#/runs to work on the fic more

[payasita]

WAH

He grits his teeth through the agony, fighting his body to regain any semblance of control over it, but the panic disorients him. It's no fight. Just pure adrenal terror as the single well of power that was once his alone to draw from now drags him down to drown him. His throat can only gurgle. He reaches out again, grasping at nothing. But this time around, Wukong grabs his hand.

psst go read @payasita's slowburn, hurt/comfort, sick fic, Stone Fruit Preserves, if you haven't already :3c

[bizarrelittlemew]

calling it right now that season 3 starts like this

[decarbry]

[marragurl]

Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.

Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.

Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.

(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)

So imagine this:

Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)

Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.

Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.

Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.

If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.

As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.

Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.

It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.

One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.

(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)

There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.

Sunday couldn’t look away.

He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.

Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?

He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.

Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most comfort in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.

Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.

The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.

It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.

It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.

It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.

It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.

OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.

Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS

So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”

I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?

[tongues--and--teeth]

Lovvveeeee this fic from @thebiscuitlabryinth sooo much omg. She’s such a visual writer I felt like I could actually see what was going on while reading lol.

Click for better quality!

POV: you’re Pure Vanilla Cookie

[lilacthebooklover]

'And something shifts in Shadow Milk's gaze, a sort of vindictive delight drawing that confident smirk into a vicious grin. "Well now, Pure Vanilla Cookie," he says, the amusement and anticipation dripping from his voice palpable. Pure Vanilla can't quite hide the way he tries to recoil, but the vice-like grip upon his wrist remains terrifyingly unrelenting. "This certainly changes the script up a little, doesn't it?"

The question is too light, too cheerful, too casual for what this truly means. For right there on Shadow Milk's face, painted in damningly permanent blue hues, is the unmistakable mark of a four-point crown. Pure Vanilla's forearm burns where his own identical mark has been exposed for all the world to see, Shadow Milk peering at it with a sense of sickening awe that's impossible to miss. Because there it is, imprinted on his skin and written in the stars: undeniable proof that they've been destined to meet since the start.

Shadow Milk Cookie is his soulmate. And Pure Vanilla has never been more afraid.'

(Vanilla Milkshake fans, when I tell you I am COOKING-)

[sunsetsandsunshine]

Hey!! For your next fic could you do Leo and Mikey angst

It came be 2012, MM or rise

~ 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 ~

💙🐢🧡 𝙵𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: @tmntalways 💙🐢🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙷𝚒, 𝚃𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍!!! 𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚛𝚘 ☹️💔…𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 💖💕💘💞🩷!!! 𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚝 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 😅👍🏾! 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍— 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 🫠…˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙷𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟹,𝟸𝟾𝟾

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙻𝚎𝚘 🐢💙

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐…𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍…𝚞𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍, 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎…𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 '𝚞𝚗'. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕? 𝙷𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚐𝚘 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢…

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @shut-up-jo @someone1348 @saturnzskyzz

@savemeafruitjuice @rice-cake-teen10 @mistyandsnow

@skyloladoodles @itzsana-kiddingmenow @titters-and-tingles

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚖𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚊 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝…𝚋𝚞𝚝 *𝙰𝙷𝙴𝙼* 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚂𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜, 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚔!!!

𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝙰𝙳𝙷𝙳 𝚊𝚗𝚍/𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌!!! 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 ☺️💞💗💓💕

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 🕺🏾✨💞🎶˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Mikey couldn’t do anything right now. Like…anything.

Well…perhaps he was being a bit too dramatic. He was breathing. And he was fidgeting with his squishy cube. So saying he wasn’t doing 'anything' wasn’t entirely true.

Right now he just…couldn’t do anything…productive. 

For example, the box turtle tried making his favorite dishes and deserts! But that endeavor just ended up being a huge mess in the kitchen…and leaving the youngest turtle with a bunch of unappetizing food. 

Which he fed all to Raph by the way. 

Some would call that choice of action cruel but Mikey would just call it 'using his resources'. 

Besides, it’s not like the eldest minded at all. He said, and I quote: 'It has a nice…crunchy feeling to it. Did you put some of Don’s inventions in this?'

Which honestly got a couple of chuckles out of the smallest turtle teen of the bunch.

Then, Mikey tried skateboarding! But for once in all his 14 years of living…it was just utterly boring. 

And after all of that nonsense, Mikey then finally tried reading a comic…but he was too unfocused to even get to the second page…

But what was really new? Mikey could never focus on jackshit even if said jackshit hit him right in the shell. 

His brothers and sister would always have to remind him to stay focused or 'not do this' or 'not do that'.

For example, a couple days ago Donnie had to kindly remind the box turtle (well…as kindly as Donnie could be anyway…) to brush his teeth.

To. Brush. His. Fucking. Teeth. 

And honestly? Having to be reminded to do that was really embarrassing. And the orange banded teen knew his brother didn’t mean to humiliate him internally…but…yeah.

And it’s not like the softshell was wrong either! The youngest turtle just couldn’t freaking accept that he himself couldn’t do such a simple task in the morning. 

But literally every task he completely fails to do is just utterly simple ones!

Like cleaning his room or not forgetting things or even keeping track of time! 

…And the sad part about all of it was Mikey just honestly could not understand how his family haven’t gotten sick of his annoying tendencies…

And let’s be for real here…that was basically all of his tendencies. 

The box turtle groaned loudly in his room, slamming his whole body on his bed as he screamed into his pillow. 

There had to be something he could do instead of just wallowing in his own self pity…

And one of those options could not consist of bothering his family with his random bad mood. They had to put up with him 24/7…the least he could do was give them some space.

The youngest then glanced at his drawing notebook hopefully…

…One little sketch of something random wouldn’t hurt, right?

The amber eyed teen reached for his notebook, grabbing a pen from his drawer as he started to sketch his desk because why the absolute fuck not? Based on the objects he’s drawn in the past…sketching a simple desk should and will be easy, right? Right. 

That was until the orange banded teen’s pencil tip broke. But it was fine! He could just re-sharpen it, right? Right.

That was until the youngest realized he had absolutely no clue where his sharpener was due to the fact his room looked like a pig stie. And there was no way he was looking for it in…that whole situation. 

…The situation he created in the first place. 

Michelangelo layed on his bed with his face staring at the ceiling in frustration, he ran his fingernails along his arms, not making really deep cuts with them but going deep enough for it to hurt a bit.

Like a reasonable turtle would, Mikey should probably get one of his stress toys…or better yet, another pencil!

But let’s be for real here…he’d most likely find a way to fuck that up too.

Suddenly, there was a small, quiet knock on Mikey’s door but…in all honesty? He just wanted to crawl into his shell and sob for the next hour and a half. Letting out a niiiiice and quick 'come in' would take way too much energy. 

The box turtle let out a soft grunt, letting whoever was on the other side know it was a-okay to come in.

Abruptly, Leo peeked in the room, a wide smile plastered on his face as he closed the door, “Damn, Mikester…it looks like every single natural disaster went through your room…”

“I’m cleaning it.” The youngest grumbled to his brother.

“Really? You sure about that, little bro? Because if my memory serves me correct (which it in-fact does), you said that last week. And the week before that…and the week before—“

“I SAID I’M FUCKING CLEANING IT!!!” The orange banded turtle snapped, sitting up on the bed to glare at his immediate older brother before slowly realizing what he just did. 

The youngest’s heart dropped as he looked away from his brother. The orange banded mutant’s eyed widened as silent and small tears ran down his face. He covered his mouth as his other hand turned to a fist, his nails unforgivingly digging into his palm.

“I-I’m sorry…I’m s-sorry…I-I’m so s-sorry…!” He started, rocking himself back and forth before stopping as he was met with a warm embrace. Leonardo hugged him gently but firmly, rubbing the other’s shell in a comforting hold. “Woah woah…! Bud, you have nothing to apologize for…” The slightly older teen said as he rested his chin on the top of his baby brother’s head.

“L-Like h-hell I don’t. I-I just screamed a-at y-you for no reason…” Michelangelo wobbly said. “You were just trying to lighten the mood but I just had to make everything harder like I-I always do…!” 

“Mikey—”

“I-I always do this. I-I’m so f-fucking s-sorry Leo…”

“Mikester…I-I appreciate the apology but it seriously isn’t necessary—”

“You’re probably so sick of me and so angry at me. I-I’m sorry I just—”

“Mikey!” Leo gently yelled to get the other’s attention, squeezing the smaller turtle’s hands as he stared straight at him with pleading eyes. “Do I look mad?”

“…N-No.”

“Do I sound mad?”

“…No.” 

The second youngest sadly smiled, “So what are you apologizing for, hm?”

“…I-I…dunno…I-I just…I just felt I needed to apologize…” The box turtle mumbled as he looked at his hands. The blue banded turtle sighed, slowly getting out of the hug so him and his little brother faced each other. The slider rubbed the other turtle’s palm with his thumb comfortingly, “…Do you wanna talk about it, baby bro?”

The leader in blue was just met with silence…which he could honestly work with.

“Angelo…you know you can tell me…anything, right? Like…anything. Although, it doesn’t have to be me you talk to about it. It could be Raph or Don or April or even Dad or Draxum! I just…don’t want you sitting here and bottling up the way you feel…” 

Silence. Leo continued.

“You’re always there when we need you, Angel. Whether it’s to vent or to just ramble about shit, you’re just…always there. We don’t tell you this enough but we appreciate you always being someone we can lean on…”

Silence. Leo continued.

“But…you do know you can lean on us too, right? Comfort goes both ways and I can see you’re hurting, buddy. So please…if you need to talk to me…I’m right here.”

Mikey sniffled, squeezing Leo’s hand, “I-I d-dunno. Today is just…weird. This whole week has just been…weird.” Leo nodded, giving his brother his full undivided attention, “How so?”

“I just…haven’t been able to do anything…” The smaller teen admitted.

“What do you mean?” The taller teen inquired. 

“I haven’t been able to do…anything. Like, I can’t draw, cook or even skateboard! Me!!! Not being able to skateboard— isn’t that crazy?!” The amber eyed turtle laughed bitterly.

“And it’s not like I can’t do it. I’m perfectly freaking capable of doing it in the right amount of time I want but my brain just. won’t. let. me!” 

“I keep procrastinating and not doing the stuff I want to do and I have no idea why! I’m tired of just putting things off and being this way! I want to do things without having to ask you guys for help or to remind me or to relate it with a hyperfixation that I have!” Mikey hiccuped, a new wave of tears rolling down his face as his hands shook. 

The amber eyed teen sniffled, refusing to look at his immediate older brother at all right now because…holy shit he just overshared a whole lot…

Like…a whoooooooooole freaking lot.

“…That sounds like you.” Leonardo shrugged. 

