#Post-Canon Fix-It

[truth-in-red-blog]

I did plan to write this at one point.

"What if Lan Xichen was jealous of Jin Guangyao and Su Minshan's friendship?" (also inspired by ep. 26, even if it follows the novel lore more).

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63256471

Also HBD JGY!!

[myqueenmarceline]

Watching and Waiting

Summary: Patrick sits next to Eli's hospital bed and waits for him to wake up.

Warnings: discussion of surgery/medical procedures and painkillers, but nothing is very explicit and it's mostly offscreen. This is generally a pretty fluffy/lighter piece.

Another Companion fic in two days? You know it XD Thank you to Viskas on ao3 for inspiring me to write this, and @nebula-gaster for beta reading

Read it on ao3 here or below the cut:

48: “Yep, perfectly clear”

7 letters.

Patrick looked at the blank column, then back at the clue.

With most of these crossword puzzles, if he didn’t have a good idea of what was going on, he could at least muster a guess. The word started with an “I”, but that didn’t help him at all. He could have changed his intelligence and solved it easily, but that defeated the point of doing a puzzle.

He sighed, lowering the puzzle book and looking around the room. With all of the advances modern technology offered, it was amazing that no one had bothered to learn how to design a nice hospital room. The cream walls seemed dingy, the space was so tight it was almost claustrophobic, and if Patrick had been human, the uncomfortable chair he was sitting in would have ruined his back after a few hours.

Luckily, in spite of his ability to still feel pain, his body could still be pushed further than a regular human’s could. As long as he had a portable charging plug, he didn’t need to leave.

Something shifted to his left. Patrick turned around so fast that he nearly fell out of his chair. He flailed for a moment, then held his breath as he stood up.

The bedsheets he’d meticulously tucked after the last nurse’s visit had been disturbed. As he watched, Eli shifted again, bunching the sheet on his right side slightly the same way he always had at home.

He stepped closer to the bed, doing his best to be as silent as possible. The numbers on the machines hooked up on the other side of the bed were completely steady, except for a rising pulse. It had jumped up to 80 beats per minute to 98, and for a moment, Patrick wondered if there was about to be a crash.

When he looked back, Eli’s eyes were open. He stared forward into nothing, his gaze unfocused. He tried to move again, but groaned in pain and went limp.

Patrick leaned over, getting in as close as possible without climbing over the bed. He wasn’t trained in CPR. How long would it take the nurses to respond to a call?

He carefully rested his hand on Eli’s chest. Maybe the touch would settle him enough to convince him not to move. He’d still be extremely sore, but everything would be better with a bit of extra pain management. Patrick reached over and pressed the call button once, then twice.

The heart monitor’s beeping sped up more. His heart felt like it was going to stop as he carefully rubbed Eli’s chest. Eli’s breathing was still fine, slow and shallow like it had been since he’d first come out of surgery.

“Hi.”

Patrick looked up, and found his partner staring at him. His pupils were dilated, and the big, sweet smile that always made Patrick’s heart skip a beat was plastered across his face. He tilted his head slightly, staring up at him like he was the only other human being in the world.

“Hey, you.” Patrick moved his hand off of Eli’s chest, gently running his fingers through Eli’s hair. It was greasy, but that didn’t matter right now. “How’re you feeling?”

Eli tilted his head, pressing into the touch as much as he could. “I love you.”

If words carried an electrical charge, those three alone would have been enough to power him for a month. “I love you too.”

“You’re so handsome,” Eli said, still staring intently at him. He’d always been a romantic, and apparently whatever was left of his last IV was bringing out the best in him.

“You're so sweet.” Patrick leaned in and kissed his forehead, then stood up properly. “I’m happy you’re back with me, baby.”

“I’m happy too.” Eli yawned, leaning back on the pillow and relaxing even more. “Yay, happy time.”

“It’s a very happy time. Are you feeling tired? It’s alright, just go to sleep. I’ll be here again when you wake up.” He certainly would; he’d spent the last three days waiting as Eli went in and out of surgery twice.

Eli mumbled something too quiet for his audio processors to hear, and closed his eyes. In less than 30 seconds, his pulse had already begun to slip back down.

Patrick kept staring at Eli’s face, thinking of his smile over and over. The more he thought about a memory, the better his photographic retention would be, and he wanted to keep this one forever.

When a nurse hustled in, Patrick finally turned away. He explained the situation and hovered near her, ready to jump in and help in any way possible. It was a miracle that his partner was alive, and he’d rather throw himself out of the closest window than do anything to jeopardize his recovery.

