#verse: flicker beat

[murasakiirohanaarchived]

(The Verse) 

Well, this ended up much more detailed and ambitious than intended but---- here it is.

Used these for Ref: (x) (x)

(repost from the old blog~)

Bonus: No Blood

[murasakiirohana]

❝ I want the H ❞

send me ❝ I want the H ❞ and I will randomly generate a number.

5. “Far too long since we’ve seen each other” hug II @narasnooze

Verse: Yellow Flicker Beat

    It had gnawed at her since she had escaped. It was almost the first thing that had crossed her mind when she no longer had to focus on survival. What were they going to think? How were her boys going to handle her return? Was her new... appearance going to be too much for them? It scared her. She didn’t want to imagine a world where they started looking at her differently. She wanted to be the same old Ino to them. She needed to be that to them. 

   It had only been her luck that both had been out on separate missions when she had made it back to Konoha. Probably an attempt by the Hokage to prevent them from taking matters into their own hands to look for her. It made sense. Her team had a penchant for pushing the limits of the higher ups’ patience. There was no way they were going to let another mission to avenge happen again. Besides, all leads had died out on Ino’s whereabouts early on in her capture anyways. Konoha couldn’t have them preoccupied in a fruitless effort. Life had to go on. 

    However, the higher ups had been surprised when Ino insisted that they not notify Shikamaru and Chouji of her return, but Ino knew better. If they had known she was back, they would’ve come running whether the mission had been finished or not--- or worse, they would’ve gotten sloppy in their rush to return home. She needed them to remain focused for their own sake. Besides, she needed time to adjust to being back home before they returned. She needed time to be the Ino they always knew again--- or at least time to learn how to pretend to. Good thing she had all the time in the world since she was prohibited from doing anything more than running her shop for the time being. 

    Ino’s thoughts were interrupted when she heard something crash to the floor and she immediately made her way to the front of the Yamanaka shop to see what it was. 

   “Hel-” her greeting was cut short when her eyes settled upon Shikamaru standing in the door way, seemingly frozen in place as he stared at her. She had wondered which of the two she would see first. The blonde’s eyes wandered to the remnants of a flower pot that had crashed to the floor in Shikamaru’s haste. “I don’t suppose you’ll be paying for that---” the wind is knocked out of Ino when Shikamaru rushes over to her to pull her into a tight embrace. 

    Her façade shatters under the weight of his emotions and she can feel the sting of tears as she returns the hug with equal strength as she buries her head into his shoulder. Just as he had not been sure that he would ever see her again during those weeks, she had felt the same and all those built had risen to the surface for her too. 

   Ino turned her head so that she could speak as she slowly loosened her embrace so she could gently pat his back though his embrace still remained just as tight. “It’s really me. I’m here.”

[darklordofthesimp]

Anything (König x Reader)

The 1st instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Like the characters? Read their fics below!

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary:  A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: I have no idea how we got here

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Forced Proximity || Enemies to ?

Warnings: Graphic description of violence || Graphic description of injury || Graphic language

“You’re a liability.”

The words rang like a church bell. You were never one for petty violence but in that moment, after he’d so calmly said the words, you thought that you just might kill him.

“A liability?” You hissed, glaring at your superior like he’d grown two heads. “I’m a sniper, Sir, not a fucking ninja.”

The captain simply shifted his weight lazily, unfazed by your temper. He’d dealt with it many times throughout the years but it hadn’t bothered him because you weren’t inherently his. You were somebody else’s spitfire, under another unit’s command; but now you were part of the 141 and you needed to learn.

“Come on, Birdy. You know I’m right.”

Birdy.

You had Soap to thank for the name. ‘Snipers and birds both shit on people from above’. It wasn’t creative and honestly you could have thought of one hundred better names to offer, but once Ghost started addressing you by Birdy, it was set in stone.

When you said nothing, he continued.

“You can’t fight your way out of a wet paper bag,” he scoffed, swallowing a snort when your eyes widened. “Sniper’s need to defend themselves too, Birdy. You learnt that the hard way, remember?”

How could you not?

The knife wound had healed but the memory of it had not. Images of the hooded man wedging a blade into your shoulder flickered across your vision. Fists bearing down onto your jaw. Fingers wrapped around your throat.

A chill skittered across your skin.

“So, what’s your suggestion?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

When the corner of Price’s mouth quirked upward, you’d already begun to regret asking.

“Simple, really.” He shrugged, “someone’s gonna train ya.”

Your stomach dropped and a cold shiver traced the length of your spine.

“Who, Sir?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Ghost’s not here. Everyone’s on leave.”

Price smirked.

“Not everyone.”

___

You felt nauseas.

Anxiety had your stomach in a death grip, and it was all you could do to not throw up. Pacing up and down the gym mats, you tried to cool your nerves.

There was only one person that had remained a complete anomaly to you and now he’d been given literal permission to beat the shit out of you.

Training.

You remembered what they loved to call ‘training’ at your old unit. You’d never been the fastest or the strongest, that was not your job. You were the one who could take make an impossible shot a kilometre away, but that’s not what ‘training’ entailed.

Your body ached at the memory.

There was a small noise by the doorway and your body stiffened. He was letting you know that he was there, his equivalent of a knock.

You both knew that he could have had you on your back whenever he pleased.

“König.” You acknowledged him as confidently as you could, turning to face the beast head on.

The giant stood in the doorway looking like the fucking bogey man himself.

“Birdy,” König inclined his head. Those dark, watchful eyes observed you from beneath his hood, taking in your visage. Heat licked the back of your neck and you began to sweat under his gaze.

He was clad in his usual getup from the waist down, the tactical cargo pants and the hefty boots being his barracks favourite. It was the hoodie that had caught you by surprise, you’d seen it a few times in passing, but up close it rendered you breathless.

“I didn’t realize you were staying with the 141,” you said, swallowing nervously as he stepped into the room, ducking his head to avoid hitting the frame above.

This was a sick, sick joke.

“My transfer was approved,” was the only explanation that he offered you.

You knew, logically, that what had happened between the both of you had been a misunderstanding. It was a communication failure on behalf of the brass that had almost gotten you killed but the idea of working with him, training with him, made your stomach drop.

König’s hands got to work removing his gloves and the memory of those fingers wrapped around your throat made you flinch.

You’d set up a sniper’s nest atop the rooftop, watching the entrance of the building the 141 was infiltrating. They were going to flush out the target and send him running right into your line of fire.

No-one had been informed of KorTac’s involvement.

You’d heard König before you’d seen him, the dismantling of your trip mine giving you enough indication to roll onto your back to investigate. By then, he was already upon you.

You’d kicked the rifle from his hands but that was where your advantage finished. He’d dragged you by your ankles from your weapon, straddling your flailing body as he got to work. The knife he’d brandished stabbed into your flesh violently, and at first, you’d thought he only punched you.

Until the searing hot pain bloomed across your body and blood sprayed across his hood.

Those emerald eyes were wild and hard as he gripped your face over your balaclava. You couldn’t think to react, dizzied by the agony of knife he twisted into your skin. His palm covered the entirety of your features, fingers tight against your temples as he pulled your head forward then smashed it back into the concrete.

You thought your skull had exploded.

Fists ploughed into your jaw but it was as though you were numb now. Finally, his fingers were drawn to your throat, squeezing tightly as he leaned in. The cloth of his hood brushed against your battered body, filling the space between you as his lips pressed against your ear.

“Your fight is finished,” he hissed heatedly. Then König pressed down into your skin.

You don’t remember what happened afterward. You knew that he’d been called off by his chain-of-command just in time to stop himself from ending your life, but that was according to Soap.

You were in a coma for two weeks.

It took you months to recover.

And only once you came back to work, fit to fight and ready to go, had you discovered that König had applied to transfer into the 141 shortly after the incident. KorTac had offered him up to fill in your position while you recovered.

Not only had the bastard nearly killed you but he’d taken your place.

Now that you were back, he would lose his place as a sniper and be back to running with the team on the ground.

König watched you carefully from where he stood.

“You’re my instructor,” you said plainly, stating the obvious. “Price made you my hand-to-hand combat trainer.

“Ironic, isn’t it,” his voice came quietly from beneath the hood, a small snort following in suit.

You would have laughed had you not been so fucking terrified. You were about to take your place back on the team, a position this giant clearly wanted and now he was given the chance to put you back into the hospital with no questions asked.

You wouldn’t be able to do anything against him. König was a mountain of a man, a force to be reckoned with, and while he tried to make himself as disarming as possible it was implausible to hide that frame.

“Did you want to get started?” König asked, leaning his hip against the table beside him. He was so casual for someone who had nearly killed you.

“No,” you said simply.

“Are you not up for this?” König ventured carefully, pushing off the bench and taking a slow step towards you. Your heart thrashed against your ribs at his approaching figure and you forced yourself to stay still. “You still have bruising-“

“That’s what happens when someone shatters your fucking face, cunt,” you snapped, casting your gaze from his. You were hoping that he wouldn’t bring it up, everyone had danced around your condition for so long. No one spoke about how fucking ugly you looked as you tried to recover.

“It was an accident,” his voice was hard, almost bewildered at your sudden aggression. “We both paid the price for someone else’s mistakes.”  

“Don’t talk to me about paying the price, you fucker,” you snapped, shoving against his chest. König yielded a step and it infuriated you even further to know that he’d allowed it. “You got the fucking job you wanted, you got the transfer you wanted, you got the training you wanted. Didn’t you?”

“Yes, but-“

“You wanna know what I got?” You snapped, shoving him harder this time. König’s eyes narrowed and he snatched your wrists, holding them against his ribs to stop your assault. You continued anyway, walking his body backward until his heels hit the wall. “I got put into a fucking coma.”  

König’s gaze softened, his chest heaving beneath your hands. You could feel his heart pounding beneath your fists, you could hear his breaths grow ragged.

“I know,” he murmured, his fingers tightening on your wrists. “I was assigned to watch over your bed for those two weeks."

You stared at him for a long moment, sniffling and gasping for air after your rant. König lowered his head and his grip loosened.

“What I did to you…” he trailed off, unable to meet your gaze. How ugly must you have become that he couldn’t withstand looking at his own handiwork?

You turned around, hiding the hot tears forming along your lashes. You were so fucking ashamed by the terror gripping your throat, embarrassed by how much your image affected you. You hated feeling disgusting. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you at all times it was suffocating you, they gawked and stared and whispered about how your 'pretty face was ruined.'

You began to understand why people wear masks.

“You ruined me,” you rasped. “And I couldn’t do anything to stop you.”

König was silent from behind you, mulling over your words. You couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by your outburst. He had stabbed you, shattered your skull, broken your nose and jaw and nearly snapped your neck- he deserved to listen to you yell at him at the very least.

Fingers slid over your shoulders, slowly turning you around to face him. You tugged against his hold half-heartedly, vision swimming beneath never-ending tears.

“Look at me, Birdy.” His voice was soft and pleading, his hand slowly moving to cup your bruised jaw. You froze as he manoeuvred you, forcing you to face him square on. König slowly lowered himself to rest a knee on the ground, leaving him still taller than you but closer to eye level.

With the hand that was free, he reached for his hood. You swallowed nervously as he carefully pulled it from his head, resting the cloth on his upright knee.

Dirty blonde hair lay splayed across his forehead, the length curling by his ears. Dark brows framed the emerald gaze that watched you intently, taking in your visage as you observed him. All of him.

The scars caught your attention.

Winding from his upper lip, across his eye and leaving a line through his brow, the winding length of damaged skin presented itself. There was another scar along the bridge of his nose that travelled across the width of his cheekbone and into his hair.

“Do I…” König trailed off, full lips parting as he mused over his next words. You stared in awe at the innocence of the freckles smattered across his features. “Are you afraid of me?”

You said nothing for a long moment, mesmerized by the features of a man that had haunted your thoughts for months. He’d been the centre of your existence for so long, the reason you ached and the reason you’d bled. König had plagued your every waking moment ever since the incident, and now he knelt before you. He was on his knees baring his vulnerabilities to you, knowing you could destroy him with it.

“Of course,” you whispered; your voice shaky as you met his gaze.

König’s expression became pleading, “then let me teach you how to beat me.”

His thumb lightly caressed your purple cheek, brows furrowed as he took in his handiwork. “Let me pay for what I’ve done by teaching you how to never let it happen again. And when you finally beat me, revenge will be yours and you may do as you wish.”

“Anything I want?” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.

A wry, sad smile pulled at the corner of König’s mouth.

“Anything, mein vöglein.”

My little bird.

____

Next Chapter

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you get embarrassed and miguel won’t let it go —featuring a smug miguel and a pining spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested here. fem!reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"This is super, uber bad," Lyla drawls lightly. 

Miguel waves an annoyed hand at her, gaze on the orange monitor in front of him. You shift from foot to foot beside him, neck craned to watch in tandem. 

"Like, so bad. Maybe you should go help." 

"I can't intervene now," Miguel says. 

"How come?" you ask, pulling at the tips of your gloves one at a time as you worry, until the whole thing is slipping off and onto the floor. 

You make no move to pick it up. Miguel glances down at it, then the screen again before saying, "Because they'll never learn. And because there's too many fingers in the same pie." 

"Pie?" you ask. 

"You don't want that?" he asks, pointing at your fallen glove. 

You blink, pulled back to the present from your stewing anxiety. It's hard seeing people you care about getting their asses handed to them and knowing you can't help.

Miguel rolls his eyes, only half-making fun as he leans down for your glove. You lean at the same time, almost knocking your head into his as your fingers brush. Miguel looks up, suddenly face to face with you. Your breath catches in your throat at the proximity. You can see every dark lash hedging his eyes, feel the fanning of his exhale as it kisses your top lip. 

His confusion is obvious. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

"Uh– it’s nothing." 

His eyes narrow, your heart skips a beat, and while Miguel might not have a spider sense he's still enhanced. He must hear it. Something in his eyes changes, the smallest flicker of amusement relaxing his brow.  

You wince and stand up rigidly straight, face to the screen again so he can't see your flustered expression head on. "Nothing." 

"Sort of felt like something." 

"It's nothing, Miguel." 

"That why you forgot this?" 

You look down at his offered hand, your glove bunched up in his big palm. 

Your lips part of their own accord, any effort you've made to appear unaffected by him, his stature, and his general imposing demeanour now worthless. Too quickly, you snatch the glove from his hand and yank it back over your fingers, your pinky bending uncomfortably from the sheer force of it. 

"It's nothing," Miguel repeats without inflection, though he crosses his arms and chuckles a second later. 

You squirm beside him. "I– I'm distracted." 

"I can tell. Something caught your eye?" 

The urge to cover your face with both hands reaches an all time high. You settle for covering one flushed cheek. "Nothing interesting." 

"No? Well, we can change that." 

"Would you stop?" you ask, trying to sound furious but definitely bordering pleading. 

"I'm not doing anything. Nothing happened." 

"I wouldn't take that, if it were me," Lyla chimes in. 

"Good thing it's not you," Miguel says. 

Things are quiet for a while. Miguel refocuses on the fight unfolding on screen, and you try to calm your beating heart. The embarrassment refuses to wane, your pulse too stubborn to slow, and eventually Miguel must take pity on you, leaning toward you with arms crossed over his chest. "It wasn't that bad," he says.

"I don't know what you're talking about." 

"I'm trying to make you feel better." 

"You– I– you were so close to me, I got nervous, it– it has nothing to do with you." 

Miguel raises his eyebrows. "Oh, okay." He straightens up. "Nothing to do with me. You know I can hear your heart, right?" 

"Wow. Is that unique to you?" you ask scathingly, knowing every Spider in the whole headquarters can likely hear the drum of your heart right now. 

You know he's teasing because he finally managed to catch you in a moment of awkwardness rather than the other way around, and because he's an asshole —you think that part hard, hoping his enhanced hearing has improved to include telepathy. Like he can tell, he grins, and he nods at nothing in particular. 

"Don't worry, Spider-Girl. I won't hold it against you." 

"Generous," you say. 

His voice drops to a rough, lilting murmur, "People have said that about me. Tall, handsome, generous." It's impossible to miss the implication. 

Your heart rockets and you have to turn away from him entirely to maintain any dignity you have left. 

"You know what else they say?" Lyla asks. "That he's a smug, tightly wound control freak who's too busy being a bad sport, totally missing Jess' call for backup." 

"What?" Miguel asks, all smoothness dropped from his voice. "Respond!" 

"Say sorry to Y/N."

"Lyla!" 

"Say sorry–" 

"I'm sorry," he says to you. You're happy to find genuine apology in his gaze, if only for a second. "Lyla, respond." 

"Already did." 

Miguel gets so immediately angry that his head tips back and his eyes screw closed, grunting his dissatisfaction. You send Lyla a grateful smile, smothering a wave of laughs with your gloved hand. 

"Don't worry, Miguel," you say cheerfully. "I won't hold it against you."

"...Thank you."

