#basically it’s an modern au where the silver eyes is kind of like a curse

[the-bat-collector]

SUPERBAT Rec List!! AU NO POWERS ish PART 1

I love NO POWERS NO CAPES AUs but its been so hard to find them!! so decided to make this list to help y’all in your search  :D

The length varies, but I prefer long fics so most of these are 10-20k up to 200k 

Heart and Soul by Pandamomochan

E - 150,044

Clark Kent used to be a renowned composer who was said to be able to write masterpieces that were designed uniquely for each individual player. Famous musicians around the world would flock to him in hopes that he would write for them because his pieces were always said to bring out any player's crowning performance. That is, until one day Clark loses his wife in a tragic accident and decides never to write again.

Years later, Clark's son, Jon, gets admitted to the famous "Gotham School of Performing Arts". It is there that Clark meets Bruce Wayne, a strict, uptight, by the book piano instructor who is said to be able to craft the best musicians around the world.

this is one of my favorites. I'm not really into Hurt/Comfort but this is so beautiful!! highly recommended I'm biased cause I play the piano

Seeing Bruce Wayne by Evilpixie

E - 15,089

Clark Kent is the only male midwife working in Metropolis General. Bruce Wayne the residential pediatric surgeon.

I'm so into medicine/doctor AUs this is also one of my favorite fics!if you have to pick one from this list, pick this one!!!

On The Cusp by vesper_house

E - 47,378

Clark's life isn't going so well. He's in his thirties, he works at a coffee shop run by his old crush, his journalism career is going nowhere, and he's broke. It takes only one tall, dark and handsome stranger to change everything.

COFFE SHOP AU COFFESHOP AU!! We need more of these, the dynamic between Bruce and Clark is Great!!!!

A Game You Can't Win by NightFoliage

T - 78,328

Injustice is the hottest MMORPGs available to play! Set in a world where superpowers exist, players can become civilians, heroes, villains, and anybody in-between. Designed by Hiro “Toyman” Okamura, and Timothy Drake-Wayne, Injustice was created with the best Wayne Industries technology available and has the most human NPCs. The game is beyond it's time and is planned to be at the top of the charts for a while.

By accident, Clark finds himself pushed into the spotlight and new found fame. To him, Let’s Plays are a means to stay in touch with friends and to make money. He never got into LPing to become famous.

Bruce, who funded the game after Jason’s accident, is irritated (not jealous) that a video game player is such a big topic among the kids. After the nth time they mention him, Bruce decides to take matters into his own hands and see what all the fuss is about.

link to art

ONE OF MY FAVORITE SUPERBAT FICS OUT THERE!!!!!! this is great and fun and Clark is the best!

As We Grow by butterflyslinky

E - 23,451

Clark Kent is a farmer deep in debt to Lex Luthor.

Bruce Wayne is a billionaire with seven children and no luck in love.

But their families have a scheme to get them together and hopefully make life a little bit better.

Modern Medicine by BuckinghamAlice

G - 5,208

Pediatrician Dr. Clark Kent becomes beloved to his patients, the Wayne boys... as well as to their doting father Bruce.

ABSOLUTELY lovely and adorable, you get the feels!

Hellooooo, nurse! by weirdraccoon INCOMPLETE WIP

T - ?????

Clark enjoys his job at the Free Clinic. He loves helping people and tending injuries. Saving lives. But this man... Bruce Wayne is going to kill him if he doesn't get killed first.

Bruce is still Batman on this one but HERE ME OUT, Clark is a nurse! is incomplete but looking forward to the following chapters!!

Two Cities by EllenD

E - 96,152

Clark Kent, is simply Clark Kent, junior reporter for the Daily Planet who moved to Metropolis from Smallville with big dreams. Bruce Wayne is a billionaire playboy from Gotham, who also happens to be Batman. They meet, date, and fall in love, though not without hurdles because mild-mannered Clark is also socially awkward as heck. But when the most dangerous criminals in Gotham are gunning for Batman, Clark gets caught in the middle of it all. (He's basically Batman's Lois Lane) Meant to be set in the Dawn of Justice movie universe, but also draws inspiration from video games, comics, and those awesome Batman cartoons.

This is part of a series, but this is the main fic of it. Love this trope of Clark is just a civilian and Bruce is Batman. Warning this fic does contain disturbing topics so read the tags.

Here Comes the Sun by batsy_rocks

T - 18,815

Clark Kent is a kind-hearted reporter working in the big city. Bruce Wayne is a stressed dad of four with no idea of what he's doing.

Then they meet.

Seasons of Love by littlechinesedoll

G - 4,603

Clark Kent took over that farm at the edge of the Town of Smallville. He likes Smallville's resident doctor, Bruce Wayne.

The best gifts for Bruce are ginger ale, salad, coffee, and any kind of flowers. He hates gems, and bars of copper, silver, and gold.

Petals and Ink by drunkraiinbow

T - 12,976

With a new kid joining the family, Bruce tries a new tattoo artist to continue the tradition of adding them to his sleeve, but he won't trust just any artist. Clark manages to win him over with his incredible talent and his farm-boy friendly demeanor, and he may even have begun to win Bruce's heart. However, Clark might have a few things to learn first.

FLOWER SHOP TATTOO PARLOUR AU! what else is there to say, this is extremely cute and a fast read! :D

Faceless Killer by Batsymomma11

E - 51,519

Detective Bruce Wayne from the GCPD and detective Clark Kent from the MPD have been asked to create a joint task force in an effort to catch the John Doe Killer that has been ravaging their sister-cities. Aside from their long-standing animosity towards one another, it should be a breeze to work together. Besides, lives depend on them getting along.

They never expected they'd trip headlong into a romantic entanglement that feels a lot more serious than even the killer they're chasing.

The Tailor by maderi

E - 16,026

When Clark is assigned to cover the Wayne gala, he finds himself in need of a professionally tailored suit. His tailor though is drop dead gorgeous, which brings up a lot of awkward situations during their appointments.

Heroes of the Squared Circle by Mithen

M - 226,687

They've gone by many names: Billionaire Brucie, Country Clark, the Kryptonian, the Dark Knight. But no matter what their stage names are, one thing has always been true: Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne are the world's finest wrestlers.