In a state of just shock and confusion, the box turtle pulled his hands away from his brother, looking up at him as lime green eyes met amber ones. “I…what…?” Michelangelo murmured.

“I said that sounds like you.” Leo said again casually as Mikey glared at him, “Yeah. I heard what you said but that isn’t helpful.”

“I’m just being honest with you, Mikester.” Leo said, “Just…let me explain, okay?”

“…You have five minutes before I kick you out of my room.” 

“Deal.” The lime green eyed mutant commented, “You can’t draw, cook or skateboard right now. You’re procrastinating and not doing the stuff you want to do in the time you planned…is that correct?” 

Michelangelo sent deathly daggers to his brother— which the other wasn’t phased by at all. This time was probably the best time to crawl in his own shell and just sob his eyes out because what kind of dumbass question was his dumbass brother asking him?!

“…Yes.” The orange banded teen mumbled. 

“And…why are those bad things?” 

“WHY?!” The box turtle huffed out a laugh of annoyance, “Pfft— you’re asking me why. Maybe it’s because it’s annoying?! Maybe because it’s frustrating to deal with and I don’t want to burden you guys with my problems?! Maybe because I don’t want to fucking feel or be this way?!” The youngest shouted, breathing heavily as he finished his rant. 

The box turtle looked away again, silently cursing at himself for getting annoyed so easily. “Mikey.” Leo started again, “Your being too hard on yourself, okay? No one is expecting you to be at your 100% all the time.” 

“What you just described to me; you being able to not focus or you getting bored easily or procrastinating with stuff is…literally you. You’re just being you.” The slider explained as he held his baby brother’s hand in his. “And I get it. It’s hard to deal with it sometimes and it’s going to be hella frustrating. Like…super borderline frustrating. But you can’t shun them away and just…try to ignore them, bubs…”

“Let’s take moi for example. I’m impulsive, I talk loud and lose things daily. Those three things don’t make up my whole personality but it would be super weird and off-putting if I just…didn’t do or have those three things, right?” 

The youngest giggled wetly, “Yeah…it would. A-And by the way, I’m still waiting for you to find that glittery pen kit I gave you…”

Leonardo groaned loudly and dramatically, causing the other teen to giggle louder, “I’m looking for it, okay?! It’s in my room…somewhere.” The taller mutant mused, “But anyways…back to you. You procrastinate, you relate things to your hyperfixations and you can’t do some of your favorite tasks from time to time…those are some traits that make up you, is it not?” 

Mikey sniffled, rolling his eyes playfully due to the fact he knew damn well where this was going, “Yeah…” 

Leo smiled softly, seeing his younger brother was starting to get his point, “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, okay? I know sometimes it’s hard to deal with the things you described but you have us for that.” He said as his smile turned to a grin. 

“You can come to me— to us— anytime. We love you for who you are…your flaws and all and we just…I-I need you to know that we love you so so much—!” The slider was cut off by a sudden abrupt embrace from the box turtle. The orange banded teen sobbed into the other’s shoulder, clutching the taller turtle like a lifeline. 

“T-Thank you…” The box turtle wobbly said through tears.  

“Of course, Angel.” Leo said as he hugged his baby brother back, “I love you.” He said as he kissed the other teen on the head.

“I-I l-love you too…”

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Tell your thoughts to shut up.” Leo said as he lightly poked Mikey in the forehead numerous times. The two were sitting on the box turtle’s bed just simply…relaxing and enjoying each other’s company. Michelangelo was sitting in between his older brother’s legs as he had his shell to his brother’s plastron.

Leonardo hugged his brother protectively, resting his chin on the top of the box turtle’s head. “What do you mean?” The youngest giggled out. “I can hear your thoughts, man. You’re not bothering me or disturbing me in any way, shape or form, alright…?” 

The amber eyed turtle nodded, squeezing Leo’s hand, “Y-Yeah…I know...” 

“I’m choosing to be here because I love you. I don’t feel obligated to be here, okay? You’re not annoying and you, neither your problems are a burden…okay?” The slider said reassuringly, “It’s okay to ask us for help…and we don’t mind reminding you to do things…okay?” 

“You’ve said ‘okay’ like, fifty times…”

“Mikey.” 

“Mhm…yeah yeah…I gotcha…”

The elder looked at his brother skeptically, resting his chin on his little brother’s shoulder so they made solid eye contact, “I want you to say it.” 

“…Say what exactly?”

“I want you to say that you are an amazing person and you don’t need to change a single thing about yourself.” 

“You are an amazing person and you don’t need to change a single thing about yourself.” Michelangelo grinned smugly. Leonardo glared at the youngest’s interpretation to his statement, “Mikey, you know exactly what I meant.” 

“I said what you wanted me to say…so…” The amber eyed teen trailed off.

“Michelangelo.” The slider said in a warning tone as he poked the other’s side. The box turtle squeaked at the unexpected touch, trying to stop his immediate older brother from doing it again but his brother had a strong but gentle grip on him…

Then the smallest turtle came to recognition that he was stuck in a potential tickle hug with no way out…

…How wonderful. 

“L-Leeheeo…doohoo nahat.” The orange banded mutant warned through his giggles, said warning not seeming too threatening due to the fact he was already laughing up a storm. The leader in blue raised a brow, poking the other’s side repeatedly, “I just want you to repeat what I said…in the first person.” The taller teen specified.

The smaller turtle squirmed in the hug, small frantic giggles pouring out of his mouth. This…really wasn’t how he was expecting his day to go. Just about an hour ago, he was wallowing in sadness about the stuff he hated about himself, to talking about it with his brother, to now getting tickled by his brother.

…So could he really complain about how things turned out?

…Yes. Yes, he absolutely could.  

“Leeheeon! Plehease dohon’t!” The youngest squealed as one of his brother’s hands hovered over his stomach. Mikey held onto the other’s wrists, trying to stop his elder brother from tickling him but his small attempts ending up to be all for nothing as Leo effortlessly tickled his stomach with one hand.

“LEEHEEHAHAHA!!” Michelangelo laughed wholeheartedly, swatting at his brother’s arms. The lime green eyed turtle cooed at the gesture, now using both of his hands to attack the youngest’s plastron, “D'aww…look at you giggling your head off~! You’re my adorable little bundle of amazingness, aren’t you~?”

The smaller teen shook his head, a faint blush appearing on his face, “STAHA— squeal N-NAHAHA!”

“What~? What was that?” The blue banded mutant asked as he kneaded the box turtle’s hips. “GYAHAH— squeal SHIHIHIT! COHOME OHAHAN!!!” The amber eyed turtle cried frantically as he kicked his legs on the mattress slightly. 

The youngest squealed with laughter, curling in on himself as he slumped in his big brother’s hold. Leonardo just sighed fondly at the action, wrapping the other in another hug as he raspberried his neck. “LEEHEEHEE!! PLAHAH— squeak NAHAHAT THEHERE squeak PLEHEASE PLEHEASE— squeak!!!”

“Not there~?” The elder lightly mocked, “What about…here~?” He mused as he used his hands to scribble all over the younger turtle’s ribs. Mikey cackled, shaking his head to try and at least subside the tickly feelings.

“NAHAHA— squeal AHAHAHA!! NAHAHAT THEHEHERE EHE— squeal EHEHEITHER!!! LEEHEEO!!” The orange banded turtle squeaked as Leo stopped for a second, “I’ve tried sooooo many spots, buddy! How many times are you gonna say not there, hm?”

Mikey genuinely squawked louder than a firefighter siren, squirming so much it looked like he was actually being electrocuted. “PLEHEHAHA LEEHEEO NAHAHAT THEHEHE RIHIHIBS!!!” He cackled. 

“Not the riiiibs~? Why~? Is it because it’s your tickle spot~? Your tickletickletickle spot~? Because you’re ticklish~?” Leonardo asked as he lightly nibbled the crook of Mikey’s neck. 

Michelangelo screamed in laughter, scrunching up his shoulders as he dug his heels on the bed, a couple of his plushies sadly falling on the floor (R.I.P. man…) “EEEHEEHEEP!!! S-STAHAP BEEHEEING MEEHEAN!” Mikey said as he thrashed on the bed. 

The slider said nothing, his hands sneaking up to the box turtle’s underarms. “AAAAHAHAHA! OHO NOHOHO— squeak SHIT! SHIHIHAHAT!”

Happy tears slowly begin to appear in the smallest teen’s eyes, he weakly hit Leo’s arms as a last attempt to be set free, “LEHEHEMME squeal GOHOHOHO!” 

“Ohonly if you sahay it, bubs.” 

“IHIHI— SQUEAK!! LEEHEEHEEON!!!” 

“Yeeeees, baby brother~?” The elder dragged out as he kneaded the other’s hips.

“IHI’LL SAHAY IHIHAT I-IHIHI’LL SAHAHAY IHIT!!” The amber eyed teen squealed. 

“And you promise not to be a sassy little shit about it~?” The older teen asked.

“SQUEAK YEHAHAHA— SQUEAK YEHES YEHES I-I PROHOHOMISE!” 

Leo stopped tickling his little brother, hugging him protectively as the youngest caught his breath slowly but surely. “W-Wahait…whahat squeak wahas ihihat yohou eeheeven wahanted me squeak to sahay again?” 

The taller turtle pondered for a bit, thinking to himself before loudly groaning, “That’s…a good damn question. I don’t really remember exactly what I wanted you to say in the first place…” The lime green eyed turtle sighed, “Forgetfulness at its finest...” 

The red eared slider adjusted himself, making sure the other was comfortable before starting to speak again, “Well…based on what we talked about…could you maybe just…y'know…” Leo gestured with his hands before groaning, “Do you get what I’m trying to say, man?” 

“…I thihink I have ahan idea…” Mikey giggled as he fiddled with his hands, “I shouldn’t beat myself up so much because of some of my traits or quirks. And I’m allowed to feel frustrated and/or upset because things don’t go my way because of them. But…I shouldn’t allow those things to put me down...”

Michelangelo smiled softly, rubbing his palm with his thumb, “They don’t define me as a person but they make me a person. I don’t need to be at my best 100% and I’m allowed to have bad days. And if things get too overwhelming or difficult I can just go to you guys.” 

Mikey hugged himself, letting out a small laugh as his happy tears welled up in his eyes, “I’m just…being me. And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Leonardo teared up at his brother’s words, hugging him tighter than he ever had before and burying his face at the back of the youngest’s head.

“Never forget that, Miguelito…never forget that.” 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[thesummerstorms]

Long rough draft piece of my Rook de Riva being confronted with her past while Lucanis is stuck trying to reconcile his knowledge with his emotions while feeling protective.

One day, eventually, in the course of many much more impossible events, one day after an entire life time, Arsinoë de Riva finally walks out of an Eluvian and into the gaze of one of her Apostate mother's former collaborators.