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thanks for reading! i hope u enjoyed, pls reblog if u have the time! <;3 my other miguel fics

[aeliuss]

kiss me or hate me (kiss me)

when god made you, he built you all wrong. sown your heart on three times too large and your lungs three times too small, and you knew it was so because although you knew he was bad news, you couldn’t quite catch your breath around him. he is something holy, you swear he is. when he carves his hips into yours, when his lips linger on the soft flesh of your throat—he could tear you open.

you would let him. let him love you the way a vulture loves a carcass, neck dipped low in worship as it feasts.

your parents hate the way you’ve stopped going to church to be with him. hate that your even with him, but what do they know of love? you try to explain it to them, but the words get tangled in your throat, coming out wrong. they see only rebellion where you see revelation, only sin where you see sanctity.

you spend your nights wrapped in his arms, your days lost in thoughts of him. the world narrows to the beat of his heart against your ear, the whisper of his breath against your skin. his presence is a prayer you never learned, a hymn that rises unbidden in your throat. you abandon the familiar pews and hymns for the unknown verses of his touch, and every kiss is a communion, every whispered word a confession.

you start to think that maybe love is its own kind of faith. you wonder if god made him just for you, a test of your devotion, a challenge to your beliefs. you wonder if redemption could be found in the curve of his smile, if salvation could be written in the lines of his hands.

“I don’t love you,” he is sitting up on the bed, back to you, hips still tangled in the white sheets as he smokes a vape. “you know that, right?”

you know. you tell him so from where you lay on the bed, a foot away from him. naked, if not for the duvet. you swear you can make out a halo from the curls of smoke around his head.

he exhales sharply, shoulders shaking with laughter, twisting to face you. “god, you’re fun.” he murmurs against your lips. “did you know that? how fun you are?”

you don’t answer. don’t get the chance to, because he is pressing against you, and your blur into him once more. you don’t know where he ends and you begin.

“do you believe in redemption?” you ask him one day, your voice barely a whisper.

he snorts, a short, sharp sound that cuts through the silence. “redemption is for people who think they need to be saved,” he says, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. “do you think you need to be saved?”

“do you?”

“do I look like I need to be saved?” his touch is not unlike a feather against your hip. it makes it difficult to focus. “I don’t know,” you murmur, cupping his jaw. “sometimes, you look very sad.”

you’ve never caught him off guard before. but that night you swore you saw the glitter of tears in his eyes, though you don’t feel them when he buries his head into the crook of your neck.

“maybe we can save each other,” he mumbles after a while.

you hum softly, considering his words, the weight of them sinking into the silence between you. maybe it's true, maybe you can save each other. the idea flickers like a candle in the dark. fragile.

but as the days pass, you realize that love alone cannot mend all wounds, cannot erase all sins. he is still the same flawed, broken boy you fell for, and you are still the same church girl with a heart too big and a faith too fragile. you cannot save him, no matter how desperately you try.

yet you try. because god has sown your heart on three times too big and his three times too small and when you are together, you are clashes of teeth and elbows, of long limbs and wandering fingers, of sanctity and sin.

because he is your religion and you, a dutiful worshipper. because it was always meant to end this way. his teeth on your throat. a vulture feeding on a corpse.

[cheriecelestial]

Angel Pt.1

pairing*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Red Hood!Jason Todd X fem!reader

disclaimer*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ fluff. slight suggestive content (?). swearing. canon typical violence. kinda long. not proofread !

a/n*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ based on that one prompt “Wow ! You’ve grown so much since I last babysat you” “I want to rail you so bad”. Reader is like 26 and Jason is 19-20. Set in the WFA verse + joyfire are a team. Kinda non canon complacent. Smut in part II

Part II

Under the nocturnal skyline of Gotham perched on a towering building was the vigilante anti- hero Red Hood watching, observing the city like a hunter stalking its next prey. His jacket whipped against the wind of the boisterous and animated city. He closed his eyes and listened to song of wailing sirens and the distant cries of people, ready to respond to the city's calls for help.

Gotham was a city that, much like its vigilantes, thrived in the night. The city was hued in the rapturous and vivacious of the nightlife. Neon signs flickered casting flashes of colours across the pavements of the night clubs. People scattered across the pavements like ants, some making their way home from a tiring day of work, others more aimless and leisure - their destinations less defined and indulgent. He pulled out his grapple hook gun and shot to a building a few blocks away from where his bike was parked.

In the shadowed alleyways, Red Hood felt a sinister presence stir. He kept walking without letting them know that he noticed their presence. By the footsteps, he could tell six no.. seven. Four of medium build and three a bit more burly. Judging by their lack of ability to mask their footsteps, he could guess they're amateurs. Well in all honesty, almost everyone was an amateur compared to him. Slowing his pace, Red Hood's hands instinctively moved to his holster, anticipating a potential confrontation. Nothing beat the thrill of beating up bad guys. However, amid the approaching group, he discerned another set of footsteps — urgent, lighter, tinged with fear, and most importantly heading directly toward him.

He felt someone clutch the lapel of his jacket desperately. "You're a vigilante, aren't you ? Please help me sir. I think there are bad people following me." Red Hood looked to his side and saw a woman much shorter than him and shaking like a leaf in wind. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at her. It had been almost a decade since he had gazed into those warm large eyes—a fragment of his childhood that he had long relegated to oblivion. Jason Todd had what most would call a troubled childhood. Abandoned by his birth mother and the only other one he had dead from drug abuse and an even worse father who died the hands of Two Face. Tossed through the foster system, he eventually found himself on the unforgiving streets of Gotham. Amid the darkest moments of his youth, one saving grace remained —his angel,Y/N L/N. One he completely forgot about when he assumed the mantle of Robin.

"Help me please." She implored, her voice trembling and on the verge of breaking - the same one who would calm his raging storm on bad nights and tell him that he was going to be okay, and in the moment he swore he was. Her gaze shifted between the men and the vigilante, moving closer to him without realizing to shield herself from the villains in the shadows. Almost as if in a trance, he raised his gloved hand to caress her cheek as if to check if she was real or not. "Just follow my lead." He spoke in a low tone and the woman nodded frantically. His hand encircled her wrist and he started running, dragging her behind him the second he heard the thugs charge. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't think twice before starting a fight and having it his way. But he couldn't bear endangering her in the slightest so getting her to safety was the only viable option.

Her breath came in rapid gasps, and beads of sweat glistened on side of her forehead as they navigated the maze of alleyways in their path. The flickering glow of distant streetlights created fleeting glimpses of their pursuers. Her heart pounded in her chest like the strumming of a frantic drum as adrenaline pumped poisoned her veins. Jason noticed that she couldn't run fast enough to outrun the thugs with her stamina. "Sorry about what I'm about to do”,he warned in a hushed whisper and without hesitation, he lifted her over his shoulder and began running. Y/N gasped, clutching onto the vigilante for dear life. Wind ruffled her hair as she watched the vigilante leave behind their pursuers effortlessly. "You know if this vigilante thing doesn't work out you could try out for the Olympics." She muttered not realizing she said it out loud. Red Hood let out a gruff laugh, "I could but I like beating up bad guys and saving people such as yourself just a tad bit more angel." Y/N blushed at the nickname but waved it off as commonplace banter.

He set her down next to his bike. And took off his chocolate coloured jacket and draped it around her shoulders. "How could I ever thank you?" The h/c haired woman smiled at him with a smile so infectious that the corners of Jason's lips curled up without his realising under his mask. "Don't thank me just yet princess. They aren't near done." Y/N blinked in confusion and followed Red Hood's line of sight where she saw three black cars racing towards them. Her features morphed from relief to horror and alarm in the blink of an eye.The vigilante revved his bike and looked at her,"What are you waiting for?" The woman looks at the approaching cars and back at the vigilante, contemplating her options and got on the back of his bike. His hand envelops her and plants it onto his waist as if silently asking her to hold onto him. Y/N flinches at the contact as it she touched something really hot and retracted her hand.

The masked vigilante plucks a helmet out of the saddlebag and strapped it on her head."You might want to hold on angel." Y/N hums in acknowledgment and holds the grab handle behind the seat. Jason rolled his eyes at her refusal to hold onto him and revves the engine making her lurch forward and crash into his back. Realising that doing this any other way apart from his was futile, Y/N timidly encircled her arms around his waist.

The vibrations of the engine shook her whole being as he raced down the streets. The streets, trees, people blurred in her peripheral vision and she started feeling light-headed. Gathering all the morsels of courage she could find, she looked behind her to see the thugs chasing them. They hadn't lost the three cars and things just got worse when she saw a man peek his head out of the window with a fun in his hand. I'm so dying today. She clasped her hands tighter around him and pressed her face against his rigid muscular back in fear.

Sensing her unease, he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her infront of him. Y/N let out a yelp from the suddenness of the contact.

"What are you -"

"You don’t want your back facing them when they start shooting soon." Y/N looked over his shoulder to the thugs and then sunk back into and then sank back against his chest.

"You know if it makes you feel better just know this is an average Tuesday for me." Y/N blinked at him incredulously and in a small voice muttered,"It's Thursday today." A nonchalant shrug was all the answer he decided to give her. How the hell does he manage to remain calm through it? I'm on the verge of a panic attack and he's swerving as if this is a joyride in his kingdom. And in that moment if someone said that he was the king of Gotham, Y/N would find it hard to refute it.

The bike picked up speed causing the h/c haired woman to crash against his chest harshly. It was as if the pressure of the wind glued her against him. To calm herself, she decided to try concentrating elsewhere. Absentmindedly trailing the ridges of his armour and the red bat symbol on his chest. She heard whispers and rumours about Red Hood, the prince of crime, the scourge of the underworld—an outlaw employing more lethal methods against crime than Batman. Despite initial conflicts with Batman, he was acknowledged as a Bat vigilante some time ago. This man was dangerous and unpredictable then why did he feel so familiar to her ?

“I know I have god-tier pectoral muscles but I’d appreciate if you stopped distracting me like that.” Red Hood quipped, sounding almost smug at her fascination. Heat rushed into her cheeks and she quickly withdrew her hand, realising how inappropriate that must’ve felt and hastily clarified,“ I’m so sorry, I’m not a pervert I swear.” Y/N felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.

“Hold on.” Red Hood skidded the bike across the road with a loud screech, making Y/N wince at the sound of the metal scratching against the gravel. He loaded his gun with one hand still wrapped around Y/N protectively and aimed at the tires of the approaching car. “I’d suggest for you to not look at it.”Y/N averted her gaze and moments later, she heard a series of crashes and explosions.

“Jesus Christ I thought I was going to die !” She exhaled in relief. Red Hood turned his face towards her slowly and looked at her as if deadpanning through the mask,“ I’m here you know. What makes you think I’d let you die ?” He retorted taking full offence of her words. “I- I didn’t mean it like that -” she stammered, partly scared to offend the vigilante.

"Whatever I'll drop you off." Jason rolled his eyes and patted the seat behind him. Y/N hesitated, remembering her mother's warning about getting on bikes with strange men, but given her current situation, she realized it was too late to dwell on that now. With no one pursuing them, the ride felt much more pleasant. The speed and the wind against her hair seemed to turn her blood to gasoline as the air dissipated from her lungs. Adrenaline fueled activities weren't for her, at least that's what her sense of self preservation told her. Y/ N pressed her cheek against Red Hood's back. Vigilantes had a symbiotic relationship with the city and as was a common saying in Gotham "The less bats you run into the happier your life is." She knew that this encounter might be a fleeting one, so she decided to relish the moment for now.

Feelings and thoughts were long forgotten, where everything faded into the background and only her physical self exists and the dancing lights at the hazy edges of her vision offered an intoxicating taste of freedom that was indescribable — stripped of obligations, responsibilities and consequences.

Y/N almost doesn’t notice when he stopped the bike. “Do you plan on holding onto me for long ? Not that I mind but we’re here.” Red Hood hopped off the bike and Y/N took off her helmet and hung it onto the handlebar. She scanned her surroundings, they were in front of a five star hotel with sports cars parked on either side of of the road. “Why are we here ?” The woman asked following behind the masked vigilante. “Well for one I don’t know your address so I can’t drop you home and second it’s too late so you should stay the night at a hotel and go home in the morning. It’s safer that way.” Y/N stared at him in disbelief,“ But I don’t have the kind of money to rent a room in a place like this.” Red Hood retrieved a key card from his pocket and placed it on her palm,“Who said anything about paying ?” The h/c haired took it reluctantly and slowly walked to the entrance of the hotel, looking back at him again and again. It wasn’t until she was inside the hotel that she saw him drive off. Y/N walked to the concierge desk and showed her the card. The receptionist eyed her with suspicion considering how she looked so out of place compared to her opulent setting. “Please fill this form. It’s for security purposes.”

The form asked things like her address and her phone number. As reluctant as she was, the receptionist looked like she wasn’t letting her through unless she filled it. Wary of the dangers of misuse of information, Y/N tried to keep her responses as brief as possible. Paranoia was the best friend of a Gothamite considering everything that went down in this hellhole. It was good to always assume the worse and subsequently prepare for it.

The receptionist offered her a tight smile and walked her to the suite. Calling it a suite was an understatement since it was the penthouse on top of the hotel. Just how rich is this guy ? Y/N assumed that the house was a property he didn’t live in because the place lacked personal touch. Either that or he was a real minimalist which was unlikely considering bat vigilantes’ love for theatrics. Y/N wondered if all the bat vigilantes were like a huge family with Batman as papa bat. Where would Red Hood fall in the hierarchy ? If she were to guess, she’d say he was probably the black sheep of the family. Y/N looked around the house, it was one straight out of architectural digests with its high ceilings and cool grey and white interior. She looked at the time and decided it was best if she hit the shower and go to bed and finally put an end to this crazy day.

Jason Todd checked into the hotel the next morning and was greeted by the overly friendly receptionist, personally he didn’t mind fangirls but anyone with even half a braincell knew the risks of being a vigilante groupie. She passed him the form that Y/N filled. He couldn’t help but smile at the form. Filling her work address and a phone number both which were most likely false give the conspicuous number of 7’s in the number ? She’s smarter than most civilians, he’d give her that. The penthouse looked almost unhampered with. His jacket was neatly folded on the dining table with a note reading “Thank you so much for saving me. Regards.” The tone of the note was clear ‘I appreciate you saving me but I hope we never meet again.’ Jason pocketed the note and left the penthouse. Fates had been kind enough to reunite him with his angel and he’d be damned if he let her get away .

“Yoohoo Y/N to earth. Anybody home ?”Y/N’s coworker snapped her fingers in front her face, snapping her out of her reverie. “Sorry about that Steph.” Y/N apologised with an awkward laugh. Stephanie Brown, albeit several years younger, was one of Y/N’s closest friends. She was a bubbly and cheerful soul anyone could tell that by the first impression she projected.

Since the night almost a week ago with the mysterious vigilante, Y/N often found her thoughts plagued by him. Curiosity of where he would be or what he would be doing right now. Her eyes often looked for any news of him while watching the news. I really have to stop thinking about him, even though they lived in the same city, the odds of them running into each other were minute.

The door opened and the bell on top of it clanged, announcing the arrival of a customer. “Mornin’ ladies.” The customer greeted. Y/N turned her attention at the newcomer at the counter. “Good morning detective !” she greeted the customer with a bright smile.

Dick Grayson served as a police officer under the GCPD and was one of the cafe’s frequents. From experiences of her own childhood, Y/N consider the police nothing but corrupt individuals on payroll of powerful people who bullied those weaker than them. But detective Grayson was one of the good and honest ones. He played a massive role in restoring Y/N’s faith that there were those in the police force who could be relied upon and ones that fought for a better Gotham.

"I'll go with the..." he glanced at the menu, a ritual he often performed. "the regular?" Y/N finished his sentence. He responded with a smile, revealing his dimples. "I never understand why you bother with the menu when you always order the same thing," she remarked. He shrugged nonchalantly, as if saying 'who knows.' A smile crept onto her face as she made his order.

“So how’s everything with the family ?” Y/N asked, making small talk. Beyond his consistent ordering and punctual 9:00 AM café visits, he frequently shared his sibling issues. "Oh, where do I begin? My brother is acting up, yet again. He pulled some crap about a week ago. He broke one of Dad’s rules, even though he said he did it to help someone but Dad was just not having it."

“ Which one ? The cool rebellious one or the little gremlin one ?” Y/N laughed sympathetically. She didn’t feel the need to probe and ask much but she always lent an ear to a friend so naturally she knew them by characteristics and not by name. From what she knew, Dick Grayson had three younger brothers - the broody rebellious one, the caffein addict smartass and the 4 foot gremlin edgelord from hell.

“The rebellious one.” he sighed wearily. Y/N placed his order on the counter, including a small pack of cookies. “On the house. You could use some sugar anyway. They’re free testers before we put them on the menu.” Dick accepted the coffee and cookie packet, flashing a bright smile. “Thank you so much. You’re an angel.” An odd feeling resonated within her when Dick called her that. That’s what Red Hood called her. Somehow the way the word rolled off his tongue seemed so different compared to when anyone else said it.

“Hey Dick do you mind if I ask you something ?” Dick nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “What do you know about the Red Hood ?”

Dick choked on his drink and burst into a fit of coughs. It took him a while to compose himself. “He’s alright. I mean he does help the GCPD I guess but he’s too unpredictable and we don’t exactly approve of his methods. He doesn’t hurt innocents but he’s bad news. Why do you ask ?”

