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bongo-clash · 2 years

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If I had a nickel for every billionaire that tried to kidnap me, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice

DP/DC week prompt: Mistaken Identity

'Look, in Bruce Wayne’s defence, he has a lot of children with black hair and blue eyes, and he’d had a very long day. But in Danny’s defence, he has no idea what’s happening right now and, according to his previous experience in being kidnapped by billionaires, his reaction is incredibly reasonable.'

(No content warnings || fic under cut!!)

Danny’s been in Gotham for about a week with his family, and so far it’s honestly been one of their most relaxing vacations to date. Sure, the drive had been long and finding a place to park the RV had been unsurprisingly difficult, but once the initial getting-there-fanfare was over with, everything had been great. The whole ‘not my circus, not my monkeys’ thing had been amazing for his anxiety. The famous Batman was more than capable of dealing with his peanut gallery without some random dead kid intercepting.

Okay, he was a little bit worried about Batman’s ‘no metas’ thing, but there was no good reason the vigilante would find out that little tidbit. It’s not like he’s even a meta in the first place! Being dead is a medical condition. Regardless, he’s doing the sensible thing and not making a show of himself; he may have flown over the top of the city invisibly on the first night to get some good shots to send to his friends, but no one needed to know about that but Sam and her gothic-architecture-inspo wall.

The hotel they’re staying at has good breakfast, the buildings in the inner city look cool as Hell, they already have heroes dealing with their issues so Danny doesn’t have to do anything, and there’s no ghosts barging into his room but the constant chaos of the city still feels homey. Overall, a ten out of ten vacation spot.

Surely, nothing can go wrong.

“Tim? What are you doing here?”

He’s taking a morning walk away from the hotel after he and Jazz successfully convinced their parents he would be fine on his own, and he’d stopped in front of Wayne Enterprises because Tucker would be frankly offended if he didn’t. He ignores the call at first, because he doesn’t know anyone named Tim, and it’s not his business, but that’s clearly shown to be a mistake when the call comes again but closer, and then again, but with a man putting his hand on Danny’s shoulder. He’s turns around to tell whoever it is to clear off when he actually catches sight of the guy’s face.

Sleek black hair, sky-blue eyes, a healthy tan and a very expensive suit. That’s Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne as in the guy who owns the building in front of them. Bruce Wayne as in the multi-billionaire.

Okay, don’t get him wrong, Bruce Wayne does some pretty honourable charity work, and his tech is pretty cool and Tucker’s obsessed with it, but Danny has a very sour history with billionaires and even before he’d met Vlad he wasn’t a fan of them; being friends with Sam for long enough does that to a guy. Dealing with the fruitloop had only cemented what he already knew, and that’s that you shouldn’t trust people that rich as far as you can throw them (or, maybe just not at all, since he figures he could actually throw them pretty damn far, considering the ghost powers).

Plus, Bruce ‘Brucie’ Wayne has this really weird habit of acting like a ditz, and quite frankly, Danny doesn’t buy it. He’s been successfully running a huge company and heading welfare campaigns for years, and if he’s truly as air-headed as he presents himself to be Vlad would’ve snatched up his company and his wealth in a heartbeat. Vlad, who is the other billionaire he knows, who is also pretending to be something he’s not with the whole ‘gentle hermit’ vibe he maintains with the press. No, there’s definitely something weird about Bruce Wayne and he hadn’t particularly wanted to meet the guy to find out what it is.

However, it’s looking like he doesn’t have much choice, what with the man having a hand on his shoulder and being about ten inches from his face. “Uh.” He blurts eloquently. “Hi?”

“Tim,” He repeats, frowning. “Why are you here? I told you to take the day off- don’t tell me you were just planning on sneaking off to work anyway.”

Danny’s certain Tucker mentioned some co-CEO of Wayne Enterprises called Tim, and he’s fairly certain Tucker mentioned he was the same age as them and also Bruce’s ward, but do they really look similar? No one’s ever said they do to his face, and he thought that was the kind of thing people talked about- the whole ‘who’s your celebrity lookalike’. So why-?

…Tucker also mentioned that almost all of Bruce Wayne’s wards have the same black hair and blue eyes. He’d even joked how Danny ‘fit the bill’. Oh no. What if this is an obsession-with-having-a-son-just-like-him thing? Do all billionaires do that or is that just Vlad? He could really do with someone else to compare the guy to that isn’t the fruitloop right now- it’d be really great to have some kind of gauge amongst general average billionaire behaviour so that he actually knew what to do.

Staying quiet to gather his thoughts was apparently not his greatest move, though, because the man’s frown only deepens. Bruce Wayne’s hand moves from the top of his shoulder to his arm, giving it a light squeeze that seems like it’s supposed to be comforting but really just makes him more nervous. “I’m taking you back to the manor. You were supposed to take a day off and I really think relaxing would do you some good.”

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be to inform him that there’s been a misunderstanding and that he’s just some random tourist who’d been wanting to take some pictures.

“I— what- can’t you just leave me here? Don’t you need to go in there?” Is what he says instead, because fight, flight, or freeze apparently includes brain freeze too. His mom was right, he never should’ve been allowed out unsupervised. Why didn’t he bring Jazz with him?

“The meeting can wait, you’re more important.” The man soothes, and suddenly the hand on his arm is pulling him away, leading him over to an incredibly expensive car and Danny’s so bewildered by the whole situation he doesn’t even fight back. He stands there, limp, as Bruce Wayne opens the car doors, nudges him inside, starts the engine, and drives further and further away from Danny’s hotel.

They’ve been driving for about twenty minutes before his stupor finally breaks, and by then they’ve fully left the bustle of the inner city and entered the sparsely populated realm of high society estates— Bristol, he thinks it was called? Doesn’t matter. He needs to get out and he needed to be out yesterday; he can’t believe he ever thought he could have a remotely sensible vacation. Let your guard down one time and you get kidnapped by a man with more money than everyone else in the state combined (though, to be fair, that sounds more normal given his circumstances than it should. Still, the billionaire being Bruce Wayne isn’t normal).

