really? when your bond with him is that strong, can he really? when most of the song he wrote was about you.

And when the seasons change Will you stand by me? 'Cause I'm a young man built to fall

scaramouche lower his head as the band did an outro. and he could hear the crowd clapping and cheering for his amazing performance.

scaramouche finally understand that you were never meant to be his, he's not the right man for you.

he understood how you must felt during your relationship with him, all the effort he didn't bat an eye to because he was too busy chasing his dream.

you gave him all your love yet all he gave you was his goodbye.

scaramouche wished he realizes what he had when you were still his. yet he have made his decision and he's successful now,

no regrets right?

a/n : reblogs are greatly appreciated! and please feel free to comment what you think about this fic ^^

[confused-wanderer]

Damian realizes he fucked up his second week at the manor.

He’s walking around, warily eyeing the shadowed areas that serve as perfect spots for reconnaissance. Father was keeping tabs on him. Father should be keeping tabs on him, or else Damian would be disappointed in the man he is supposed to look upto. Hah..

Supposed.

Damian’s not a stranger to that word. He’s supposed to be strong, he’s supposed to be an al-ghul, supposed to always fight first and ask questions later, supposed to be a weapon, supposed to be a good one, supposed to be a successor, supposed to be worthy of robin, supposed to learn the world was his enemy, supposed to be good enough, supposed to-

A bounding figure snaps him out his his thoughts, and a rare smile stretches across his face as he hears the familiar sound of paws hitting the grass. Father had told him to make himself at “home”. Robin can’t help but wrinkle his nose at that memory. Home? Home wasn’t supposed to exist for him. So he’s taking to test the Batman’s limits by sending Titus to retrieve anything and everything he found for reconnaissance. He could always claim he was exploring if someone caught him. He keeps his hand out, eyes scanning the horizon for any witnesses until he feels the soft touch of cotton brush against his palm.

He glances at it, the stuffed elephants eyes boring into his skull. Who in the manor was so childish they’d keep such an irrelevant thing around? Was it Drake? Todd? It was a pathetic display, and Damian tutted at his disappointment. This was the people he was supposed to succeed?

The toy was tattered, and Damian made no move to tell Titus to be gentle with it. Why would he? This just gave him the perfect opportunity to humiliate his predecessor. To yell at him about how foolish he was, how childish he was acting for keeping this stupid waste of cloth by his side. So he grips the torn elephant, and storms into the manor, heading straight for the bat cave.

He had never seen Tim’s eyes go from wary to alarm so quickly when his eyes land on the toy.

“What the hell did you do?”, Drake hisses, chair screeching as the man shoots up from his chair, marching over to Damian and grabbing his victim from the others hand.

“What you should’ve done a long time ago Drake. Why would you ever keep such a vile abomination with you? It’s childish.”

Tim’s eyes snap back to him, eyes widening as his hands cradle the toy closer.

“Di- Damian did you ruin this because you thought it was mine?”

“I am correct in my presumption Drake”, Damian fires back, arms crossed, ready to fight. Had he finally found Drake’s breaking point? “The animal serves as a childish companion. Todd would never have one, nor would father and quite frankly you’re the most immature out of them all so it-“

“Oh my god you idiot this isn’t mine this is Dick’s!”

Damian’s heart drops at that. Was he lying? Why would Grayson ever keep it around?

Images of the first robin flashed through his mind. His warm smile, his patience while Damian toed the line, his forgiveness and passion radiating off him in waves. He’d looked at Damian and hadn’t flinched or tried to rip his head off. That… that had earned him a bit of Damian’s respect. And now.. gods what the hell has he done? He’s taken that.. and thrown it away. Ripped it apart. Perhaps.. perhaps this was for the best..no? He was no friend of Grayson’s, this would take care of any fondness the man had for him. That would be good.. right? This is how things were supposed to be…right?

Damian suspects his heart has dropped to his stomach, creating knots as he tries to digest it. He didn’t need his heart. It’s fine. It was fine. Something must’ve seemed off though, Damian isn’t sure what gave it away, if his body betrayed him or if the silence stretched on too long, but something in Drake’s gaze softens a bit as he looks at him. His predecessor lets out a sigh, blowing his hair out of his face before brushing past Damian and heading for the manor. He pauses at the exit, glancing back at Damian.

“You coming?”

Robin stiffens, his legs moving without permission towards the other man. The silence stretches on as he follows Drake through the manor, and his thoughts grow darker and more confused. The most logical choice would be to throw out the animal. The second to ask the butler, yet Tim steered away from where the servant was cleaning the kitchen. So, what did Drake have planned for him? Was he about to stab him? Should Damian make the first move?

“What are you doing Drake”

“Fixing your mistake brat, that’s what.”

“How? Are you going to tell Grayson? Or perhaps father?”

“No. I’m gonna fix it.”

“You know how to sew?”

“Only wounds and barely suits. You?”

“…”

“So the same. Figured. I’m going to the only person who knows how to. He’s not gonna like this though.”

Who? Damian wonders, before his reflexes force him to stop walking. Tim had paused at a door, finger hesitantly curling into a fist before knocking twice. He mutters something under his breath, before the door swings open.

“Alfred I-oh what the fuck”

Jason stares at them, gaze flickering intently between the two. He’s about to slam the door in their faces, Damian’s sure, before Tim holds up the limp toy and Todd freezes.

“Oh..shiiiit..”