Six's a crowd by Untoward INCOMPLETE/ABANDONED

G - 10,133

When Alfred has to make an emergency trip back to England, Bruce soon finds out he can't manage running a business and taking care of six kids all alone.

He turns to a nanny agency for help, and is astonished when he finds Clark Kent, who seems like he can handle anything.

Clark not only can take care of the kids incredibly well but seems to be breaking Bruce's walls down rather well too.

After Hours by ????

E - 3,175

At the end of a long semester Clark can't hide his attraction to Professor Wayne any longer. Grad School AU.

This is practically a one-shot, not really my type of fic but worth adding!! Haven't come across this professor trope in Superbat so if you got any recs, send them my way!

Wings and Fangs by DanielleN3

E - 17,224

Clark thought he could never fall in love with anyone, especially not after being alone for such a long time… but all of that changes when he encounters a sexy vampire in Gotham.

TECHNICALLY they both have powers in this one but there are soooo different from cannon that I think this fic still qualifies for this list

thirteen by CapnWinghead

T - 22,890

Drowning in student loans, Clark Kent takes a summer job as the Wayne family nanny.

OKAY. so this is not entirely NO POWERS, but I mean Clark is a NANNY so this is great! TRUST ME

Kiss me, take my breath away by J_Jubilee

E - 37,934

There were legends about Gotham Reef. Legends that said it was haunted by a beast of foul temper. Stories told of a ravenous sea beast that feasted on the flesh of men, and was said to be more hideous than Satan himself. Others told of a woman with eyes that glowed like gold to lead sailors to their death. Some even spoke of a witch that cursed men and wreck their ships, taking all their treasures with it. When Clark’s catamaran is wrecked by a terrible storm, he learns that the stories were oh so far from true.

Baby Bats by AlmondRose

G - 4,003

this is a short series of adorable and simple domestic fluff

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Haven't read this one but heeey the art is sooo pretty soo decided to add it anyways

Dragon Heart by Hells Angel 921

T - 27,660

Kal wants to make up for his past.

Bruce tries to move on with his future.

They eventually meet in the middle.

link to art

I didn't know that Dragon/DragonSlayer was a thing but hey... apparently it is, so here it is.

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hehe and so my rant ends here! let me know if you know fics that fit any of these tropes! I’m all ears

#superbat #rec #rec list #recs list #batman #superman #clark kent #bruce wayne #kal el #superbat rec list #fanfiction #fanfic #worlds finest #world's finest #ao3 #archive of our own #dc #dc rec list #fic recs #fics #but seriously we need more superbat coffeshop AUs #batfam #superbat fic rec

[magicianapprenticelyra]

Q: ✨ If your OC were a deity of some kind, what would they represent? What do they look like? How are they worshiped and what offerings would they expect? What are their places of worship like? Their followers? Their teachings?

@vesuvianoak sent in this ask, and then helped that ask helped to get the ball rolling on the following.

Lyra, as a Goddess, would be known with the following epithets:

The Great Librarian; The Patron Goddess of Literature and Folktales; Our Weeping Lady of Ink; Patroness of Crossroads, Storytellers and Difficult Paths; The Ink Lobber; Guardian of Written Works; Exalter of Spoken Words; The Humble Archivist of the Muses

Traditional Warning/Cautionary Rhyme: "Be aware of the Great Librarian's tastes, for if you should violate them and are a writer there is no other curse so great.”

What she represents: Think of her as the librarian of the pantheon she’s situated in. Most myths are claimed to have been recorded by her, and then sent down into the minds of her oracles and/or great storytellers elsewhere. Differing retellings of all the myths, tales and legends are an often occurrence. No one story is a wrong story in the public; it just depends on the tastes of the region and the times they crop up in.

Depictions: With her statues, Lyra is dressed elegantly in either áo dài-like attire, or the region’s simpler day-to-day attire.

Her statues would be carved from obsidian, having silver plating or having silver-esque paint over and/or around her eye(lid)s. Her eyes themselves are either opened or closed, depending on what the artists are depicting her doing. In one of her hands is a stack of parchment, with lines of text. In her other hand is a book or a sort of writing tool [be it a stick of charcoal, a pen, or an inkwell with a feathered quill coming out of it]

Her motifs in more tragic tales typically show her face dripping silver ink and/or paint coming from her eyes or from the bottom of her eyelids. 

How She’s Paid Respects: In each region there is only one ‘big’ temple dedicated to her. All the regions argue where which of their locations came first, but somehow all the buildings were erected at about the same time.

If a place of worship is not within those temples, if depicting her in statuette form, they can be no bigger than the standard size of a person. Any massive monuments dedicated to her, outside of the one temple dedicated to her in each region, have always come across bad luck. Examples include walls shattering to pieces in the initial stages of construction, the land intended for use eventually becoming unsuitable to place a foundation on, ink on construction plans becoming illegible or the charcoal getting smeared, and so on.

Have you ever seen the Little Libraries people make? It’s like a birdhouse for books on their front lawns or in front of several different locations? A take a book, leave a book situation? That can be a little altar or a way to pay tribute to her. She is big on literacy (especially in modern times), after all.

Rule of thumb: she prefers small monuments, or a small place on people’s personal altars. Mini statuettes of her are popular among literary students to have on their desks as they write.

Types of Offerings: They can be dollops of ink on some parchment {so long as said parchment isn’t too ratty/been previously scribbled on before, it is fine}, personally decorated bookmarks, stamps… basically most stationary artfully created in her honor is enough of a tribute. Several of the temples dedicated to her have a whole floor dedicated to displaying all sorts of offerings.

If you're feeling truly brave, slip some book suggestions into a ceremonial pyre in her honor. If she really likes the suggestion, one will be blessed with either literary creativity or you may stumble upon a tale/book/story that will stick with you for the rest of your life. If she doesn't but is thankful for the suggestion, a book or a spoken tale will nudge you to another story within your preferred genre(s). If she is displeased, all your ink will get everywhere you don’t want it to be. How bad the ink will stain varies, as well as how long.

[Someone sent her something of a poor draft of an extremely graphic erotica once. The offerer was cursed for about a year with ink stains on EVERYTHING and EVERYWHERE INCONVENIENT.]