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be tell Bruce Wayne that he’d been too shocked to refute the man, but he wasn’t actually his son, and had finally gathered his bearings to say so and was very sorry for causing him undue stress.

Instead, Danny jumps out of a moving car.

Distantly registering the yell of alarm and the screech of the vehicle pulling to a sudden stop, he tanks the roll and springs back up again, taking in his surroundings for all of a second before sprinting in the opposite direction of wherever they’d been going. Bruce Wayne is definitely chasing after him- he can hear the heavy footfalls pounding behind him- but Danny’s been running from his problems for years. There’s no way he’s letting them catch up to him now.

He rounds a corner and disappears into thin air, because Batman’s not a day time hero so what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him and surely he’d get that Danny was only doing it for the sake of his personal safety. I mean, who’s he to say that Bruce Wayne doesn’t layer on his fortunes with the occasional ransom situation? …Maybe not the best excuse he’s ever come up with, but the damage is done now, and he drifts away for a few more minutes until he figures he’s far enough from his initial launch point that he can drop the invisibility.

Looking around, he can tell that he’s definitely lost, his surroundings still reeking of big money and the actual meat of the city barely hanging on the horizon. Well, technically he’s not that lost, given that he can still see inner-Gotham from here, but he doesn’t know where the Hell his hotel is in all that grey, and the walk looks far. While he was willing to risk the momentary power-usage to get himself out of the billionaire’s sights, he figures that trying anything else would be pushing his luck a bit further than it was willing to take him.

He must’ve been thinking about it for a lot longer than he realised, though, because he hears a quiet thud behind him, and there is now a vigilante blocking his exit. Long-ish black hair, an admonishing expression, and a black and blue outfit with a bird decal.

That’s one of the Bats. NIghtwing, he thinks?

Aren’t they all supposed to be nighttime vigilantes?

As if hearing his questions, the taller man tuts, bringing his hands to his hips like his mom does when he breaks curfew. He hasn’t got out the electric-stick-things that he’s pretty sure the guy owns, so that’s good. “Tim,” He starts, tone starkly disappointed, and- hold on, why is Nightwing on a first name basis with the Wayne Enterprises CEO? “I thought B told you to take today off.”

Hold on, that’s a weird thing for a vigilante to know about the Wayne Enterprises CEO, and- Danny’s assuming B means Bruce Wayne- why is he using such a casual nickname for the billionaire? Do they know each other? He supposes it makes sense if they’re all in cahoots, since the Bats’ stuff does seem pretty expensive-looking, but he’d honestly kind of assumed Batman was just some rich reclusive vampire or something. Like Vlad but morally-reversed.

Unless Batman is still a billionaire and not just funded by Bruce Wayne. Nightwing knowing the Tim guy would make sense, then, given they might see each other at rich people things. But, actually, would that make sense? Vigilante socialites don’t usually go around telling their other socialite friends that they’re vigilantes, do they?

Unless Batman is Bruce Wayne. But that’s ridiculous. He’d figured the guy was hiding something, and the hoard of children is kind of indicative of a weird guy generally, but the man being some kind of edgy bat-themed hero in his spare time was just too ridiculous. There’s no way.

…

…Holy shit. Batman is totally Bruce Wayne.

That means that Nightwing is probably one of Bruce Wayne’s many sons, which means that he’s one of Tim Drake-Wayne’s many brothers, which means Bruce Wayne may have called him to chase him down and bring him back to the manor. Even though they shouldn’t be doing that because he isn’t Tim Drake.

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and the smartest of all of them would be tell Nightwing that by some hilarious comedy-of-errors, Bruce Wayne had mistaken him for his son Tim the CEO when he is in fact Danny Fenton the tourist, and he’s very sorry for the fuss he’s caused, but he should probably call his sister to pick him up now, thank you very much.

Instead, Danny feints left and tries to dash out the corner he’d trapped himself in from Nightwing’s other side. Nightwing grabs him like a small dog with one arm and raises a grappling hook to the nearest roof. Danny feels like this is probably karma for all the property damage he’s caused in Amity as they’re flung violently across roofs higher than his town’s tallest apartment complex. He is quickly discovering that being airborne is actually so much worse when you’re not the one in control.

He doesn’t have an awful lot of time to ponder this, however, because they reach what Danny assumes is the Wayne residence soon after. Nightwing does an absolutely terrifying set of flips as they careen over to the other side of the ledge the mansion is on, and lets him go when they’re on the ground to put a finger against his hear, presumably to some communication device.

“I’ve got him, B! We’re outside the Batcave now- yep, all safe- see you in a sec!”

…They’re outside the what now?

Nightwing slings an arm over his shoulder- some mix of friendliness and making sure he doesn’t run away- and leads him into a concealed entrance against the ledge just beneath the Wayne mansion.

He has to be hallucinating at this point. There are actual bats in here. The whole place is scary and dark and gigantic and—is that a fucking dinosaur?

“Tim!”

And, as if just to cement how utterly absurd today has been, Bruce Wayne is striding towards them with an expression contorted by worry, and he feels bad right up until the moment the guy cups his face with his calloused hands (calloused because he’s Batman, what the Hell). “Tim, I was so worried,” He croaks. “What happened back there? Why did you jump out the car?”

Now, there are a lot of things Danny could do to absolve this situation, and finally, finally, he-

“What the Hell is happening right now.” He blurts, taking a sharp step back and letting the hand fall from his face, watching as surprise falls over the men next to him like an overcast.