Tim breaks eye contact, head bowed down before entering the second robin’s room, Damian hot on his heels. He can feel Todd’s gaze on him, he knows that Jason must’ve figured out who did the damage. He needed to figure out an exit plan. He needed to be safe before they jumped him. They were supposed to be enemies after all?

That’s how he ends up watching Jason take out a sewing kit and gently assess the damage before proceeding to start stitching up the creature. Time ticks by as Damian sits tense and stiff a good few feet away from the two. Drake’s nodded off, head resting against the bed’s end while Jason works away at his desk, his back facing them. This was a good opportunity to take them out, Damian realises. He could take Drake out first, the fool-

“Don’t you dare wake him brat.”

The youngest’s eyes flicker upto Todd, who hasn’t moved an inch, eyes squinting at the needle under the light.

“.. does he know about us?”

Todd pauses at that question. Damian’s seen the other man before, seen his mother train him, seen the rage of the Lazarus pit that screamed for victims. Jason knows him. And he knows Jason. They had to work together as assassins. They were supposed to be ruthless killers. Yet here sits the fearsome man, with the same hands Damian has seen ripping people apart gently cradling a ripped elephant toy.

“No.. atleast I don’t think so. Replacement’s slippery though,. dunno how much he knows. My turn for a question, brat. What the hell did you do to Zitka?”

Who? There is no way that Todd is referring to that creature, Damian thinks. “Titus found it. He thought it was a toy. I didn’t feel the need to correct him.”

Jason clicks his tongue.

“Not very nice to be so rude to the only person who tolerates you well”

“It’s not like you’ve done the same to him”, Damian shoots back. “You’ve been a jerk to Grayson in the past. You’ve said his name with contempt, given spiteful remarks and insults and treat his existence as a personal insult to you. You haven’t treated him with respect, yet his behaviour hasn’t changed towards you. Grayson’s a simpleton, Todd. And if he saw fit to keep that thing with him, he’s a childish one.”

“Firstly, my history with him is none of your business, brat. I’ve known Dickie longer than you’ve been alive, so there’s no fucking point trying to be nosy. Secondly, you’re wrong. Dick.. Dick’s no simpleton. If he was, he wouldn’t have beaten you every time you fought now would he? Wouldn’t have survived Bruce, hell not even Gotham. He’s the first goddamn robin, and we have a rapport I don’t think you can even hope to understand.Thirdly.. why do you think he keeps zitka?”

“You insisted on calling that.. a name. You support his childish delusion?”

“Not answering my question brat.”

Damian huffs, inching closer.

“You don’t know do you?”, Jason teases, and Damian can hear the grin in his voice.

“It’s not that I don’t, it’s that I can’t fathom any coherent response-“

“You don’t know.”

“I never said that Todd, has no one taught you not to interrupt others? I know that.. that Grayson has-“

“You don’t know”

“I will personally finish what the joker started and use the crowbar myself Todd”

There’s a bark of laughter, before Jason looks back at him. But there’s no heat behind those eyes like there’s supposed to be. Why isn’t anyone in this damn manor acting like they’re supposed to?? They’re supposed to hate him! They’re supposed to be professional! To be trained soldiers!! Not.. not family.

“No.. I don’t know.”, Damian admits quietly, eyes trained on the ground. He doesn’t want to look at Todd. Doesn’t want to feel the tirade of insults hurled at him for not knowing like he’s supposed to. So he focuses on Drake’s breathing, the long slow heartbeats coaching his to join them.

“These.. are symbols. Do you remember when we were talking of symbolism in literature? Our discussions of metaphors and how they allude to other things? Bigger pictures?“

Damian nods.

“What does your katana symbolise?”

“Myself.”, his answer is instant. “It serves as a lesson to how I must view myself. Sharp, and ready for attack. Poised and deadly.”

Damian’s ears pick up the repressed laughter the other man tries to hide.

“My god they’ve fucking drilled that into you huh? Tell me brat, honestly. What does the katana mean to you?”

Damian’s hands unconsciously drift to his side, gripping his weapon. To him? Not what it was supposed to.. but what it meant to him…

“..my duty. It reminds me of the people who have trained me. Of my purpose. Of my mother, and grandfather. It reminds me of their lessons, their instructions.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. So your katanna represents your memory of them right? It’s a symbol of their training, it your childhood- even a sorry excuse for one. So it holds memories for you doesnt it?”

“I.. I suppose..”

“So tell me. What do you think Zitka represents for Dick?”

He pauses. Memories sift through his mind as he remembers all he learnt about the first robin. Of his past. Of the circus, of the death of his parents. Of who he was-oh..

It hits him, and it hits him hard.

“It symbolises his past, represents his memory of.. the circus? Of himself and his parents?”

“Bingo brat. Everyone has stuff that stores memories, and they choose what represents it. It depends on the person, their characteristics and attachments to that memory. So while yours serves as a reminder of how you’ve been taught to view yourself, Zitka is a reminder to Dick of who he is. Who he was, and who he became. It’s a tether, a reminder of everything that he was before and after. So yeah, this thing as you call it, it’s a symbolism of something special for Dickiebird.”

And with that, Jason swivels around, presenting his creation to the younger child. Damian inspects the stitches, careful to conceal the awe he felt at the impressive work. It was as if nothing had ever happened to it.

“Now, you take this back to where you found it. And I will kick replacement out of my room.”

Damian nods, surprising himself with the gentle way he accepts the elephant. He never knew his grip could be this soft. This wasn’t how he was supposed to be.. was it? He nods his thanks, subconsciously cradling Zitka to his chest before heading out.