Basically, don't send her porn. Don't make any art of her in the erotic lenses either.

Additionally, if any attempts are made to do so with the myths she is said to have had relationships with people and/or celestial entities it'll disappear eventually in some way, somehow.

Offerings by children are always accepted. Seriously, if there is such a thing as a refrigerator on the celestial planes, she's got oodles of doors full of all the drawings kids have done for her.

Her Followers: Lyra is one of the few among the pantheon she is a part of that isn’t exactly an organized religion [I am not so sure about how religions focused on a deity within a pantheon works overall, but she’s more of a celestial entity than an actual religious figure(?)]. Still, at each temple, there is a Head Oracle that orates many of her stories. Their subordinates are typically librarians-in training or are experts in various literary genres within the region. They don't have to be explicit followers of her, but having the love of stories, treasuring them, and keeping them safe is just a few of the mandates in paying her due respect.

What Angers Her/What Manifests in Her Rage On the Physical Plane

Book burnings are what incite her wrath the most; seriously don't do it unless you really want her to make an appearance with divine fury. Any ink in the vicinity becomes more acrid and chemical and will come to a dangerous boil. The boiling ink eventually gives way to exploding and doing some serious damage to people.

One written record of an organizer orchestrating a book burning years ago states that they gained boils not long after committing the heinous act. The pus that was embedded under their skin somehow also contained hardened, sharp flecks of ink mixed in as well. They died a painful death from the infections.

Do not disrespect a book. Even if you heavily disagree with the contents within the book itself, do not disrespect it. There have been stories of the books coming to life and chasing the culprit until they apologize to the book in question.

The longest any person got without apologizing to the offended text went across three continents; the book had worn itself out by then. The criminal thought they were safe, until they got paid a visit from the goddess herself in their dreams.

When they woke up they were covered in inky burns roughly in the shape of the base of their inkwell. They had to pay a penance in the nearest temple in her honor for about seven years until the burns went away.

Oddly enough she does not mind if you annotate in books or dog-ear the pages.

This is as much as my brain can handle with this AU at the moment. If you wanna know more, just send some asks! :D

(thank you @fire-fira for the cautionary rhyme in the beginning of the post, @sunrisenfool of the addendum to the epithet after Our Weeping Lady of Ink, and to all the people across a number of discord servers that helped me to put all this together. Thanks so much you guys!)

#The Arcana #fan apprentice #AUs #Celestial Sanctum AU #magicianapprenticelyra

[sunderlorn]

Got tagged in this big long Describe Yr OC Meme by @chameleonspell because they love to make me suffer as they have suffered, toil as they have toiled. I am more merciful, which is why I am tagging no-one. (Also cos chameleonspell tagged most of everyone I’d’ve tagged anyway.)

GENERAL

Name: Simra Hishkari. Alias(es): Sim. Harmless. Flintfingers. “Hey, greyling…” Lonya, to his mum, but not for a while thank fuck. Gender: Cis male. Age: That depends where you’re reading, doesn’t it? Uhhh. He’s 11 in chapter one of part one, poking his nose around Senvalis’ shop and bothering the poor mer for paper. And now in part three, he’s recently endured his twenty-fourth birthday. Place of birth: Chiming Row, The Rigs, The Grey Quarter of Windhelm, Eastmarch, Skyrim. Spoken languages: Native Level Grey Quarter Dunmeri Patois. Fluent Marchspeak. A flexible range of Tamrielics, from the sort of versatile trade-tonguey Imperial Tamrielic you’ll hear at the docks of any major city, to something like the closest thing Skyrim has to a unifying language: an archaic version of Tamrielic with enough in common with all Skyrim’s dialects that it’s at least mutually intelligible for most people. Fluent House Dunmeris, with a few dialectic oddities picked up and understood. Relatively fluent Velothis. Some Riftspeak. Can curse a bit in Jel. Sexual orientation: Insert a withering stare and a question as to why it’s your fucking business. Practically speaking, bisexual. As in, he’s been attracted to men, women, and in the words of the warrior-poet Fred Durst, people who just don’t give a fuck. He doesn’t really have the terminology to parse that out in his own words though. Probably thinks of sexuality more in terms of activity than identity. Occupation: Murderhobo. Uhhh. I mean…freelancer. Currently, anyway. That is to say, sellsword, bounty-hunter, scavenger. Formerly? Semi-pro urchin. Carrier of heavy things on the Windhelm docks. Soldier-of-fortune. Prayer-scriv. Storyteller and sort-of-kind-of-sheriff at one point. Basically like a literal  accountant at another point too. Moral support to more qualified goatherds. Fireman — like, literally, a man who makes fires happen. Quartermaster’s assistant. Caravan guard. Itinerant herder and spokesperson of certain itinerant wisewomen. Bootleg performer of certain Temple rites and duties.

(This is long, so more under the cut.)

APPEARANCE

Eye colour: A reddish shade of amber or an ambery shade of red. Hair colour: Cinder-white. Height: About 5’10” (178 cm or s0). Scars: Oh god I literally have a fucking like reference sheet to keep track of all these. His Velothi harrowmarks: a hornlike curl out from the corner of his left eye, and a tapering line underscored for half its length with a series of dots, curving from the right edge of his mouth up towards his ear. A deep stiff scar through the left side of his lips, diagonal, from near his nostril to the beginning of his chin. A shallow horizontal scar across the side of his throat. A ragged starburst of scar tissue, in the muscle between neck and shoulder, just above his right collarbone and again at the back of his neck, from taking an arrow and having it pushed out. A flat diagonal stab-wound, on the left side of his ribs. A torn right earlobe. A straight raised scar up the back of his ribcage, on the left. A series of silver lines on the outermost three fingers of his right hand, where the joints meet the knuckles, and lightning-scar-looking traces following from those fingers over the front and back of his hand. And a plethora of tiny nicks and burns, mostly concentrated on his forearms and hands. Does a twice-broken nose count? Overweight: Nope. Underweight: At several points in his life, yeah.