“No reason.”Y/N brushed off the inquiry, and although Dick seemed skeptical, he left after leaving a tip. There. Is your curiosity satiated ? Even Dick said he’s bad news now can we stop thinking about him ? Her inner conscience reprimanded her.

Y/N's weary steps echoed in the quiet street as she walked home from work at night. The flickering light from the street lights streetlights casted long almost sentient looking shadows. Her thoughts — a mix of the day's challenges, the longing for the comfort of home blurred into oblivion when a strange chill crept up her spine with a sense of foreboding. Cautious of her surroundings, Y/N constantly kept watch around herself. Just a few yards before her apartment building, she heard their neighbourhood strays agitatedly hiss to something near the dumpster. Not wanting to get involved in whatever trouble Gotham had brought to her feet, she fastened her pace. Suddenly, a flash of vibrant red —the same shade she had been secretly craving to see in the past week, caught her eye.

“Red Hood ?” Y/N stepped into the shadows cautiously as if ready to flee at the first signs of trouble.

“Angel ?” He asked gruffly. Y/N walked closer and found him against the wall, clutching his side. His wound wasn’t a death sentence but needed to be tended to quickly. Her eyes widened in horror when she noticed the crimson coating his fingers,“You’re hurt !”

“ ‘Tis but a scratch m’lady.” He let out a pained laugh seeming to ease her nerves. “We need to get that treated.” Y/N urged. She knew that vigilantes couldn’t just walked into hospitals to get patched up because of the whole secret identity thing. And she also knew that taking it upon herself to treat him would go against every plan of self preservation she had. But she owed him his life. I’ll pay off my debt and we’ll never meet again. Y/N mentally decided and looked at him with newfound determination in her eyes. “My apartment is just upstairs. I have a first aid kit. Come with me.”

Red Hood gazed at her, momentarily lost in thought, then lifted his other hand to gently stroke her cheek. Y/N flinched at his touch, making him withdraw his hand. “Sorry I thought I was hallucinating you because from the blood loss. ” He admitted meekly. Y/N sighed and placed his hand over her shoulder. “Can you stand?” The masked vigilante nodded, rising slowly with a grunt.

Swallowing her rising concern, she brought him to her house and beckoned him towards her couch. Red Hood’s every step betrayed a hint of discomfort, his grimace almost visible even behind that signature mask. The second he dropped on her couch, she disappeared. He caught flashes of her running around the house like a busy bee at work. In seconds, she produced a first-aid kit and knelt next to him. “Lift your shirt.” She maintained her clinical tone, but the concern was evident with her eyes trained on the wound.

“Angel you know if you wanted to –” Jason started with a cheeky tone but was cut off by a stern glare, “Ahem yes ma’am”

Y/N breath hitched every so slightly when she saw the injury. It didn’t look like a bullet wound, the malformed spindle shape resembled a stab wound. “I’m sorry I don’t have any anaesthetic.” She didn’t look up from the wound as her cotton swab glided over the grevions injury. Shifting her elbow to his other hand on his thigh, Red Hood tilted his head seemingly questioning her,“ You can hold my arm and squeeze it if it hurts. I’ve heard that helps.”

“Appreciate the gesture angel but I’m pretty sure I’d snap your arm in half if I did.” His tone was both dismissive and endearing. Y/N didn’t insist, given his strength what he said was probably true. Vigilantes were exceptionally trained, surpassing conventional human limits. Unlike the caped metahuman from Metropolis, the bat vigilantes were more cryptid in nature. None would be where they came from and where they went. Invulnerable and insurmountable. Despite him being in a position that would render others vulnerable, he appeared unfazed, akin to a wounded yet formidable beast. There was a natural aura of dominance and power about him. They don’t call him the Prince of Gotham for no reason that’s for sure.

“You’re good at this. Like one of the best I’ve seen.” He spoke up, seemingly trying to come off as capable of being civil. “Well three years of med school. Some stitching is the least I can do.” She explained. Red Hood visible froze for a good second and inquired,“ You’re a doctor ?”

Y/N scoffed,“ Look around. Do I look like one ?” Red Hood looked around her apartment. Although well maintained, an ode to her efforts, the apartment was old and almost pitiful . Most of the furniture looked second hand and cheap. The curtain rods were rusted and the paint was peeling off from the walls with damp spots on the ceilings.

“You dropped out ?” He guessed. “Yeah. Couldn’t afford it.” She chuckled bitterly.

“Didn’t they offer scholarships or something ?” Jason was aware of Wayne Enterprises’ scholarship programs for talented students. When Bruce took him in, he assured Jason that if Y/N met the criteria, she would be enrolled in the program. Y/N’s intellect had always impressed Jason since childhood, he remembered that she would often sneak into libraries and memorise books worth of stories to recite them to Jason to help him sleep. There was just no way she wouldn’t be accepted into the program.

“They did but that didn’t pay bills. I needed to find a job to pay for my mom’s hospital bills.” She kept her response short, clearly not wanting to delve deep into the topic. “Work for me.” The statement was like a whiplash for Y/N. Work for him ? There weren’t many things Y/N had to take a double take for but this proposition was entirely unexpected. It caught her off guard, she stared at him incredulously with widened eyes. Red Hood was know for operating in the gray areas between legality and criminality and wasn’t exactly your quintessential example of a righteous lawful hero.

“Not in the way you’re imagining.” He hooked his free hand under her chin, gently closing her agape mouth. His tone was soft and reassuring,“ I’ve been meaning to find a backstreet surgeon to stitch me up. Comes in handy for a guy like me. I’m sure you understand angel.”

“B-but why me ?”Y/N stuttered, avoiding eye contact as her nerves threatened to overwhelm her. She could feel a chill of nervousness and panic creep up her spine. What if he got angry if she refused ? Jason noticed the change in the air around her and the stiffening of her muscles in panic that she was clearly trying to hide from him.

“Because you’re convenient. Your place is easy to get in and out of undetected, you’re talented and most of all —“ He gently lifted her chin to meet his gaze. Y/N let out a shuddered breath as Red Hood stroked her cheek with the back of his gloved hand. “— you fear me enough to not go around squeaking to the wrong people about me. No ?” Jason couldn’t help but relish in the reaction he elicited to the feeling of the leather gliding against her cheek in a silken featherlight touch. How adorable.

Y/N swallowed nervously before nodding slowly. A beat of silence passed and she let out a small sigh, recollecting herself and weighing her options. “How much are we talking ?” She asked him in a low voice. Jason could hardly contain his excitement, grinning wildly under his mask. A sense of pride washed over him as her first question after his offer focused on the financial aspect.

“Let’s see how about 2 grand a month ? Too less ? 3 grand ? 3.5 ? That enough ?”he suggested eagerly. Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief, almost bulging from their sockets. Without waiting for her response, he added, “Plus, there’ll be extra incentives when I’m feeling generous.”

“All that for some stitching ? There has to be a catch.” She reasoned. It seemed implausible that he would offer such a substantial sum for such a minor task. Jason chuckled," You’re smart. I like that in a woman. And to answer your question, it’s not just stitching. It’s about your discretion and loyalty. It’s a complete package. Plus that sort of money is pretty much pocket change to me.”

“And if I were to betray your trust ?” Y/N asked in a hypothetical sense, of course she had more sense than to betray someone of his stature and power. “Do you really want me to answer that ?” He countered sounding equal parts smug and menacing. Y/N shook her head in negation and continued stitching his wound. The process of stitching became a meditative rhythm - the needle piercing the skin, the pull of the thread, the knotting, and the slight twitch of Red Hood’s muscles with each stitch.

“I’ll take it.” She muttered. Jason was grateful for his mask and injury otherwise, he might have been unable to hide his urge to jump up and punch air in celebration. Agreeing to his proposition marked just the beginning of his grand plan for making Y/N his and for now, everything unfolded according to his wishes and he couldn’t be happier.

Y/N wrapped gauze around the wound and secured it with a metal clip. “Normally I’d suggest a few days’ rest but I have a feeling there’s no point in saying.” Red Hood commented with a shrug as he inspected the injury. Y/N rose and fetched him a glass of water from the kitchen, setting it on the table. “If you’re trying to get me to remove my helmet, it won’t work.” he remarked. As much as his distrust stung, Y/N rationalised that it was typical for someone like him.

She retrieved a scarf from the coat rack, folded it and tied it around her eyes before taking a seat on the edge of the couch, keeping a respectable distance from the masked vigilante. "What's with the blindfold angel ?" Red Hood asked, his tone tinged with amusement.

"Isn't trust earned through actions?" she responded. Y/N heard the thud of his helmet being placed on the table. Jason seemed genuinely impressed by her gesture. His gaze lingered on her figure as she remained motionless, noting how much she had changed since his childhood memory. Yet her kindness to those in need while still keeping herself guarded from those who would abuse it still remained unchanged. Jason’s hand twitched with the impulse to touch her. To hold her. He wondered how her face would look in his palms with her bare body melded against his own.

“ ‘Suppose it is.” Jason chuckled as he downed the glass of water and put his helmet back on. “I’m finished. You can remove that blindfold now, although it does look adorable on you.” He noticed her chest rise with a sudden hitch, and her cheeks flush red. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed, knowing the other implications blindfolds carried. As she removed the scarf and looked around, Red Hood had vanished without a trace. Her window was open and it was as if disappeared into the wind just as he came. She got why the bat vigilantes were often likened to cryptid beings and phantoms. Y/N was left to ponder over the events that had unfolded. Under the glass of water she offered him three hundred dollar bills were tucked. “I suppose I’m now working for the Prince of Gotham now.” Y/N mused to herself, realizing her attempt to avoid getting involved had failed miserably.

Jason's parents engaged in another round of screaming matches, this time he decided he’d had enough and thought of running away. Despite previous fleeting thoughts of escape, each time night fell — he faced the harsh reality of lacking sustenance and shelter. Convinced that the streets offered a marginally preferable refuge to the shithole he was force to call home, he wandered aimlessly till he found himself at the dumpster of a bakery. He knew shops like those threw away left overs even though they could’ve given them out — Jason saw it as a glaring manifestation of selfishness of adults.

He hid behind the dumpster and waited for someone to come and throw away the leftovers. After waiting for almost half an hour, the sound of the door opening caught his attention. Glancing cautiously from his hiding spot, Jason spotted a young waitress walking out. She was likely just a few years older than himself, a middle school or a high school student maybe, he thought to himself. As she approached to dispose of the food, she paused midway. No way did she see him ? Jason shrank back against a cardboard box, hoping she wouldn’t notice him.

“Hey kid you can come out. I already saw you.” the waitress said softly. Jason slowly crawled out and approached her. He eyed the tray of leftovers in her hand, wondering if he could snatch them and escape quickly enough ? The waitress seemed to notice this and raised the tray above his reach. “Against bakery policies kid. Where are your parents ?” She asked. Of course she wouldn't be generous enough to offer him any. In his mind, all adults were rotten to the core and selfish —why would she be any different ?

Jason scoffed,“ Does it matter ?” His statement was met with a sigh from the waitress, her expression conveying annoyance, a scene all too familiar to him. Bracing himself he said,“ Just do it already. I’ve had it from guys thrice your size.” Jason was well acquainted with the drill with diner employees — catch a few shoves and slaps, pretend to go away and wait for them to leave and then come back pick up the food.

He shut his eyes and waited for her to slap and swear at him to drive him away like everyone else. Yet moments passed but the expected blow never came. Instead, Jason felt a gentle pat on his head and looked up to see her smiling empathetically, though her eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. Wondering why she seemed so melancholic, he accepted the loaf of bread she offered and wolfed it down. “Won’t you get in trouble for this ?” He asked. With a forced laugh she admitted,“ I probably will but I can’t let a kid hungry now can I ?”

“I won’t tell anyone.” The young boy promised earnestly and she returned his smile. His gaze fell upon her nametag—Y/N L/N. Maybe not all adults are bad.

It had been barely four days since she last saw him that she heard from him again. In the dead of night, her doorbell rang. She approached the door cautiously and grabbed a baseball bat from the umbrella rack as a just in case. She didn’t hear any movement on the other side of the door so she cautiously opened the door, peering out. To her surprise, she found only a small, shoddily wrapped parcel resting on the floor with her name written in red.

There was no one except a small poorly wrapped parcel on floor with her name on it. Retrieving it, she carried it inside. Within the parcel lay a modest yet exquisite golden necklace accompanied by a handwritten instruction manual. Observing it she realised it was one of those necklaces that acted as an SOS signal. The parcel also contained a big folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, she discovered a map of Gotham City with specific locations ominously marked in red and the stark warning “DO NOT GO” emblazoned in bold letters. Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtful gesture, maybe this is not all that bad.

Over the following days, Red Hood would appear unannounced giving Y/N enough jumpscares for lifetime, when she would walk into her living room and find him bleeding out on her couch. He wasn’t much of a talker which wasn’t a surprise.

His injuries presented a variety of shapes and sizes each time he visited, but recently, his injuries bore uncanny resemblance the markings of knife wounds. Some were superficial, while others cut deeper. However, considering the depth, placement, and angles, Y/N questioned whether they were the result of his typical fights. "Are you testing my loyalty? Seeing if I'll betray you?" Y/N clenched her teeth with silvers of anger and frustration glinting in her eyes. Red Hood appeared slightly taken aback but remained silent in response to her outburst. "Do you really think I wouldn't notice ? Either that certain type of knife has become Gotham’s thugs number one choice or you're doing this to yourself. Why ?" She pressed further.

“ I knew I shouldn’t have made it so obvious.”Jason wasn’t accustomed to others fussing over his safety. Typically he received, at most a pat on the back from those who worked alongside him, knowing he had endured much worse and could handle it. Her anger and frustration hinted at concern, echoing the tone when he would go and pick fights with boys twice his size.

“What’s that supposed to mean ?”

Red Hood let out a sigh and awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. “Listen, I enjoy spending time with you and I wouldn’t bother coming unless I needed medical attention. So you know —"

“— So you cut yourself ? To hang out with me ? What’s wrong with you ? What if you actually got into a fight with those injuries ? What if you got hurt for real ? You could really get hurt. How could you do that to yourself ? ”

Jason lowered his head in remorse, realizing he hadn't fully considered his actions. Despite understanding her perspective and acknowledging the wrong in purposefully hurting himself for her attention, he couldn't deny a secret sense of satisfaction. "I’m so sorry," he muttered his apology, genuinely meaning every word. Y/N released an exasperated sigh and took a moment to compose herself before speaking again. "Next time, just ask. It's not that complicated."

Jason's head lifted with hopeful curiosity, resembling a puppy eager for a treat. " I can do that ?" he asked tentatively, unsure if her words were genuine. Jason blinks, and then smiles. Her words cause something to stir within him, a sensation of warmth and affection he hasn't felt in a while. Y/N nodded and got up to dispose of the bloody cotton swabs in the kitchen. Jason’s eyes followed her eyes, watching closely and to see if she was still mad at him. Y/N was a pretty forgiving person but in all honesty, he did mess up pretty bad. She returned and settled back down with a sigh, causing a slight nervous flutter in Jason. “So what do vigilantes when they’re not fighting bad guys ?” Y/N initiated as an icebreaker, much to Jason’s relief. It’s not like he could say ‘hey I’m in love with you please hang out with me with marriage in mind’. Wait marriage ? Where did that come from ? Images of Y/N in a white gown walking down an isle flashed through his mind. Y/N Todd. That had a nice ring to it, Jason mused silently. He had heard that Bali was a popular honeymoon destination but Y/N once told him that she always wanted to see the stargazing so the Atacama desert isn’t a bad destination either.

“Um earth to Red. You still here ?” Y/N waved her hand in front of Jason who seemed to have spaced out.

“Red ?”Jason asked sounding positively amused by the unexpected nickname. She shrugged and replied,“ Calling you Red Hood seemed too long, so Red it is. Not very creative, I know.”

Jason chuckled,“ I’ll allow it. And to answer your question, vigilantes don't have much time for leisure. When we're not fighting, we’re either training or passed the fuck out from exhaustion.” Y/N felt tired just hearing that, understanding the reasoning behind it, but the question remained: he wasn’t wasting time by being here, was he ?

“Seems like there’s no room for hobbies?” Y/N quipped, eliciting another soft laugh from Jason as he visibly relaxed. "I suppose so but pros can squeeze in time for special things here and there." he replied, his voice still quiet but now tinged with a smile. His body language seemed brighter and happier, and for the first time since she saw him actually looking relaxed.

Y/N reached for the TV remote, flipping through channels before tossing it onto his lap and standing up. “I’m going to fix myself something. Do you want anything?” she asked politely. Jason shook his head, declining, “I’m good.” Y/N walked to the kitchen and started making herself popcorn. What sort of movies and tv shows would vigilantes enjoy ? She guessed they might lean towards crime-related or action-packed content, but then remembered her friends’ complaints about the inaccuracy of such portrayals.