“.. Damian.”

He turns around, meeting Todd’s eyes.

“You.. you’re not at a training ground. You’re not supposed to act how people think you’re supposed to. You’re not how you’re supposed to be.”

Damian visibly flinches at that, taking a step back while gripping the toy closer to his chest. Jason seems to notice that as his eyes soften, hands held up in surrender.

“All I’m saying is.. that’s not always a bad thing. And it’s not supposed to be. You’re not supposed to be a weapon. You’re supposed to be you. Damian Al-ghul Wayne.”

“And who is that?”, Damian rasps. Jason just shrugs, flashing a grin as he stands up and stretches.

“That’s something you’re supposed to figure out.”

Damian leaves with his heart thudding in his chest. He carefully leaves Zitka in Grayson’s room, paints a self-portrait with shaking fingers and breaks it apart when he realizes he doesn’t recognise the reflection. Who the hell was Damian Al-Ghul supposed to be??

He receives a gift the next week. There’s no note, and it contains the soft toy inside. He has a sneaking suspicion Grayson or father saw him carrying Zitka and thought he’d like one of his own. The handiwork is one he’s seen before, and he wordlessly places the robin Todd made on his table, far from anyone else’s view but his own Perhaps.. perhaps a bird was a symbolism. A puzzle Damian was supposed to solve.

A bird was supposed to have a nest.

Perhaps Damian was supposed to realize that these people were his family. Perhaps.. perhaps this place.. these people.. were supposed be his home. And perhaps, just maybe, he wasn’t supposed to fight that.

[luxaofhesperides]

For ghost lights prompts: eldritch/creepy/weird Danny + shy/flustered Duke + hand holding

Your ghostlights fics are giving me so much joy RN I cannot express how much, if this prompt doesn't spark a brain worm for it I get it but I'm excited to read all the others you may wind up posting

There’s a new kid at West Robinson High School. 

This normally wouldn’t be a big deal. They get plenty of new students, being an average high school; not prestigious like Gotham Academy, but not terrible like some of the schools in the lower South Side. New kids are hardly anything to make note of, but something about this student has everyone paying attention to him.

It’s not charisma. The guy doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s not attractiveness, because no one really knows what he looks like under the tattered hoodie he wears all the time. It’s not curiosity, not really, because the student body moves around him like he’s dangerous, not like they want to pry all his secrets out into the open. 

It doesn’t help that Duke sees things around him. 

He considers briefly telling someone about it, but then remembers having to argue for returning to West Robinson High School instead of being put in Gotham Academy and decides that Bruce can continue to mind his own business. It’s not like this new kid has done anything bad (yet) and Duke can handle investigating this on his own.

So he watches, catching glimpses of the new kid—Danny Fenton—in hallways during passing period, hiding away at lunch, disappearing into the streets as soon as the school day is over. They even share a class together, French Language and Culture, but Danny is always in the back corner, ignored and made invisible by everyone else. 

Well. That’s not quite true. 

There are shadowy figures that surround Danny and they never leave him alone. Even when he’s got his arms folded on his desk, head down, looking as if he’s asleep, these figures pull at the hood covering his head or reach semi-transparent hands down to pet his hair. And Danny reacts to them, lightly batting their hands away or turning his head away from them.

Duke has no idea what they are. Ghosts are his best guess, but he can’t confirm it. As far as he knows, ghosts are magic and can only be seen by magic users, which Duke very much is not. They do lead to cold spots, keeping the temperatures noticeably colder around Danny, and make the shadows darker, which only makes other students more nervous about being near Danny. 

Through his week of observing Danny, beyond the ghostly figures and visible unease he causes in everyone, what Duke learns is that Danny is lonely. 

No one talks to him. People barely look at him. Teachers avoid calling on him when they can. 

And Danny accepts it. He fades into the background, keeps out of the way, shrinks in on himself. 

No one else sees it. No one else wants to see him.

It’s breaking Duke’s heart, just a little bit.

He’s lucky that he’s not an outcast at school. With his meta gene awakening and his free hours taken up by Bats and fighting crime, it’s hard to have much of a social life, but he still has a few friends during the school hours he can hang out with. Danny doesn’t have anyone, and the more Duke sees how isolated he is, the more upset he becomes.

Which brings him to step two of his investigation: befriend Danny.

So what if he has some ulterior motives! He also just wants to give this guy someone to hang out with! What little glimpses of Danny’s face he’s able to get show him a tired teenager, worn down the way Alley kids are when they’re at the end of their rope and have nothing left to give.

Duke’s first attempts at befriending Danny fail so fast it’s almost funny. It’s as if Danny knows when someone is seeking him out, because every time Duke goes to where he is, Danny up and disappears, hurrying away and vanishing in the crowded hallways, or in the alley a few buildings past the school, or into the fucking restroom, which is always empty when Duke goes in after him. Trying to use his powers to see where Danny goes next doesn’t help either; all he sees is some glowing figure resembling Danny walk through walls, which is either due to Danny being a meta or from Duke’s powers deciding to be unhelpful.

He’s about to resort to Tim level stalking to finally have a conversation with Danny when his French teacher blessedly (and unknowingly) aids him on his mission.

“Find a partner, everyone!” she instructs with a clap of her hands near the end of class. “This is a translation project, and you’ll be doing them in pairs to check each other’s work and decide how to best interpret something into English. If you don’t have a partner in the next minute, tell me and I’ll assign you someone.”