Okay, maybe not the the smartest thing he could’ve said, but not the worst thing either, and that’s probably the biggest win he’s going to get today, so he’ll take it. “What are you talking about?” Nightwing asks gently, reminding him rather neatly that he is still in an absolutely gigantic pile of shit, seeing as he’s now going to have to explain that they have all made some very big mistakes today.

“Uh, okay, so funny story- and you have to promise not to like, beat the shit out of me or whatever-“ He ignores the horrified faces they make at that, nervousness leaking out into a hysterical laugh. “But, uh, a very bad thing has happened, and— it’s like, fine! I won’t tell anyone if you won’t tell anyone, it’s totally chill and I’m really great at keeping secrets-!”

Bruce Wayne cuts him off, looking terribly concerned. “Tim, whatever’s going on, we’ll-“

“I’m not Tim!”

The moment the words are out of his mouth, he backs away with his hands raised placatingly, panic heightened by the way the two men freeze in their tracks. “I am so sorry,” Danny chokes, figuring he can’t dig himself into any deeper of a grave than he already has. “I was just- I was outside Wayne Enterprises to take pictures and when you came up to me I had no idea what to do so I just froze, and by the time I came to I was in your car and like, I was kind of scared you were kidnapping me? Because I kind of have a history with billionaires and kidnapping so I just panicked and jumped out the car but that made everything worse ‘cause you chased me and now I’m in the Batcave and you’re Batman and-“

There is a very long pause when Danny’s words fail him. The Batcave is very quiet beyond the chittering of bats on the ceiling.

“You have a history with billionaires and kidnapping?” Nightwing asks, like literally nothing else he’d said registered.

Quite frankly, Danny does not want to know what their expressions are like. Averting his eyes, he replies- “That was definitely a weird thing for me to say. Sorry. Uh, yeah.”

“Are you safe?”

What is happening? “Like… right now? I mean, so long as you aren’t gonna feed me to that dinosaur then yeah; I’m just in Gotham for vacation. I don’t- it was a very nice vacation. Until like half an hour ago. Now it’s a stressful vacation.”

Bruce Wayne, to his credit, is not trying to kill him for his knowledge of the man’s secret vigilantism, which already makes him better than the only other billionaire he knows. The man drags a hand down his face, looking stressed beyond belief. “I should’ve known you weren’t Tim,” He breathes. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Yeah, now that I’m actually hearing you talk, you sound nothing like him. Bruce, were you actually listening when he was talking to you before you shoved him in the car? This guy’s midwestern. What happened to world’s greatest detective, B?” Nightwing snorts and, wow, they’re not taking this half as badly as he thought they would. And, hey, now that he’s thinking about it, these are the first actual vigilantes he’s ever met outside of himself and Valerie, and wouldn’t it be a waste not to ask them for pointers?

Maybe it’s not the best idea in the world, but he already knows their secret identities and they’re being chill about it, so maybe they’ll be chill with his, too. Screw it, he’s doing it.

“Again, I promise I won’t tell anyone- I’m, ah, pretty good with secrets like this.” They turn to look at him curiously there, and he tries to talk past the lump in his throat. “I’m kind of, um, also a vigilante as well? Funny coincidence, right? Small town gig, though, nothing like Gotham! And I’ve only been on the scene a few years, so… I don’t know what I’m asking, here. Any good pointers?”

Nightwing looks thoughtful. “Does this have anything to do with the billionaire you mentioned?” He asks.

“It very much has a lot to do with the billionaire. If Vlad Masters ever asks you for anything- I dunno, punch him? He’s got a really punchable face, you’d know if you met him. It’s all creepy and shit.”

Nightwing continues asking questions as Bruce Wayne’s head remains firmly buried in his hands, and sure, maybe letting this well-established team of heroes know about his less-than-legal and more-than-ectoplasmic hobbies might come back to bite him, but right now he can’t help basking in the fact that he gets to bad-mouth Vlad to someone who Vlad will probably care about his reputation with. Everything else comes second.

“-Hang on, you said you’ve been a vigilante for a few years, right? How old are you?”

Okay, almost everything comes second. Both men are looking at him now with something that’s probably-definitely concern and is getting worse the longer he neglects to answer, and Danny is very suddenly reminded once again that the majority of Bruce’s children fit the same appearance-criteria as he does.

He’s just doubled his own problem, hasn’t he? It’s not just one anymore-he’s going to have to deal with two billionaires now.

He’s never going on vacation again.

#dp/dc week 2022 #It turns out Tim Did actually sneak out to work on his day off #But he fell asleep at his desk so he didn't answer any of Bruce's calls #And now Danny's fending off threats of adoption with a stick #Tim and Danny aren't even twins or anything. They have literally Nothing to do with each other Danny's just a lookalike with horrible luck #If there's any mistakes please just ignore them I read it over once and I just wanted to get it out into the world #Exciting news tho!! I'm posting another thing for the peacock au for tomorrow's prompt :)#dpxdc #Bongo's Writing!!!

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tomaturtles · 25 days

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IT'S KAWOSHIN DAY!!! As well as the last day of Kawoshin Week :') It's been such a blast, gonna miss it when it's over

Kawoshin Week Day 7: Cuddling/domestic fluff! + Sleepover and Spinoffs (again)! Based on the Campus Apocalypse sleepover chapter ☺️

#shinji ikari #kaworu nagisa #kawoshin #neon genesis evangelion #campus apocalypse #nge #nge ca #toma draws #kawoshinweek2024 #CAwoshin again! wanted to ensure my favorite niche kawoshin got some representation in the week in case no one else did stuff with them...#which wasn't the case since literally every fill for the spinoffs prompt has been campus apocalypse!!! which i'm overjoyed about 🥺#my second option for today was finishing a sonicverse kawoshin wip for the free day prompt. but i already included sonic in the week with-#the song lyrics i used for my day 5 piece so i went with this instead #also went with this because. um. my original plan for today was actually. a CA fic for these same prompts set after said sleepover chapter #but i'm neither fast nor confident at writing so i. haven't finished it (i DID get it to almost 1500 words so far though! progress)#so i thought i'd color something i drew while thinking about it :')#i did it while taking a break from my day 5 piece and was pretty loose about it so it's not super polished and i'm not sure how i feel abt-#the colors but! it hits the soft cozy vibe i was going for and that's good enough for me #if i manage to finish the fic within the year i might still include it as a very late week entry... no promises though. we'll see