After, Arsinoë will explain that he recognizes her because the name she gives the innkeeper was one of her mother's years ago. In the moment, all Lucanis knows is that they're being followed.

Lucanis and Arsinoë both immediately pick up on the fact that this elderly "farmer" has too much interest, is following a little too close. In the slight shift of a stance, a glancing look at the other's face, they come to agreement, easier than even he and Illario once could. They both have weapons ready as they turn into a deserted side street.

(Bellara is not quite as quick on the uptake despite their subtle efforts.)

The glint of steel and then Lucanis is moving. There is light and heat pouring over Arsinoë's gloved hand, a second away from bathing them in fire.

But the Elven man hasn't drawn on them. Instead, he's placed himself between Bellara and a red-crystal blade, swearing back in colorful Antivan when the Venatori exalt the name of the Great God Lusacan. Blood follows, and magic, the sweep of violet wings and the gleam of Bellara's bow.

Blood follows. Then silence as the man turns to look at Arsinoë critically, athame still unsheathed.

Lucanis doesn't move to put himself between them. He is a Crow: she is a Crow; it would be an insult to them both and all their training. Still, the urge is there, amplified in Spite's hissing demands, all of them centered on Rook.

The stranger seems unconcerned by Lucanis or by Bellara's rushed questioning. He keeps one brow raised as he asks "Corina Soldati, huh?" When Arsinoë doesn't answer, he adds 'You look like her, you know. More scars, but the face is the same."

Arsinoë doesn't twitch, but it's actually the stillness that gives her away. It would to any Crow — that unnatural, frozen poise of a child who has been beaten until they learn not to react, not to let the gasp or whimper slip past their lips.

Spite senses it too, his agitation palpable and roiling behind Lucanis's eyes, pushing for movement, to bring steel against this stranger who has FRIGHTENED startled Rook. Lucanis, like that same Crow child, does not react. He holds, ready, waiting for the shift in Arsinoë's stance that will give him permission to strike.

"Corina...Soldati?" Bellara asks, eyes flitting back and forth between Rook and the stranger. "Wait, is that a real person? Am I supposed to know who that is?"

Lucanis has never heard of a Corina Soldati in any capacity connected with the Crows, or in any of Caterina's careful strategizing around the merchant princes and their houses, but that doesn't have to mean anything. The part that matters is why the man cares.

If this is some past job come back to haunt Rook, it would better to end this now, quickly, and make their escape back through the Eluvian towards Treviso, where Viago can be apprised as Arsinoë's Talon. How Bellara would take that, though –

Rook still has not spoken- as uncharacteristic of her as her stony face, and that's setting off its own alarms- when the man interrupts his silent strategizing.

"She had other names. Antiklea, maybe. Antiklea Zangari?" A pause. "Fuck, you two don't know anything, do you." It isn't a question. "Well then, kid, what name are you using these days? When you're not using hers."

ROOK. IS QUIET! WHY IS ROOK? QUIET!

Lucanis couldn't answer Spite even if he wanted; he's never seen Arsinoë freeze like this, but there isn't time to dissect it. Bellara has moved to put herself between Arsinoë and the old man, Crows be damned, so Lucanis jumps in to speak the same way he would watch her back in a fight.

"De Riva." He answers for her. It's the only identity of hers a target has any right to know. "Why do you care?"

"We go back a ways," the man says, and finally sheathes his mage knife. Tucked into his belt, it looks as deceptive as he is, a farmer's hunting weapon without the glinting silverite blade. "You might have been too young to remember though, kid. And Antiklea didn't bring you around much."

"No." Rook doesn't move. She's normally an expressive talker, hands in constant motion, but she is still holding, eyes watchful. Waiting for the signal, as if young and bruised again."No, she didn't. Not when she didn't have to."

WHO. IS IT?

Lucanis bites back the question, instead making a deliberate point of not sheathing Rialto. He doesn't know of an Antiklea either, but something about this is throwing Rook is off her game. He can't afford to make more openings in her guard.

Footsteps go past the narrow mouth of the street and all of them, even the man tense. Spite hovers behind the man's shoulder, violet, violent light spilling over the stranger's face for only Lucanis to see.

SMELLS LIKE. RAIN AND DUST.

"Do we have a problem here?" Lucanis asks, at the same time as Bellara turns to Arsinoë, her back left open, FOOLISH , "Wait, do you know him Rook?"

Arsinoë glances her thumb along the sharpened Everite edge of her blade and shakes her head. "You weren't one of the ones she left me with, were you?"

Left you with???

"No," the man agrees. " You wouldn't have been any safer with me than you were with her. She's dead now, you know. Your mother."

What?

That's what this was about?

Lucanis has known of course, that Arsinoë wasn't de Riva by blood, whether it be Viago's or the previous Talon's. She was compradi, purchased, the same as most Crow fledglings were, and of course she had to have come from somewhere but –

Your mother is dead.

Lucanis blinked away the sudden twist in his chest and saw that Spite had rounded back to leer at the man's face, echoing confused anger. Incidentally, this also put the demon closer to Rook. Bellara had reached out immediately to put a steadying hand on Rook's elbow, but –

Arsinoë seemed to relax, her body shuddering as she released a breath. The mage knife was moving in her hands, but it was the same as the way she fidgeted with her fork or quill, not the intricate weave of a mage casting a spell.

"I assumed she was, by now," Arsinoë admitted, "It's been long enough. And even back then, well... I guess even as a kid I knew she wasn't going to come for me. Either she was dead or–"

Or cutting her losses. The unspoken words hung in the air.

And Arsinoë had been compradi. He knew that, knew the long, sordid history of the Crows and the children they bought to raise.

But... surely not. This was Rook. And even Caterina had-

LEFT ROOK? LEFT! ROOK!

"No, she wouldn't have," the man confirms, but Bellara's face is more devastated than Rook's, "that wasn't Antiklea's way of doing things. A couple of us looked, though, for what it's worth. Got as far as Filomena's widow and a couple of Templars, but then –".

"Then the Circle," Arsinoë agrees. "And then the Crows."

"The Crows? ... De Riva. Fuck, kid."

Lucanis bristles, even though his own thoughts have been circling and circling, twisting around compradi and bruising and silence, the strike of a cane. Arsinoë's free hand brushes his glove in recognition, and then the twist turns to shame.

"Things are what they are," Arsinoë tells her mother's associate with no more defensiveness than a shrug. Finally, the heat and flame of her mage orb flickers out of view. "I'm sorry if using one of her names upset you. I didn't expect it to be recognized after this long."

"Rook-" Bellara exclaims, but the glance Arsinoë shoots her isn't one looking for apologies.

The man shifts a little awkwardly, as if its finally hitting him just how absurd this whole conversation has been. "There are a few of us still around. A couple of the others might have some things of hers, I think. A stave or..."

"No. No that's not necessary."

"Arsinoë... Do you still use Arsinoë?"

"It's fine," Arsinoë waves him off, which doesn't actually answer the question, but the man relents. "I don't...She wouldn't..."

Wouldn't what? Wouldn't want to pass on her weapons to the daughter she apparently didn't look for?

"Still, I could-"

"No. Thank you. But whatever debts were there back then, neither of us owes the other now. I'll be fine."

"Debts?" Bellara asks incredulously, then "Rook, are you sure..."

"Bellara." Lucanis's jaw clicks as he says her name.

Arsinoë gives them all another small shake of the head, then glances at the still cooling Venatori corpses. "We should go. Before these are missed, I mean." Her eyes look to Bellara, to Lucanis, seeking, as if worried they might protest the sudden departure.

As if they would be worried about the groceries right now.

The man relents with a nod. "I'll handle the bodies. We can still do that much. Go safe... Signora de Riva."

Arsinoë turns heel without another glance in his direction. Bellara scrambles after her, leaving Lucanis to follow. He watches even as he leaves, until the old elf turns to the bodies with a sigh.

"So that was-" Bellara begins as he's catching up, but Arsinoë throws a hand up.

"Bel. Please. Not here."

Still Arsinoë accepts when Bellara tentatively links an arm through hers, though Lucanis swears he sees her flinch. Bellara looks back over her shoulder at him, expression still clear and full of all the words Arsinoë has rejected.

That was weird, right? He can almost hear her voice when their eyes meet. That was really weird. And sad.

Unfortunately... Lucanis thinks he understands more than he might like.

"When we get to the Lighthouse," he offers, "I'll send Harding for anything we need urgently and then I can start a pot of ciocalta calda while the stove heats."

Arsinoë gives no sign she heard him, her face distant. He starts revising dinner plans and the grocery list he will give to Harding. The broth can be put towards soup, maybe. Something easy to eat, to sip at, and what's left of the bread to soak in it.

LEFT ROOK? SOMEONE. LEFT ROOK THERE? Spite demands. The demon is unusually agitated, even for Spite.

Lucanis wishes he had a better answer.

But isn't that always how it is with the compradi?

Even Rook.

[suddencolds]

Atypical Occurrence [1/?]

Happy birthday to my dear friend, @caughtintherain!! I wanted to give you some Vincent suffering to chew on for the occasion, so please take this fic (or, first part of a fic) as a gift <3

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I’ve written for these two! chronologically, this fic takes place a month or so after the last installment leaves off :)

Summary: Vincent shows up late to a meeting. It just goes downhill from there. (ft. fake dating, the flu, a house visit)

—

Vincent is late.

Yves tries not to stare at the empty seat across from him. The meeting—their first meeting of the day—started five minutes ago. If there’s anything Yves knows, it’s that Vincent always comes in early. 

In stumbles Cara, handling a morning coffee with probably more espresso shots than anyone should have at 8am. Then Laurent, briefcase in one hand, paging through a folder of files in his other. Then Angelie, Isaac, Garrett, Ray, Sienna. Then they get started, and Yves turns his attention towards the graphs projected onscreen at the front of the room, and tries very hard not to think about Vincent.

It’s five minutes later that the door swings open, near-silent.

Sienna—who’s presenting—stops, for a moment, to look back at Vincent from where he’s standing in the doorway, which means that of course, everyone looks.

Cara turns around in her seat, raising an eyebrow. Angelie frowns at him. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Vincent says, quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

Isaac shrugs. Angelie looks a little concerned, but she turns back to her work, anyways. Sienna resumes her presentation. All in all, it’s nothing—or it should be nothing. Probably traffic, on the way here; a particularly unlucky commute. An unlikely occurrence, but—to anyone else—not anything worth dwelling over.

It might be a sufficient explanation, if Yves didn’t know better.

Vincent takes care to close the door quietly behind him, then heads over to the only open seat, across from Yves. He unzips his briefcase, quietly, unobtrusively, and takes out his laptop. Yves tries to focus on what Sienna is saying—she’s giving a review of a client’s current investment strategies; he’d reviewed her work on this just a couple days ago.