The class is a flurry of movement just as the last word leaves her mouth, friends turning to each other or running across the room to make sure they’re partnered up before anyone else can butt in. 

No one looks at Danny. Which means Duke can just skirt along the wall of the classroom until he’s next to Danny, gently knocking on his desk to get his attention.

Danny looks up, and Duke sees a flash of blue before Danny averts his gaze, tilting his head down again. “Yeah?” he says, and his voice is much softer than what Duke imagined. He expected something hoarse and rough, a little deep, intimidating. Instead, it’s gentle and quiet and smooth. 

It’s a nice voice. It’s a shame that no one else has really heard it.

“Wanna be partners?” he asks, as if he’s offering a choice. They both know no one else is going to ask Danny, and if he wants to avoid talking to the teacher, then he has to work with Duke.

Danny sighs. “Sure.” 

And then he puts his head back down on the desk. 

Duke backs off. This is the best he’s going to get right now. Now that he’s got an excuse to spend time with Danny, he can take his time breaking down his walls and getting to know him. He watches as a figure from the usual group that hangs around Danny breaks away and gently brushes a hand against Danny’s arm. Then they turn to Duke and reach for him.

He moves without thinking, stepping out of the way. The shadowy figure fades back, almost invisible even to his eyes, and Danny’s turned his head to lay his piercing gaze on Duke.

…There’s no way that blew his cover, right? 

He didn’t just reveal one of his meta abilities from taking a single step to the side. No way. 

But Danny’s eyes are a deep blue that seem almost endless as he keeps his attention on Duke. It feels as if he’s staring into Duke, seeing more than what he wants to reveal. 

“Alright, looks like everyone’s found a partner! As you head out, be sure to grab a practice packet from my desk to work on some translation. There are due the next time we meet, and I will be handing out your individual passages once these have all been turned in.” Their teacher sets a large stack of papers onto the corner of her desk, then gets to work erasing the whiteboard just as the bell rings. 

Students grab their bags and rush to take one of the packets before heading out to their final class of the day. Duke stays behind with Danny, waiting for most of the class to leave before swinging his backpack onto his shoulder and grabbing a packet for both of them.

He hands one to Danny, who takes it with some hesitancy and a quiet, “Thanks.”

He leaves before Duke does, and though it’s only a second between his leaving and Duke stepping out the door, Danny’s already vanished from sight.

As soon as school ends, Duke heads for the Hatch, hoping a quick evening patrol will help clear his mind. It’s a quiet evening, though, so he’s left with his thoughts more often than not, staring out over the city long enough that Oracle asks him if he’s alright.

Against his better judgment, he says, “I’ve been looking into something, but I’m not finding much. Can you do some research on Danny Fenton?”

Oracle is already typing before he finishes asking. “What am I looking for?”

“Anything. He’s… strange. I don’t know if he’s a meta or just lightly haunted. But there’s something up with him.”

“Do we need to be keeping a closer eye on him?”

Duke considers. None of them ask Oracle to look into specific people unless they’re dangerous. But danger is not the sense Duke gets from Danny. It’s more like he’s hiding, shying away from the world, constantly on edge. “No. If anything, he might be in danger. Something happened to him, because no one ends up like that by living an average life.”

“I’ll let you know what I find. Turn in for the night, it’s quiet out and you’re too distracted to patrol properly.”

“You got it, O.” He salutes the nearest camera, knowing she’ll see it, and makes his way back to the Hatch to change back into civies and get started on his homework.

When he next goes into his French classroom, all the desk has been rearranged so they’re all in pairs, side by side. Already, patterns are filling up the desks, so Duke heads for the back and sits down where Danny usually hides away. He’s not here yet, which is making Duke realize that he’s never actually seen Danny walk into the classroom and head to his seat.

Did he just never pay attention? Has Danny always just slipped in unnoticed until attendance was taken? How did Duke miss that?

There’s movement in the desk next to him. Duke goes to say that he’s waiting for his partner, so please sit somewhere else, when he realizes that it’s Danny who managed to sneak in yet again.

“Hey,” he says after a moment, hoping his surprise is hidden.

There’s a pause, and then Danny returns, “Hey, Duke.”

That’s all they have time for before class is starting and their teacher goes around to collect homework. She then hands out new packets, each one a different section of L’Ecume des Jours, and gives them the rest of class to begin working on translating it. 

Duke is already dreading it as he flips through the three pages they were given to translate, stapled to each other beneath the two page instructions of how to format the final translation, how to document their previous translation drafts, and what to include in the reflection essay. 

There’s no way he can get all of this done in a week. 

On the other hand, it gives him a week to learn more about Danny. He needs to make the most of it.

“This is a lot,” he comments, hoping to prod Danny into conversation.

Danny shrugs.

“Can we work on this together after school today? Or do you have plans?”

“We can work on it today,” Danny says, voice barely louder than a whisper. He’s already scanning the pages, underlining certain words and phrases. 

Duke hurries to get to work as well, trying to parse out meaning from the text through single words scattered on the page. 

Qu’est-ce que vous faites dans la vie, vous? 

J’apprends des choses, dit Colin. Et j’aime Chloé. 

Duke nods to himself. He definitely doesn’t know French. Well, he knows qu’est-ce que. He knows vous. He know j’apprends and j’aime Chloé. Also dit Colin. Fairly simple, but with the missing pieces to the rest of those sentences, he really doesn’t know what’s going on beyond the fact that it’s a conversation and Colin loves Chloé.