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azu1as · 5 days

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Hi, Tin! I love your writing and I have a prompt for you, if you are interested) what if Tang family is too afraid of Tang Bo leaving permanently and eloping with Cheong Myeong? So they initiate marriage negotiations with Mount Hua. It can be angst (CM is socially isolated and insecure about his position) or romantic comedy (awkward situations and protective Cheong Mun), up to you). Thank you in advance!

It was a well-established fact that the Dark Saint of the Tang Family was one of their generation's best.

So it came as no surprise when an influx of marriage proposals flooded their family's estate—because rumors started flying around that the Dark Saint was in search of a partner.

The Dark Saint held a reputation for being cold and ruthless. To cultivators and martial artists, he was someone they feared making into an enemy due to his sheer battle prowess and poisonous abilities. To normal civilians, he was a genius who wielded the Tang Family's techniques with cool precision and intent; to them, he was just another mysterious cultivator that they would only ever know of through gossip and stories.

However, in recent years, something shifted. His reputation among common folk was slowly altered. It started off with a supposed battle between him and the Plum Blossom Sword Saint which turned into a sudden and unexpected friendship.

Whereas in the past the Dark Saint would only go around Sichuan and closeby villages, he was now found going around different major cities and unknown ones.

He was often in the company of Mount Hua's Plum Blossom Sword Saint, who worked with him side-by-side to eradicate groups from the Demonic Cult and the occasional bandits and thieves.

For supposed Taoists, the two visited different establishments to drink alcohol and talk cheerily. It was during one of these moments that the first rumor began its spark.

"Ahhhh," The Plum Blossom Sword Saint groans in satisfaction. "That sure hits the spot!"

The Dark Saint chuckles as he tosses back his own drink. "If only I could enjoy everyday like this. Alcohol really is the best."

"What would your future wife think?" The Plum Blossom Sword Saint jokingly and dramatically shakes his head in disappointment. "To have a husband who loves alcohol more than his own wife...!"

The Dark Saint wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Trust me, I would make sure that my wife knows full-well just how much I love them."

The two of them share a silent, private conversation with just their eyes alone, that none of the other restaurant's customers could decipher, before they leave a generous tip and went on their way.

It snowballs from there.

All of a sudden gossip went around about the Dark Saint's interest in finding a wife. And so several people came to the same conclusion.

The reason why the Dark Saint is travelling around more than usual is because he's looking for a prospective wife.

Clearly, the Plum Blossom Sword Saint was there to provide moral support. How truly admirable and strong their brotherhood must be!

On the other hand, the head of the Tang Family was fully aware of their Dark Saint's single-minded interest in Mount Hua's Chung Myung.

Seeing all the stacks of letters that ranged from proposing strategic alliances and general marriage offers brought the current head of the Tang Family to a very different conclusion.

Tang Bo was trying to slowly draw himself away from their family by leaving their estate. He might be on the hunt, jumping from village to village, trying to create a dowry befitting for the hand of the Plum Blossom Sword Saint and scouting out all the best locations to settle down in.

It really wouldn't be too surprising of an idea if one day a letter turns up from the man with an intent of permanently moving to Mount Hua or some backwater village.

The Tang Family head shakes the thought of losing one of their best and genius members to one of the Ten Great Sects. If he wanted to maintain their family's reputation, he'll need to strike the first move.

And so he begins to pen a decisive letter to the Sect Leader of Mount Hua.

%%%

Chung Mun's hands tremble as reads the letter sent to him by the Tang Family.

'Who did they think they were?' He would have bit out if he had any less self-restraint. The paper crumples in his grip and he receives a questioning glance from Chung Myung who was sprawled eating mooncakes on the opposite side of his desk.

"What's got you so worked up?" The subject of the letter askswithout a care.

Chung Mun takes a deep breath. "The Tang Family wishes for you to transfer into their estate."

He refuses to say out loud the marriage proposal that came along with this request. His Chung Myung was too young! The man might be a sixty years old, but that round face, cheeks carelessly bulging with mooncakes with crumbs littered on his chin, screamed too young for marriage!

"Oh." Chung Myung nods in understanding.

Chung Mun is glad that Chung Myung agrees that this was nonsensical. To think, they thought that Chung Myung would even leave Mount Hua for—

"After the war is over, Tang Bo and I were planning to be roommates and travel the world a bit."

—?????

"Roommates?" Chung Mun's voices comes out slightly strangled.

"Yup. It's going to be great."

"No."

"'No'?"

Chung Mun tries to run through his previous conversations with Tang Bo. He knew that the man was capable of being underhanded, but he was also well-aware that Tang Bo respected him enough to not blind-side him with something like this. Especially since it concerned Chung Myung.

...

...Oh no.

"Fuck." Chung Mun says, full of feeling as he recalls Tang Bo off-handedly asking permission to live together with Chung Myung in the future.

"...Sect Leader?"

Chung Mun had thought that was a joke! He thought Tang Bo wasn't being serious! They were talking with alcohol in their systems!

The alarmed look that crosses Chung Myung's face informed Chung Mun that the way he felt his blood drain from his face was a visible, physical reaction.

"He asked for your hand in marriage." Chung Mun says faintly. "I said yes."

Chung Myung blinked at him. "Yeah? He told me?"