“Seriously Janet ?! There’s no way you’re picking that dress. Just cuz it would look good on Jessica doesn’t mean it would suit you ! I can hear the wails of the colour theory all the way from here.” Jason shook his head, sounding genuinely disappointed. He probably didn’t even notice Y/N shuffling closer to the television, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. So I guess that answers my question.

“That’s an interesting choice.”

Jason rolled his eyes and diverted his attention back to the television again. “What ? Can’t a man enjoy some good entertainment ?” He retorted. Y/N laughed lightly dismissing his remark,” No no it’s not that. Personally I’m more of a k-drama and anime girlie but I hold nothing against reality tv.” He nodded in acknowledgment of her preferences and resumed watching. Sitting beside him, Y/N observed as he commented on almost everything the people on TV said, finding herself amused by how much more entertaining his live commentary was compared to the actual show.

Minutes rolled by and after almost a couple hours, Y/N got up to go use the washroom and when she returned he had vanished once again, as was his habit. A small note lay where he had sat on her couch earlier. She picked it up and read, “Had a great time. Thanks for today - R” Y/N chuckled and shook her head, Damn these bats and their theatrics.

Jason would show up every three four days, most of the time unharmed thankfully. The two would do a variety of things like watching movies and tv shows together, playing board games and video games and just talking in general. At first it was just discussing their common interests but eventually he would sporadically divulged minor, unimportant details about himself. Some things she was able to piece together were that one, the bat vigilantes was a dysfunctional family with Batman as their patriarch. Second, the Red Hood worked alongside Starfire and Arsenal as his teammates. And third, that he had to be the biggest classic literature nerd she had come across.

“What do you mean your best friend tried to set you on fire while you were taking a shower ?! Didn’t you like lock the door or something ?”

“Locked doors don’t really do much to people like us angel.”

“So who’s your favourite bat sibling ?” Jason fell silent at her question, contemplating the answer. “Well that’s a tough question. I have my set of challenges and grudges with all of them. We’ve tried to kill each other atleast once. More so with my brothers than the girls. I’d say I get along pretty well with spoiler and batgirl. And if you ask about my brothers, I’d say Nightwing. He’s the funny nice one, Red Robin’s the smart, loyal one and Robin is the little obnoxious one.”

Y/N chuckled,“ Guess the article checks out.”

“What article ?” Jason asked curiously. Most of his intel came from law enforcement agencies databases, informants, surveillance technology, his fellow vigilantes and his own investigative work so he didn’t really feel the need to keep up with the cheesy articles in Gazette.

“The cinnamon roll tier list !” Y/N’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

“The what now ?”

“So there’s this popular meme going online,”she started to explain,“ so there are four categories - first, looks like a cinnamon roll, is a cinnamon roll. In that category are the signal, the spoiler and nightwing. Second, looks like a cinnamon roll, could kill you. That one is for Red Robin and the Robin. Third, looks like could kill you but is a cinnamon roll, that one is for Batgirl and the last is -” she paused because she knew the next tier on the list might potentially sting him.

“Looks like could kill you and would kill you ? Let me guess that’s one for me ?” Jason chuckled humorlessly, fully aware of the kind of reputation that preceded him. He wondered if she held the same perception of him. Y/N remained silent, neither confirming nor denying his statement.

"You know, you don't need to constantly worry about offending me. Believe me, I've heard far worse than anything your pretty mouth could say to me." Y/N couldn't help but feel upset, while his words were true, there was more to it than that. She wanted to express that she wasn't entirely afraid of him, but that wasn't entirely true either.

“Anyways – ”She interjected, clapping her hands once to shift the flow of the conversation,“ I got a new video game from a friend. Let me go get it. DO NOT DISAPPEAR. I’m serious it’s creepy.” Jason responded with her a cheeky salute,“ Yes ma’am.” Y/N disappeared into the bedroom briefly and returned with the DVD. When she came back she noticed Jason had reclined on the couch, appearing to have dozed off.

“Red ?” she asked softly, approaching him. She tried to get his attention again, but he remained unresponsive. He must’ve fallen asleep, she figured remembering what he said about his schedule. Retrieving a blanket from the side of the couch, she gently covered him. She sat there for a while, observing him as he slept. Watching him like this felt natural and familiar. Leaning back on the couch herself, she tried to unwind in the peaceful silence. Y/N couldn't help but admire him and all that he had achieved. Finding a friend in such an extraordinary circumstance was something she had never anticipated.

After a while, a somewhat wicked notion crept into her mind. She tried to shush the voice. Hanging out with Stephanie was sure working its magic, she thought to herself. It was a harmless little prank really, surely he wouldn’t mind. Against all logic and rationale, she decided entertained the idea. Tiptoeing to her closet, she retrieved the item from her closet and cautiously returned, double-checking if he was asleep. Here goes nothing.

[writingforstraykids]

Hellooo

Headcanons on how each skz member will be with a tiny petite m!reader who is scared of thunder? Like very scared and he sometimes cries.. 🥺🤗

Pairing: OT8 x m!reader

Word Count: 1789

A/N: Heyyy, thanks for the request! I hope you like it!!🖤 Posting this earlier cause I'll be busy tomorrow ☺️ Thanks to my pretty sunshine @atinyniki for sharing your thoughts on this with me🥺🖤

When thunder roars, signaling the storm's approach, Chan's instincts kick into high gear, and he immediately shifts into a protective mode. Seeing the distress flash across your face, he doesn't hesitate. With a gentle urgency, he pulls you into his embrace, his arms forming a safe cocoon around you. As lightning slices through the dark sky outside, his hands are soft yet firm on your back, cradling your smaller form with utmost care.

Chan's touch is soothing, and he leans in to whisper calming words into your ear, each syllable designed to reassure and comfort. The rumbling echoes of the storm are countered by the steady rhythm of his heart, beating reassuringly against yours. His lips gently press against the nape of your neck, delivering soft kisses that radiate warmth, melting away the cold fear that the storm brings.

With a nurturing strength, Chan lifts you, carrying you away from the windows where the storm’s fury is most visible. As he walks, his presence is a sturdy, loving shield against your fears. He chats about mundane, everyday things—what you’ll have for dinner, a funny incident from earlier in the week—using normalcy as a distraction. His voice, mixed with the security of his arms, helps to anchor you, turning the storm outside into a distant concern, as you find solace in his protective embrace.

Initially, Minho might chuckle, mistaking your reaction to the storm for just a quirky fear until he catches the real terror in your eyes. As the realization dawns on him, his smile fades and is quickly replaced by a look of concern. Regret flickers across his face for having laughed, understanding now that your fear is genuine and profound. His demeanor softens significantly, and he steps closer, his movements filled with newfound care and empathy.

Minho reaches out and gently takes your trembling hands in his. He lifts them, pressing soft kisses to each knuckle, his lips lingering slightly as if to absorb some of your anxiety. Each kiss is tender, an apology woven into the warmth of his touch, and a silent promise to be more attuned to your feelings. His voice, when he speaks, is low and soothing, a stark contrast to the howling wind and thunder outside.

As the storm continues to unleash its fury, Minho stays close by your side, his presence a calming force. His touches remain light and reassuring, fingertips brushing against your arm or back in a comforting rhythm. This physical connection helps to ground you, pulling your senses away from the tumult of the storm and back to the safety of the room. Minho's earlier jests are completely forgotten, replaced by genuine concern and a deep-seated affection that makes you feel cared for and understood, even amidst the chaos of the storm.

The moment Changbin sees your discomfort, he acts with intuitive kindness, a softness spreading across his features. He notices the slight tremble in your shoulders and the uneasy shift of your gaze toward the window where the storm rages. Without a word, he reaches out, his movements gentle and inviting, and gently pulls you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you securely. His embrace is a fortress, his arms a barrier between you and your fears.

As he holds you close, Changbin begins to hum softly, his voice deep and melodious. Slowly, the humming transitions into singing—soft, almost whisper-like. The lyrics may be forgotten, shifting with each verse, but the melody is soothing, a flowing river of calm. As he sings, his chest vibrates against your back, the sensation both comforting and grounding, a physical reminder that you’re not alone, that there is someone to share the burden of your fears.

His nurturing presence remains steadfast as the storm continues to unleash its fury outside. His song blends with the sound of the rain and the occasional thunder, creating a powerful lullaby that soothes your rattled nerves. Changbin’s care doesn’t waver until the last echoes of thunder fade away, ensuring that his comforting presence is the last thing you feel as the storm passes.

Hyunjin's approach is tender and heartfelt, radiating warmth and reassurance in the midst of the storm's fury. As you flinch with each thunderclap, tears begin to streak down your cheeks, shimmering trails of vulnerability. Hyunjin notices immediately, his heart tightening at the sight. He leans in closer, his presence enveloping. Gently, he catches each tear with soft kisses, his lips a comforting touch against your damp skin. His actions are deliberate and caring, aiming to soothe and reassure.

With careful fingers, he brushes away the wet strands of hair clinging to your forehead and cheeks, his touch as light as a feather. His smile, tender and understanding, shines like a beacon in the darkened room, offering a sense of safety and warmth. As he tucks a stray lock behind your ear, his eyes lock with yours, communicating a silent vow to protect and comfort.

Hyunjin's presence is calming, his arms encircling you in a protective embrace. He begins to speak softly, his voice a steady, soothing timbre as he describes the beauty he finds in the storm—how the lightning illuminates the sky with artful flashes, how the rain nourishes the earth. His words weave a tapestry of wonder, gently pulling your focus away from fear, helping you to see the storm through his eyes as something awe-inspiring rather than terrifying.

In the tense atmosphere brought on by the storm, Jisung transforms into the light-hearted reliever, his sole mission to bring a smile to your face. As thunder rumbles ominously outside, he counters the gloom with his arsenal of quirks. Jisung begins by pulling goofy faces, his eyebrows dancing comically as he puffs his cheeks or sticks out his tongue. When that earns a hesitant smile, he escalates to telling corny jokes, each punchline delivered with a dramatic flair that's almost impossible not to giggle at.

Noticing a slight lift in your spirits, Jisung doesn't stop there. He starts performing small, ridiculous dances right there in the living room, his limbs flailing with exaggerated movements that are both awkward and endearing. His silliness pierces through the heavy curtain of your anxiety, coaxing out a genuine laugh.

Seeing the effect he’s having, Jisung gently steps closer and cups your face with his warm hands. He lowers himself to bring your gazes level, his eyes sparkling with mischief and kindness. His playful nature is a deliberate choice, showing that he understands the weight of your fear and respects it. Jisung’s antics, far from trivializing the situation, highlight his dedication to comforting you. He's willing to be the goofy idiot if it means seeing you smile, demonstrating his deep care and affection in the most Jisung way possible.

At the first rumble of thunder, Felix reacts almost instinctively, his protective instincts kicking in. He swiftly moves to your side, bringing a glass of water with him as a soothing gesture. He sits close, his body turned towards you, offering both his presence and the comfort of physical closeness. Felix's voice is soft and encouraging, a gentle reminder in the dimly lit room to take deep breaths and try to relax.

His concern is evident as he periodically checks on you, asking if you’re okay or need anything else. Every few minutes, he gently encourages you to take a sip of water, ensuring you stay hydrated and helping to ground you. Felix’s attentiveness doesn’t waver; he’s like a guardian angel attuned to your every need. His hands offer occasional reassuring pats on your back or squeezes of your hand, each touch reinforcing his support.

Felix’s proximity throughout the storm is a comforting constant. He remains by your side, ready to help with a calmness that belies his own concern, ensuring that his protective nature and deep empathy envelop you. His readiness to assist and his soothing presence help to mitigate the fear, making the storm outside seem a little less daunting with him there to weather it with you.

Seungmin might initially respond to the storm with light-hearted teasing, not fully grasping the depth of your fear until he sees the flinch in your eyes. The laughter fades as he notices the real anxiety painted across your face, and a pang of regret immediately washes over him. His apology comes swiftly, the sincerity in his voice unmistakable. You can see the slight tension in his eyes as he worries about having unintentionally deepened your distress.

Determined to make amends, Seungmin shifts his approach entirely. The remainder of the storm is marked by his careful attentiveness. His words become softer, infused with kindness and reassurance, and his actions more considerate. He stays close by your side, his presence a comforting constant as the storm bellows outside. Every so often, he asks if you're feeling alright or if there’s anything you need, his tone gentle and patient.

Seungmin's demeanor now embodies a quiet solidarity. He shares in your discomfort, not with words but through the warm, steady pressure of his hand in yours, and the attentive gaze that rests on you, ensuring you feel seen and supported. His earlier teasing is completely replaced by a supportive companionship, showing you that he is truly there for you, regretful of his initial reaction and committed to helping you feel safe.

Jeongin's reaction to your visible distress during the storm is immediate and palpable, mirroring the chaos of the thunder and lightning raging outside. At first, his frantic attempts to soothe you might seem to amplify the tension, his hurried movements and anxious questions reflecting his own concern. However, realizing that his initial response might be contributing to your anxiety, Jeongin takes a deep breath, visibly composing himself for your sake.

With newfound calm, he gently takes your hands, guiding you closer. Carefully, he pulls you into his lap, his arms encircling you in a secure yet gentle embrace. He starts rocking slightly back and forth, a soothing rhythm that mimics the comforting sway of a cradle. As he holds you, Jeongin begins to murmur reassuring words close to your ear, each sentence laced with warmth and a quiet strength. His voice, steady and soft, becomes a reassuring presence that counters the noise of the storm.

This moment marks a significant transition for Jeongin, from initial panic to a composed protector. His ability to regain control and provide support showcases his growth in handling unexpected situations effectively. Within the circle of his arms, you both find a peaceful sanctuary. The storm outside may continue to roar, but within Jeongin’s embrace, there is a growing sense of calm and safety, his protective presence helping to gradually dissolve the fear, drawing both of you closer to tranquility amidst the turmoil.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @michelle4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves

[dlartistanon]

Shining and Nightingale: Connection, Plot Beats, and How Their Story Makes (Even) More Sense If You Read It As Romantic

Introduction

Belonging to the Followers faction, Shining and Nightingale were among the first 6* operators introduced at launch. With damage mitigation as their niche, Shining is a single-target medic who specializes in reducing incoming physical damage, while Nightingale is an AoE medic whose specialty lies in reducing incoming Arts damage. This post will delve into everything we know about them and how it's so gay, oh my god

Design Analysis

Upon first glance, you notice how they compare and contrast each other visually: Shining is dressed mostly in black, Nightingale in white. Shining has long, thin white horns that gently jut outwards, while Nightingale has thick, black horns that fold inwards. Shining keeps her hood on by default, giving her a mysterious and secretive appearance. She has dark brown eyes, Liz has light blue ones. Shining’s outfit is tattered and ragged, really giving off the vibe of a wanderer (a “roaming doctor”, as she puts it), in stark contrast to Nightingale’s clean and put-together attire. If you squint, Shining almost looks like a harbinger of death, whereas Nightingale is angelic. Both of them wear the insignia of the Followers, a Terran version of the Caduceus. Shining wears it on a necklace (and is the actual leader), while Nightingale has it etched onto her clothes. One of the black straps on Nightingale’s outfit also reads “The path to light is dark”.

The predominant colors in both their respective skins are the complementary blue and orange. Just as black and white are opposed, so is the contrast between blue and orange. Within Shining's Silent Night, there are flickers of red-orange accents in the form of crystals, while in Nightingale's Elegy, there is the vibrant blue of her bluebird and its wings/feather. Despite Shining’s skin being a summer/beach outfit, the overall atmosphere is foreboding, given the moonlit background, presence of crows/ravens, and color choices. The backdrop in Nightingale’s is very characteristic of Gothic settings.

The strongest theme tying both their designs (and stories) together is The Gothic, an atmosphere and aesthetic best exemplified and symbolized by moody, somber colors (often black) and the gnarled, twisted branches of dead trees found in both their designs, as well as pertinent cast. (We will discuss more on their narrative ties to The Gothic)

Nightingale is featured (alongside Myrrh) in the song “Spring’s Pulse”, while Shining’s song is called “Winter Absolution”. Spring and Winter are opposing seasons, different times in which life either flourishes or hibernates. Green and red (as well as blue and red) are contrasting colors, highlighting life and death. As well as white and black, often symbolic of purity and sin.

Additionally, one of the Latin verses in Shining's song translates to:

"Sing, my tongue, redemption. Of my flesh, the mystery sing. Of the blood, all price exceeding. Shed by my immortal being. Destined for the world's redemption. From a noble womb to spring."

Profiles/Voice Lines

For the longest time, the most we could gather from their past was that Nightingale was a victim, a prisoner, forced to heal others while captive and that Shining had rescued her before they came to Rhodes Island. She has a host of ailments that mere Oripathy can't be the sole cause for, including amnesia. Through other clues, we eventually learn that Shining had a connection to someone called "Confessarius" ("Confessarii" when referring to a group), something she is noticeably evasive and uncomfortable about.

Later, the mystery slowly began to unravel as many theorized that Shining herself was involved with Nightingale's imprisonment, evidenced by Liz drawing the similarities between Shining and her captors. A shared past dripping with intrigue.