[jayvik-ao3]

Let Dead Dogs Lie

by Shaylinne

Rated T, 1.5k words, complete

Tags: post-canon fix-it, grief/mourning, growing old together, ekko's alternate universe

Summary:

It’s too easy for Jayce to forget, sometimes, that Viktor isn’t nice. Viktor’s good. Viktor’s kind. Viktor wants to lift up the weak and the helpless and cast down the mighty. But he isn’t nice. And he’s only human: sometimes, he takes things too far. Sometimes, Jayce wonders if Viktor pictures perfection as a vast white wasteland: sterile, untouched. But Jayce isn’t one to criticise. He, too, has his flaws. That night, Jayce pictures Viktor bent over the welding bench and he takes himself in his hand, moving quick and fast and cruel until he comes. Yes: he, too, has his flaws.

or: Jayce is down bad, and Viktor slowly notices.

[tragicallywicked]

shadows of deception

by tragicallywicked

Summary:

In the unforgiving world of espionage, Lorraine Broughton finds herself entangled in a web of emotional conflict. As a dedicated MI6 agent, she grapples with the demands of her duty, striving to maintain her cover and fulfill her mission in Cold War Berlin. Yet, her heart yearns for the warmth she has found in the arms of Delphine Lasalle, a French operative. In the delicate balance between loyalty and desire, Lorraine is torn between protecting Delphine and safeguarding the secrets that could jeopardize their relationship.

Notes:

Here's a drabble of them, because apparently they can't ever leave my brain. Hope you enjoy!

The Berlin nights were cold, and the city itself seemed to hold secrets in every shadow. Lorraine Broughton, an MI6 agent, navigated the streets with a practiced grace, her eyes scanning for any sign of danger. She knew the risks when she had a mission to complete, but tonight had nothing to do with the mission.

Amongst the tension and relentless intrigue that defined their lives, Lorraine Broughton sought solace in the tender embrace of Delphine Lasalle, a French operative whose very presence radiated a warmth that could melt the frostiest of hearts (Lorraine's included). In the shelter of their connection, a profound sense of solace took root, as if their souls had found a refuge from the storm. It was a flame that burned with an intensity that defied the frigid surroundings, a magnetic force drawing them closer with each passing moment.

Lorraine never found herself to be an addict of anything. She enjoyed her Stoli on ice quite regularly, but her line work asked for something strong to numb the pain (both mental and physical). But she had no other vices. Yet, Delphine was proving to defy that understanding Lorraine had about herself. Four nights in a row on a mission was against any and all rules Lorraine (or any special agent) had about involvements during missions—even when they were purely about the mission (which wasn't the case in point anymore). 

To make matters worst, tonight was the fifth night.

She couldn't resist when Delphine telephoned her at the hotel. They arranged to meet a club nearby, loud and crowded like the first time, where they sipped on vodka and leaned on each other's ears to be heard. Lorraine's lips always teasing Delphine's earlobe, and Delphine's breath taunting the hairs on Lorraine's neck. Their connection crackled with electricity, an intricate dance of passion and vulnerability that wove an enchanting tapestry around them. In Delphine's eyes, Lorraine glimpsed a depth of understanding that transcended words. They spoke a language reserved only for them, a symphony of unspoken desires and unyielding devotion.

Within the haven of their shared moments, Lorraine and Delphine discovered an escape from the harsh reality that enveloped them. Even as they crawled in each other's arms at yet another club bathroom. With Delphine pressing Lorraine against the wall this time, even though it was the blonde's fingers tugged inside the french's clothes to drive her wild. In each other's arms, they sought respite from the treacherous world of espionage, where trust was a scarce commodity and danger lurked at every corner. There, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, they found a sanctuary—an oasis of silent promises and breathy moans that nurtured their broken spirits and replenished their strength.

Dephine wasn't as broken and lived as Lorraine. Broughton had been in this line of business since always whilst Delphine had been fished out from the world into this tumultuous chaos. Lorraine felt for her. She had no time for it, yet she wanted to valiantly protect Delphine's spirits, to guard her joyful soul from the war and danger that surrounded them. It was dangerous to do it, to open herself up to the point she cared. Even if the words of worry were never spoken, it was there in the way Lorraine would look at her after sex, or how she would kiss her just a little bit harder and hold her a little bit stronger when Delphine would utter out something foolish that could definitely get her killed.