Okay. Tang Bo, to his credit, hasn't been leaving Chung Myung in the dark at least.

If Chung Myung knows and isn't reacting violently that means that he isn't completely against this. Even if Chung Mun was, he had to reorganize his priorties.

And his number one would be to make sure Chung Myung was happy.

((And to make sure that the Tang Family doesn't think they can step on Chung Mun and pull his little brother away.))

"I'll have to recheck the sect's budget and my own savings to make sure we have enough for the wedding preparations..." Chung Mun mutters as he begins drafting a response to the Tang Family with what he thought were better marriage agreement conditions.

But then, a flash of dread causes Chung Mun to pause writing and leave a dark ink blot on the paper. He suspected, but he really wishes that he was wrong—!

"Huh?" Chung Myung gives Chung Mun a confused look. "We already got married though?"

#cmun: you didn't invite me to your wedding??!?!?!?!?#cm: we literally just a signed a paper and kissed #cm and tb eloped because cm didn't want to stretch out mount hua's resources during a war bc of wedding prep #tb and cm are too in love and just decided to get married in the middle of a drinking session actually #they only realized what they did when they woke up the next day but then 'hm? this isn't bad tho?'#anyway cmun asks them to redo their marriage lol he def cries when cmyung bows to him in lieu during the three bows #the tang and mount hua come to an agreement that they get half a year each 👍#and if tang bo still dies in this au and cm is left a widower......jk jk but then again #»—————————–✄#sorry this took me a while 🥺🙏 irl wasn't kicking it HAHAHAHA #I'm super happy to hear you enjoy my writing and thank you so much for the prompt WAHAHAHAHA #i havent finished reading the side stories yet so sorry if I messed up canon #might come back to this prompt if I find out more info bc there's so much to explore 🙈#and i had to stop bc this was already 1.1k HAHAHAHA #tangchung #chung myung #chung mun #tang bo #rotmhs #rotbb #return of mount hua sect #return of the blossoming blade #tin writes #my ask hole #w-s-kibela

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kitas-cleaning-supplies · 2 months

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written for the march foxglove editorial, inspired by this drawing by @noenoaholi and beta'd by @fish-with-more-eyes/mac

There aren't a lot of things Atsumu likes to ignore, but Kiyoomi’s abysmal cooking skills are certainly one of them. Not a single person with working tastebuds or a functional sense of self-preservation would trust Kiyoomi in the kitchen. For the sake of his sanity, Atsumu likes to pretend Kiyoomi wasn’t ordering takeout on the regular before they moved in together.

Although if there’s one thing Kiyoomi can be trusted with, it’s baking desserts and using a blender. Atsumu has no idea why those two out of everything, but Kiyoomi’s cookies are to die for and his chocolate milkshakes are delicious. He’d brag about this if Kiyoomi didn’t have the shitty tendency to mix it up and make healthy drinks too.

They’re pungent, vile and disgusting.

They’re not even easy to make, what with a million and a half ingredients and three thousand steps. Atsumu wants to puke whenever he thinks of how much energy Kiyoomi puts into waking up early and making it for him. Sometimes there’s a lump in his throat choking him up if he thinks about it too long. He shoves the feeling down ruthlessly every time without fail: he doesn’t want to think about it.

Most days Kiyoomi can’t even be assed to get out of bed until the absolute latest he can get away with. And whenever he can, he traps Atsumu there too with his stupid long legs and stupid warm cuddles.

He’s up early this morning.

Kiyoomi’s side of their bed is empty; Atsumu finds him diligently chopping carrots in their kitchen.

“Omi-kun,” Atsumu whines, wrapping his arms around his sadist of a boyfriend and doing his best to resemble a kicked puppy, abandoned outside in the cold rain. “C’mon ya made this yesterday. Do ya gotta make it so often?”

“Drink it.” Unfortunately his boyfriend’s the most stubborn person Atsumu’s ever met. He’s ruthless and heartless. Kiyoomi shoves the glass of green yuck into his hands. “All of it.”

Atsumu sniffs haughtily and graciously pinches his nose; he chugs it all down in one. It’s bitter and foul and Atsumu wouldn’t do this for anyone else in the world.

He pauses.

His mouth is filled with the most disgusting drink while the pieces click into place: he loves Kiyoomi. It’s so on brand for them, he can’t help but laugh a little. Atsumu tunes Kiyoomi’s complaints about what he finds so funny out, and gives him a little kiss over his moles.

He starts planning out the most dramatic way possible to break it to Kiyoomi in his mind. He’s a little nervous, but the urge to make Kiyoomi regret the day he ever thought dating Atsumu would be a good idea wins out. His itch for mischief drowns any fleeting feelings of apprehension easily.

Atsumu’s grateful he can still taste that nasty green drink for the first time. It makes keeping the smile threatening to break out over his face at bay. Kiyoomi calls it his plotting face. Atsumu’s more inclined to call it his moment-of-genius face. His fun face. He’d go so far as to say it’s his handsome face, but that’s just his everyday.

Kiyoomi’s never going to see his confession coming.

#i strayed a little off of the editorial prompt but cha gave us a word count limit of 250 so i did what i had to do for the original #mind you i wanted to post this so i added everything i cut out from all 4 versions of it and got it beta'd <3 #it's not much but i'm proud of it ^-^#i'm really going back to my roots [fluff] these days huh?#asldkfj #right i need actual tags-#haikyuu #miya atsumu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakuatsu #haikyuu fic #maz writes #okay i've formatted this post. time to never look at it again #my fic

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crispycreambacon · 6 days

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Debating if I should release the Ryan/Professor "marriage that goes south after a car crash" AU fic that my friend wrote for her English exam and got a 24/25 on

No additional context like last poll. Just follow your heart.