When he glances at Danny’s desk, he’s shocked to see that his partner is already translating the first few lines into something that reads like normal English.

“Oh, wow,” he says, leaning over to get a better look, “You’re definitely better at this than I am.”

“I just like languages,” Danny replies, turning his paper so Duke can read it more easily.

“Have you been hiding your French skills this entire time? I could have definitely used your help before this.”

Danny goes still for a moment, eyes flicking towards his right where a shadowy figure has placed a hand on his shoulder. Then he turns to fully face Duke and says, “Better late than never. What do you need help with?”

“Everything.”

His immediate answer makes Danny smile, and he begins talking in that soft, soothing voice of his. He talks about not trying to translate everything into English immediately, but to understand the French and take it in as a whole language itself. He talks about getting the idea of the text first, the feeling of it, before trying to fit it into English. He talks about splitting up the text into sections to make it easier.

And then he reads the text, entirely in French, and Duke did not have a thing for voices or multilingualism before this, but he sure does now.

“Qu’est-ce que vous faites dans la vie, vous?” Danny reads, reaching the end of the first page. The syllables come to his easily, his French smooth and steady. “J’apprends des choses, dit Colin.” His eyes dart up, off the page, and fix Duke in place. “Et j’aime Chloé.”

Duke has never been happier that he doesn’t blush so visibly with his dark skin because he feels downright romanced. It’s a mix of the French, of Danny’s addictive voice, of their closeness, of how intimate this dark corner of the room feels, tucked away from the rest of the class.

“We can work on the other pages after we finish translating this one,” Danny says, leaning back at bit. 

Duke nods, swallowing to chase away the dryness of his throat. “Sounds like a plan!” 

They work in silence for the rest of the class period, and once the bell rings, Danny says, “I’ll wait for you by the bus stop down the street,” before he slips out of reach and disappears into the throng of students heading to their last class. 

He’s beginning to think that he’s in way over his head. Duke can handle being in the middle of all the action, risking his life, fighting for others. He can handle staring down rogues and criminals and Gnomon. He can’t handle feelings and romance and other such things. Those are much scarier than a criminal shooting at him. At least with the criminal, he knows what to do and doesn’t just freeze up like he did with Danny.

The school day ends faster than he’s prepared for. As promised, Danny waits for him by the bus stop down the street, where other students are also waiting. 

They don’t wait for a bus, though. Danny just meets his eyes and begins walking away, leaving Duke to follow after him, matching his pace so they can walk side by side.

The shadows in the alleyway seem to reach towards them as they walk down it. Something about it doesn’t feel right, so Duke tries to quietly use his powers and force them back. 

He only has time to think, Oh, that was a bad idea, before Danny is shoving him against the wall, getting them both out of the way as a shadow solidifies and lashes out at them. He’s kept in place by strong hands on his chest, and Danny’s eyes are glowing lightly as he hisses at the shadows, making them rear back and settle down once more. 

As if given permission to reveal themselves, more shadowy figures and strange movements in the shadows emerge, surrounding them. 

“Danny, I don’t mean to alarm you, but—”

“I know,” Danny says. “I thought you might be able to see them too. Which is not good.”

“Sorry, man, it’s not like I can turn it off.”

“It’s fine. Just be more careful. They like me because I’m like them, but you just register as a threat. Either that, or prey.”

“Great,” Duke replies weakly, “Those are my favorite things to be. Are we… are we safe to move?”

Slowly, Danny steps back, no longer pressed right against Duke. Nothing moves to attack him, but it might be due to the glare fixed on Danny’s face, eyes still glowing.

“They’ll leave me alone, so…” He reaches a hand out, looking away. The hoodie isn’t able to hide the way his cheeks go red. “Don’t let go and we’ll be fine.”

“I hope this isn’t to lead me to my doom,” Duke jokes nervously as he accepts Danny’s hand, holding it tightly. 

Danny wiggles his fingers, making him loosen his grip, and then their fingers are lacing together. Duke stares down at their hands, wide eyed, and hopes he doesn’t look as flustered as he feels. 

“Not to your doom,” Danny reassures. “Just a coffee shop I thought you’d like.”

“Well, then, lead the way!”

“Allons-y,” Danny replies. 

Stealing glances at him as they walk, ghostly figure and shadow shrinking away from them, all Duke can think is that he doesn’t need to worry about Danny being evil. His immediate instinct to protect Duke has proved that. He’ll keep the investigation going, though, to make sure Danny is safe from others that could hurt him. 

Strange and unsettling as he may be, Danny’s also a smart, kind person who deserves more.

Duke is determined to make sure he gets it.

And if he gets a crush along the way, that’s his business and his business only. 

It looks like Step Two: Befriend Danny is finally complete. He’ll figure out the other steps later. For now, he has an evening of French in a coffee shop to look forward to.

[onenicebugperday]

@tatters-the-bat submitted: (No ID necessary, wanted to share a lovely jumping spider friend I found on my way home today! :3c)

In love with this precious angel :’)

[hannie-dul-set]

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE [1].

SYNOPSIS. the saying “never meet your idols” exists for a reason. you just didn’t expect the reason to be because said idols would end up declaring that you’re their alleged lover from a past life (past lives, rather). now you have three big celebrities vying for your attention, and it’s not as dreamlike as you imagined it to be.