FAVOURITE

Colour: Sea colours and shades of bronze. In clothes? Leather tones, slate greys, off-whites, neutral gloomy blues, details and decals in reds, silvers, copper, brass. Doesn’t tend to wear pure blacks or whites, or any particularly saturated colour — they spoil too easy. Hair colour: Statistics suggest red, though he’d be quick to insist it’s just coincidence, not, like, a fucking Thing or anything. Eye colour: Not red. Light-coloured eyes are weird and novel. Music genre: Weirdly he doesn’t enjoy music with lyrics all that much. (In canon, anyway — he’d feel differently in a modern AU or whatever.) Finds it distracting. They can be interesting, of course, but it’s not something that makes him happy hearing it. He likes stringed instruments with an emphasis on drones or echoes and silence. Things like the Tamrielic equivalent of qanun, koto, morin khuur, etc. Side note, but in modern AUs he’s definitely the sort of person who’s physically incapable of doing anything as mundane as laundry or tidying without putting a podcast on first. Movie genre: This is AU stuff, but yeah, he might talk a big game about being into Deep Penetrating Drama and so on, but he’d most often find himself watching the feature length equivalent of all you can eat hi-octane junk food buffets. Fighty action movies, particularly with an emphasis on melee combat. Finds revenge narratives particularly rewarding. Only genres he really considers himself a buff on though are samurai cinema and westerns. He’ll yammer at length about Anti-Westerns too if you get him started. (Don’t.) TV show: Hates the idea of having to watch anything live at a particular time. Fuck letting something as petty as TV schedule and section his life. Will gladly on-demand binge on historical drama, gritty travel documentaries, and twisty-turny political and intriguey thrillers. Doesn’t like cooking shows. Doesn’t want personality with his foodporn. He’d rather wait for the book to come out. Food: The Platonic ideal of Simra food is basically like soft starchy silky carbs with something sharp and heavily spiced on top. Rice porridge and preshta-jan, maybe with a raw egg stirred in while it’s hot. Fresh soft panbreads used to mop up redspiced mutton. Meat still feels like too much of a luxury to have often though, and he has a lot of feelings about vegetables. Pickled carrots, cucumbers, turnips, greens, green tomatoes, soft or crisp, spiced or just salty. Yams roasted in embers, smashed open, drizzled with spiced honey. Dried fruit is a particular pleasure as well, with a special place in his heart for persimmons and figs. Drink: Black tea of any sort – Nordic pine-smoked, Dunmeri fermented, light or dark, toasted or not – taken with sugar or honey. Alcohol of any sort felt like a luxury to be taken whenever luck offers it, back when he was a little younger. He’s got preferences these days, though whether he sticks to them is debatable and down to circumstance. He likes red and dark beers, biscuity flavours in the former, bittersweet in the latter. Hasn’t had either in a good few years though, and mazte compares oddly, to him — too starchy and sour. He once drank some Colovian grape brandy before he realised it was expensive enough that he really should have just sold it, and liked that well enough. He’s had actual grape wine once or twice and liked the idea of being the sort of person who liked it. He doesn’t especially like sujamma except in some freak cases – almondy and subtle vanilla-y wood flavours in that one bottle that one time – but he’ll drink it anyway because at least of all the quietly awful things Morrowind might offer you to drink, you have to drink less of it to know you’ve drunk it. He can’t remember if he liked mezga better or whether he was just less fussy back then. Book: Ideally he would have a larger foundation for reference than he does, but he doesn’t. Still, his basis for comparison has grown a little since he first learnt to read and first got covetous of books, so he does at least have some preferences. He’ll still hoard up and devour literally any book he can, good or bad, because books are expensive and serious business – even the cheap ones – but there are some where he’ll fall into impressed absorbed silence and others where he’ll complain the entire time. He has a thing for treatises on use of one sort of blade or another, not because he really enjoys reading them, or really because they’re very useful. Mostly they’re awfully written and opaque to the point of being very unhelpful. But that puts a sense of the arcane around them, doesn’t it? If something’s hard to read, it must be hiding something worth knowing. Simra reads, trawls, lives in hope that one day that assumption will prove right, but really the issue is that if you never check you’ll never know. Back in Suran he read a lot of pre-Red Year devotional poetry from back during the time of the Tribunal. That and poetry the old Temple couldn’t or didn’t censor and so decided was devotional even if it wasn’t. A lot of that was just wankery – tongue twisters for the brain, either thematically or in terms of its showy prosody – but you’d occasionally get the odd scrap of lyric that was just effortlessly well-turned. There was a third era Dunmeri poetess called Anthiss for instance, the printing of whose work the Temple officially banned which only stoked its popularity. It was only after she died – mysteriously, it’s worth noting – that the Temple lifted the ban and claimed all her work had been religious allegory all along, revealing a conflicted but truly faithful sole. Simra’s pretty sure that, no, she was just writing about her girlfriend the entire god damn time. Between that and tracts on philosophy, interpretation of scripture, hagiography…he enjoyed reading it all but in retrospect couldn’t say he liked all of it. At the heart of what he really enjoys unreservedly in books is escapism. Travel narratives – little holidays for the brain – they’re what put a glint in his eyes and a lightness in his heart without really having to try much.

HAVE THEY

Passed university: Nope, nor has he had any formal education of any kind, yet. Given my headcanons about the state of the Mage’s Guild, for instance, in the 4th Era, and other Imperial institutes of higher learning there aren’t quite as many opportunities for that sort of thing as there used to be. Not in the parts of the world Simra’s kept to so far, anyway. Had sex: Currently, not in a while.   Had sex in public: Define public… The tonghouse of the Dyer’s End Few wasn’t a premises as rich in privacy as it could’ve been, but I’m inclined to say no. Gotten pregnant: Please no. Kissed a boy: Yes. Kissed a girl: Yes. Gotten tattoos: Do scarifications count? If so, yes, facial ones. Gotten piercings: Six in his left ear. Mer have more cartilage than humans. One through the lobe of his right ear too, but that doesn’t really count as a piercing anymore — just a tear. Had a broken heart: Don’t ask. Been in love: Something like that. Stayed up for more than 24 hours: Here’s where he laughs in your face and says “twenty-four?” and kisses his teeth for two minutes.