#Good evening everyone!#It's been a month since I left the Watcher fandom. Wild #Anyways. I'm here to make your day just slightly worse with this knowledge :)))#Yes my friend actually did write that prompt for her exam. Yes she got a 24/25 on it. I have photos for proof.#Yeah ever since I left I've been going hog wild. Don't worry I'm doing well (debatable) I'm just being silly #Being away from fandom can be so freeing y'know.......#puppet history #watcher #watcher entertainment #we are watcher #tumblr polls #polls #chris p fried what?!#<- in this case my friend fried the thing

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good-beanswrites · 7 months

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There haven't been any Milgram headcanon requests so far, right? How about 🧸 and 💔 for Mikoto?

Mikoto time!! Thank you for the request -- I know it's risky posting headcanons so close to Double, but I'll come back and ammend anything that might be proven wrong on Wednesday 😂

🧸 A headcanon about their childhood: Through his early schooling years, Mikoto was present for a lot of extracurricular activities. He didn't always care/give his all, he just enjoyed hanging out with others and fooling around. The reason he can be such good friends with everyone is because he's picked up on tons of little things over the years by dabbling in all those arts, fields of study, sports, etc. Once he finds out your hobby, he can immediately retrieve some bit of knowledge/memory to get a conversation going, or even join in the activity. Mahiru is pleasantly surprised by his classic literature references, gardening club gets him on Shidou's good side, Muu likes talking to him about fashion tips, he can play sports with Fuuta, he tries to bond over band memories with Amane, and so on. When he was a kid he was just trying things out for fun, but as an adult he's grateful he picked up on so much.

💔 An angsty headcanon: He's accustomed to, and expects, bad separations. So many friendships and relationships ended on a very sour note, so now he's used to pulling away first. (There was no aggression or violence, but) the appearance of different alters followed by the host's insistent denials would make others think poorly of him. The more he claims ignorance, the more it seems like he's just gaslighting/manipulating, so there have been a few explosive separations in which he had no idea what went wrong. Because of that, it's been harder to get close to anyone, and he will start pulling away the minute things show signs of trouble. It's why he left the smoking group so quickly, and doesn't hang out with the other prisoners as often in T2. Instead of waiting for an inevitable fight, he ends things immediately and peacefully.

#milgram #mikoto kayano #thank you so much for the request!!! mikoto on the brain and im so hyped for double #(and actually i did get one milgram hc request a bit ago for muu -- strangely enough it was for the exact same prompts :0)#i debated on doing these after wednesday but ah well #i can always change things #i dont think mikoto necessarily Enjoys everything that he knows about but he keeps the knowledge anyway #he jokes that he has a really good memory to recall so much like that but cant even remember the night before...#and yeah :( im so sad about the smoking group but from how i read their characters it seems like something he chose himself #kazui and shidou wouldnt shun him or be afraid of him #and he mentions having lovers before but plays it off like a joke -- nothing ever got too serious then...#i wanted to write something about his home life (for either prompt honestly) but ill definitely wait a few days for that #i really hope hes close with his mom and sister ;--; knowing milgram though shit probably sucks ;___;#given his protective nature id love to see him as protective older brother #headcanon time milgram

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dove-da-birb · 7 months

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I will not be doing NaNoWriMo yet again; but to anyone who is doing the writing challenge I wish you the best of luck!

#dove rambles #yeah no i'm not writing 50k in 30 days; no thank you #i may revisit some old original ideas though (not fanfic; like actual original story lines and characters)#but i also start training this month so i'll probably just stick to my writing prompt journal #i did write over 60K in 64 days though so i know i could in theory do it #just tired and busy #i gotta take a look through my ideas list though first

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haledamage · 5 months

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Past, Present, Future

I was planning to write something a little more seasonally-appropriate, but stumbled across a WIP that my brain decided to latch onto instead. So, uh… Happy Life Day?

@queen-scribbles gave me this prompt in a conversation we had well over a year ago, and I’ve finally finished it 😅 the specific request was something along the lines of “LET THEM SMOOCH ALREADY DAMMIT” for Qora/Arcann, and the prompts were:

“don’t leave, illusion, too loud, or harsh whisper”

I’m not sure where exactly this fits on the timeline, but definitely later on in-game. probably post-Echoes of Vengeance, but I… haven’t actually finished that questline yet, so there should be little to no spoilers 😆 ~2.5k words, trigger warning for abuse/violence against children, because this is Qora and Arcann we’re talking about

---

“Again.”

The overseer’s stern voice echoed through the chamber, seeming to come from everywhere at once.

The training room was dark beyond the platform Qora stood in the center of, giving her the illusion that she was alone. But she wasn’t. She knew she had an audience, but who they were or how many, she had no idea. The whole Academy could’ve been watching, and she wouldn’t know the difference.

The sweet-metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air, along with the acrid odor of sweat and the ever-present ozone tang of lightning.

There was blood in her mouth, too. Her lip was bleeding sluggishly, split by a lucky blow… five fights ago? Six? She’d lost count.

Four acolytes stepped out of the shadows to join her on the platform. They were all older than her - most of the other acolytes were - and they were all armed.

Qora tightened the grip on her own practice blades, the handles digging into her palms. Her combat stance was steady, even if the rest of her didn’t feel it.

“Begin.”

The first acolyte lunged too quickly, too eager for the kill, and didn’t have the safety of numbers to protect him. One hard strike to the jaw, and he was on the floor before the others had even started moving.

The second and third were smart enough to attack together, both rushing her in tandem. Their swords were a blur of motion, almost too fast to follow, but she managed to keep them at bay. When the larger of the two raised his blade for what was meant to be an incapacitating blow, Qora reached out with the Force and dragged the smaller one between them. The blow took her opponent out instead. After that, the other one was dispatched easily.

The fourth snuck up behind her as soon as Two and Three were down. The pommel of his sword slammed into the back of her skull.