Vincent asks good questions throughout—he always has a good sense of what areas still lack clarity, Yves has found. Today is no exception. He takes part in the meeting with such calculated precision that Yves almost misses it.

Almost misses: the slight stiffness to his shoulders, as if it’s taking more than the usual amount of effort to keep himself upright. The way in which he clears his throat before speaking, like it might actually hurt. The way he rests his head on one hand, halfway into the meeting—as if even now, barely forty minutes into the workday, he’s already exhausted.

It’s subtle enough to go unnoticed, subtle enough that Yves wonders if he’s just reading too much into it—if, perhaps, Vincent is fine, after all.

—

He doesn’t see Vincent again until lunch.

Or, more accurately, he doesn’t see Vincent again until he’s headed down for lunch with Cara and Laurent. Vincent is already on his way out of the cafeteria, a takeout container in hand.

“You’re not going to eat here?” Yves asks.

Vincent doesn’t look at him. “I have some work to get done at my desk,” he says. He clears his throat again, like it’s irritating him.

“Okay,” Yves says. Vincent turns to leave, and Yves thinks of a hundred ways in which he could possibly prolong this conversation, and then decides against it. Vincent is already so busy.

“You look tired,” he settles on, instead.

He expects Vincent to dismiss this, to reassure him that it isn’t true. But Vincent looks up at him at last, blinking, as if he’s surprised that Yves noticed at all. His eyes are a little dark-rimmed underneath his glasses.

He doesn’t deny it, which is as much of a confirmation as Yves needs.

“The sooner I can get this work done, the sooner I can go home,” he says. Yves supposes he can’t argue with that.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Yves says, even though he wants to say more, even though he feels like there’s more that he should be saying. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent nods, at this, and resumes walking.

—

Yves is probably overthinking it. There isn’t anything concrete, really, to justify his concern.

Vincent’s lateness to the meeting could just as easily be the consequence of an alarm he’d forgotten to set, his exhaustion just as easily a side effect—of recent late nights in the office, of arbitrary changes to the projects he’s on, of last-minute demands from clients.

The next time he sees Vincent is at the end of the work day. Yves always takes the elevators on the north end of the building—they’re ones that lead directly out into the parking garage. When he gets out to the hallway, Vincent is already standing there, waiting for the elevator.

Yves watches Vincent stiffen, slightly. Watches him raise one hand up to his face to shudder into it with a harsh, “HHihH’iKKTSh-hUH!”

A thin tremor runs through the line of his shoulders, as if he’s too cold, even though the office air conditioning is no colder than usual. His hand, cupped to his face, remains there for a moment more before he lowers it.

He sniffles, then, rummaging through his pocket for—something. When he doesn’t find it, he just frowns a little, sniffling again. 

“Bless you,” Yves says.

“Yves,” Vincent says, his shoulders stiffening a little. He clears his throat, turning around so that he can address Yves properly.

It’s only a few seconds later that he’s turning sharply away, tenting both hands over his nose and mouth for—

“Hh-! hHiH—HIHh’DZSSschh-uhh! snf-!”

“Bless you again.” 

Vincent sighs. ���Don’t bother.” He really looks exhausted, Yves realizes. During their brief interaction at lunch, he’d already sensed as much, but the harsh white glare of the bright corporate lighting only makes it more evident.

Vincent looks a little paler than usual, if only slightly, and there’s a slight flush that spreads itself over his cheekbones. He looks—well, nearly as put together as always, distilled only by the slight crookedness of his tie, as if it’s been on too tight; the near-invisible sheen of sweat over his forehead. The slight redness to the bridge of his nose, the slight shiver to his hand as he reaches up to adjust his collar.

Yves frowns, taking this all in. “You look kind of…”

“Terrible?” Vincent finishes for him.

Yves winces. “...Well, terrible is a strong word. I was going to say, you look like you could use some sleep.”

“I’m… feeling a little off,” Vincent says, staring straight ahead, as if it’s not an admission at all. But Yves suspects, from the way he avoids eye contact, that perhaps it was something he was intending on keeping private. “You should keep your distance.”

The elevator dings. The sliding doors part, and he steps inside. 

“First floor?” Yves asks, hesitating next to the panel of buttons.

“Yes,” Vincent says. Then, quietly: “Thanks.”

“You know, now that busy season is over, the world is not going to end if you take a sick day,” Yves tells him. “Even if you do like, twice the amount of work as everyone else on the team, if you needed to call out, I’m sure something could be arranged.”

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly. “I must look pretty bad if you’re saying this to me.”

“Yes, I was lying,” Yves says. “Clearly, you look terrible.”

It isn’t true at all—even here, even like this, Vincent doesn’t look terrible, not even in the least. But Vincent still smiles, at this—a tired smile.

The elevator doors slide open.

“Text me if you need anything,” Yves says, impulsively. “Seriously. Tissues, soup, medicine—whatever. It’s not far of a drive.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Vincent says. “I will see you tomorrow.” And then he steps out of the elevator, and Yves is left with an inexplicable sinking feeling in his stomach. As far as he knows, it has no place there. Obviously, Vincent can take care of himself. Obviously, Vincent can handle a cold. Yves has nothing to be concerned about.

—

The next day is rainy—a constant, torrential downpour, which makes his commute to work take almost twice as long as it usually does. It wouldn’t be spring here, Yves supposes, without dreary weather like this.

Back in uni, when he rowed crew, they’d practice out for hours out in the rain. Now that he spends the majority of his day inside, he supposes he can’t complain. The shelter of the office building is a reprieve.

Vincent doesn’t show up.

“I think he’s out sick,” Cara says, when Yves asks. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t think I’ve actually seen him take a sick day before.”

“For how hard he works, he definitely deserves one,” Garrett says.

“He seemed fine yesterday, when I saw him,” Cara says, with a shrug. “Probably came on quickly.” Yves nods.

But that isn’t quite right, is it? Vincent hadn’t seemed fine, had he? Yves thinks back to the things he’d noticed—Vincent, uncharacteristically exhausted during the meeting, though it was clear he’d been just as engaged as usual. Vincent, shivering in the elevator, telling Yves to keep his distance. How poorly had he been feeling already, yesterday? How poorly does he have to be feeling today to have called off of work for it?

He finds some time just before lunch to text.

Y: how are you holding up? Y: yesterday’s offer stands if you need me to bring you anything!

He doesn’t get a response from Vincent, which is a little concerning. He checks his phone halfway through lunch, and then twice more, in between his afternoon meetings, just in case he’s missed a notification.

“Are you expecting a text from someone?” Cara says, looking a little curious.

“Just a friend,” Yves says, which is and isn’t true.

To make a point—to Cara, and possibly to himself—he shuts his phone off. He very pointedly does not look at it again for the remainder of the hour.

It’s not until mid-afternoon that he finally gets a response.

V: Sorry to get back to you so late.

Yves sits upright, fumbling with his phone to get it unlocked. The text bubble pops up again, somewhat intermittently, to show that Vincent is typing.

V: If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a blue folder on my desk labeled 2-A.

Yves blinks at this, a little disbelieving.

Y: you’re asking me to bring you work files? Y: arent you supposed to be resting 🤨 Y: paid sick leave, remember? as in, leave your work at work??

V: I meant to pack them yesterday.

Y: that’s like a genie grants you 3 wishes and you ask for an extra day of assignments Y: terrible waste of a wish if you ask me

V: As a genie, you’re quite judgmental

Y: ok ok Y: as your loyal lamp dweller i’ll be over around 8pm with folder 2-A  Y: you need anything else? 

V: Nothing else V: You can just leave them outside my door 

A beat. Then Vincent sends:

V: Sorry to trouble you

Yves thinks of twenty responses he wants to send to that text. Then, thinking better of himself, he shuts his phone off and gets back to work.

—

It’s a little past seven when he finally checks out of the office.

Outside, the rain hasn’t even begun to let up—it falls, straight and heavy, in large, globular droplets. The streets gleam with water. Yves leaves his umbrella in the trunk, tunes out everything but the static of the rainfall, and drives.

Yves has only ever been to Vincent’s apartment once—to pick him up for the New Years’ party Margot hosted—and even then, Vincent had met him at the door. But he recognizes the unit, nonetheless.

For a moment, he considers leaving the folder of files outside of Vincent’s door and taking his leave.

But it’s windy, and he’s afraid the papers might fly away, torn up by the biting wind, and get lost face down in a puddle somewhere, which would defeat the purpose of him coming here in the first place, and would probably also breach some employee confidentiality policy. So instead, he knocks.

It’s silent for a moment. Rain beats down on the slanted rooftops, a constant thrum. 

Yves is about to reach out to knock again, when the door swings open.

There stands Vincent, in a pale blue hoodie and loose-fitting pajama pants, with neat rectangular cuffs.

He looks tired. It’s the first thing Yves registers—the unusual fatigue to his expression, which he can’t quite seem to blink away; the flush high on his cheekbones. The way he holds himself, his shoulders stiff, carefully, defensively; as if despite his exhaustion, there’s a part of him which wishes to appear presentable still.

It’s only a moment later that he’s taking a halting step back, ducking into a hoodie sleeve. Yves catches the shiver of his expression, his eyebrows pulling together, before it crumples, and his head jerks forward with a harsh—

“hHihh’GKkTT—! Hh-!! iHH-’DZZSCHh-uuUh!”

The second sneeze sounds louder and harsher than usual, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve. It betrays his congestion all at once. 

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent emerges, sniffling a little. When he speaks, he sounds a little hoarser than he did yesterday. “I thought I said you - snf-! - could leave them on the front step.”

“You did,” Yves says, glancing down at the folder in his hands. “But it’s windy, and it’s raining. I figured you’d prefer to have your files intact. How are you feeling?”

Vincent blinks at him. He’s leaning heavily against the doorframe, Yves realizes, one hand gripped tightly around the frame, his knuckles white from the pressure, as if it would take him too much effort to stay upright otherwise. 

“Alright,” he answers. “Thanks for making the trip here. I… it must’ve taken longer, in the rain.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if his head hurts, as if the light coming from outside is exacerbating his headache. “If you ever need me to pick something up for you, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Yves says. Despite himself, he reaches up to press his hand against Vincent’s forehead.

The heat under his fingertips is alarming, to say the least. Yves blinks, lowering his hand, and tries to keep the worry out of his voice. “Have you taken your temperature?”

Vincent shakes his head. “I don’t think I have a thermometer.”

“Have you eaten, then?”

Vincent averts his glance, looking sheepish. “I… was planning to stop for groceries, yesterday,” he says. Planning to.