In the intimate moments they shared, the walls that shielded them from the outside world crumbled, revealing the raw vulnerability that lay beneath her hardened exteriors. Delphine's whispered confessions about her admiration toward Lorraine (her wit, her strength, her delicious body—Delphine loved it all like the French did most things, passionately), and their stolen kisses bore witness to the depths of their connection, a bond forged amidst the crucible of secrecy and danger.

Within the cocoon of their love, whether that was Lorraine's hotel room or Delphine's flat (wherever suited them best on each day), time seemed to stand still. Their hearts beat in unison, a rhythmic melody that echoed in sync with the desires that swelled within them. The outside world faded into insignificance as their bodies entwined, each touch an affirmation of the flames that burned within their souls.

In the embrace of Delphine's arms, Lorraine found something she hadn't had in so long—an anchor that grounded her amidst the tempest of her mission. The warmth that emanated from Delphine's touch thawed the icy tendrils of fear and uncertainty that gripped her heart. It was a precious respite from the relentless pursuit of truth and the unyielding demands of her profession. Together, Lorraine and Delphine navigated the intricate dance of love and secrecy, cherishing the stolen moments they could claim as their own. In those stolen fragments of time, they found solace, a flickering light that illuminated the darkest corners of their lives.

But duty, like a merciless sentinel, stood in the way of their happiness. Lorraine was torn between Delphine and her commitment to the mission. Her superiors demanded unwavering loyalty, an unyielding devotion to the cause. It gnawed at her, twisting her heart in conflicting directions.

Nights turned into days, and Lorraine found herself wrestling with her emotions. Every stolen moment with Delphine felt like a lifeline, a fragile thread keeping her grounded. Yet, the weight of her mission pressed upon her shoulders, threatening to snap that connection and plunge her into darkness. As the mission grew more perilous, doubts began to seep into Lorraine's mind. Whispers of betrayal echoed through the corridors of her thoughts. She couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that someone close to her had ulterior motives, a hidden agenda that threatened everything she held dear. Delphine, with her doe-like eyes and gentle touch, became both the source of Lorraine's strength and the root of her turmoil. The connection they shared was a dance on a knife's edge, the delicate balance between trust and deception. Lorraine questioned if she could truly confide in Delphine or if their connection was merely a web of lies.

In a dimly lit room, Lorraine stood face to face with Delphine, their eyes locked in a silent battle of lust and suspicion. The air crackled with tension, the room heavy with unspoken words. Each word they would share held the power to change everything. Driven by a desire to protect not only Delphine but also the mission, Lorraine chose to believe was in fact the character she had studied—fresh and naive in this spy business. In a way, she was letting her emotions mingle with duty, but every time Delphine's fingers intertwined in her hair and their mouths slid together it felt like destinies colliding, like two stars in a cosmic dance, and Lorraine could tell the whole world to just fuck up and explode. She didn't care about nothing else but Delphine's pulse against her lips when she went down on her for the billionth time that week.

When the mission came to an end, Lorraine knew she had done what was necessary, but at a great cost. The bittersweet taste of victory clung to her mouth, mingling with the ache in her heart, but it was Delphine's taste that lingered on her soul—the constant reminder of yet another sacrifice. She had lost something irreplaceable, a connection that could never be mended. In the cold London night, Lorraine walked away, leaving behind the warmth and passion she had found in Delphine's arms. The echoes of their love lingered, an indelible mark on her soul. She knew that even in the shadowy world of spies, where loyalties shifted like sand, their connection would forever remain a flicker of light in her memory.

It was in Montana, when she returned to the states, that Lorraine saw Delphine again. Sitting on a fence by a blue house with white window. Lorraine had grown up there, she recalled that much from her childhood. But how had Delphine tracked down the safehouse in the states? She would have to give Emmett an earful, he was her handler and the only one aware of that asset that was Lorraine's even though it stood under an alias for the sole purpose of not being found. Delphine was too new to have tracked the place down on her own in less than a week. How had she managed to lure the white mare that stood beside her, head petted by the long fingers she had? She was Lorraine's favorite horse and quite the untamable animal (much like Lorraine herself in a sense. How in hell did she look so damn pretty in jeans and boots and the Montana sky? There was no answer to that one.

She asked her none of those questions, instead slipping into the space between her legs and watching her as she lowered to kiss her. (Delphine was never the taller one between them, but switch was throughly appreciated.) There was not a need for answers, the only thing Lorraine craved was Delphine.