ARE THEY

A virgin: Covered this. A cuddler: There’ve been times. Sometimes being close to someone’s all you want to fill your head with, your time with, your world with, and all you can do is do that. Not many times though. They’re more anomalies than anything else. Prolonged touching, or lengthy physical intimacy — he’s pretty averse. A kisser: Mouth-on-mouthy kissing makes him nervous. Half his lips don’t really work right and he gets very conscious of it. Makes him feel ugly, clumsy, exposed. Scared easily: Terrified, yes. He doesn’t exactly keep a level head on him all that easily. Jealous easily: Statistics would suggest yes. Worth noting thought that this is less in terms of seeing everyone as someone his lover might leave him for and so being possessive and shitty and more like he feels left out easily, left behind easily, and if he sees someone he cares about sharing some sort of positive experience with someone else, he’ll feel a sense of abandonment and sadness about it. It’s not an angry or suspicious feeling so much as a melancholy self-effacing one. Trustworthy: In what sense, exactly? Depends who you are, what you’ve done to deserve Simra’s trust or respect, what the circumstances in both your lives and their mutual conjunctions are, what there is to be gained from breaking your trust, or what there is to be lost by keeping it or sticking with you. Depends how strong Simra is at this point in his life. Uhhhh…this number of variables probably suggest that, Simra is not inherently a trustworthy person by nature. But that doesn’t mean he’s never loyal, or faithful, or worth putting your trust in. Dominant: Uhhhhh. Submissive: Fuckin uhhhhhh. In love: Right now? Fuck off. Single: And ready to mingle. (God can you even imagine.)

RANDOM QUESTIONS

Have they harmed themselves: Not with anything sharp. Thought of suicide: Yes. Attempted suicide: Comments on my fic suggest that a lot of what he does, accidentally or by choose, basically constitute attempts to die. Thing is though, Simra’s pretty much more terrified of dying than of anything else. Any attempts at straightforward suicide would be impulsive cries for help or lashings-out against feeling particularly helpless. The goal wouldn’t be dying. Wanted to kill someone: Wanting to sounds way more personal than he really wants to have to deal with. Appreciating the reasons for having had to do so? Fine. (Yes, yes, yes, but funny how the people he’s really wanted to kill are for the most part still alive.) Ride a horse: He regrets to inform you that, yes, he has ride a horse. Have/had a job: We’ve covered this. Have any fears: Ghosts and bones, yes. Death, or more accurately, ceasing to be alive and existent. Being maimed; no longer being whole. Blindness, deafness, muteness. He has a pretty primal flight-or-fight response to the idea of being caught out in any sort of lie. Oh, and he’s not fond of dogs.

FAMILY

Sibling(s): Yes, Soraya. Does she still count? Parents: Sambidal Dunsamsi Hishkari nas Mabudani nas Zainab, his babu, Windhelm dockworker and former adventurer. Ishar Dunsamsi Hishkari nas Nem nas Zainab, his ammu, Grey Quarter spellwright, seller of medicines, and former adventurer. Children: No. Pets: No. A cat might be good, but he’d get terrified of it deciding to abandon him, and would take it very personally if it was ever gone for very long.

#OCs #Simra Hishkari #TES #Dunmer #Suicide mention #self-harm mention

[after-avenging-hours]

Heart Skip [10]: Steve x Reader

Series synopsis for those that are new to it: This is a soulmate AU where two partners share a heartbeat.  They race in times of joy, slow in times of sadness, and they skip at the same moment.  However, this also means that they must stop together...

Heart Skip / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 /  Part 9

Word Count: 2997

Warnings: None really, these two nerds continuing to be fluffy and awkward, very brief mention of porn but it’s for the sake of humor

You wince after your back hits the mat, again.  A pained groan leaves your lips as you take a second before pushing yourself up again.

“You’re getting better,” the redhead states, standing above you.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you respond with another groan.

“You’re able to get back up though.  You used to just lay there,” her lips curl into a smirk.

You give her a lighthearted glare, too intimidated by her to give her a real one.  “I don’t think I can really count that as progress.”

She shrugs nonchalantly, “Every bit counts.”

The two of you look over when the door to the personal training room opens and Steve walks in. You smile brightly, before remembering that you weren’t really supposed to know him, and quickly suck your bottom lip between your teeth to prevent your smile from growing further.

“Rogers,” Nat greets, jutting her hip out and crossing her arms over her chest.

“Hey.  How’s it going?” he asks, his eyes flickering between the both of you.

Nat’s gaze seems to pierce straight through you.  “Slow improvement.  But we’ll get there.”

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks in mortification.

Steve gives you a small smile.  “She’s not working you too hard, is she?”

You drop your gaze, your foot shuffling slightly at the mat.  “No, it’s okay.”

“I have some time this afternoon to come by your office.  You said you had a few sketches to show me, right?” Steve asks.

You lift your eyes back up to his.  “Yeah, I- Uh.  That sounds good.”  You push some of your hair back behind your ear, trying to figure out how to get ahold of yourself.

His features soften as he nods.  “I’ll see you then.”  He begins to move back for the door.  “Try not to break her, Romanoff,” he calls from the door.

Nat smirks darkly, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Steve scoffs out a laugh and shakes his head before stepping out of the room.

Nat gives you a pointed look.  “So that’s why Fury has me training you.”

You give her a panicked look like a deer caught in headlights.  “W-what?”

Her smile is anything but innocent.  “The two of you are so obvious.  I’m almost ashamed I didn’t realize it the first time I saw you two together.”

You swallow thickly, trying to gain some semblance of composure.  “Natasha, you can’t tell anyone.”

She rolls her eyes, “Oh please.  I’ve kept enough secrets to fill a vault.  Besides, with the way you both act around each other, it’s not me you have to worry about.  It looks like defense isn’t the only training you’re going to need.  And I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

By mid-afternoon, you’ve got your sketches for Steve’s suit displayed across the table.  Various designs, that combine the bold color scheme that everyone has come to know with a modern-militaristic flair.  You figured that one of the reasons Steve hadn’t been fond of his newer uniform was that it had lost the military style and became more akin to his show costume.  You tried to revert back to a style similar to the one he used in the war, making it look and function in a tactical manner.