Yves thinks back to the elevator ride yesterday. Vincent had probably already been feeling very unwell, then. And yet, he’d talked with Yves as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I’m feeling a little off, he’d said, as if anything about his current affliction could possibly be characterized as “little.” I will see you tomorrow—as if he had really, genuinely been intending on showing up at work. 

“So I take it that there’s nothing in the fridge, either,” Yves says.

“If it’s any consolation, you’ll be pleased to know that I slept,” Vincent says, in lieu of answering.

Then he shivers—the sort of concerning, full-body shiver that is a little concerning, coming from someone who is usually unaffected by the cold—and Yves is immediately reminded that the door they’re speaking through is open.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“You probably shouldn’t,” Vincent says, before his expression scrunches up, and he’s ducking away with a— “hh—! hHih-II—TSSCHHh-UH! snf-!”, smothered hurriedly into the palm of his hand. He sniffles, emerging with a slight wince. “This came on pretty quickly. It might be the flu.”

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I got my flu shot in the winter. And anyways, I’ll be careful.”

Vincent is quiet, for a moment. Then, frowning, he says, “I’d feel terrible if you caught this.”

That’s the least of Yves’s worries—he doubts he’s going to catch this. Even if he does, it will just mean a few days off of work. Not the end of the world, by any means. Nothing to warrant the expression on Vincent’s face—Vincent looks upset, as if he’ll really can’t think of anything worse than Yves catching this. Like even the thought of it is worth being upset over.

Yves shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” He pushes past Vincent to step inside and shuts the door behind him. “Here, I’ll set these down on your desk. Where is it?”

“Down the hallway, to the left,” Vincent says.

Yves takes the folder, leaves his shoes at the door, and heads inside. 

Vincent’s bedroom is small and organized—it’s the kind of bedroom that’s tastefully minimal, in the sort of unified manner that implies that everything in it has been carefully arranged. There’s a small white desk in the corner, a stack of files arranged neatly next to Vincent’s laptop, its lid halfway to shut. There’s a bookshelf, leaned up against the wall far; the bottom shelf looks to be filled with textbooks; the top shelf lined with books, both in Korean and in English. The walls are painted slate gray, the carpets lining the floorboards picked out to match, and there are pale blue curtains hanging from the windows, pulled tightly shut.

There are signs here, too, of his illness, but they are subtle. A tissue box, nestled between his pillow and the headboard, half empty. A waste bin at the foot of the bed, conveniently in reach. A small bottle of aspirin on the bedside counter; an empty packet of cough drops sitting at the edge of his nightstand.

Yves sets the folder at the end of Vincent’s desk, next to the rest of his files, and turns to face him.

“You’re not going to work on these until you’re feeling better, right?” he asks.

“Only if I can’t sleep,” Vincent says, which Yves supposes is a satisfactory answer. Then he twists away, his eyebrows furrowing, lifting a loosely clenched fist to his face to cough, and cough. 

The cough is harsh and grating—his entire frame shudders with the force of it, his breaths shallow and raspy. He really sounds awful. This must have come on quickly, Yves thinks.

If it’s upsetting, seeing Vincent like this, it’s even worse to be standing here, in his room, doing nothing. So—if only to make himself useful, if only to convince himself that there’s something he can do—Yves ducks out into the kitchen.

The pantry is meticulously organized—glasses lined up in neat rows; stacks of bowls sorted by size. He fills a glass with water, shuts the cabinets, and takes it back to the bedroom. 

By the time he gets back, Vincent is sitting at the edge of his bed. His glasses are folded neatly, left at the very edge of the countertop.

“Here,” Yves says, crossing the room, holding out the glass for him to take. 

“Thanks,” Vincent says, taking it gingerly from him. He takes a small, tentative sip, and then another—his hands are a little shaky, Yves notices. “You - snf-! - should really go.”

“I’m not entirely convinced you’ll be fine on your own,” Yves says.

“Of course I will be,” Vincent says, with all of his usual certainty. He lays down, pulling the covers over his body. “I have been fine on my own for years.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, Yves supposes. But he doesn’t feel reassured in the least.

“Thank you again for bringing me the files,” Vincent says, at last, shutting his eyes.

“You could’ve asked me to get you groceries,” Yves says. “There’s a supermarket not far from here, right? And you’re out of cough drops.” He takes a few steps over, towards the desk in the corner of the room. “These—” He examines the bottle of ibuprofen on the table. “—are expired.”

“Just because you’ve extended this kindness to me,” Vincent tells him, “doesn’t mean I should take advantage of it.”

Yves blinks, a little taken aback. “It’s only groceries. I wouldn’t have minded, really.”

“See,” Vincent says, with a note of—something in his voice. It sounds a bit like resignation. “That’s just the kind of person you are.”

Yves doesn’t know what to say, to that. 

Before he can think up a fitting response, Vincent’s breathing evens out. Yves lets himself listen to the shallow, steady cadence of it. Lets himself acknowledge the heavy, painful feeling in his chest for just a moment. Then he shuts the lights off and heads back out into the hallway.

[ Part 2 ]

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Parentalbond Horror

*grinning* I am baaaaaaaack!! @spotaus get over here :D

So. I had the difficult choice on which drabble i wanted to write so For now I settled on this one because I haven't had the chance to write a drabble with Horror's pov since a while and that is a crime.

First Drabble here Prev Drabble here Next Drabble here

As always we go in unbeta'ed and unedited.

*-----------------*

Horror checks the windows again before turning back to the couch and seeing Nightmare just staring at him.

Horror tils his skull "sleep will be easier if you actually lay down...." And he looks pointedly at the couch.

Nightmare gains that stubborn glint in his sockets again as he huffs "I am fine. Not tired at all." he looks at the pile of bags in the corner of the room wishfully.

Horror has to keep his chuckling inside as he answers "Shame then that it is bedtime for young skeletons." And adult skeletons. Horror glances at the other three. All KO on the other couch, all still dressed in their normal clothes and none of them actually finished their meals.

Horror will have to pack up the leftovers. Make sure nothing goes to waste. But he will let them sleep for now and just make them eat a big breakfast. But all three had been running themselves ragged lately. Especially after the last encounter they had had with the Stars.

It meant they have been making more jumps and teleports and not going out as much to collect things to make it easier for them.

Horror walks over to them and puts one of the blankets in this apartment over them, he doesn't bother to try and pull them away from one another. The four of them always had the habit of sleeping in a pile and that habit only got worse once they started searching for Nightmare and reclaimed him.

Horror checks Ngihtmare's plate and smiles "You finished it all today." No wonder he is grumpier and more active than usual.

Nightmare pulls a face and crosses his arms. Horror walks over and nudges him at his shoudler "Sleep time." and he waits.

Nightmare grumbles more as he pushes the blankets and pillows around. Horror just crosses his arms as he waits. Nightmare huffs but lays his skull down on the pillow and glares at him.

Horror knows he is grinning but he is proud to say he doesn't actually snort or laugh at the grumpy face Nightmare is pulling. instead he moves closer slowly, the first week of watching Nightmare flinch at every movement and sound had been horrible, and puts the blanket over him as well.

Nightmare doesnt complain about it. Most likely becuase he just saw Horror do the same for the other three.

Horror nods and sits by him "Time to sleep." it is his turn to keep watch and he plans on taking ti seriously.

Nightmare huffs but just turns his face further into the pillow. Tiny body starting to relax with the simple comforts.

Horror tries to not be obvious as he keeps an eye on Nightmare.

Horror knows of course what is going on and he is trying to not give in. At least one of them should not give into the adopting.

Horror can admit he had been surprised that Dust was the first one to actually soul adopt Nightmare. Especially after only a week. It had been so fast and the transition between the before and after state had been so smoothly that Horror had honestly thought that Dust had done it on purpose and planned.

It would have made sense. Dust had been the one to find the book first and been the one to actually manage to get Nightmare back to them.

Only for it to become obvious that Dust had no idea what he had just done.

Soul adoption is a rather normal thing for monsters to do. Though in most universes they rarely happened as monsters don't tend to abandon children.

But well, Horror's AU had been one with starvation and a lot of fighting. People lost their lives in multiple ways. That meant quite a few orphans.

Soul adoption happened when an adult monster willingly took the role as caretaker for a younger monster who doesn't have a caretaker. There are a few more factors obviously but Horror doesn't know all of them of the top of his skull, especially not now with that hole in it.

What it comes down to? Nightmare is an orphan and has no one he could go to that could take care of them, and all of them know this. Dust found out first and surprisingly his soul was open enough to the idea to accept Nightmare as... well... his.

There are more hurdles in this situation of course. The fact that they Nightmare they knew was an adult, which is what Horror thinks is tripping up Cross. But Dust had been very quick with accepting that Nightmare is now a child and so immediantly treated him as one.

Killer took a bit longer but quickly fell into step as well. Calling Nightmare tiny boss and going from his right-hand-man to his babysitter, Killer's words not Horror's.

Horror is however a bit surprised that Killer also soul adopted Nightmare. In theory it shouldn't have happened as Nightmare at this time already had Dust as his caretaker and so technically didn't need one anymore.

Seems like Killer's soul didn't agree with that.

Horror can't say a lot about it though, seeing as he can feel it happening with himself as well. And he has no doubt that Cross is very close to giving into his own instincts and feelings concerning this as well.

The whole thing with their last interaction with the Stars is a very big give away. Even if Cross felt very embarresed by his own reaction.

At least Nightmare is no truly convinced that they won't harm him and will help him. Horror is happy they managed to get there and with it having only been a month since they took him with them. Horror can say they did a good job.

Nightmare has falled asleep.

Horror move slowly and silently and puts two fingers to the the side of his small belly and feels.

Horror may not have a lot of magic himself but his AU was left him with a very useful skill. Wiht how little food there was available and how little magic there was there came issues. One of the issues was that after a while the magic monsters had wasn't strong enough anymore to digest the food that the mosnters did manage to eat. meaning that even if the monster ate food they would not get any energy or new magic from it.

Meaing that even if they ate they would continue to starve.

Wiht how difficult it had been for Nightmare at first to eat or even remember to eat Horror had worried something simular may have happened. That being in the goop form had caused his own magic to grow too weak to be able to function fully.

But all Horror feels is the soft and quiet purr of NIghtmare's magic working hard to use the offered food to rebuild the babybones' small reserves.

Horror sighs a sigh or relieve and just watches Nightmare for a moment. Nightmare, having noticed the pressure on him, makes an unhappy sound and his socket flutters open to give him a sour look.

Horror chuckles as he whispers "I apologise." Horror is unsure how clear his answer is as Horror himself is purring like a loud law mower at this point.

Nightmare blinks at him, still looking like the tiniest little grumpy skeleton this multiverse has ever known, before closing his sockets again and turning on his side. surprisingly not away from the touch and light hold.