PAIRINGS. choi yeonjun, choi soobin, choi beomgyu x female! reader. GENRES. reincarnation! au, celebrity! au (soloist! yeonjun, actor! soobin, rock band member! beomgyu), slight college! au, slight historical! au, rom-com, angst if you squint, reverse harem woohoo. WARNINGS. swearing, secondhand stress HHAHAHAH. WORD COUNT. 2.9k.

TAGLIST. @seokgyuu @spjhyn @bat-shark-repellant @writingmeraki @lotties-readings @jenodreamer @gyuspeach @lexawoah13 @dvalitaes @agustdiv1ne @enhacatalog @soobs-things @tocupid @wonsays @kgneptun @sarang-ae @peaceout97 @outrologist @prettypei @luv4cheol @captivq @kueey @matcha-binz @loveherrschxr @haechology @bitehee @laylasbunbunny

NOTE. and so it begins!! grabbed seventeen’s “second life” and gave it to beomgyu’s band, by the way. future chapters will be a lot longer bcs this one is sort of just an introduction. please lmk what u think so far!!

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CHAPTER 1 — the consequences of working with a choi.

One.

“I told you I won’t do any romance dramas!”

Choi Soobin isn’t usually one to throw tantrums. He’s gentleness itself, says the media. The loveliest, most humble and soft-spoken angel to have ever graced South Korea’s entertainment industry. Interviewees praise him for being so kind and warm. Award-winning actor Lee Minyuk decided to adopt him the day they first met while working on a drama just a year ago.

He’s so nice, so sweet, so lovely— a stark contrast to the roles he usually plays, but that doesn’t take away from the songs of praise that articles and Twitter posts usually string along with Choi Soobin’s name.

All of this is true of course. As long as you’re not contractually obligated to babysit his whiny, picky, six foot tall ass every single day.

“Soobin, why don’t you give it another—”

“This is ridiculous,” he huffs, crossed armed on the sofa with a tattered script sitting on the low coffee table before him. Manager Lee feels a headache kicking in. Why is this bastard acting up when the interns are in the office? Those two simply wanted to deliver the scripts for Soobin to pick from, but they are looking at his actor’s surprising behavior with wide eyes. Now, it’s going to be his job to make sure that they don’t run their mouths about the nation’s alleged first love actually being a spoiled brat.

“Soobin,” Manager Lee exhales for the nth time. This script is from Writer Kang. The Writer Kang! She wrote this script with you in mind as the lead. Can you at least maybe reconsider—”

“I’m not doing it.” Soobin won’t budge. He’s got a visibly troubled and offended look on his face and his manager wants to smack him upside in the head. How could he not understand that this is an opportunity of a lifetime? “Hyung, you know the reason why I even signed to this company in the first place. I’m not doing it. Absolutely not.”

He picks up the script like it’s a dirty rag— disgusted expression to match— only to reveal a page that suddenly prompts him to throw the entire thing across the room. The two interns flinch. Manager Lee feels his hair turning gray by the second.

“There’s a kissing sce— agh! Gosh! What will my soulmate think if she sees me kissing another woman?!”

“Soul...soulmate?” unfortunate intern number one voices out hesitantly.

“Is...Choi Soobin seeing someone right now?” asks number two, and Manager Lee wants to retire early. His actor is still ranting on and on about how there’s no way in hell he’s taking on this role. He doesn’t really wanna deal with that right now.

“No. He’s not seeing anybody. He’s never been in a relationship before.”

Manager Lee knows this because he’s been Soobin’s manager since the young star was still seventeen, when he was still as nice and well-behaved as the tabloids made him out to be. That same kid is now a grown adult and shuddering over a possible kissing scene in a screenplay. “Ahh. I can’t do this, I seriously can’t do this, hyung!” Fame does change people. Manager Lee wants seventeen year-old Soobin back.

“Then...then who is his soulmate…?”

It’s hard to imagine that an A-List star like Choi Soobin is suffering from unrequited love. “A woman from his past life,” answers Manager Lee. “Or so he says.” The interns look at him. Come—come again? their expressions seem to say. Manager Lee lets out an exasperated sigh. This one’s even harder to comprehend.

“Hyung,” Soobin finally calls out for him. Lee returns his attention to his artist, who’s now flipping through the other scripts on the table with an even more disgruntled expression. “Hyung, are these all the offers I have? They’re all romance! Don’t we have other options?!”

“The CEO wants you to expand your roles, Soobin,” Manager Lee flatly replies. “Your fans too. You can’t keep doing action-mystery-thrillers forever. It’s a waste of your visuals. They want to see you in lighter things too.” He walks over to pick up the first rejected script from the floor, dropping it in front of Soobin, who is currently a deflated balloon.

He’s changed. But sometimes it feels as though his artist hasn’t grown up ever since they first met.

“If you take Writer Kang’s drama, you’ll get even bigger, Soobin.”

“I’m not interested in fame,” Soobin mumbles, shoulders slacked and dejected. “I just want—”

“If you gain ever more fame, expand your reach, won’t that mean your soulmate can find you sooner as well?” Soobin takes the bait. He flinches upon hearing the word he’s been chasing after ever since, a glimpse of consideration flashing through his expression as he nips down his bottom lip. Manager Kim lands a hand on his shoulder. “Think about it, kid. You shouldn’t waste opportunities like this.”

Soobin lets out a breath. “I’ll...I’ll give it some thought.”