It was these seeds that provided a tantalizing story of atonement, of redemption, from someone who had committed a terrible transgression against another, complacent in her pain and suffering, whom she eventually grew to care about--so much so that Shining decided to sever all ties to her former compatriots, slaughtering many and freeing Nightingale, running away together. Shining, disgusted with her actions, spending the rest of her life atoning for her sins, of which she feels she can never be forgiven for.

The juxtaposition of Shining, unyielding with her sword, covered in the blood of her once-fellow Confessarii, and her being exceedingly gentle with Nightingale as she leads her to someplace safe, away from that room, her captors, that tower, where they (she) can’t hurt Liz ever again. The fanon that Shining was complicit in what made Nightingale the way she is, and that she is currently atoning for those sins, was largely embraced by fans.

Nightingale’s Operator Record #1 - A Song and a Blue Feather

The Op Rec is a good showcase of the Followers dynamic (with Liz as the Lady and her two knights), but it also serves to show more of Liz's personality. We only get a very baseline interpretation of who she is as a person via her official file, but seeing her interact with Nearl and Shining gives us a clearer picture of just how strong-willed she is. She goes against Shining's warnings in order to soothe the pain of an Infected child, particularly because his father was inadvertently exacerbating his condition through what Liz calls "a cage of love" (foreshadowing?).

Throughout, we learn more about Liz's Arts, specifically that they give her empathic qualities and come with the drawback of shortening her lifespan every time she heals. The game-breaking ability to reverse Oripathy symptoms comes with equivalent exchange. Liz takes on the pain of others in order to make them feel better.

Near the end of the record, Liz asks if Shining is mad and to not blame Nearl for helping her. Shining's original call to avoid the town was born out of being concerned with Liz's health, but she admits that she should've respected Liz's decision. This is a stance that we then see get repeated in their future appearances in both side stories and the main plot--Shining prioritizing giving Liz agency, when she previously had none. Even when it results in Liz's condition worsening, something that Shining struggles with accepting at the same time, communicated through her asking Liz if her feeling more pain was necessary.

Nightingale’s Module #1 - Closed Hope

The module basically states outright that Nightingale views herself as a burden for having to rely on Shining and Nearl to help her navigate through life. This is another example of Liz's strong-willed personality peeking through.

"But for me, results speak loudest. Because I endured a little more pain, others can be born anew. This is very good. But… if I could be like ordinary people, without this physical pain, that spark of hope in my heart would surely shine a little bit brighter. Unfortunately, as I am now, I can only rely on others to survive. Like a light crystal in a lantern. Even if the lantern door is open, even if the light can bring warmth to others, the crystal itself is still fixed inside. It is fixed there, because it has no ability to move on its own. 'Nightingale, Nightingale––' I hope that one day, I will also be able to spread my wings and fly… just like the bird next to me. 'Nightingale, wake up already––' Until then, I must impose upon them yet more to take care of me.

...

'What's the matter, Shining?'"

In her Op Rec, she had even told Shining that if her legs had cooperated with her, she would not have asked Nearl for help, and that she would've gone out to heal that boy on her own. It's letting us know that she longs to be independent, and that she can't idly sit by as a passive observer when she has the ability to help others. Liz won't even let her own disabilities stop her from doing what she wants.

It's not a coincidence how Shining's presence in her module is represented by the analogy Liz uses to describe her predicament. Shining rescued her = the cage door is open. However, the crystal itself can't move = Liz's debilitating condition. Shining played her part in putting Liz in the cage to begin with. Shining is not only her savior, caretaker, and companion, there's a darker undercurrent as well.

Near Light

In Maria Nearl, Nightingale and Shining get a brief mention and cameo around the time Nearl crashes into the Major stadium. A connection can be made with Liz's Op Rec in which we evidently see that she and Nearl have a more physical (and arguably openly affectionate) dynamic compared to Liz and Shining. Before Nearl leaves to help her sister, we a get a brief look into her and Liz's parting conversation, in which Nearl assures Liz that she'll be okay and that Liz still has Shining with her.

In Near Light, where they get more screentime, we have the iconic Nearl and Nightingale slow dance underneath the streetlights. In the CG itself, Shining can be seen hanging back, sporting a smile. She calls Liz beautiful unprompted, which results in Liz getting a little bit flustered, already so from dancing with Nearl.

Beyond these instances fleshing out the NearLiz leg of the triangle, it's also a purposeful depiction of Shining intentionally distancing herself from Liz, presumably due to her guilt for her past actions. And how that can be extrapolated into Shining feeling as though she is unworthy to partake in that same kind of intimacy. This self-loathing mentality is once more reflected in Nearl the Radiant Knight's second Module--here's a rough translation:

"I suddenly felt a little regretful - after all, I have always hated my bloodline. I have never tasted the beauty of home and the meaning of family. She deserved to have it all, deserved to be noticed and blessed and I deserved not to be a part of it."

However, at the end of Near Light, we get the scene where Shining makes a decision to go back to Londinium with Nightingale, preparing us for their subplot with Confessarius. This exchange hangs over them like a cloud, as well as further cementing Shining's firm resolve to always remain by Liz's side, no matter her own misgivings about everything else. Even if the rest of the world is muddled in her eyes, the only thing that stays clear and in view, is Nightingale. Nothing else matters more.

Chapter 10-18

The depth of Shining’s feelings for Nightingale is truly something to take note of. "My place is always at your side" is practically a textbook subtextual/indirect confession. "I will always be at your side... for as long as you’ll have me." Because we must know that Liz has a choice. She will not impose her own wants onto Liz. Should the day arrive where Liz no longer wants her, Shining will honor it, as much as it hurts.

The way Shining navigates and conducts her feelings towards Liz in this manner is very reminiscent of the medieval concept of courtly love, which is essentially a kind of romantic love without ever imagining it to go any further. The lack of consummation is not only expected, but ideal. That the love existing in and of itself is satisfying.

The scenes where we see Shining holding back help supplement this reading. It also plays well into how the Followers are basically the "knight in shining armor" idea codified into three individuals with corresponding dynamics. For bonus points, courtly love has ties to spirituality, which coincides with another aspect of Shiningale's story with identity, fate, and their conflict with Confessarius.

The fact that Shining 's most immediate plans for the future all have to do with Nightingale is only the tip of her unending devotion. "I’ll stay with you, and go wherever you want to go, as long as you want me". And for Liz to quickly ask if Shining will come with her wherever she wants to go suggests that the love is reciprocated.

Chapter 11-10

Through a series of revelations, we discover that the current head of the Confessarii is Shining's father, who is possessing the body of her younger brother. And that Nightingale was an experimental subject whose physical body is a construct, making her the equivalent of an artificial human/homunculus.

The whole scene we see just how both Confessarius and Salus view Shining, Nightingale, and their relationship. As randmsapphic puts it, the method in which they talk about Liz as an object with a purpose and that Shining's attachment to her is nothing short of a phase speaks volumes as to how dismissive and strangely self-assured that Shining will come to her senses and do the right/rational thing and bring Liz back to help her. They entertain the notion of saving Liz by way of pushing Shining to return to them, because they are the only ones who can save her. Instead of immediately resorting to threats, they rely on manipulation, pulling the "family" card, preying on and weaponizing Shining's guilt and desire to help Liz. It's not subtle--this dynamic could very easily be seen as the reactions homophobic relatives would have.

In particular, Confessarius's fixation on bloodline purity is insanely creepy and not only comes off as very homophobic, but ableist as well. Him suggesting they can build Liz a new body is coercion to get Shining to obey him (which also implies that he thinks Shining's attraction to Liz is purely physical). Salus emotionally abusing Shining by saying that all of Liz's pain is Shining's fault. Attempting to shame Shining by claiming she abandoned her family for a stranger. Does it not have the vibes of homophobia saying that Shiningale's love/relationship isn't real and will never work?

Chapter 12-10

The way Shining utterly ties her sense of self-worth to Nightingale, literally describing herself as Liz’s sin… she will not refer to Liz with possessive pronouns, but will do it to herself for her. The longing, the guilt, the resolve, the codependency… is incredibly yuri. Back in Chapter 10, Shining has an exchange with the Nachzehrer King where she says the moment she was born, she had carried sin. After the dinner in Chapter 11, she tells a Confessarius soldier (before cutting him down) that she hates herself most of all.

Of all the ways to describe her relationship with Liz, Shining decides on "I am her sin". There is poetry in how she refrains from using any kind of possessive language about Liz. Shining belongs to Liz, but Liz belongs to no one. "I am hers, and she is everything to me". It goes back to how she somewhat keeps her distance despite the overwhelming devotion. "I cannot touch her with these sinful hands".

Shining truly exemplifies devotion. Whoever was responsible for writing Shining’s dialogue is pulling out all sorts of stops to have her express her love for Liz in every way without outright making her say the words "I love Liz".

Chapter 13-9 (unfortunately tumblr has an image limit so i can't cap the entire subchapter; you really should read it yourselves for that delicious Shiningale goodness)

Kal'tsit: The way you look at Nightingale isn't just with compassion. You're not just her doctor—she's healing your fears too. Her body has its issues, but she's a member of the 'Followers', as well as your companion, and not a delicate flower that needs your protection.

Nightingale: I'm fine, Shining. You don't have to look after me so meticulously.

More examples of Liz's strong character! A dynamic becomes even more interesting when the one you thought was less-dependent turns out to desperately need the other. By this point, you should know that Shining places Nightingale incredibly high up her list of priorities. The narrative makes it no secret. They continue to hammer home that, despite being her caretaker, just how much Shining is dependent on Liz. Liz has already internally talked about how she hates having to rely on Shining and Nearl because of her ailments. In her other appearances, she makes it even more apparent with her dialogue. While Shining mends Liz’s aching body, Liz is the one who soothes Shining’s hurting heart.

Confessarius: Poor 'Liz'. She think it's all her fault, because of the momentary kindness you showed her.

When you remember that Liz's Arts make her empathic to pain, it takes on another layer of meaning when she wants to take away Shining's suffering. It's reasonable to assume that Liz also had an attachment to Shining, even if you see it as such because Shining "brought her to life". But the vibe you get from her dialogue shows a strong affection and compassion for Shining. Arguably instinctive, considering the "nature" of who Liz originally was. A wandering spirit, a memory, a soul that was drawn to Shining because she felt her crushing pain and wanted to help her. An intangible presence given life by an achingly lonely and hurt individual.

Another post by randmsapphic suggests that Liz's "childhood memories" of her and Shining were in fact fabrications that Shining had imposed onto Liz, in some desperate attempt to have a connection with another person, which this scene confirms. Shining was so happy with Liz's creation that she quickly became attached to her. Is this a sort of twisted love/affection that was born out of Shining's self-loathing? Or her being born into a very dark and messed up lineage in which her fate is a doomed one, and so she latched onto Liz as a means of escape and a way to feel close to someone? It may have started off as such, but by the time we reach this point, the love grew to be genuine.

Remember in Liz's Op Rec, where she described the father hurting his son by keeping him in a cage of love?

The bluebird losing its strength the farther it travels away from home is a metaphor and reflection for how the Confessarii treat Liz, their experiment. This is the basis for her captivity. Combined with Shining's sudden shift into a cold demeanor when she had previously been warm to Liz, this only served to psychologically and emotionally damage Liz, as well as compound Shining's guilt for having continued to follow the wishes of her family.

At some point, prior to deserting, Shining had wiped Liz's memories, perhaps out of said guilty conscious, or a means to a fresh start, or even her own way to stop Liz from feeling any pain associated with those memories, but she was still afraid of what would happen should Liz recover them, which had been happening little by little. Shining had resigned herself to believing that Liz would hate her, would want nothing to do with her, if she ever found out the truth. She had to wrestle with the very real possibility that attempting to save Liz could mean losing her, or being separated from her. Shining never once saw Nightingale as a burden; she was only ever happy that Liz exists.

Credit to randmsapphic again: Every time Shining draws her sword, it's a viscerally unpleasant reminder of her eventual destiny. It's both the only way to truly free Liz, and is the bind that keeps her shackled to a doomed fate. When Confessarius offers her the sadistic choice between killing him (thus giving up her soul) or return Liz to captivity... what should she do? There is no choice here.

The way Confessarius keeps (creepily) phrasing it as Shining “giving birth” really does paint him to be a disgustingly vile patriarchal figure set on destroying not only Shining’s autonomy, but her life and relationship with Liz. How a woman is treated as an object, her worth limited to only serving as a breeding ground for the next generation. This read continues to make even more sense because remember the Confessarii dinner scene? The way they talked like they expect Shining to come home after having had her fun with Nightingale reeks of how society views lesbian relationships as not real/practice for men/just a phase. The proverbial Class S? Shiningale really is just Arknights-flavored Class S Yuri. If a Shining Alter has her pick up her sword again, it could very well symbolize her reclaiming her bodily autonomy and fighting for her love, and for the chance to have a life outside of what the patriarch(y) wants for her.

The more I read about the Shiningale in Chapter 13, the more I’m thinking that this can’t be anything else but yuri. Even the role Confessarius is playing as a villain/obstacle they have to overcome. A man getting between them by manipulating their feelings for nefarious purposes?

Liz telling Shining that she prefers her current name, how it encapsulates so much of who Shining is as a person; she's not just a means to an end for the Confessarii, she's more than what they've instilled in her since her birth. The Followers are all light-themed, and Shining is no exception. She broke Liz out of her cage and showed her the world. And Liz is the light of Shining's life, as was mentioned all the way back to her voiceline.

Liz telling Shining that she's always loved the name that she gave her... that she holds dear any and every part of Shining that's a part of her. Her gently chastising Shining for making the decision to sacrifice herself to save Liz... Don't give yourself up for me, especially without asking me. That's not what I want. For all the times that Shining made sure Liz knew she had a choice, this was the one time she didn't. Couldn't. And Liz won't have that. Whatever trials that await them, she wants to face them together with Shining.

The way Confessarius described Shining’s feelings towards Nightingale as “your rebellious love for her”. He knew that she would love Liz and factored that into his plan/manipulation of Shining. I don't know about you but… I don’t think there’s any other way to interpret that. No heterosexual explanation.

Realistically speaking, we know actual gay characters can’t make it past the censors unless it’s tragic (see Scavenger) or unrequited (see Tomimi). But Shiningale have like… playable immunity. It’s “implicit” enough to not trigger the censors but at the same time how can you not see it as romantic?

Their relationship is basically up there with Talulah/Alina. And I'd even go so far as to say that it's more explicit than Talulah/Alina. To my knowledge, they never used the word “love” to describe how Talulah felt about Alina. Just "friend". I know there's a point where subtext gets ridiculous enough to become maintext, but then that leads you to question why some get the "friends" label while others are allowed to use "love".

Could it be platonic love? Sure, of course you can love your friends. But would you pledge your entire life to a friend? What's so "rebellious" about loving a friend? (Interestingly, I think the JP translation calls it "immoral love", which is even more eyebrow-raising) Regardless, love exists between Shiningale. Confessarius knew it, and factored it into his schemes. He counted on Shining to love and cherish her. Shining loves Liz, that much is undeniable. And Liz loves her back, enough to stop Shining from sacrificing herself to save her. He's literally weaponizing the love they have for each other.

Shiningale and The Gothic

I had mentioned before that both characters' designs as well as the narrative beats of their story have Gothic literature elements. I want to make a list of the ones I could find that relate to them as characters and as a narrative:

A focus on medical conditions, doppelgangers (the "pure" Confessarii looking like each other), forbidden power/knowledge, the dichotomy between light and darkness, imprisonment, rebellion, isolation/seclusion, gloominess or a gloomy setting, the grotesque/macabre, terror/horror, justice vs revenge, good vs evil, fear and suspense, the supernatural/paranormal, female victims, prophecies/curses/omens, mystery and secrets, involvement of the clergy/religious figures (confessor/absolver of sin), the dead don’t stay dead/hauntings, romanticism

The Gothic hero is “weakened by love”, they either rescue their love interest or pine away in despair

Significance of blood (relations) and inheritance, the duality of giving and denying life

An examination of family structure, patriarchy, hereditary suffering

Dreams/nightmares, memories

Secrets, past sins, sins of the father, darkest deeds

Driven by love, duality of man (appearance)

Dwelling on the melancholy, of wistfulness and regret, but not overcoming kindness

Concept of “othering” from society (Shining split herself away from her blood family to be herself and with Liz, her chosen family

The protagonist’s passionate love is torn between his desire to achieve the beloved and the family’s disapproval, control, and choice. Gothic novels also tell the tales of love in vain. The lovers are parted due to the conspiracies of the people opposing them being together

Gothic sexuality is usually somewhat repressed—women are expected to be pure and somewhat helpless while men are expected to be quietly predatory. It's also patriarchal, with men making moves and women reacting to them

Homosexuality = the love that dares not speak its name. Repressed sexuality, forbidden desire

Female Gothic protagonists are often committed to justice, unwilling to compromise their values, loyal, respectful of others, curious, intelligent and devoted to their faith. Some are gentle, kind, likeable, clever, witty, quiet, supportive, thoughtful, hard-working, independent and strong. Others are courageous, witty, brave, determined, knowledgeable and socially competent. On the flip side, some are also strong-willed and outspoken to a fault. They’re often socially awkward, depressive, melancholy, brooding, solitary and selfish. Some are jealous, fiercely territorial, deceitful, powerless and deceptive. Others, like their male counterparts, are prone to violence

Male Gothic protagonists are often conflicted, solitary, tortured, brooding, and secretive, self-loathing, wracked with guilt, have a self-hate of their own existence

Female-centric Gothic stories often trend towards obscured/anticipated fears, focuses on persecuted women and the domestic space she risks entrapment within/disturbed spaces

Food for Thought

Ryuzakiichi has a knight original character. Tell me... this doesn’t just look like Shining without horns? THE RESEMBLENCE IS UNCANNY.