Horror watches the other. It is strange. They are all different yet Nightmare still has them all completely under his control. Yet it is in a completely different way and Ngihtmare now doesn't even seem to realise it.

Horror leans on the couch and watches their tiny charge just sleep. Horror had managed to keep the need to complete an adoption at bay by reminding himself that Nightmare already had a caretaker- well two and a half now, Horror is sure that all Cross still needs to complete the soul adoption is a tiny nudge. Horror thinks that Cross is jsut thinking too much about it and doubting his own instincts and feelings.

But that still leaves Horror, and what he wants to do. He figured that it would be better to at least keep one of them unbiased in this nature, just in case that Nightmare suddenly turns into an adult again. But the longer this went on the less likely it seemed to Horror.

Not to forget. Horror doesn't even think Nightmare wants to be an adult again. Not now that he is a child but doens't have to vigilent every moment of every day.

Does he technically already have caretakers? Yes. Does Horror still want to count himself as one? Yes.

So. He just picks for himself.

Horror moves slowly and quietly as he picks Nightmare up. Nightmare grumbles in his sleep at being moved but calms when his magic recognises Horror.

Horror gets comfortable on the couch and lays Nightmare on his sternum. He can still feel the tiny soul beat and pulse fast even through two shirts.

Horror pulls the blanket back over Nightmare and waits.

It doesn't take long as Horror can feel the slight pull on his magic and energy. Hardly noticable and Horror doubts that if he wasn't so paranoid about his own levels he would have noticed.

It is something tiny monsters do. To help stabalise and sharp their own magic they try to take tiny bits of their parents, or caretakers in this case, to help guide them. It all happens naturally.

Horror just holds the tiny babybones closer and feesl Ngihtmare's soul slowly start to match Horror's own soulbeat and he feels all the calmer.

Now it is pretty much done. Horror will have to probably deal with this decision one day but for now he is happy. Their tiny babybones is comfortable and everyone is resting. Tomorrow they will have to worry about getting supplies and where they can go and eventually where they will sleep that night.

But right now? Right now he doesn't have to worry about that. and all he ahs to worry about is that their babybones is comfortable and healing.

*-----------------*

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[inaconstantstateofchange]

bg3 modern!au idea where halsin is a conservationist, who mentions kind of despairingly to a younger colleague at a conference the way he's having such a hard time with outreach to get folks in his community aware of the wildlife around them and how important it is. the colleague makes an offhand reference to how tiktok is the way people seem to get connected to that sort of thing most nowadays, although hell if they have the patience to figure out the app, and wanders off to catch up with someone else. they will not realize until later (far, far later) the ramifications of this statement.

halsin is rather quiet for the rest of the event, makes his goodbyes, and then returns home to painstakingly research just how "tiktok" works, with the grim determination of a fighter entering the ring. if this is what it takes to raise awareness, then this is what he'll do. the cause is more than worth it.

the first roadblock he runs into makes him worry the venture will be over before its even started. the first few webpages he finds tell him patronizingly that his phone is too old to work for 'content creation'. and okay, so it's scuffed, and dented, and has maybe taken one or two tumbles into a mud puddle, but it ought to be more than serviceable! he goes outside and finds a patch of wildflowers, pulling up the camera function and shooting a shaky video. he returns to his kitchen table, squinting down at the results. he can see all of the distinguishing features of the plant that would allow him to recognize it in the wild, which means it's good enough to do its job. with a new resolve - that his family would have wryly labeled as stubbornness - he focuses his research efforts until he finally finds a webpage that will tell him how to make the app work with his phone.

when at last it starts up in a blare of sound and over-saturated colors, he grimaces, but presses on. it asks him to set up a username, and he types in his first name. the little circle spins for a moment, then tells him it's taken. he frowns, then adds a random number. 2. it spins again, same response. he frowns harder, then adds another. 6. it spins, spins, spins, then — welcome, new user @.halsin26! upload your first video to start using tiktok!

he decides not to overthink it. it'll either work out or it won't. he looks out the window, and judges there's still just enough light out. he returns to the little patch of wildflowers, and gives it a thumbs up. he starts a recording directly in the app, making note of the 60-second time limit with a grimace. to make the most of the time he has, he doesn't bother with an introduction, just kneels down next to the cluster of plants, careful not to compress the ground too close to their root system, and moves his hand just behind the flowering portion to visually distinguish it, and act as a scale reference. he keeps his voice low, since he doesn't want to overshadow the content itself, and quickly lays out where folks could run into this plant, its importance to its local ecosystem, and ways they could help its conservation. the most important things the average person can do, he states passionately as the timer begins its final warning, is to document the locations where they find said plants, so that the areas can be marked for oversight and protection.

he doesn't bother to look back over the video before he posts it. he knows what he said, after all. he stretches his arms up above his head, then massages the back of his neck where the muscles are growing stiff. as he heads back inside to start dinner for himself, he tosses the phone into a basket on the counter and forgets about it.

the video languishes in the algorithm for the evening, until a random user gets distracted from scrolling away from the potato-quality wildflower video someone's grandma uploaded and chokes on their spit as forearms that very clearly do not belong to anyone's grandmother enter the frame, gently cupping the air around the flower.

god i wish that were me, they type before they can stop themself. debating whether to bother hitting send, they choke again as an absolutely unfair voice begins to narrate the ecological importance of this particular plant. the voice is smooth and deep, just above a murmur with a pleasant backing rumble. they have never given a moment's thought to plants in their entire life, but all of a sudden they are invested. they don't even notice when their thumb hits 'send' on their comment, too busy swiping over to the profile to see if there are any other videos. it's empty of literally everything, default user icon, only-barely-not-randomly-generated username, only one video posted earlier that day. they go back to the video and copy the link to send to their friends, needing someone - anyone - else to understand the experience they just had.

a few more interactions like that, and the algorithm takes notice. it bumps the video to a few more users outside of the current sphere, and those ones like it too. more importantly, they are very likely to share the video with others, increasing the engagement far beyond anything it had right to expect.

by two days later, when halsin remembers to actually check the thing, it is sitting at a comfortable 2500 likes, and there is a whole fleet of comments waiting for him to review. some of them - many of them, actually - don't seem that relevant at all, and he frowns, but then he sees a few that actually seem interested in more information on the plant he'd described, asking questions about how wide its range is, if it could be found in this or that coloration, etc. these he responds to swiftly, then grimaces as he runs up against a 'character limit'? who ever heard of such a foolish thing. after a moment of glaring down at his phone, he sees that it will allow him to answer by video, and does so, stepping onto his porch and zooming in on the plants. (this blurs them into barely discernible blobs of pixels, but he does not notice.)

still others are curious about what other plants and wildlife he might be able to share about, and he leaves short comments under each letting them know that he will plan to upload some more videos soon, if there is an interest. one user has left a comment that he almost files into his mental "ignore" category, but goes back to reread at the last moment.

not convinced this isn't one of those 'booktok bait' things again but i stg there's a big ass patch of those fuckers behind a parking lot somewhere around here?

halsin responds to this one with a video too. now that he's getting the hang of it, it's actually a bit more convenient than having to type everything out. he thanks the commenter for sharing, then asks if they might be willing to do him a favor sometime – only if it wasn't any trouble, of course! – and grab a video or two of the area they referenced, and share it with him — or their local wildlife foundation, at least.

a few days later, he opens the app to check in to find that he's been tagged in a video by some user. bemused, he clicks on the popup, and it takes him to a slightly shaky but pristine quality video of an empty lot filled with tall grass. the person filming moves a bit closer, then zooms in, and halsin spots multiple cluster of that recognizable wildflowers, before the video ends and restarts. there's no narration to this one, only a barely audible music wheel spinning in the corner. the caption on the video says, @.halsin26 just in case you're not actually some weird account for a fetish i haven't heard of before, here's some of those plants you mentioned looking for.

[sleepynegress]

Manny Jacinto just posted Oshamir fanart on his insta...

[britcision]

Dungeon Meshi omegaverse headcanons because I can

1) the different human folks have different versions and different degrees but we’re gonna focus on the elves because I want to

2) afab alphas and amab omegas are just a thing that happens, it’s pretty normal and not considered worth commenting on unless you’re really insular, so while there are some sexist stereotypes (like that afab alphas are more attentive parents, although not as good as any omega) it’s not on the “male omega bad” side

It’s about 20% of the alpha/omega population (and betas make up about 60% of the human population so 8% of people total), so not hugely common but way more common than red hair and only a little less than being left handed

Some amab omegas can carry children (especially with magical assistance) and it’s actually a little easier for afab alphas to sire children, since that’s a one time output rather than a prolonged physical process

You also get things like secondary sex homosexuality (alpha-for-alpha gay, ditto omegas) which are basically ignored anyway unless someone’s fussing about bloodlines, and difficult cases like alpha-presenting-omega; an omega who reads like an alpha in scent and all other aspects except when they’re on heat

That’s hard to detect before the cycle actually starts and causes rampant excitement every time, but since alphas being with other alphas isn’t considered noteworthy except in high society, it’s also only a problem around the cycle

3) just like they don’t have sexual dimorphism, there’s no visible external differences between elves in secondary sex either

They’re more about magic than physical force, so you might be able to tell the difference based on their magical specialties (that’s how elves claim they do it but it’s bullshit they are lying)

This often confuses other folks who do; tallmen alphas are physically larger and more muscular (Falin’s an alpha) and omegas are smaller and slimmer, but all the elves are small and slim so tallmen often think they’re all omegas this is not helped by

4) almost all the Canaries are omegas; service is a doubly beneficial arrangement for noble families, who offer their children to show their loyalty just like canon… and to keep inconvenient extra bloodlines from cropping up if those extra omegas have kids

All of the wardens are omegas (except possibly Flamela; this is actually another reason why she’s not allowed into dangerous dungeons) and most of the prisoners are too, although occasionally alphas are allowed to serve

This is not considered a risk because while alphas are more aggressive, elves also consider them less capable leaders since they’re more likely to lose their heads and act rashly when riled up (like when Izutsumi was a kobold from the changelings and had to be stopped from fighting til she died) and just generally less capable, so an alpha convict with their magic bound isn’t considered a serious threat to a capable omega warden

Alphas also don’t necessarily fight to the death, since there’s all the posturing and fighting for position

Elf omegas, on the other hand, will tear your fucking throat out at the first sign of violence because if a fight gets to them it needs to be ended immediately to protect the babies

They have absolutely weaponized this against the demon and the dungeons by intentionally putting their omegas in combat situations

Alpha prisoners are usually only assigned to a single warden for the duration of their service, because they tend to get overprotective of their omega squad-mates and don’t handle personnel shifts well