Dear god, finally. Manager Lee ushers out a sulky and troubled Soobin out into the hall with the script hugged against his chest and tells him to relax for the day. “Don’t overthink it. Just do what you want to do,” he says, after gaslighting him into positively considering the role. Still, Soobin needs this. He’s been stagnating since his last project, Study Group. He needs to switch up genres if he wants to improve.

“Wow,” intern number two exhales the moment Soobin leaves the premises. “You really are a veteran, sir. But does Choi Soobin’s soulmate really exist? Who is he looking for?”

Manager Lee shrugs and drops onto the sofa with a grunt. “Beats me. He doesn’t even know her name.”

*

Two.

“Yeonjun! Choi Yeonjun, look over here!”

“Choi Yeonjun, you look good today as well!”

“Please give a heart to the camera!”

“Fuck! Choi Yeonjun, you’re so fucking hot!”

That last one made Yeonjun’s mouth twitch into a smirk, and the screaming instantly became louder. Unintentional, but he relishes in the attention, anyway. He flips down his sunglasses to block the flashing lights from the cameras (causing another unintentional pandemonium), and his manager (Kim Noona, he likes to affectionately call when she’s about to yank out his hair roots for misbehaving) quickly ushers him into van before his rabid fans break through the bodyguards’ defenses and jump him.

“Good work today,” says Manager Kim as they start to drive away from the fansign venue. Yeonjun has his window rolled down and is blowing air kisses to the crowd. Ignorance is bliss, Manager Kim decides. “However, you don’t have time to run a catwalk on the way to the van tomorrow since you have another schedule immediately after the fansign. Try to strut for two minutes max tomorrow, please.”

“‘Kayyy,” Yeonjun hums, rolling the tinted windows back up and leaning back into the car seat with a satisfied groan. They’re on the way back to his apartment now. Time for him to start his routine. “Noona, do you have all the letters I got today?”

“Look to your left.” 

And there it is indeed— a stack of notes and envelopes and perfume-drenched messages of love and adoring affection. He flits through each one, skimming over every note and every letter like he’s looking for something. “Sleep early tonight,” Manager Kim tells him as he knits his brows, nearing the end of the stack. “You have a shoot in the morning, in case you forgot.” 

Yeonjun is back at the first letter he started with. Nothing, he lets out a sigh. Not one that he’s looking for.”

“Noona,” he calls out. “I’m going live right now.”

There’s a bump on the road.

“No, wait—”

[🔴 yawnzzn is live].

“Hehe. Yeonjunnie is here—!”

Manager Kim abruptly stops the car. Thank fucking god the road isn’t too crowded. She watches Yeonjun from the rearview mirror as he smiles at the outstretched camera and makes casual greetings and hello’s to the viewers, heart racing in fear. “Right now? I’m on the way back home. Can’t wait to get a nice shower once I get back.” Okay, she lets in a deep breath, starting the car once more. Yeonjun isn’t doing anything weird yet. Better to drop him off as soon as possible.

“Nooo, I haven’t had dinner yet, I’ll order once I get home. What do you guys recommend?”

He’s being normal. He’s acting fine. This is good.

“Ramen? That sounds good. Kimchi jjigae is also yummy.”

Maybe he just wanted to interact more with his fans, yes. He’s always been like that. Maybe he won’t say anything rash this time.

“Oh! The video with Mark Lee from NCT? Did you see us hugging? Hehe, Mark and I look good together?” They’re almost at his apartment building. They’re almost here. Once they arrive, Yeonjun will turn off the livestream and Manager Kim can finally fucking retire for the day. “That’s cute. But it’s too bad. I’m already interested in someone else.”

Screeeech!

The car stops. “Yeonjun.” But Yeonjun’s live stream is still ongoing. “Turn off the live.”

Yeonjun is smiling at his phone in painful ignorance. Manager Kim doesn’t miss the one second glance he spares at her. One second. One mere second before he starts inciting chaos even more. “Who? That’s a secretttt. I don’t want to tell you.”

Manager Kim’s phone starts buzzing. “Yeonjun, turn it off.” The buzzing won’t stop. Her personal phone starts going off as well

“Ah. Should I give you a hint?”

There’s an incoming call now.

“Choi Yeonjun, turn off the god damned—”

“Okay!” Yeonjun suddenly exclaims. He flashes a knowing smile to the camera, but his dearly stressed and overworked manager knows that it’s directed to her rather than the thousands of people witnessing the artist she’s in charge of stirring his third rumor of the week. Her phone won’t stop buzzing, it can be used as a fucking vibrator at this point. Choi Yeonjun is lucky he rakes in most of the agency’s profits— otherwise his contract would be terminated by now. “I have to go. My manager looks like she’s about to fire me, hehe. See you all tomorrow! Mwah!”

Just like that, the live stream ends, but Manager Kim’s phone is still incessantly ringing and beeping and giving the signal that Choi Yeonjun will once again go trending on Twitter— not in the way the company wants. Again. “Kim Noona?” Yeonjun calls out. “The light is green. The cars behind are honking at us.”

Manager Kim’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Yeonjun.” And they start moving again. “What are you gonna do once you get home?”

“Post a damage control photo. Got it.”

He knows. He knows yet he keeps pulling the same shit every week.

“Good...good— just,” his manager lets out a sigh, and they arrive at the front of his building. “No matter what I tell you, you won’t stop pulling these stunts, aren’t you?”

“Nope.” Yeonjun flashes her a grin, unbuckling his seatbelt, ready to slide the door open. “Thanks, noona! See you tomorrow!”

With that, Yeonjun leaves with a bounce in his step right after the mess he just made.