While you wait for him to show up, you work on a sketch for your own personal benefit.  It had a darker color scheme than the others, mostly blue with a hint of maroon against the sides and silver star and stripes across the chest.  You accent the blue with a brown leather belt, gloves and shoulder straps for the magnetic backplate to grip his shield.  The design was meant to extend upon Steve’s already built frame, padded in the right places for protection, but still give the appearance of form fitting.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and tilt your head a little as you begin to shade the colors across the torso on the suit.  You can’t help but remember how tightly your body had been pressed to his last week after your date.  How firm he’d felt against you.  Though, you hadn’t seen directly what lay beneath his shirt, it wasn’t difficult to imagine.

You’re pulled from your less than innocent thoughts when there’s a knock on the door.  You jolt back from the drawing, your blood running hot like you were caught doing something bad.  Standing up, you attempt to pull yourself together before calling to allow the person entrance.  You’re greeted once again by Steve’s smiling face.

“Hey,” he addresses you, stepping in and closing the door behind him.

“Hi,” you move forward, meeting him halfway as he approaches.

His hands reach for your hips.  You realize he must have recently showered, his hair is still damp and he smells like soap. It’s somehow the best thing you’ve ever smelled.  He gently pulls your body closer, gaze dropping to your lips.  “Can I…?” he asks, voice low.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, your knees already growing weak.  “We’re at work, Steve,” you protest, aiming to be the voice of reason, though you’re not particular firm about it.

“No one’s around,” he argues with a tilted smile, continuing to lean in slightly.

“This is the kind of thing that gets you in trouble, Steven.  No respect for the rules,” you grin in amusement.

“Only when the rules are stupid.”

You’re able to get out a brief laugh before he’s slanting his lips over yours.  Any reservations left are wiped in an instant as you release a content sigh and your body melts into his.  Based on the taste of mint in his mouth, he must have brushed his teeth recently too, which means he had every intention of doing this before he even arrived.  Steve Rogers was a trouble maker disguised as a boy scout and you wouldn’t have him any other way.

You run your fingers through his wet strands, making them stick in all directions.  His hands squeeze at your hips, lips continuing to mold with yours for another minute.  With a parting brush, he pulls back.  Your face heats at the crooked grin he sends you.  “I think that one was definitely worth the risk.”

You can’t help but smile, though you drop your gaze demurely.  “So…” you start, turning to the table.  “These are what I’ve got so far.  This first one is basically just a remake of your old suit, but we’ll be using newer materials for greater protection.  I wasn’t sure if you’d want to go with something so sentimental, though, or if you just want to leave that part of your life in the past.”

You give a general explanation of each design to give him some background on why you went in each direction.  After you’ve worked your way through, you step back to give him some time to look over his options.  You watch the look of concentration on his face as he looks them over multiple times. His expression is hard to read, you can’t tell if he liked them.  What if he hated them all and was just trying to keep his expression neutral so as not to hurt your feelings?

Feeling your throat run dry, you excuse yourself briefly to get to the water cooler just down the hall. Pulling a paper cup from the dispenser, you fill it and then down it in one go.  You don’t know why you were so nervous.  You guess it’s because this was the first time you’d ever really designed something for someone.  You don’t know how Audrey could have done this for a living, you were a nervous wreck and your ‘customer’ was just your soulmate.  Though you’re not really sure if that made things easier or harder…

You gulp down two more cups of water before mustering the courage to head back.  As you walk through the door, you see that Steve has moved closer to your desk, a piece of paper in his hand.  He glances up at your entrance.  “What about this one?” he questions you, showing you the paper.

It’s the sketch you’d been working on when he came in.  Your heart just about stops before rapidly accelerating and you curse at your inability to stay composed, because now he knows how flustered you are.  “I- That’s not-  I was just…” you stumble over your words, not able to form something with even a semblance of coherence.  “Um, I was just messing around,” you finally get out feebly.

Steve glances back down at the sketch, interest igniting his gaze.  “Tell me about it,” he insists.

You chew on your bottom lip as you move toward him, your eyes falling to the sketch.  “Well… I guess I was trying to go for a more… stealthy look?” you begin, trying to come up with any kind of explanation for your guilty pleasure drawing.  “It’s just, everyone here has black uniforms.  And I guess I just thought, if you were in darker colors you’d blend in a little better.  I figure being Captain America already puts a big target on you, we don’t really need to make it easier for them to spot you out too.”

Steve nods along to your reasoning, “Makes sense.”

You have to fight against your sigh of relief, barely able to believe you were able to pull that out of nowhere.

Steve lifts his gaze, looking at you as you look over the sketch in his hands.  “You like this one,” his words come out as a statement, not even a hint of question in them.

You glance at him briefly, startled by his conviction, before dropping your gaze in embarrassment. “It’s not really about what I like. You’re the one that has to wear it,” you deflect.

Steve smiles, “Yeah, but you have to make it.  I don’t want you working on something you hate.”

You raise a brow as you look up at him.  “I wouldn’t have made any of these designs if I hated them.”

He chuckles.  “Still, if you like this one, then it’s the one I want.”  He hands the paper back to you.

You take it graciously, glancing down at it before looking back up at him.  “O-okay…”

He sends you a soft smile. “I knew you’d be great at this.”

God, why was he so sweet?  “Thanks, Steve.”  And why the hell can’t you seem to take a compliment from him without getting flustered?

“Wanna grab dinner again tonight?” he asks, stepping closer until his chest his brushing against your arm.

You couldn’t fight the shiver that ran up your back if you tried.  “Sure.”

He leans down, brushing his lips against your temple.  “I’ll pick you up at 7, then.”

“Alright.”

The two of you say your goodbyes before Steve heads back to training.

---

The next few weeks seem to pass in a blur.  With the design for his suit established, you start working more with the rest of the uniform specialists for getting it made.  It wasn’t as simple as stitching pieces of fabric together, like you had originally thought.  The machinery to cut most of the fabrics you were going to use were well beyond anything you were familiar with.  Ballistic armor also had to be designed and molded to be placed between the fabrics, which majorly dampened the flexibility to rigidity ratio of the suit.  And then you had to talk with the tech specialists on how Steve’s com-system would work, his tracking mechanism and his vitals monitoring system.