5) The wardens get sterilized as part of their training, the prisoners are required to be on birth control for the duration of their service but can also request sterilization - birth control’s usually by magical implant so it’s not a huge inconvenience but listen if you want that ute yote it’s yoten

6) Heat cycles absolutely do sync up between themselves and with rut cycles, and the squads get mandatory downtime for a month on either side; luckily they’re elves so they’re on multi-annual cycles rather than seasonal

(Elves who find out how often short-lived omegas go into heat tend to react with shock and sympathy and an immediate “ooooh this is why you die so early”)

(More than one squad have accidentally maimed their alpha if they have a surprise heat)

How a squad handles group heat is up to them, suppressants are part of the basic gear, as are knotting toys, and there’s a whole industry of “heat hotels” where any human single omegas can go to ride out a heat safely either alone with toys or with vetted beta staff (on birth control) of their choosing - the Canaries semi-regularly take them over and occasionally incite orgies because while the heat demands a knot what elves accept as dominance is magical power, not position, so the strongest arcanist in a squad usually reads as an “alpha” to other humans despite their actual sexes

And since there’s no actual rules that omegas can’t hook up for a cycle at the heat house, so long as everyone arrives and agrees before they go into heat it’s a “the more the merrier” situation

They also sync up between different types of humans, but elves sync very slowly and have such long cycles almost no one notices

For no godly reason gnomes sync the fastest but they have relatively mild cycles and don’t seem to mind

Fuck it cycle table:

Dwarves - 6 month cycle - 1 week rut/heat

Elves - 2-3 year cycle - 2 weeks rut/heat

Gnomes - 4 month cycle - 5 days rut/heat

Half-foots(feet?) - 2 month cycle - 3 days rut/heat

Oni - 2 month cycle - 5 days rut/heat

Tall-men - 2 month cycle - 5-7 days rut/heat

7) Mithrun’s squad are extra goddamn protective of him because his cycle also got broken and doesn’t sync properly, but he deadass will not notice when he’s on heat and just continues as usual, while radiating pheromones. He also will not take suppressants any more than he’ll drink or eat

Luckily he also almost never actually goes onto heat, so he just vibes and trains while everyone else is on their heat break and occasionally gets impatient and starts bar fights

Lycion’s been a permanent squad member despite not being an alpha (he’s a beta but the werewolf gets a knot anyway sooooo he’s busy on heat breaks) because he can smell when Mithrun’s going onto heat ahead of time, way before anyone else can

Mithrun’s gone into heat twice since rejoining the Canaries. Cithis, Otta, and Fleki bitch about this constantly with varying degrees of envy, right up until the next time it happens out of the blue and they have to drag his dumb ass out of a dungeon because literally no one was prepared

Otta’s not even an omega she’s a beta too so she uses their heat breaks to flirt with half-foot women which is why she has enough time to date despite being a convict death squad member

(And yeah she’ll “help out” any half-foot lady omegas if they’re not actually already in heat when they arrive at a house the squad’s taken over and can hold a conversation first cuz while technically everyone else can still go through their heat alone and ignore the elves…

Well they’re loud, they’re expansive, Fleki is allergic to personal space, even in heat Cithis has enough top energy to dominate a city block, and Lycion only has one knot and will occasionally need to sleep - more than the heated omegas. They like sharing and there are no consequences provided the hotel has a room big enough)

Fleki will absolutely still use her familiar while she’s on heat and she will not remember to tell anyone she’s doing it, but since she basically just flies away until the next wave demands she get fucked again it’s not all that different from taking a nap from anyone else’s perspective

(Flying in heat is nowhere near as good as flying on shrooms but it does still beat reality)

(Everyone. Everyone has asked her if she’s fucked in the bird. Absolutely everyone. And she never specifies but makes absolutely filthy and biologically unlikely insinuations.

She absolutely did try it once. And since her familiar has genitals at her own discretion, and didn’t google bird genitals before hand, results were Mid)

Cithis has been denied access - or have had people attempt to deny her access anyway - to more than one heat house because absolutely no one who is not an elf believes she’s not an alpha without proof

All the elves have Elf Twink Disease so their alphas aren’t buff and macho anyway and everyone knows it, so her sheer Step On Me Please energy has gotten the whole squad into trouble

(She blatantly refuses to do anything about this and will often make the situation worse for fun or profit until Mithrun tells her to stop)

8) half elves like Marcille have the extremely exciting and unfortunate bonus of potentially being crosses in secondary sex too, just like the non-linear aging - something about the long-lived/shorter-lived magic combo and the elves’ own permutations in particular mean that other human-alpha and elf-beta/omega sometimes happen on the same gene, and other human-omega and elf-beta/alpha is also more likely than elf-alpha and other human-alpha coming together

Some half elves get lucky and get double beta, Marcille did not and got beta-omega (which is at least easier than alpha-omega, the rarest combo but hey if you’re flexible or magically inclined with that one you can kinda just go fuck yourself)

This is why she gets super over-protective of the people she cares about (see: get back in the kitchen while I take over the world), but doesn’t really have any kind of self preservation instincts or a desire not to run face first into danger and explode it

She’s never had a heat cycle and if she’s lucky she might never get one, so long as the beta side stays dominant

But Falin’s an alpha and possibly the person who activated Marcille’s omega side to get that over-protectiveness in the first place, so if (when) they do mate Marcille is gonna learn some fun and exciting things about her body

(Toshiro’s an omega, but his family insisted on raising him like an alpha anyway because Oldest Son. Falin was the one to actually tell him he was an omega, because Maizuru was ordered not to

This is part of why he’s so incredibly jealous of Laios, who is an actual alpha as well as autistic as hell, so Shuro’s not only jealous of his complete disregard for social rules, he’s also exceedingly jealous that all of the “alpha” stuff he has to work incredibly hard to fake comes to Laios completely naturally

Laios had no idea Shuro was an omega at all (possibly Nakamoto family scent blockers, possibly Laios Not Paying Attention) and has actually been idolizing Shuro as the Manliest Best Alpha To Ever Alpha - like all them flashbacks of Shuro standing between downed Laios and danger

Maybe Laios doesn’t find out until after Falin’s revived successfully. It blows his mind. Toshiro weeps in frustration.)

9) fuck it it’s official, alpha Flamela, that’s why her twin was taken (twin was an omega, elves still think alphas are too impulsive and hot headed to rule) and Flamela wasn’t stopped from running off to join the Canaries

They did try to skip the sterilizing step with her, cuz while the coal black skin definitively doesn’t reliably pass from parent to child there’s still a chance her kids would have better odds of inheriting it

Flamela lost her shit when she found out she was being treated differently from other wardens (doing other elven alphas absolutely no favours about that “too impulsive” thing because she genuinely didn’t even notice that what was happening was that she wasn’t being given invasive and permanently life altering often nonconsensual surgery) and threatened to do it to herself if they wouldn’t do her

Someone suggested they fake it, put her under, make the cut, leave everything alone so she just got a scar, someone else pointed out she might be slightly less knife happy afterwards, the smartest person in the room pointed out she would be Exceedingly Fucking Knife Happy if she ever found out and possibly kill them all

She was sterilised at her own insistence but her genetic materials (eggs and sperm why not) were stored rather than discarded in case she changes her mind

This has also alienated her from the other wardens because not only is she the only one who actually volunteered to be a Canary, she volunteered for the whole thing and genuinely doesn’t get why any of them are unhappy about it

Rut isn’t all that fun and she doesn’t think heat sounds good either, since her default position with people is distrust and keeping them at arm’s length, so she always rides hers out alone and assumes others will too - but both sound way way way better to her than having to carry or raise a child

She’s not cruel or aggressive about it but she’s about as tactful as a rhinoceros and just gets loudly confused, so it’s not worth trying to confide in her or bond over the extra level of being discarded by their families

(And since she hates gossip and will aggressively curtail it, she only finds out what anyone else on her squad does for heat if she actually has to help arrange it)

She was so offended to find out she’d still have rut cycles after surgery. The one thing absolutely every other warden can agree with her on

Most elf alphas are actually significantly more level headed and stable than Flamela, she still has her entirely independent emotional baggage but she is what all the elven stereotypes say an alpha is

There’s some real world racist bs about Black women and especially darker skinned Black women being less feminine, but it’s bullshit and fuck that it’s illegal here, alpha women are just a thing that happens and it has nothing to do with gender

Flamela’s not especially feminine either by elf standards, but that’s her decision and she is beauty, she is grace, she will stab you in the face and you’d deserve it if you commented

10) communication pixies are affected by their maker’s heat, but not by getting anything similar themselves; it’s an intentional part of the spell, the pixie gets all sleepy and “drunk” and will not connect any calls without a specific code word, because absolutely no one wanted heat-sex pixie butt dials

This isn’t just an elf thing but it is in the elf-magic version of the spell; if you make a pixie with gnome-magic instead there’s a 75% chance it will also go dozy during your heat buuuuut a 25% chance it just keeps going as normal

General consensus is that the ephemeral will of magic either can’t tell when humans go into heat or considers the occasional magic butt dial necessary to the balance of the universe

A lot of older gnomes just plain don’t care about any of it and think it’s a bit funny when anyone else makes such a big fuss, since it’s just another part of life

(If Falin ever makes a pixie you KNOW it stays active during her rut you KNOW Marcille gets a butt dial dear gods is this how the Farcille confession happens in this AU)

11) orcs and kobolds don’t actually have secondary sexes by dint of not being human (wrong number of bones) and tend to consider the whole thing a little weird, but not their problem

Some orcs suspect the whole alpha-omega thing is why humans get violently territorial for basically no reason, and the sympathetic ones tend to be very gentle with someone once they learn they’re an alpha or omega

Big “oh you poor thing that sounds so difficult, let’s make sure you don’t get over excited” energy

———

I’ll add more later if I come up with anything else, but by all means hop into my sand box and play with anything you like!