Knowing this, I'm convinced that he split the concept of a "knight in shining armor" into two characters: Nearl and Shining. Nearl embodies chivalry. Shining embodies devotion.

The followers dynamic can best be summarized as two knights swearing fealty to one lady, but what's interesting is that while Nearl is the most obvious depiction of a knight, it's actually Shining who serves the role even harder, because she is quite literally Liz's knight. Which tracks with how Shining looks nearly like a carbon copy of his OC. She's the one who rescued the princess from her tower, while simultaneously being the "wicked witch" who put her there in the first place. And just like a Gothic hero, is tormented and sees herself as a monster.

Comparison to the main plot of Shadow of the Colossus. The driving force is that Wander commits acts (largely agreed to be treasonous) in order to revive Mono. The relationship between Wander and Mono is left up to interpretation as to whether it's platonic, familial, or romantic, but most fans of the game seem to theorize that Mono is indeed Wander's love interest.

Normally I despise turning the Followers into a nuclear family unit in any direction (especially people saying Liz is a minor and infantilize her to be the designated "child"), but for a moment, seeing Shiningale looking at Nearl’s portrait, my brain interpreted them behaving like Nearl’s (substitute) parents being proud of her accomplishments.

This was not helped by stuff like Shining’s teasing ("Look at you, our knight acting snarky"), Liz asking if she and Shining were also Nearl’s family, and some apparent discussion about Mlynar being a "bad end" Margaret who lost his own light (his brother and sister-in-law, Margaret’s parents).

If Shining and Nightingale are to Nearl as Schnitz and Yolanta were to Mlynar, then that might also explain why he dropped his jerk behavior for one second just to compliment how the two Sarkaz were good for his niece. If Nearl had never met Shining and Nightingale, her own light might’ve gone out too...?

IN CONCLUSION

Shiningale are complementary in so many ways. It really feels like several aspects of their characters are tailor made to match; you can’t have one without the other, their development is tied together… soulmates. Hopefully this post helps encourage you to consider their story in a certain lens if you hadn't before.

To quote a CN post I saw on the matter after Chapter 13 was released (rough translation): "Shining's sword pieced Nightingale's heart, and Liz came alive. Liz's existence helped give Shining emotions. Liz became Shining's redemption. Shining renounced her old name and Liz cherishes hers, a transformation of two people choosing to fight and change their destiny. Although Liz is physically fragile, her spirit and will are very strong. Although Shining has excellent swordsmanship, her self-hate and inner turmoil weigh her down. They are truly complementary in every sense."

They each want to take away the other's pain. Shining doesn't want Liz to die. Liz doesn't want Shining to die for her. They are each other's mutual salvation.

[harrieatthemet]

Newborn

It's a miracle he hasn't chewed off all 10 fingernails yet.

this is long but whatever!

There's an abundance of nerves so dense it may as well have it's own seat in the Range Rover; plenty enough to go around with seconds for anyone interested. With the stereo at a whopping maximum volume of 2, and unbearably loud fidgeting in the driver's seat, you're well versed enough to know something is just eating away at him.

"The only thing louder than your nail biting," you tease from the backseat, "is the sound of your heart beating in your chest."

You watch his eyes briefly flicker their attention to the mirror, greener than ever as they widen a bit to catch a steady glimpse of your reflection from the backseat. And all he lets out is a quick sigh before he tightens the grip of the wheel (10 and 2, the entire time), eyes out of your peripheral vision as quickly as they came in. He only waits to nervously shift his weight in his seat for the umpteenth time until he gets to another red light.

"S'it bothering you," his tone is so flustered and apologetic, you almost feel bad for joking, "m'sorry just, y'know, nervous."

For the first time since the hospital departure, he turns in his seat to fully face the second row of the car. He's envious of you; so calm and collected, radiant with joy even after a grueling delivery. And he sucks in a calming breath when he trails his glance to the tiny baby snuggled sweetly into the car seat beside you, swimming in her baggy pink flower pajamas and endless mountain of hospital-gifted blankets.

He's done this ride before. He remembers it so fondly as, easily, unarguably, singlehandedly the best drive of his entire life. And it feels like it was only yesterday when he was bringing Angel Baby home for the first time. It's exactly why he's so fucking nervous.

"Har, we're good," and as you patiently insist, you're adjusting the frilly white blanket on the newborn beside you, "but you're driving 9 miles per hour. I literally just saw that woman on the scooter pass us for the third time."

"Hey she's bloody fast on that thing, you saw her!"

"Pretty sure she's missing a wheel," you snicker, "so what's actually bothering you?"

He doesn't want to say it. Like, he really doesn't want to say it. Not just because you both have already discussed it over a dozen times in the past week alone, but because he doesn't care to tarnish what should be a wholesome moment.

So instead he says nothing. Not for a long time, he doesn't let the silence linger but for a minute he says nothing; he barely breathes. When your hand reaches out though, and finds it's way to his shoulder to give it a reassuring squeeze, he releases that breath before letting the words soon follow.

"What if she hates 'er," and the way he's blurting it out tells you he's been sitting on this for hours, "or worse, what if she hates me and-and, I dunno, (Y/N) m'nervous. Y'remember wha' she said!"

A very shallow sigh of disapproval innately makes it's way passed your lips. It isn't because you're annoyed with him. The guilt is natural and, by nature, he only ever wants angel baby to be happy. But it's stemming from the fact that you're only physically capable of providing so much assurance. Not to mention he practically begged for another baby.

"Harry she's two," you remind him, "she told your mother she didn't want legs so she wouldn't have to go for a walk."

On the other hand, though, the imminent addition to the family was not a hit for everyone in the household. Angel baby did not take kindly to the impending addition. And you know exactly the incident he's referring to. Sure, she's definitely well immersed into her terrible two's stage, and you'd like to chalk it up to that. But she's never been keen on sharing Harry with anyone, even you sometimes. So the idea of now having to share him with a sister presents itself as an incredibly challenging hurdle.

"She'll be fine," and as you say it as soothingly as possible, you can see he begins to ease up "she's got a built in best friend now."

Those exact words are playing on a loop the rest of the trek home. Each stoplight that brings him closer to the front gate of the house, he's mentally psyching himself up; the best thing to say when he walks in, how to ease her into the role of being a big sister, the right way to bring you in with the new baby. He's so consumed in concocting the perfect delivery that he doesn't even realize he's already pulling past the open gates.

"This is your house," and already he's gone full blown with the baby talk, "y'live here with me 'n mummy 'nd a sister who... might not like you very much fo' a bit."

Though he masqueraded it with a sweet, gooey, charming little baby voice, your squinting eyes are loaded with displeasure so he understands it was not well received.

He takes a moment before opening the door; adjusts the hospital bags in his arms, takes in a breath before allowing it to roll out, lays a gentle kiss to your temple. Then he decides to stretch out his arm to press his thumb on the door handle.

It's a bittersweet moment. He's itching to see angel baby after two long days with out her. And he knows there's family, both yours and his, waiting eagerly to get their eyes on their newest 8 pound family member. But his heart sings when he hears the pattering of a familiar set of bare feet down coming from down the hallway. Immediately, he drops the bags in the foyer to make his way out from the front entrance and down towards the living room.

"Go see m'love," he hears Anne coo sweetly, so he rounds the corner, "who could tha' be?"

For the moment being, despite the fact it's fleeting, he tables the introduction to the newborn once he lays eyes on angel baby. Well aware of the fact you're just in the next room over, a brand new bundle of joy toted in your arms, he feels a surmountable sense of joy now that angel baby's in eye shot; hair unbrushed and a mess from what one would assume was a successful nap, head to toe in a watermelon printed pajama set, eyes wide with sheer joy and arms outstretched to intercept him. To which, he eagerly accepts as he crouches down to let her crash into his chest before sweeping her up.

"There's m'girl," he hums, hand tucking her hair from her face before showering her with kisses, "how's m'angel, hm? Still sleepy from y'sleepover this weekend? Missed me as much as I missed you?"

He can almost feel his heart melt to mush in his chest as he cranes his neck back, listening in awe as angel baby spares no detail in her weekend with both sets of grandparents and Gemma. Most of it is borderline incoherent, though her elaborate expressions and dramatized recounts of events has him entranced.

"Where's mommy?"

"Oh yes" Anne's near double over in excitement, inviting herself into the conversation as she rubs small circle on angel baby's back, "where's (Y/N)? M'about ready t'explode, m'so excited!"

There it is again, that nervous feeling bubbling up in his stomach again. He's excited too; wants to show off the adorable little baby that completed his growing family, watch his mother and sister fawn over her. But he doesn't want to blow it on his first go. Most importantly, mere forethought of angel baby feeling like second place is enough to make him wanna start crying.

So he's going to try to ease angel baby into her new role as a sister while she's still fresh out of a nap and giddy with excitement. And while he still has the balls to actually go through with it.

"Mummy's here poppet," his tone is so sweet and fragile it'd break from the weight of a feather, "n' I think she's got something really, really special for you."

An animated expression paints itself across her face; eyes wide and doe-like as they twinkle in giddiness, her smile tripling in size. It's only a matter of seconds before she's writhing in Harry's arm, desperate to break herself from his grip to place both feet back on the floor.

There's no reason he should feel this guilty and this nervous. He's hot on angel baby's heels as she turns her skips into a light jog, traipsing down the hallway towards the front entrance sitting room as fast as her short legs will allow.

Anne's awing is low in tone, hands flying to her chest as she delights in the sight she's taking in. And as she goes to get a better look, making idle chatter with your parents and gushing to Gemma, Harry's eyes are darting back and forth as though he's waiting for angel baby to go right into orbit.

Momentarily, he anticipates an alternative outcome. Angel baby runs right up to you with arms wide open. He does that thing that gets him every single time - where she melts into the kisses you deliver all over her face. She hasn't killed the newborn yet, or thrown herself to the floor in existential despair. That's gotta be good start.

"Hi bubba, I missed you so, so much" you place a kiss to her forehead and she smiles contently, completely ignoring the baby in your arm, "but I have someone who wants to meet you!"

She squeals with joy, jumping up and down, "A puppy!"

"No baby," you laugh, and Harry swears he's about to spin off the fucking planet, "even better, a baby!"

"A baby dolly!"

She's either choosing to disregard the fact that the baby perched in front of her is 100% a real human being and not made of plastic, or she's genuinely oblivious. Regardless, Harry's panic is quickly becoming your panic. Because now you're both teetering on anxious, though Anne is swift to pick up on it and comes to aid.

"No poppet, not a dolly," Anne mewls, crouching down beside angel baby in front of your lap, "s'your baby sister. Mumma and Daddy brought y'a real sister."

And now it's fully set in - sheer panic. He's quick to jump into action though.

In quick strides from across the other side of the room, he very gently inserts himself beside you on the couch. You aren't catching on to what's to come and he chalks it up to you still being a little tired. Why wouldn't you be? He doesn't want this to go south, so he shifts himself on the couch, knees spread a bit so angel baby can lean on his leg and look over at the . If anyone could be the buffer here, he thinks he's the best bet.

Harry coos, "Say hi t'your baby sister!"

"No"

You side eye your husband beside you, who is staring at angel baby as though he's trying to to mentally coerce her into actually wanting to like the infant. He doesn't know where to take it from here. Angel baby is so viscerally displeased and uninterested at not just the concept of a sister, but the literal physical sister sitting inches away from her face.

"Dunno if that I love my big sister onesie seem t'be working." Gemma cracks in attempt to lighten the mood.

"No?" Harry repeats, though soft, but with the undertone of frantic as he glares at his older sister, "What do y'mean, button? She's really nice, 'nd

"My daddy!"

"Oh I told you," Harry's voice is a hushed squeak as the internal panic collides with irreconciable guilt "(Y/N) I told you!"

He can't imagine things getting worse than this. Until, of course, it does. Because as soon as the infant yawns and squirms a bit, Harry reaches over to your lap on instinct to adjust the hospital cap still clad to her head. And that was enough to get angel baby to strike. She leans right over alongside Harry with her fingers spread and palm flat, going to give the baby a shove before dominantly announcing another 'my daddy.'

A slew of gasps and stern no's come flooding out by all your familial spectators, even including yourself as you angle your body away from your 2 year old with a vengeance. Harry's stomach has completely flipped upside down, especially when angel baby bursts into tears and collapses to the floor.

The temper tantrum has ensued; she's a puddle at Harry's feet, back flat against the multicolored sherpa carpet as she rips out wails that could shatter every glass flower vase throughout the first floor. And naturally, it sets off some cries of distress from the new baby. In a second Harry might join them both.

"Jesus Christ," you exhale quietly, "this is fucked."

Your mom, noble as ever, does her best to step in and peel your daughter off the floor to bring an end to the (literal) swan song. Even now you have to admire the theatrics and flare for drama. She's truly emulating her father.

Her father, who is in an isolated frenzy in his attempt to asses every possible way to rectify this nightmare. Harry's not afraid to go low and opt for the last possible resort.

"Button," he exclaims, like he's just conjured up the best idea of his life, "she got y'a gift! A super big, really fun, totally awesome gift!"

The wailing comes to a slowed stop before an altogether halt. With eyes still watery and cheeks stained with tears, she peels herself up from the floor in what feels like slow motion until she's level with Harry. And she looks up at him with those eyes and that look - the one that you know will have Harry in the palm of her little hand in a matter of seconds.

"A gift?" she says it through a sniffle, "Like.. a barbie?"

She sniffles a few times more in an attempt to collect herself and, God, Harry can't help but fold, "Four barbies!"

And he doesn't care that your face shoots him one of those 'we should discuss this first' looks because she's finally reeling in the crying. And she's finally starting to take to the idea of another baby to share the spotlight with because she goes to lean on your knee now - right next to the baby as a show of solidarity. That's a win to him, even if he had to get there with shameless bribery.

"Harry," you whisper sternly, "remember.. about the gifts... and not spoiling her."

It's like talking to a wall, because he doubles down, "And a new dream house! If y'really sweet t'her, maybe baby sister will buy you tha' little pink limo for 'em too."

"Harry!"

"What?" He shrugs, but quickly evades your glare, "th'limo l'look great with th'house! 'Nd they can't walk everywhere!"

[michaelsfavgirl]

not like the movies

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Synopsis: it's a cliché love story isn't it? The global superstar and a die hard fan who manages to catch her idol's attention during a concert. it's that simple, right?....right?

Warning: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Requested: yes/no

Author’s Note: I changed the req a bit, put a little twist on this trope to make it more interesting. I hope you like it. :)

Links: navigation | masterlist | taglist

“Is the mic working tonight?" Michael asks Frank DiLeo, his manager. his eyes sparkle with mischief as they walk towards the wings, closer to the stage.

Frank chuckles, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "God, Mike, You'll never let us live that down, will you?"

Michael throws his head back in laughter, recalling a not-so-distant memory when the crew accidentally messed with the tech. “You guys cut off my mic during she’s out of my life! I had to fake cry to trick the fans into thinking all that was a part of the show.”

Frank, shaking his head in slight embarrassment, adds, "We learned our lesson that night. It won't happen again."

"Of course, it won't. Or else, I’ll cut your check in half.” Michael says with a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. As much as Frank likes to have some form of authority over Michael as his manager he’s still not the one who calls the shots. 

Frank's expression shifts from amusement to a momentary flicker of concern. "You wouldn't..." he says as his voice trembles. 

Michael bursts into laughter, the carefree sound echoing through the backstage corridors. "Just kidding, Frank. Can't you take a joke?"

Relieved, Frank lets out a chuckle, feigning a scowl. "You know, you give me a heart attack every time you say something like that."

Michael, still grinning, pats Frank on the back. "Come on, you know I wouldn't mess with your money."

As he sees his manager’s face relax Michael can’t help but tease him again. "Or would I?" he says as he leans down slightly to Frank’s height, watching Frank's face momentarily shift from relief to uncertainty again. Before he can respond, Michael strides onto the stage, leaving Frank bemused, with his jaw on the floor. 

As Michael smoothly transitions between his iconic songs, the energy in the stadium is electric. The sea of fans undulates with excitement, but amid the frenzy, his attention is inexplicably drawn to a girl in the front row. 

The second his eyes land on her he feels like he’s in a trance of some sort. There's an allure about her, something that tugs at the edges of Michael's consciousness. It's not just the way she sways to the beat or how her eyes light up with each note; it's an inexplicable connection that he can't shake off. Lost in the spell of her presence, he fumbles the lyrics of a verse, drawing giggles from the audience. 