On top of all that, you were still spending your mornings with Natasha.  You were finally coming to a point that you were more comfortable defending yourself, though you were still no match for her talents.  Through getting to know her a little better, you were still incredibly intimidated, but you were also learning that she could actually be kind of nice, in her own way.  She often teased you about Steve, and you’re pretty sure she thought it was hilarious how easily those conversations could fluster you.  But in a way, it helped too.  The more you grew used to her taunting, the less likely you’d become to getting flustered around Steve, as well.

Adjusting to modern life was still a bit of a challenge.  You didn’t particularly like being out on your own, preferring the comfort of having Steve with you, or occasionally Natasha.  After a few failed shopping trips, you’d also decided to save your money to invest in your own personal sewing machine for home, where you could design and make outfits to your own personal preference.  Now nearly every available space in your apartment was covered in fabric rolls or scraps.

Steve had told you it looked like a circus exploded in your apartment.  Only to grunt in surprise when you’d elbowed him in the chest. Your relationship with him continued to grow as the weeks passed.  Friday night-date night had become a habitual occurrence and was later followed with weekend movie marathons to get you both caught up on pop culture.  He spent more time in your apartment than his own, though he always ended your nights together with a parting kiss before trekking up the stairs to sleep in his own place.

He never stayed the night. Which, for a while you were okay with. But as your kissing sessions grew lengthier, the desire to give yourself fully to your soulmate also grew.  You first tried giving him subtle hints; curling closer to him when you were watching a movie, placing his hands in more provocative locations when you kissed, tugging him closer when he tried to pull back.  But ever the gentlemen, Steve always managed to deflect your advancements.  When you realized that maybe he wasn’t ready quite yet, you’d tried to back off.  You eventually had to resort to asking Natasha for advice, though most of what she told you to do was far too bold in your opinion.

She went so far as to send you a couple videos telling you that they’d show you different ways of get Steve to do what you’d wanted.  You barely got through the first five minutes of one before realizing that she’d sent you porn videos.  It nearly gave you a heart attack, so bad that Steve had come running from his apartment upstairs to check on you.

From then on, you declared you’d never ask Natasha for advice on anything ever again.  You managed to convince yourself that you were just going to have to suck it up and wait for Steve to make the first move. The both of you came from a time where it was highly encouraged to get married before sex, but at the moment, neither looked very likely for your future.  You’d just have to learn to be patient.  Once again…

---

“So, how do I look?”

You glance up, eyes widening at Steve’s approach.  This was the first time he was finally putting on the completed uniform.  Months of work finally coming together.  And damn did he look amazing.

Steve takes in the shocked look on your face, a satisfied grin curling at the corners of his lips. “That good, huh?” he chuckles.

You snap back to reality, narrowing your gaze playfully at him.  “How does it feel?” you question, attempting to keep your professionalism.

He rolls his shoulders and swings his arms experimentally, feeling the way the uniform follows his movements.  “Pretty good. The torso is a little stiff, but I probably just need to get used to the plating.  The fingerless gloves are a nice touch, gives me improved dexterity.” He glances down at his hands and wiggles his fingers.  You have to fight the urge to press your thighs together when he does so.

“You’ve finished just in time, too.  I’ve been approved for field work.  My first mission is next week,” he tells you off handedly, as he continues to look over the different aspects of his uniform.

Your breath hitches in your throat.  “Mission?” you repeat.  This is the first you’re hearing about it.

Steve’s gaze swings back to meet yours, his eyes softening when he notes the distress in your features. “Yeah.  This is what all my training has been leading up to.  Surely, you must have known…”

You drop your gaze, trying to shield your disappointment from him.  “I guess I never really made the connection.  I’ve been so focused on making your uniform, I never really put together that you were going to need it.”  He steps up to you, his leather covered palm cradling your cheek.  “How long will you be gone?” you ask him, hesitantly meeting his gaze.

“Just a few days.”

It sounded so simple. You both have often spent several days without seeing each other these past weeks.  But at least you knew he was nearby.  Now you would have no idea where he was.  “Be careful,” you beg, fingers clutching at the fabric over his biceps.

“I will,” he promises. “I’ve got a girl to come home to now.”

The smile you give him feels forced, and you know he realizes it, but he doesn’t protest when you’re pulling his face down to yours.  He may not be leaving right now, but it already felt like your goodbyes were going to be happening too soon.  As long as he was here, he was safe.  Out there… there was no telling what would happen.

“Natasha will be there with me.  She’ll have my back,” he reassures you.  He then pats his hand against the torso of his new uniform, “And with how much padding you’ve put into this thing, I’m pretty sure my front is covered, too.”

His poor attempt at a joke is enough to get a real smile on your lips, even if it’s small.  “Just come back to me, soldier.”

He pulls you in for another kiss.  “Yes, ma’am.”

---

Part 11

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#steve x reader #steve rogers soulmate au #steve heartbeat soulmate au #steve rogers fluff #steve x soulmate!reader #sam writes

[ezzydean]

stars in your eyes, lightning in my heart 3

Daichi Rare Pair Week Day 1: Seasons / Injury / Same team AU

Daichi Rare Pair Week Day 2: Stars / Memes / Modern fantasy AU

Daichi Rare Pair Week Day 3: Colors / Video games / Sport swap AU (kind of)

Daichi smoothed down his tailored jacket for the last time before he took a deep breath and opened the heavy doors of the meeting hall.  Issei followed a step behind, as comfortable and confident in his fitted trousers and jacket as he was in a pair of ragged jeans and a ratty old t-shirt.  Daichi nodded sympathetically to the golden haired dwarven receptionist balanced precariously on a stack of boxes behind the desk trying to reach something on the top of the bookcase that, from the look of it, her silver haired elven friend had put there.

A series of muttered curses and muffled growls and shimmering laughter followed them through the lobby and into the maze of hallways.  Every shadow made him twitch for the daggers under his jacket and every closed door they passed made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck.  He itched to check and see if they were locked or not, to explore what they were hiding.  It was the adventurer in him, sure, that curiosity to explore the unknown.  But it was also the fact that this felt very much like a trap especially since Issei had been requested to join him in this meeting with people he hadn’t been able to glean the identity of.

“I don’t like it,” Daichi murmured as they turned down yet another hallway.  The muted beige walls and boring gray carpet made his skin crawl in a way that not even the squelchy ground of the Broodmire Caverns had done when he and Hajime had stumbled through them when they were thirteen.