A bunch of other characters and their alignments in no particular order:

Kabru - beta, but one of his only decent spells is to fake either alpha or omega pheromones at will. He’ll play any of the roles to get what he wants and what he thinks will serve him best

(He almost always plays omega with elves because 1) they don’t respect alphas the way most other humans do and 2) they’re gonna read him as a child anyway, so having specific “adult” pheromones might occasionally sway them to respect him a little more, but they’re also more likely to subconsciously protect him

He tried alpha on Mithrun when they were alone in the dungeon for all of 15 minutes before determining Mithrun couldn’t tell the difference

(Mithrun could he just doesn’t care))

Namari - alpha, works well with usually being the party tank, but as a dwarf her instincts are more “provide for needs” than “fight off enemies” which is why she loves armour and wants other people to wear it

Senshi - omega, he’s going to see the babies fed by any means necessary (but yeah it’s part of why his mining crew didn’t let him fight the griffin, he hadn’t fully hit his second puberty but they Had Suspicions)

However, since he lived alone most of his life (and was surrounded by alphas before that) he presents almost entirely as an alpha, and unless he hits heat no non-dwarfs will ever notice he isn’t

There’s not a huge difference between dwarf alpha, beta, and omegas anyway, but the alphas tend more towards crafts and making or procuring physical items to see to their loved ones’ needs while the omegas are more focused on acts of service

(Physically they’re just all Like That, like the elves)

Every dwarf who has ever met Senshi clocked him as an alpha in the first five minutes, and clocked him equally hard as an omega ten minutes later and had some mild cognitive dissonance. None of them mention it because that’s Rude

Izutsumi - alpha cat, hates you all

Chilchuck - tallest skinniest half foot omega you ever did see. Has adopted his entire union since he doesn’t see his girls anymore. His wife was a beta and the only reason she got them in the “divorce” was the girls had already moved out

(She moved in with Puckpatti)

Chilchuck is constantly low-grade losing his shit about it

Maizuru - omega, deeply dislikes how Toshiro’s father has treated him and does genuinely believe deep down that an omega like Toshiro might be a better leader specifically because he’s more empathic and considerate than their society’s demanded alpha behaviour

She will be miffed to be told the elves agree with her though

Rin - beta, accidentally presents as an omega because she picked it up in self defence while living with the elves. She does not like it but she does tend to keep herself closed off, avoid skin contact, and comes off as trying too hard not to seem meek, so people with opinions on strangers’ sexes assume she’s an omega who escaped a bad situation

(They’re not fully wrong, she hates that they’re not)

Kaka and Kiki - Kaka’s an omega, Kiki’s a beta but she intentionally presents as an alpha to keep anyone from noticing or saying shit about her brother

If she’s loud and noticeable, they won’t wonder why he’s shyer and quiet

(Kaka 1000% imprinted on Namari the first time she saved his life she is his big strong alpha he is a helpless fucking puppy so even though he’s self conscious about his height he can’t help wanting her to like his legs

Unfortunately for him Namari’s gay as hell and Kiki’s extremely into her as well and he wants his twin to be happy so he’ll be pining forever and make do with a familial alpha bond)

(Namari will never know she coulda had her pick)

Mikbell - beta cuck and a scab

Holm - the only actual alpha on Kabru’s team, has definitely noticed him switching up the pheromones and he mostly doesn’t care, he thinks that secondary-sex-fluidity is actually a really good quality in a leader (it shows he respects all of them and acknowledges the strengths they all have)

But when it comes to his sister Nope Nope Nope buster don’t you dare seduce her with some mocked up alpha juice

His sister is also an alpha but she’s alpha-for-alpha gay and gender bisexual and he’s not having it

Daya - omega, but prefers to present as an alpha because she’s actually just not that comfortable with the stereotypical omega “role”

(Again for dwarves, it’s mostly “will do caretaking” over “will procure necessary items”, but her birth clan were heavy traditionalists who considered an omega’s primary job to be “be pregnant” so she’s tossed the whole situation)

(Her partner is an alpha and oh boy did he have to work to prove he was nothing like the boys back home. He’s fully happy to be the caretaker while she brings home the bacon and she loves him for that

Most dwarves will assume he’s the omega unless told otherwise, and they’re both very comfortable with that on the extremely rare occasion that it comes up since Island dwarves usually don’t care anyway)

Kuro - kobold, not his problem, but oh boy he’s adopted Mikbell as his puppy and is gonna do his best taking care of this man

He’s fully aware Mik’s a mature adult (despite how often he pretends to be a kid to fuck with people), he can smell his pheromones, he just believes Mikbell needs a father or at least older brother figure to guide him more than just a buddy

(He and Kabru also suspect Mik might be into non sexual (probably?) age play, since he claims he acts like a kid to fuck over assholes who assume half-foots can’t be real adults, but he does it A Lot and with joy and fervour)

(Mikbell can never learn this)

Grandpa Tansu - cranky lil alpha gnome

Granny Floke - also a lil alpha gnome, they’re also alpha-for-alpha gay, but she likes watching her husband get all loud and up in arms so she doesn’t bother getting involved much

(Full Madame Giry from the good Phantom of the Opera productions, she only has to say one word to put her foot down but she actually is a nice smiling little old lady… which makes it scarier when she does it)

Tade - alpha oni, but in oni omegas and afabs are actually much bigger so she’s still pretty small for an oni (bigger than amab alphas though)

This does tend to confuse pretty much everyone else but those little buggers come out BIG and HORNED and it’s just better all around to have more space for the lil niblets

This is why Marcille’s oni form was head and shoulders too big to be seen standing next to her party she’d’ve been around a foot and a half taller than Tade because I said so

Thistle - oh the saddest most broken lil elf omega, he was in a bad way before Delgal’s dad died and then when Delgal did the “only you can save us we’re all gonna die” Thistle reverse-pioneered the Canaries by going into omega-murder-mode so hard he dungeoned an entire kingdom

And since there was not a single alpha older than him anywhere to be found he just never got to turn that off (if only someone scruffed the little bastard idk if that’s an omegaverse thing but the imagery is peak)

Imma headcanon he never actually had a cycle by dint of not finishing elf-puberty before he went Kingdom In A Bottle and stopped aging but honestly any flavour of fuckery and whenever you think he stopped aging is all good

(Since not only was Yaad born post dungeon, he grew to young adulthood and other people did age, they just didn’t die, so aging was for sure happening for like 20 years post dive)

Winged Lion - the alpha and the omega solely for the joke

If you can think of anyone else or if you have any questions lemme know and I’ll spin something off the dome for ya! (This totally wasn’t prompted by me nearly having the first full chapter of. Something. Ready to go. 👀)

If anyone else wants to chop and screw with any bits of this for any reason go wild and all I ask is a tag in because I like free candy as much as anyone else. Despite Farcille commentary it’s technically ship agnostic because honestly that’s the least interesting part of an omegaverse AU for me I’m here to get weird with sex and gender roles and cultural variance

I haven’t actually played in this sand pit much before so we can all thank/blame Omega Jason Todd week for finally tipping my interest over by giving me new levels of fuckery, we stan a 6’ omega built like a tank

[the-final-high-noon-rings]

day 1 of mechs women's week, starting strong with ivy! backstory/origin. literally always crying sobbing biting etc about her backstory/lack thereof. what do you mean her home burned down what do you MEAN she can't remember shit

@mechanismswomensweek

[ID: A digital drawing of Ivy Alexandia from the Mechanisms curled up in what seems to be the corner of a library. Ivy is a mid-sized white woman with dark red hair and a hooked nose. She pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, tucking her head town. Ivy's eyes are closed, and it looks as if she is squeezing them shut as hard as she can. She is wearing an ankle-length purple-grey skirt, a reddish gray button-up, with cuffs around her elbows, as well as a dark red vest and a muted teal tie with matching boots. Ivy's hair is shaved short on the sides, but is long on the top, and pulled back into a ponytail that reaches down to the crook of her neck. In the shaved bits of her head, there are small bits of circuitry to represent her mechanism. She is wearing long golden heart-shaped earrings. Around her feet are two brown books, one flat on the floor next to her heel, the other propped up, leaning against a bookshelf in the background. There is also blurry sheet music and a silver flute on the ground. The background appears to be a small nook between two shelves in a library, with vague book shapes. The entire background is done in reds and purples, and there is a slight pinkish hue to the entirety of the drawing. End ID]

[currentlyonstandbi]

i like to imagine a possibility that if Jayce and Viktor really do get sent into a different timeline/universe by the rune at the end, that Viktor gets to keep a little bit of his connection to the Arcane . as a treat

[lovesickeros]

lord its so dark in here the sahara desert of tsaritsa content you are like a shining oasis. your characterisation of her compels me & mihoyo would be hard pressed to top it imo.!! caaaaan i humbly request yr thoughts on her first meeting w a reader of any kind, or maybe even multiple kinds (sagau, sagau god au, isekai, etc) if you so desire...

it really is like a desert here. being the fan of a character we aren't getting until the last damn nation is driving me up a wall but i will persevere bc if nothing else i support morally bankrupt women in media. we r in a severe drought over here but i do my best. unfortunately nothing i say is ever coherent so pull out your translation notes its abt 2 be messy

also this got out of hand but thats bc first meetings w the tsaritsa are tricky to write + a LOT of her characterization lies in deeper exploration then just surface level yknow...NOT A DIG AT YOU this is just my excuse for rambling. gently pats the tsaritsa she can hold so much complexity i do not have the word count to delve into it completely :]

gonna talk cult au for a bit here though because that's 99% of my content. and honestly? she thrives in sub au's of the cult au like villain au + imposter au. it's basically made for her. i mean, early days, the imposter au had been going around for a little while but one of the first few ideas was the Fatui taking reader in so like. it kinda technically actually was. pretty sure cult au Tsaritsa popped up because of the imposter au. a lot of it's writers kinda left though which. man am i getting old or.

anyway.

there isn't much of a chance her first impression is all that positive. at best it's usually neutral, imo, but rarely if ever positive. specifically because i view the Tsaritsa as someone who isn't as fanatical as most of the acolytes typically are towards the creator. she's not exactly going to worship the ground you walk on unlike a certain geo lizard. which is partially why i think she thrives in the sub au's i mentioned.

imposter au, for example. she meets you at your lowest. there's no gaudy extravagance or pampering from the acolytes waiting for you because your own acolytes have turned on you. for all intents and purposes you aren't a "god" at all. which is why i don't think she meshes well with normal cult au reader. the Fatui are made up of outcasts, basically, and imposter au slots right in just perfectly. you're weak, at your lowest, when you meet the Fatui in the imposter au. and the Fatui can help you, too.

a mutual exchange, really. the Tsaritsa sees a tool she can use to one up the rest of the nations and especially Archons, and she has no qualms about you using her and the Fatui in turn. you both want something out of it, after all. whether you just want to be safe from the rest of the acolytes, or you want revenge, or whatever else..she'll give you the power to fulfill it, and she gains the strongest piece on the chessboard when all is said and done.

the best way i can describe the first meeting is "practical", i suppose. she sees an opportunity in you. the ultimate gamble. because if she "saves" you, and you dont trust anyone else because they tried to kill you, well..she holds all the cards, doesn't she?

but the Tsaritsa, imo, is just as capable of being just as fanatical towards you as anyone else. she just won't worship you as the creator. but as yourself? clawing your way back to your divine power and taking back what belongs to you? the Tsaritsa is, to me, a character who's character flourishes in long-term fics more because she changes a LOT between "just met reader" and after having been with reader for some time. she's practically apathetic at the beginning but a lot of her character, in my characterization, shines through LONG after the first meeting.