Michael Jackson, the perfectionist, is momentarily thrown off, a rare slip in his otherwise flawless performance.

Shaking his head to clear the distraction, he attempts to refocus. Yet, as the music continues, his gaze involuntarily drifts back to her. It's a puzzle, a mystery that unravels with each passing song. Why does she captivate him so? Why does she stand out in a crowd that's usually a sea of screaming adoration?

The realization dawns on him—she's different. Amidst the fervor of fans who've camped out for days, who've screamed themselves hoarse, in contrast she remains remarkably composed. She’s not crying, screaming, or fainting. Her demeanor is an enigma. It's not that she's unaffected; on the contrary, she radiates genuine enjoyment, but there's a serenity to her reactions that sets her apart.

Michael can't help but wonder. He knows the type of fans who are usually in the front row. They tend to be the wildest, most infatuated with him, having created an imaginary world in their heads where they’re in a romantic relationship with him. 

But her? She doesn't seem like that at all. 

How strange.

As he moves from one hit to another, the questions linger in his mind. His eyes continue to find her in the crowd, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. There's an intrigue. He thought he knew his fans inside out—their dedication, their unbridled passion. Yet, she challenges his assumptions.

Midway through his performance, Michael decides to playfully engage with the mysterious woman in the front row. He winks at her, not once but a few times, expecting a typical fan reaction—screams, swoons, or at the very least, a blush. To his surprise, all he receives in return is a serene smile. Just a smile.

The bewilderment creeps into Michael's expression. What's going on here? Is she immune to his legendary charm or something? Huh, he’d never in a million years admit it, but he feels his ego deflate a little. 

Refusing to be discouraged, he takes it up a notch. He points directly at her, a playful challenge in his eyes. Surely, this will elicit a different response right? But no, she remains composed, smiling and silently mouthing the lyrics. This is unheard of for Michael, and he can't shake off the perplexity. 

Jesus, what is she doing to him?

Unable to wait any longer, during a break where the band continues to play to give Michael a moment to breathe, he rushes backstage to his manager, Frank. He grabs onto Frank's shoulders tightly which surprises him. 

“Look, you see that girl over there? No, not her, on the left, her. Bring her to me after the show, okay?” The urgency in his voice is palpable as he hastily says, instructing Frank to bring the mysterious woman to his dressing room after the show. Frank, usually the composed one, is taken aback by his client's sudden insistence.

"What's gotten into you, Michael?" Frank asks, trying to make sense of the unusual request.

Michael, in no mood for delays, shakes Frank's shoulders, emphasizing the urgency. "Just get her here, Frank. It's important. You got that?"

Frank, still a bit shocked by the unexpected outburst, manages to nod in agreement. He watches as Michael walks away, leaving him to process what’s just happened.

The final notes of the last song resonate through the stadium as Michael wraps up his performance. The crowd roars with applause, and Michael, still riding the high of the show, takes a moment to thank his fans. "Thank you, I love you all," he declares, his eyes scanning the audience one last time. 

In that fleeting moment, his gaze lingers on the mysterious woman in the front row. Without giving it another thought, Michael dashes backstage, not even sparing a moment for his manager, Frank Dileo. He quickly instructs Frank to bring the woman to his dressing room and disappears, leaving Frank with his jaw on the floor.

After a refreshing shower, Michael reenters his dressing room, his mind buzzing with anticipation, heart beating unbelievably fast. And there she is, the enchanting woman who has captured his attention. Her back is turned to him as she admires the tour costumes on the rack, gently tracing the metal pieces with her fingers. Before Michael can utter a word, she turns around, her eyes meeting his. 

With the most angelic smile, she introduces herself shyly, “oh, uh, hello, i’m y/n. Someone told me to come to your dressing room, I swear I'm not a crazy fan.” As her sweet, slightly trembling voice fills the room, Michael feels a sensation akin to his legs turning into jelly. 

“I know don’t worry” he reassures her with a gentle smile, trying to keep his excitement in check. 

“I asked them to bring you here”

“Oh…do you often bring your fans here?” she asks with a little smile on her face, teasing him. 

Michael's eyes widen slightly, realizing how his previous statement sounded. “No, no, I’m not like that.” He defends himself. 

“Please y/n take a seat.” he gestures to the cozy couch. Her name feels familiar on his tongue, unfortunately, he cannot remember from where so he lets the thought go.

Casual banter flows initially, words revolving around music, the pulsating rhythm of the crowd, and the enchanting atmosphere that wraps around every live performance. Michael can't help but be drawn to the woman's composure, a serenity that stands out amid the usual fervor of his adoring fans.

As the conversation meanders through the afterglow of the show, the woman pivots with a sudden turn, shifting gears towards more personal territory. "How do you deal with all the relentless media during the tour?" Her question hangs in the air, curiosity etched in her eyes.

A contemplative sigh escapes Michael's lips, the weight of the question temporarily lifting from his shoulders. "It can be daunting," he begins, "But the music, the fans, that's what keeps me going."

Her eyes linger on his face, searching for something more profound beneath the surface. Unsatisfied with his somewhat evasive response, she persists, "But what specifically bothers you? There must be something that digs deeper."

Michael hesitates, a brief moment of vulnerability flickering in his eyes before he decides to share, "The…the rumors about me bleaching my skin. It's hurtful, and it affects me more than people realize."

“Do you though?” 

His eyes furrow, a mix of annoyance and anger flickering across his face. The probing nature of her questions stirs a cautious wariness within him.

She notices this and leans in, "You're so misunderstood, I just want to know the real you."

Silence hangs between them for a moment. Michael, caught in the whirlwind of emotions, contemplates the woman before him. Is she just a genuine fan seeking connection, or does she harbor ulterior motives beneath her calm exterior?

Gazing into her eyes, his hungry desire to be vulnerable and open his heart to some outweighs his concern. "No," he responds firmly, the word resonating with a quiet strength. "I don't bleach my skin. The rumors are just that—rumors."

Nodding in compassion she gently lays her warm palm on top of his in a soothing manner, this makes michaels senses spike. 

"I hope I haven't crossed any boundaries," she offers apologetically, her eyes reflecting a genuine concern for a split second.

He looks at her with a hint of confusion, not quite grasping what she means. "No, no it’s…fine." he says.

Taking a moment to choose her words carefully, she ventures into more personal territory. "I mean, after what happened... Do you feel lonely on tour?" The cryptic nature of her question leaves Michael momentarily puzzled.

"What do you mean, 'after what happened'?" he inquires, eyebrows furrowing inquisitively.

She takes a deep breath, her gaze steady. "In the media, you know the whole Brooke Shields turning down your proposal. It must be difficult for you."

Michael's sigh echoes through the room as he dispels the misconception. "Brooke never never said no because I never proposed," he states, a touch of exasperation in his voice. "That was just a story she made up to get attention for her new movie."

As Michael clarifies the misinformation, the woman subtly slips her hand into her handbag, a movement that goes unnoticed by him. Maintaining an air of compassion, she continues, "It must be tough for you, dealing with the constant scrutiny."

"Yeah, it gets hard sometimes," he admits, a weight apparent in his words. "She’s been leeching off me, leading me on since we met." he says and feels guilt creeping up on him, but he’s been bottling up his emotions for so long he can’t help but vent.

Her expression remains composed, her eyes attentive. "I’m sorry you have to go through that Michael," she commiserates, though the glint in her eyes suggests a hidden agenda.

Michael, relieved to share his burden, continues, "I just want someone who's genuine, can’t you understand that girl? Someone who understands me for me, not for the image they've built in their mind."

As the admission hangs in the air, the woman's hand tightens around an object in her bag, a subtle signal of her concealed intentions. 

After a conversation, well, more like Michael opening his heart while she nodded, the peculiar woman stands up abruptly and straightens the creases on her clothes. She grabs the doorknob and turns to face him.

“I hope you won’t be too surprised when you see yourself in the papers tomorrow morning Mr. Jackson” she says with one foot out the door.

Michael cocks his head to the side and hums in confusion, why is she speaking so formally all of a sudden. “What do you mean?” 

“Haven’t you read that article about Princess Diana?” 

Before Michael can open his mouth she’s already left the room and shut the door behind her. 

Panicking slightly he rushes to the coffee table and gets a hold of the newspaper from last week. He swiftly flips through the pages until he stumbles upon the tabloid junk he’d read on a plane half asleep. The title reads:

“IS PRINCESS DIANA A MASTER MANIPULATOR?”

          — By y/n y/l

Fuck, she’s a journalist. He  should’ve guessed from the get go. She was a little odd but he brushed it off as her being shy and awkward, and now look at what he’s gotten himself into. 

© michaelsfavgirl 2024

Taglist: @heartss444mj @yeriminist @yeaiamme2 @helloaugustmoon @cinnamoncunt @theladyofmylife @minekarina @kionaaa @theskinniestjackson-denny @youronlyonenini

[sosa2imagines]

Right back at ya.

Warnings- Jealousy, gun violence, pole dancing.

The bass thumps through the club, vibrating the floor beneath your feet. You and Lloyd had been enjoying the night, drinks flowing and conversation easy. But a woman, all slinky dress and heavy perfume, had set her sights on Lloyd, and he, in a playful attempt to make you jealous, wasn't exactly discouraging her advances.

A smirk plays on your lips. You weren't threatened, not one bit. In fact, you were mildly amused. Taking a confident stride, you reach for Lloyd's half-finished scotch, downing it in one smooth gulp. “Someone needs a dance partner…” you declare, your voice husky from the drink. The woman looks at you with a scowl, you ignore her.

You go to the bathroom, you did manage to find a pair of scissors. Cutting your dress on each side, like slits.

Lloyd watches, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, as you head towards the centre of the dance floor. The music shifts. The familiar pop beat washes over you, and you move with it.

‘Here we are, a careful distance Here's my heart, what's left of it In this town, I used to listen Once, Once, Yeah’

Your confidence takes centre stage. You glide across the floor, your body moving in perfect rhythm with the music. As the first verse plays, you execute a series of basic steps like grapevines, hip rolls, and isolations, showcasing your control and fluidity.

‘I had hope, blind faith Had as much as you can take’

The chorus hits, and you gracefully ascend the nearby pole, the smooth metal cool against your skin. Your movements become more sensual, your legs wrapping around the pole as you perform a slow spin, your eyes holding Lloyd's gaze with a playful intensity. Because of the cut, your thighs are on display.

‘Ashes burn the morning after Only know I'm here to stay I was so, I let you see me That was dumb, but that's OK Tripping down to your place What is love anyway’

You continue your ascent, showcasing your strength and agility by twirling around the pole gracefully, your body forming a perfect line against the pole. As you descend in a controlled slide, your eyes lock with Lloyd's, a silent challenge in their depths.

‘Who or whatever you do Don't let anyone love you Touch them where it hurts And then you'll leave’

The final chorus explodes, and you erupt into a flurry of impressive moves. You spin, you dip, you showcase intricate footwork around the pole, your confidence radiating outwards. The entire club is captivated, their gazes drawn to your captivating performance.

Lloyd, his earlier amusement fading, watches you with a mixture of awe and something akin to possessiveness. The other woman is forgotten, a mere afterthought in the face of your captivating display. He can't tear his eyes away, his gaze tracking your every move, a silent apology forming in his eyes.

‘I'm only gonna let you kill me once I'm only gonna let you kill me then some I'm only gonna let you kill me Once, Once, Once, yeah’

As the song reaches its climax, you descend from the pole, the crowd erupting in cheers and whistles. A line of guys gathers around you, mesmerized by your seductive performance.

Despite the numerous men surrounding you, you weren't scared. In fact you were waiting for the sound, that is sheer music to your ears.

As one of the guy, was about to approach you, the sound of gunshots suddenly cuts off the applause and cheering from the crowd. The guy who was about to approach you is startled and backs away, clearly scared. The sound of the shot causes a bit of chaos and commotion in the room, breaking up the previously euphoric atmosphere. And you smile.

Lloyd, was the one who fired the shot, silently threatening the guys, who were approaching you to stay away. In a silent but powerful display of his protection and jealousy, he ensures that no one can encroach on you or try to take you away. It was a subtle yet powerful display of his love and possessiveness.

You return to Lloyd, a playful smile on your lips. “Ready for a real dance partner?” you ask, extending your hand.

Lloyd takes it, his own smile sheepish. “Absolutely,” he says, his voice low with a hint of something more. The playful competition is over, replaced by a renewed appreciation for the woman who had just set the dance floor on fire.

His woman.

The night, once threatened by a bit of childish jealousy, now held the promise of something far more captivating.

TAGLIST- @imyourbratzdoll @nekoannie-chan @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute @emerald-writes @winterslove1917

[murasakiirohanaarchived]

(re-posting from other blog) 

 Modifying my Yellow Flicker Beat verse.

“But I got my fingers laced together and I made a little prison And I’m locking up everyone that ever laid a finger on me.”

    Premise of the verse is that Ino gets captured during an intel mission and is taken prisoner where they try to use her for information through any means necessary. She is within their grasp for several weeks before she eventually is able to escape. The captures had made an attempt on her vanity by ruining the canvas of her body but despite their best efforts, she didn’t budge. It was at that point that they finally went for her face and did real damage. With a deep cut into the right side of her face, they took the sight in her right eye. Ino could handle a lot of damage as she bided her time for escape, but she knew when it was going beyond that and she’d be damned if these were the people that would take her life. Adrenaline pumping through her, in that moment she escaped and left bodies in her wake.  

   With her body riddled with various wounds, the blonde left the place she had been confined to and when at a safe distance, she does best to heal what she can to make sure she is not in any danger. Regardless of her efforts, there was still many scars of varying sizes across the entirety of her body that she was far too late to do much about— though the deep but singular one upon her eye was far more detrimental than the rest. No matter what she did, nothing much came from it. She couldn’t see through it. It was healed up enough to not be further hinderance, but that was it. The Yamanaka spent a few weeks in the first town she made it to, using it to recuperate both mentally and physically. She needed to prepare herself for her return and she refused to go back until she knew she was ready. Until she had sufficiently buried her feelings and mourned her past self.

  By the time she appeared at the familiar gates of Konoha, she had been considered dead. It was as if a ghost had made its presence known and it took a moment for the people at the gate to recognize that it was, indeed, Ino Yamanaka.

  To be fair— she looked different. Her hair was pinned in a bun with her bangs nor longer loose but instead securely fastened in a way that fully covered the right ride of her face. Little did they know how useful her bangs now proved to be. On top of that change, the usual exposed parts of her body were now covered with mesh some places and bandages in others. They couldn’t see enough of her body to determine if she had incurred much injury, and that was what she wanted. The less people knew, the better. She would, of course, have to be examined upon her return to be deemed fit to continue as a shinobi, but that didn’t mean everyone else needed to be privy to her condition.

All they needed to know was simply that she was back.

Tl;dr: Instead of only being covered with scars all over her body— the final injury she received during her time being captured was a severely damaged right eye that she can no longer see out of it. She uses her bangs to cover this weakness.

[hansumswife]

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴇʀ ꜱᴍᴀꜱʜ! ᴘᴛ2

chris sturniolo x naomi west

outfit | pt1

warnings - smut, no protection, mentions of male being hard, fucked dumb, male x female smut, never written smut before so sorry if its bad, cant think of anything else

tags: @st7rnioioss @its-jennarose @timmyscomputer @kriissy4gov @liz-stxrn @sunrisemill @mattssluttywaist @riasturns @mx0qin @junnniiieee07 @alorsxsturn @annasturn0lo

Chris had left the tent whilst Skies prepared to perform on stage - so to waste time him and Matt decided to go watch Playboy Carti.

As the two of them walked up, the song Carti was jumping around to finished and he began announcing something through the microphone. “Yo! I wanna bring somebody out for this song, Naomi get your ass out here!”

As he said the girls name fans screamed from the mass of a crowd - Chris smiled as he would be able to watch her. He didn’t listen to Naomis’ music religiously but he still appreciated it.

He watched as she jogged out onto stage, now in a different outfit than the joggers she was wearing when he had first met her. Matt puled out the camera and recorded the stage for a minute before shutting it off again. Allowing Nars to pull him off to another section.

Chris bopped his head to the music, watching as Naomi danced around laughing with Carti. He listened as the beat changed up, watching as she grinned and prepared for her verses.

He stood off to the side as the crowd bounced up and down to her bars, the rhymes flowing smoothly. The large crowd sung along word for word.

As there was a gap in Naomi’s verse, Carti rapping for a while she turned around and began to twerk - earning screams to ring throughout. Chris could feel the tent appear again, the way her back moved and-

Gross, you just met her Chris.

He watched as she stood up, laughing brightly before rapping her shared verse. Dancing around stage with Carti once again.

——

Chris couldn’t focus the entire time he was on stage, barely getting the lyrics out his mouth as he jumped around stage with his idol. It didn’t help he had scrolled through Naomis instagram before hand either.

After saying goodbye he, Matt and Nars checked what was happening - hearing an after-party was happening. They decided they would go and leave if they didn’t like it.

In the ride there Matt pulled the camera out, allowing Chris to narrate. As soon as his brother put the camera back down a ring came from his phone, and a smile appeared on his face from the notification.