“Don’t worry babe.  I don’t either.”  Issei pressed a hand against his lower back for a moment and then it was gone as they turned the last corner and spotted a pair of guards outside the door leading to the main meeting hall.

To his credit Daichi didn’t pause when he recognized the colors and emblems on the guards’ uniforms.

He did not flinch when he stepped inside and bowed to the three people who rose to greet them.

He didn’t even look away when he met the eyes of the woman in the center.

“Sawamura Daichi.  Matsukawa Issei.”  She smiled at them and gestured to the chairs across from her.  “Thank you both for joining us on such short notice.”

Daichi remembered that smile.  Remembered it pressed against his shoulder.  Remembered the ragged breaths and throaty laughter that had accompanied it.

She waved away the two men who were with her and they left begrudgingly, throwing warning glares over their shoulders at Daichi and Issei as they made their way to the door, and then it was just the three of them.

“Don’t worry, Matsukawa.  This isn’t an official visit.”

“Says your uniform and the armed guards who just left.”

Yui glanced down at her black jacket and the vivid orange sash that cut across her chest and reached up for the golden circlet in her hair.  The perfect picture of royalty.

Daichi was so screwed.

“If I was going to drag you back with me I wouldn’t have shown up in my nice clothes.”

“Good luck dragging me back,” Issei growled.  There was a story here that Daichi hadn’t been aware of before and once they were out of their current situation he might have to try and get it out.  But for the moment he was focused on just getting back out of the meeting hall and meeting up with Kyoutani and Hajime.  Preferably alive.

Yui smiled at Issei and then turned to Daichi.

Alive was looking less likely by the second.

“Yui,” he said calmly.

“Daichi,” she purred.  He could feel Issei’s stare on him but he refused to look away from Yui.  He started to send out prayers to whatever deities or demons were listening - even Oikawa who was probably listening and cackling maniacally at him because that is how he and Daichi worked together -  because he was pretty certain he was going to die soon but he was starting to be unsure just who was going to kill him.

--

“My sister?”  Issei stared at him incredulously.  Daichi stared up at the cloudy sky like he had never seen a better, more beautiful day in his life.  He was just happy to have made it out alive.  He could kiss the ground right now.  “My.  My sister!?”

“Your sister.  How does that even work?”

“Dude!”  Issei’s voiced hit a pitch that Daichi would not normally associate with him and Daichi turned around when he realized Issei wasn’t just a step behind him anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Daichi apologized.  “The last time I saw her she had her hands wrapped around my naked bits and was threatening to cut them off and then string me up with them if she ever so much as glimpsed my shadow again.”  Issei stared at him for a minute and shook his head slowly.  Finally he let out a disgusted noise and caught back up with Daichi.  “Also to be fair I didn’t even know you had a sister.”

“Okay first of all I have seen your naked bits and as much as I love them they are not enough to string you up with.  Secondly I want details about how it happened but not about what happened because ew.  Thirdly we’re siblings in a very convoluted manner that is most easily boiled down to something like step-siblings or half-siblings bound by blood and eternity and the fate of the world or something.  I dunno.  I slept through that meeting I think.”  They’ve made it almost back to the city center where Kyoutani and Hajime said they’d be waiting when Issei finally spoke again.  “Do you sleep with everyone you meet?  Or just the ones who you know will threaten you with bodily harm when you leave them?”

“Not everyone,” Daichi said as they spotted Kyoutani leaning against a brightly lit arcade and scowling at the cement.  “But I can’t help that I’m so charming and I appreciate passionate people.”

“You would find someone threatening to cut your dick off hot.”

Kyoutani’s nose scrunched in disgust at the statement.  “I don’t want to know,” he growled.  “Just get Iwaizumi out of there so we can go?  I’m fucking hungry and tired.”

“Get him yourself?”  Issei barely avoided Kyoutani’s fist hitting his chin.  He wrapped his fingers around Kyoutani’s wrist and rubbed his thumb against Kyoutani’s pulse.  “Sorry.  I was just joking.  Shitty move, shitty afternoon.”

He waved Daichi inside and Daichi left them, Issei murmuring something soothing into Kyoutani’s ear and shielding him from the noise and colors that rushed outside like eager cats when Daichi opened the door to the arcade.  He was actually rather impressed Kyoutani had managed to stay so close to the noise and colors and bustle of the arcade for as long as he had and made a note to tell Kyoutani as much later.

Colors pulsed around him, pulling him deeper into the darkened arcade, the only lights were the ones coming from the screens of the video games set up along the aisles and the lines of dim lights magicked along the floors.  Most of the symbols and words were basic runes and charms to keep people from trying to cheat at the games or try to steal their money back.  Daichi’s favorites had always been, and still were, the random curses and inventive swears that were peppered unsuspectingly through the carpets.  He stepped squarely on one that implied something unsavory that he could have done to him by a man with extra thumbs when he heard Hajime’s voice from a few feet away.

“Sawamura Daichi.  I left you alone less than six hours the last - and only other - time we were in this city.  How did you manage to talk not one, but two people into bed with you in that time?”

Daichi hopped over the counter separating the arcade from the office behind it and propped himself in the doorway with a grin.

“Well I am charming.  And dashing.  And rouge-like.”

“Technically it was the couch and not a bed,” Kenma said flatly from where he was lounging on said couch.  He gave Daichi a slight nod of acknowledgment and then went back to fiddling with the new charm Yaku had given them earlier that week with the instructions that the owners of the arcade would need to tinker the last few specifics into it for it to work.

“And I mostly just watched,” Nishinoya added before ducking back under the desk to work on whatever it was he was working on.  It had a lot of colors shining from it and there were a few unholy whines and screeches coming out and Daichi focused back on Hajime.  Who was giving Daichi his patented Fond Exasperation look.

“I can not leave you unsupervised ever can I?”

Daichi shrugged.  Really.  It wasn’t his fault he was so good at what he did.

#daichirarepairweek #haikyuu #MatsuIwaDai #MatsuIwaDai fic #matsukawa issei #iwaizumi hajime #sawamura daichi #hq writing #implied past #DaiYui #and #DaiNoyaKen #so sports swap and video games are less direct prompts #and more inspired random plot twists prompts