The problem is, Manager Kim can’t tell him to stop either after knowing exactly why he’s doing all of these scandal-bait, potentially career damaging things. It’s not something she can believe in, and it’s definitely not within the realm of reality. But after seeing the look on her artist’s eyes when he said— how many more headlines must he make until you can finally find your way back to him?

Well. All Manager Kim can do is work PR to their deaths for damage control.

*

Three.

“Why don’t we kick it off by listening to your latest single?”

Studio lights burn the set. Five seats are settled in place, four against one for an interview with one of the hottest K-Rock groups of the generation. Yeong-Il released a new single just earlier in the week, and it’s topped the charts ever since release. 

If I am given a second life I may live and breathe differently compared to now

Lee Heeseung looks happy to be here. So do Yang Jeongin and Lim Jimin. Choi Beomgyu, on the other hand, looks like he’d rather be anywhere else but here right now, complete with the faraway look on his face as he’s clearly not paying attention to the comments the host is making, instead drowning in melody and lyrics hummed by the speakers.

Among the streets we’ll walk past each other without knowing

“It’s quite different from our usual music, no?” Heeseung laughs.

I hope we remember each other

“Right!” Jeongin chimes in. “But I think we should hear from the man who produced and wrote this.”

Even in our next life Even at that time, I’ll go to you

“Choi Beomgyu!”

Even in our next life Even at that time, I’ll go to you

“Beomgyu, are you awake?”

Even if a second life That’s different from now comes to me The one thing I can say is That I’m going to be by your side

“Beomgyu!”

“Ah.” Beomgyu finally wakes up. He catches the concerned and nervous glances of his friends-slash-bandmates. Beomgyu takes the microphone from Jimin, tapping it once, before saying, “What do I do? It’s a little embarrassing to talk about this by myself.” Jeongin fails to hold back a snort at his lack of sincerity. Jimin sends him a nudge with his elbow. 

“Hey, this isn’t the first time you’ve written a song. Quit acting coy,” Heeseung manages to salvage the conversation, invisible sweat dripping down the side of his face. Beomgyu finally decides to stop stalling and answers the question.

“Well, anyhow, I think you can tell from the lyrics. Second Life is about a love that extends beyond lifetimes— promising that even after we’ve lived, died, and reborn as different people, there is still no one I’d love but you.” There’s some coughs from his bandmates. Beomgyu presses his lips into a smile. “That’s it.” And passes the microphone back to whoever reaches out for it first.

This kind of behavior from Yeong-il’s guitarist and vocalist isn’t new. 

The problem is, even though his team and fans are used to it, not everyone is, so the show’s host is taken aback by Beomgyu’s complete lack of care, unaffected and impenetrable. He stifles out a cough, flits through his cue cards. “O—oh, how romantic!” he exclaims. “I’ve noticed that a lot of your other songs that Choi Beomgyu-ssi has written seem to have a similar theme. Isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, it’s not really a secret, and it’s honestly pretty obvious,” Beomgyu answers, earning another nudge from Jimin. 

“He doesn’t seem like it, but Beomgyu is the biggest romanticist out of all of us,” Heeseung saves the day once more. Choi Beomgyu has been once dubbed as the biggest hurdle in every interviewer’s career. Nobody knows if he’s doing it on purpose, or if he really is just like that.

“We—well, can we ask what your inspiration is for writing this kind of music?”

It’s not a new question. It’s a question asked interview after interview to Choi Beomgyu whenever they release one of his songs riddled with his signatures of reincarnation, second lives, and first loves. But he’s always avoided answering them, sometimes going as far as outright telling the host that he doesn’t want to answer.

Though his bandmates are indeed both dreading and looking forward to the day Beomgyu would finally make a public answer to that million dollar question—

“Myself.”

—they certainly did not expect him to answer with the truth.

“What?”

“The tracks were inspired by myself,” he says, face flat, free from any sign of humor or jest. “I’m still waiting for my first love from my first life. There must be a reason why I still remember her and the life we shared. Doesn’t that mean we’re both destined to meet again?”

Silence washes over. Everyone on set is looking at Beomgyu, waiting for him to laugh or smile or crack a joke or some shit just to give an indication that he wasn’t at all serious with that statement. Their managers are frozen. They’re all looking at Heeseung to finally and neatly wrap things up before the mood gets worse.

Heeseung gets the signal. He quickly snatches the microphone from his friend and starts making bullshit up and praying to god that this part gets edited out. “Aha—ahaha, Beomgyu really likes to remain in character! That’s how much he takes his music seriously! Anyway—”

The rest of the interview turns up normally. No unexpected backstory reveals or trauma-dumps. No mentions of possible supernatural phenomena whatsoever and that’s mostly because Beomgyu decided to keep quiet for the rest of it.

He’s seriously a ticking time bomb, all but him share the same thought upon exiting the studio, until Heeseung finally confronts him about it when they reach the van.

“Dude, what the hell was that?”

“I know, I know. You don’t have to nag me,” Beomgyu groans. “We can ask them not to air that part, anyway. I’m just getting impatient.”

Impatience.

That’s a mutual feeling shared by all three of them. 

Twenty years. That’s how long they’ve been waiting. Centuries, if you count the period in between their previous lives and now. But when the person they’ve been waiting for finally shows up— patience will be a virtue that they’ll need to learn to strengthen. Patience. They’ll need to be a hell of a lot more patient if they want to take back what they lost.

STAR STUDDED BAGGAGE. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.