Naomi 💋🤍: you going to the after party?

Chris chuckled at the emoji’s Naomi had added to her own name earlier on.

Chris 😍: Yeah are you?

Naomi 💋🤍: yeah js wondering if u wanna meet 🙃

Chris 😍: Bet, I’ll tell you when I get there

He put his phone back into his lap and grinned, doing everything in his power to not think about the girls instagram posts.

——

As they walked into the house, music blared loudly throughout. Chris quickly texted Naomi and she told him she was near the stairs.

“Matt, I’m gonna find the bathroom. I’ll find you whenever.” he shouted into his brother’s ear who just nodded and walked off with the others.

Chris wandered through the crowds, occasionally dapping up somebody who knows him. He noticed the girl near the stairs, sharing a blunt with Carti before he took the last hit and walked off with the girl that was wrapped around his arm.

He watched as Naomi blew the smoke out of her mouth, it twirled gracefully before evaporating into the air that was hot from the amount of bodies.

He exhaled, gaining confidence before tapping onto Naomis shoulder. “You good, ma?” he teased, looking into hed low and droopy eyes. She nodded with a grin. “So what you tryna do?” he smirked.

One of his arms came and rested on the stair railing, trapping Naomi in slightly which she couldn’t help but blush at. She shrugged confidently, “Up to you baby.”

Chris’ eyes flickered over her features before he leaned in, his nose brushing hers before their lips connected roughly. His hands quickly found the girls hips whilst Naomis wrapped around his neck. “Wanna find a bathroom or something?” Naomi suggested, pulling away slightly out of breath.

Chris nodded, leading the girl down the hallway as she giggled. He pulled her in, locking the door after them and immediately connected their lips once again.

Stepping forward he caused the girl to step back, leaning her up against the wall. His hands found her hips again, one tapping her ass.

Taking the hint Naomi jumped up, straddling his waist as he pressed her into the wall. His lips travelled down her jawline and under her ear - hitting the sweet spot to which her back arched into him.

“Please, just” Naomi panted, a hand steading herself on his shoulder and the other tugging on his wavy hair. Chris nodded as he understood. Sliding her dress up and unbuckling his belt.

“Use your words ma.” he instructed, pausing his sloppy kisses, waiting.

Naomi whined at the loss of contact, giving in to speaking. “Fuck me please Chris.” the brunette nodded, muttering a ‘yes ma’am’ before going back to marking her neck with dark bruises.

Using a hand he slid his jeans off along with his boxers, looking at the girls screwing up face. He wish he could see that more often. Her panting up again the cold tiles, the marks he left scattered along her neck even dipping down to her covered chest.

“You sure ma?” he asked once again, earning a rapid nod from the girl. Using his hand again he moved the lacy thong out of the way of Naomis heat, seeing it soaked already.

Chris kissed the girl again before pushing himself inside, earning a loud moan and grunt as they adjusted to each other. Chris waited until Naomis grip has loosened on his shoulders slightly before continuing. “Tell me if you need to stop ma.” he grunted, pushing himself further inside causing her to nod her head with a whimper.

Naomi dug her head into his neck. He was way bigger than she expected and she was already fucked dumb. Chris smirked at the thought of that, thrusting faster each time he went, hair nails gripping harshly at his shirt.

The bathroom became hot, the small mirror and window steaming up as the air felt tight and had the smell of sex. Chris’ thrusts slowly began to become sloppy as both him and Naomi reached their ends.

“Imma, ‘m…” Naomi slurred slight, Chris nodding encouragingly as he too felt the pit in his stomach.

“Whenever you’re ready ma.” he soon felt her tighten and relax, riding her through it before releasing his own onto her thigh. “You’re so pretty, you know that?” he panted, pushing his hair back and chuckled, her following. Chris kissed her shoulder before grabbing a washcloth from underneath the sink.

[milkedbox]

imagine secretly yearning over your best friend / crew mate sanji while listening to the song “from the start” by laufey on your vinyl player.

quietly singing along to the lyrics of the somber tune, breathing in the comforts of your own safe haven on the merry. tears staining your heated face in the dead of the night.

but being so incorrigible in your hopeless romantic ways, you’re actively swaying to the rhythm of the sickly sweet melody.

the embers of the candle in your room flickered rapidly, seemingly as if it fought alongside of the beat of the song.

all this, just to be interrupted by a soft knock at your door that had been left slightly ajar.

and before you could respond, or even think about wiping away the tears brimming your eyes.

you heard a breathy whisper of your name, accompanied by the irritable whine of the door being pushed open.

just barely enough to reveal the multiple ringed fingers and the blonde locks of the perpetrator.

he continued to dip his head further in, but he had yet to meet your gaze.

“(y/n), my darling i hope i’m not interrupting something. it’s just i heard music, and a lady like you should never be dancing alo-“

finally catching a glimpse of your disheveled appearance, a look of sorrow and concern replaced his once familiar smirk.

his blue eyes widen.

“(y/n). angel, whats wrong?”

and as if all the gods in the universe had listened in on this very moment, the cue of the last few verses wafted through the air.

♪ “confess i loved you”

“just thinking of you” ♪

”i know i’ve loved you from the start” ♪

[airxn]

𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐗𝐍 . an independent dual oc rp blog featuring the twins airin and xavier. two retired mercenaries who've settled in nyc to work for the infamous supernatural bar– the gear shift. featuring aus: borderlands, legend of zelda, dc, fallout, dnd, and more!

edited in after effects by luri | blonde dynamite by caravan palace transcription under the cut

00:00 – Video begins. Blonde Dynamite by Caravan Palace begins to play. The background that is throughout the video is a city with white lights and a dark gray background. It fades into view.

00:02 – Text that reads "AIRXN - independent oc rp blog" pops onto the screen.

00:05 – Transition to text that reads "Featuring: Airin – shape-shifter, founder, lil' shit". Images of Airin as a felicid (golden canid creature with a mane) and as a human (a golden blond bitch) transition through the screen to the beat.

00:11 – Transition to text that reads "And his brother: Xavier – soul eater, anti-social bastard". Images of Xavier (very handsome man with long, black hair) transition across the screen.

00:15 – In the center of the screen an image of human Airin and Xavier together pops in. The text "wicked" and "wired" appear on the screen to the beat.

00:17 – Image of human Airin pops up on the left. The text "semi-selective" slides in from screen from the right.

00:19 – Image of a snarling felicid Airin pops into the center of the screen. On the left the text "canon friendly" pops in with the beat. The text "in love with ocs" pops on the right with the beat.

00:22 – Image of snarling felicid Airin pops forward to reveal his dullas (purple, frill-like appendages that shake rapidly). The image slides downward.

00:23 – Image of Xavier lounging slides down from the top of the screen. The text "multi-para" transitions onto the screen.

00:24 – The prior image flips to a monster-appearing Xavier. The text becomes "multi-para and whimsical".

00:26 – Image of luri (small, ginger gremlin with a red hoodie, black tights, and two leaves floating above her head) transitions into the center of the screen. In a circle around her, the text reads "loved by luri". The image and text fades out with by flickering out of view.

00: 28 – Text transitions in stating "Featuring alternate universes: legend of zelda, outlast trials, fallout, dnd/baldur's gate, borderlands, dc, owl house." Text transitions in below the prior text "ft. highly adaptable crossover verse".

00:36 – The text "you're going to find me probably weird" appears behind the prior text. The text transitions out with a pop.

00:40 – Animation of human Airin, Xavier, and Luri bop to the beat on the bottom of the screen. The text "Other info: drawn and irl icons, 18+, sporadic activity, favors light plotting, multi-ship, 10+ years of rp experience" transitions into the center of the screen. The scene transitions out with glitch effect.

00:50 – The text "airxn.tumblr.com" transitions into the center of the screen and fades away.

01:00 – Video ends.

this transcription isn't perfect so please let me know what corrections can be made, thank you!

[remedyturtles]

dw x 2al ficlet

for @intotheelliwoods here ya go...

[]

“Did you make a tree?”

Sprout turned towards the sound of Poptart’s voice, finding the little guy staring upwards. He followed his sightline and found, instead of his cozy expected mindscape, a bigass tree in the middle of everything. The branches extended out with reaching arms, cross-cutting a map of sparkling stars and a rough root system underneath his feet. 

“I did not make a tree.” Sprout replied, approaching fearlessly to press his flesh fingers against the thick trunk. “This is new.” 

A little push did not make it vanish. It stayed firm, solidly rooted into the ephemeral soil. He had a moment of mystified confusion, turning back to look at Poptart. 

“Huh.” Sprout said, unsure. 

“Don’t say it like that.” Poptart complained, striding over to give the trunk a poke as well. “You’re gonna make me think something’s wrong. You told me this place was cool.”

“It is cool. I just think that’s not where we are right now.” Sprout said, uncertain. 

“Hands off the merchandise, dude, that tickles.”

Sprout removed his hand in surprise, turning towards the familiar voice – familiar as his own, which was not a new experience, but still. Another Leo?

About the same age as Poptart, missing arm and all, hand on his hip and giving the two a very unimpressed look. 

“Woah!” Poptart said. “You didn’t tell me there was another one of us!”

“I have had enough multi-verse shenanigans.” Leo sighed. “I had a ghostly one of us here earlier. What are you? Me and Sensei in a funhouse mirror or something?”

“Multi-verse.” Sprout said, enlightened. “That makes more sense. Why does your mindscape have a tree in it?”

“That’s Sensei.” Leo pointed at the tree. “He’s trying a new foundation, really brings out his eyes.”

“Smartass.” Another joined their little group, stepping behind Leo and putting a huge hand on his shoulder, to which the smaller Leo threw an easy grin up at him.

Sprout’s heart skipped a beat, breath stolen directly from his throat. The new Leo was… he was… 

Unmistakably from the future, that same ‘big’-ness, missing arm and tired eyes. But when he looked at Sprout and Poptart, he smiled, and … 

Fuck, it hurt. Sprout took a step back, off balance, staring with wide eyes. 

“Woah.” Poptart caught his arm, looking up with a flicker of worry. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Sprout rasped, immediate, not wanting the littler turtle to worry, shaking his head and trying to shake off the fog of grief that soaked his mind and fumbled all his faculties. “I’m fine, it’s fine.”

Poptart glanced back over at the two mirror’ed Leo’s, visibly thinking, and asked hesitantly, “Are you Big Leo?”

The undeniably bigger turtle snorted. “Is that a nice way of calling me old? Leo usually goes with oyaji for that. Otherwise I go by Sensei.”

“That’s because you are old.” Leo chimed in, obnoxious. “Is your guy okay? He looks pale as hell.”

“I’m fine.” Sprout repeated louder, for the room to hear, catching exactly how unconvincing it sounded. “I just… Sorry. You reminded me of someone.”

“I am a one of a kind.” Sensei laughed, squeezing Leo’s shoulder and stepping around him to approach the two by the tree.

“There’s four of you here, actually.” Poptart said, helpfully. 

“Aren’t you just a joy.” Sensei stopped directly in front of Poptart, dropping to a crouch to see him better and offering a smile with crinkled eyes. “I can tell you’re taking very good care of your Leo. Good job, kid.”

“Thank you!” Poptart said, beaming. 

Sprout, meanwhile, had a rock jammed in his throat and it was prickling his eyes. He wasn’t sure what was more overwhelming – seeing someone that looked like Big Leo again, or imagining that it would be the words he’d say if he was there. He’d never know. But in this moment, he could pretend. 

Then Sensei glanced up at Sprout from his crouch. “How’d you get here? You’re not my age, yet you’ve managed to get your own little Leo.”

“It’s complicated.” Sprout said, glad his voice didn’t sound as wrecked as his mind was. That fabricated control. He tried to tuck his shaking hand behind his back but Poptart caught it, holding tight.

“I bet it is.” Sensei’s tone was nothing but fond and it could seriously stop hurting so much any damn second now. The rock tore up his throat and left no capability of reply.

“Come on, leave him alone.” Leo came up from behind and dragged on Sensei’s bigger arm. “How many times have I told you to stop poking people in sore spots? Look at the poor dude.”

“Sorry.” Sensei’s smile went wry, and allowed his little Leo to pull him back a few paces. “Welcome to our humble abode. This tree is a representation of my being rooted in Leo’s mind or something, you know how it is when Barry talks, it’s all blah blah blah whatever.”

“Rooted?” Poptart poked the intertwined roots with his foot and the two Leo’s in front of them shivered in perfect unison. 

“Careful.” Sprout squeezed Poptart’s hand, clearing his throat and struggling through this situation as best he could. “It tickles, they said.”

“That’s fun.” Poptart laughed, but at least didn’t kick the roots again. “But what do you mean, rooted?” 

“He’s actually dead.” Leo jerked a casual thumb at Sensei. “And his ghost is possessing me. We share a body.”

There was a small, incredulous beat. Sprout felt a wave of hysterical dizziness, and figured. Okay, why not. And maybe a little bit of longing. He was not going to dwell on that, thank you very much. 

“Cool.” Poptart said, a little more awkward. “We don’t have that. We have our own bodies.” 

“Lucky. I hope you bother him as much as you can, then. It never works for me because it just comes back to bite me in the end.” Leo gave a weird laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Oh yeah.” Poptart grinned at him, that faltered a little. “Does that mean you guys can’t hug?”

Sprout glanced at his little Leo, surprised that was the first thing on his mind. Or maybe not that surprised. 

“We can in here.” Leo tucked himself into Sensei’s side thudding his head against the bigger plastron. Sensei automatically squeezed him close. 

“Why don’t you do something other than a tree for your mindscape, then?” Sprout suggested. As pretty as the landscape was, there were so many infinite possibilities. 

“Because my mind is stupid and – ow. Sorry. Labelling. Because we can’t control it?” Leo said, interrupted for a moment in the middle from Sensei smacking his arm gently. 

“That sucks. That’s the best part of the mindscape.” Sprout told him. “Me and – um. We can control ours to show memories and play games, like make a giant Jenga, or whatever.” 

“Dude.” Leo said, full of jealousy. At least that emotion was shared, Sprout watching him hug his bigger Leo close. Once a little Leo, always a little Leo. Sprout wouldn’t trade Poptart for the world, he made him feel strong, but … he missed being small. Feeling small next to his broad protection. Feeling safe.

“We do share memories.” Sensei said, dry. “But more often than not it’s not on purpose. Your mindscape does sound cool, hopefully one day we can be the ones travelling and maybe I can kick your ass at Jenga.”

“Bring it on, old man.” Sprout said, and his voice cracked damningly. 

Something cleared on Sensei’s face. He squished his Leo and said, “Hey, why don’t you go show the new kid around?”

Leo glanced up, a moment of thought, then caved from whatever he saw on Sensei’s face. “Whatever, you two can chat about old people stuff. Come on, obviously-superior-Leo. If we go far enough out you can really see the stars.”

“I’m not that old.” Sprout said, weakly. 

Poptart laughed. He didn’t step away immediately, glancing nervously up at Sprout. It took a moment for Sprout to realize he was doing the same thing the other two had done – silently asking if it was what he wanted. 

“Go play.” Sprout dunked his head affectionately. “I’m fine.”

Poptart batted his hands away with another laugh. “Okay, okay!”

The two little Leo’s left. Sprout couldn’t meet Sensei’s eyes. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Sensei offered, once the sparkling laughter disappeared into the fading pollen-hung air.

“Hell no.” Sprout scoffed, turned away, rubbing the back of his neck. Inexplicably nervous. It was Big Leo. They didn’t have the same history. It wasn’t the same.

The emotion crowding in his throat said it might be nice anyway. 

“Do you want a hug?” Sensei said, because he could read his mind or something. Jerk. 

Sprout didn’t know how to answer. He was polarized in either direction. It wouldn’t be the same. What if it felt like a mockery to his memory? What if – 

“I can hear you thinking from here, kid. Relax.” Sensei said. “Just an offer, if you wanted. No strings.” 

“Not a kid.” Sprout said, rough.

“Not old, not a kid.” Sensei mused. “What an anomaly you are.”

“That’s me.” Sprout couldn’t do this. He still couldn’t even look at him, trying to spot the specks of the little Leo’s across the horizon. He was pretty sure they were hugging, actually. Poptart had been raised on hugs practically, it was as easy as breathing. 

Sprout had raised him on it, so why was it hard for him in this moment? He took a deep breath, refusing to outdone by his kid, and said, “Yeah, okay, come here.”

Sensei approached, and stopped before actually touching him. Sprout was forced to look up and meet his eye, the spots of tears stinging at the precipice of falling. 

“Everything I’ve said just seems to make you more upset.” Sensei said, wondering. 

“Not your fault.” Sprout told him, and it just. Hurt. 

“I don’t know what happened to you, but I know a hurting Leo when I see one.” Sensei opened his arm and slowly and with such intent care tucked Sprout against him. It trembled something weak in his knees, a wash of sudden emotion overwhelming and strong. “And you are doing so, so, so good. Just keep going and you’ll get there. Okay?”

Sprout was too busy choking on tears to reply. He nodded damply against the bigger Leo hugging him. He felt small. He felt safe.