Her vision went white. She lashed out on instinct, swinging her blade in the direction the blow had come from.

She heard her opponent hit the mat, and followed right after him.

It was over almost as soon as it began.

“Again.”

The overseer’s voice sounded farther away, hard to hear over her own too loud heartbeat. Static hissed at the edges of Qora’s vision, and her eyes refused to focus. She could feel her consciousness slipping, and clung to it with everything she had.

“Again.”

The repeated order was a threat. A concussion would be the least of her worries if she didn’t stand up soon, but her legs refused to obey her orders.

A hand appeared in what remained of her field of vision, and Qora snapped her head up. Forcing herself to focus past the pain, she followed the arm up to… a boy.

A boy she knew--though she wasn’t sure how she knew him.

He looked to be around twelve or thirteen, the same age as her, with the same buzzed hair that she and all the other younger acolytes had, and gentle, pale blue eyes. The fine white robes he wore were much different than the grays and blacks the rest of them had, and contrasted so sharply against their dark surroundings that he almost seemed to glow.

“On your feet, Qora,” he said in a soft, raspy voice, his words firm but not demanding. “The next wave won’t wait for you to recover.”

“They never do,” she replied dryly. Her own voice sounded unfamiliar to her ears, a Corellian drawl instead of the crisp edges of Dromund Kaas. Like someone had filed all the corners off of her accent. She hadn't sounded like that in a long time.

She shook off the thought and took the offered hand, letting him help her to her feet. He didn’t flinch away from the cold metal of her prosthetic, or from the way she stumbled as her bruised and battered limbs protested the change in position. He just held on and let her take her time steadying herself.

He only let her go once he was sure she could stand on her own. “Are you alright?”

Part of her wanted to laugh at the question, no matter how sincere it was, but she bit it back. Instead, she said, “You shouldn’t have come here, Arcann. It’s not--not safe to be around me. Especially not here.”

“Just try and stop me.” Despite her warning and his challenge in response, Arcann carefully cupped the back of her head. The pain eased immediately in a warm yellow glow and a muted hum of the Force. “Unless you’d rather face them on your own?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“...No.” Qora felt guilty as soon as the word was out. It was stupid and selfish and Arcann was going to get hurt because of her, but it was too late to take it back. “Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“Never.” His hand slid from the back of her head along her jaw, until his thumb brushed her bottom lip. Another whisper of Force healing, and there was no evidence of the split lip besides the blood in her mouth. “There is nowhere I would rather be than by your side.”

There was a sound of boots scuffing against stone as someone else approached, and Qora and Arcann turned in tandem, shifting until they stood back to back. Blindly, she reached back and pressed one of her swords into his hand.

He squeezed her hand before taking the offered weapon. “You know this is a dream, right?” he murmured, as six new acolytes stepped into the light with them.

“Yes.” She knew it the same way she knew Arcann’s name, knew the difference in her own accent. “Doesn’t make it less real.”

Further conversation was halted as the overseer’s voice snapped “Begin,” and the acolytes closed in.

Qora and Arcann moved as one, staying back to back in the center of the platform. When one of their assailants rushed toward Arcann’s left, Qora spun to intercept, knowing his vision was limited on that side--or would be, someday, in a future far from this place--and caught the oncoming vibrosword with her own before it could make contact. She took that one down with a sharp elbow strike to the jaw.

A second acolyte took advantage of her momentary distraction and threw their sword, sending it in a Force-aimed arc toward her now-unguarded side.

Arcann snatched it out of the air without even looking, still holding back another two opponents with his other hand. He presented Qora the hilt with a small, playful flourish. “Your weapon, my lord.”

She laughed, exultant and a touch manic, as she swept the sword out in front of her, sending another opponent scrambling backwards to avoid it. It was the first time the Academy walls had ever heard her laughter, even in dreams.

The remaining assailants didn’t stand a chance. They were on the floor before they had time to react.

“How many more are there?” Arcann asked, when they were alone again. He hadn’t even broken a sweat yet, that first round barely enough to make him breathe faster.

“However many it takes.”

“Again,” the overseer called out, but neither of them heeded the implied threat this time. Qora was no longer afraid, now that Arcann was by her side.

“Takes for what?”

“For me to learn my lesson.” She stepped away from him toward the edge of the platform. From there, she could just barely see past the heavy darkness to the dozens of faceless, nameless acolytes that still waited for their turn. Far more of them than there’d ever been while she was a student (a prisoner, a gladiator, a slave) at the Academy.

She felt when Arcann stepped up beside her, though his footsteps made no sound. “Is this training, or a punishment?”

She laughed again, empty, humorless, bitter. “You’d be surprised how often the two coincide.”

“No. I would not.” The anger in his voice was a distant thing, an echo of past rage rather than something fresh. His hand gently covered hers, easing the white-knuckled grip she still had on the vibroblade. “This isn’t your life anymore, Qora. You don’t have to keep fighting.”

The sword fell from her hand, and she reached out to cling to him instead. “This is who I am. What I was made for.”

“Not anymore.” He tugged on her hand, coaxing her to turn around. When she did, his other hand settled over her cheek, the warmth of his touch comforting in the chill of the training arena. “It’s time to wake up.”

Qora awoke with a gasp to find herself in the familiar confines of her quarters on Odessen. The blankets were hopelessly tangled around her legs. The cluttered shelves and tables nearest the bed were in disarray from the Force reacting to her emotions, some of their contents spilling onto the floor.

Arcann’s arm tightened around her waist, and just his presence was enough to clear her mind and slow the panicked flurry of her heart. Without a word, she rolled over and pressed her face into his shoulder.

His hand traveled up and down the length of her spine, gentle and soothing but firm enough to anchor her. With every caress, the Academy fell farther away.

Eventually, she felt calm enough to pull back, if only just far enough to see his face. The look she found there was patient and understanding, embers of anger shining in his eyes but very clearly not directed at her.

“Sometimes it feels like no matter how far I travel, part of me will always be twelve years old, alone in that pit,” she confessed quietly. Arcann’s anger flared a little brighter, but he didn’t interrupt. “It was supposed to break me. So they could reforge me into something more useful. I guess in some ways, it did.”

She certainly didn’t bear any resemblance to the child she’d been before the Sith took her, that little girl who crawled through Corellian junkyards for scraps she could turn into art. Sweet little Qora, who could fix anything you brought her, be it a speeder or a teddy bear or a broken arm. She liked to think that girl might have become a healer, if she’d been able to join the Jedi like she was meant to.

Qora let her hands wander, fingertips tracing the lines of scars on Arcann’s shoulder and chest, following the edge of where warm skin and firm muscle gave way to the cool metal of his cybernetics.

“This happened on Korriban, too, didn’t it? Not long before we met.” It wasn’t really a question, and she didn’t really expect an answer, but she got one anyway.

“Yes.” He caught her hand and stopped its further exploration, pressing it flat over his heart. “And they paid dearly for it. My brother and I made sure of that.”

“Good. I hope you burned it all down,” she said in a harsh whisper. She hoped Arcann and Thexan had reduced the entire planet to ash, every tomb, every temple, every overseer, every blasted k’lor’slug crushed under the might of the Eternal Empire. “Not even the memory of that place deserves to be left standing.”

Rage burned so hot in her chest that it hurt to breathe, and she shook with the effort to push it down. Tears blurred her vision and stung the corners of her eyes, but Qora refused to let them fall. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of her tears, even when they weren’t here to see it.

Arcann didn't reply, but instead rolled them over so that she was on her back, his body caging her in and pressing her down into the mattress. It grounded her, forcing her out of the past and back into her own body, driving away all thoughts of Korriban and the Academy and the shadows of the training room.

He kissed her then, slow and deep, demanding her attention to be on him and him alone. That was a command she was more than happy to follow. The fire in her chest receded, replaced by a much more pleasant warmth that built and spread through her under his skillful guidance, and the tremor in her hands abated when she cupped his face between them.

It was only when the mood started to shift from comfort to desire, kisses turning heated and hands starting to roam, that Arcann broke away. He was breathing harder just from kissing her than he had been at any point in the nightmare they’d just escaped.

“They will never touch you again. I swear it,” he vowed, deep voice solemn and utterly sincere.

“I believe you.” She exhaled a long breath, releasing the last lingering tension with it, and drew him back down enough for their foreheads to touch. “Thank you, Arcann. I needed to hear that.”

No matter what the Sith Council thought, or the machinations of whoever they’d decided to blindly follow this week, she was beyond their reach now. She had no doubt that if they tried to subjugate her again, they would learn their lesson the hard way. And Arcann would be among the first in line to teach it to them.

She was grateful that he was so willing to remind her of that, when she needed it.

Qora let out another sigh and slid her hands up to the back of his neck, playing idly with the hair at his nape. It was only barely long enough to run her fingers through, but she adored it. Both for what it represented for Arcann’s healing and growth and because it was just… pretty. His hair was silky soft to the touch, and the warm caramel color made his eyes appear an even brighter blue. It warmed her heart every time she looked at him, to see this visible proof of how far they’d come.

They should probably talk about what had just happened, she knew that, but she wasn’t in any hurry to broach the subject and reopen those wounds for the second time in one night. It’s not like this was their first time sharing dreams, anyway, even if none of the others had been quite so… authentic. Dwelling on it wouldn’t solve anything.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” There wouldn’t be any more rest for her tonight, but that didn’t mean Arcann had to suffer on her account. “There are still a few hours until--”

“No.” How he could put so much intention into a single syllable, she’d never know, but when combined with the heated look he gave her, it was enough to make her shiver.

“Oh?” she said in feigned innocence, even as she lightly scraped her nails against his scalp. It earned her a low rumble that she felt more than heard, something between a warning growl and a contented purr. “Did you have something else in mind?”

His smile was soft, and so was the kiss that followed it; neither did anything to dim the desire burning in his eyes.

“The past will always haunt us, in one form or another.” He took one of her hands in his and slowly led it down from his neck and over his shoulder, his chest, his ribs, lingering on a scar there.

It was one Qora knew very well. And she should--after all, she’d put it there herself. During their last fight, when she’d “defeated” him. She brushed her thumb over the thin, raised line; such a small souvenir from something that had been so important.

Arcann only let her linger for a few seconds before moving on, guiding her deliberately lower. His lips grazed her cheek before finding firmer purchase on the sensitive spot under her ear. “There is no need for us to give it more power than it already has. I would rather… appreciate what’s right in front of me.”

“By all means. Appreciate away.” Her breath hitched when he kissed the hollow of her throat, ruining any attempt at keeping her tone light and teasing. She gave it up as a lost cause, and surrendered completely to him, and to whatever came next.

#swtor #arcann #qora/arcann #qora rhiannon #rhi writes #everyone reading these tags go thank cait for giving me these prompts #even though she did so in *checks notes* march 2022 and it took me this long to finish it #long-haired!arcann lives rent free in my mind after seeing art of it once so now I’m inflicting that on everyone else #(his hair isn’t long YET here but it will be eventually :3 maybe when he returns during old wounds I like that)#there may be a version of this that uh. doesn’t end there 😳 maybe I'll post that separately but this had already wandered off-plot enough #there's also half-finished variations with other memories. qora's and arcann's. but some of those are MUCH more painful #I guess that's what sequels are for :3 #(yes *technically* qora rejoined the empire during jedi under siege but she doesn't consider it actually returning to the sith #since she was a double-agent and all)#okay that's enough tag essays if you're still reading I love you and happy life day <3

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