When she performed CPR on Delphine back in Berlin, she thought she would be upset at her for not staying. Lorraine had made sure Delphine was alive and breathing, she had kissed her temples and then she had slipped away with the envelope on the counter addressed to herself. She didn't stay and Delphine was a poet, an artistic soul. Lorraine assumed she would not wish to see her any longer. Precisely why she had left Europe without tracking her down. There was no need for further heartbreak. The mission was complete and Delphine was safe. But she was there now and all Lorraine could think of was taking her inside the house and burying her head on the pillow while she laid naked and tangled on clean sheets and Delphine's limbs.

Which was exactly what they did.

[kitttcatalyst]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63129223/chapters/161668198

I’ve lived a thousand lives.

I remember all of them.

Every time, it’s the same—I find him, I lose him. We fight, we burn, we die. One of us always goes first. Never got it right. Not once. Not ever.

But this time—this time, he’s not him.

Izuku’s gone. In his place is Haruto—same soul, same fire, but new. A girl, a fresh start. A future we were never meant to have.

I should let it go. Should leave her to live this life without the weight of a thousand pasts clawing at her heels.

But I can’t.

Because no matter how many times we’ve burned, no matter how many times we’ve lost—

We always find our way back.

And this time?

This time, I’m not letting go.

[junodoom]

wen ning 🥰🥰🥰 need i say more

[spicy-apple-pie]

The little bow was Isha's touch lol

Commission Info / Kofi (members get comics a week early)

[veliseraptor]

the weird schrödinger's emotion that is "that character death was narratively satisfying and emotionally impactful and ultimately the best way to handle their character arc" simultaneously with "noooo but I wanted them to live :( :( :("

[proxycrit]

I interrupt my zelda posting with caitvi because Arcane changed my brain chemistry

(ight, now i go back on hiatus! If you want to see my sketchbook which I WILL be posting until the day I wither, check out patreon! Now excuse me as i crawl back into my warm little den)

((Im also currently significantly more active on my instagram posting commission work, if you wanna see it :0))

Edit: ah dang it the hyperfixation’s set in.

[merlins-strawberriesandroses]

POV you’ve informed the Queen and the Court’s Sorcerer of something and they very clearly know something that they’re not letting on

[lizardbrainlabs]

Your interpretation of Hector talking with Bauhauzzo post-game (if you can see that happening) would be neat!!

oh the horrors of knowing no one can fix the problem except for you

[tremendously-crazy]

Hilson post canon storyline will always be this to me:

House and Wilson's road trip lasts like a week or two. After that, Wilson has an epiphany in the middle of the night in some crummy hotel that he WANTS to live. 5 months isn't enough time to spend with his best friend, doing stupid stuff together and having fun. It's his own choice, and he realizes that he's willing to be in pain for House. (And maybe he also realizes he's gay and he doesn't want to be in denial anymore yada yada)

Wilson changes his mind (again) and the very next day decides to start treatment. House supports him completely and is both relieved and terrified. It's painful, it's scary, it's everything Wilson worried about, but House stays by his side unwaveringly the entire time. He's an honest, grounding force. After a year or two or three, Wilson finally declared cancer free, with House right alongside him ringing that bell.

House and Wilson don't "settle down" for the first few years after he gets better. they keep living their life the same way, traveling the country together and living life to the fullest, making up for all the time they lost during Wilson's treatment, and enjoying the time they've been given. Maybe one day, when they're both tired of life on the road, they buy a house together (Wilson buys the house because House is legally dead). They don't get married (that's against House's entire belief system), but all their neighbors assume they are. House somehow changes his identity and is known on all important and unimportant paperwork as "Steve McQueen."

Maybe they'll adopt a kid (a daughter because come on House and Wilson are girl dads) or get a dog, or maybe they'll just enjoy being together. Maybe Wilson and House will even find a way to reconcile with Cuddy.

And then, at some point in the now present (2024-2025 ish), they get a knock on the door. It's Foreman, who knew House was alive all along and tracked him down. There's a grave situation going on at PPTH, and he's run out of all options. He needs House to figure it out. House, at first, declines but eventually decides to help with Wilson's blessing. Boom. that's how you start the 9th season of House.

[tallykale]

a bit of my postcanon vision

i heart people arguing

[19silvermirrors]

Greeting the Ambassador the proper way💙❤️

[cool-and-grizzled]

Lance throws his keys into the bowl in the entryway as he steps inside, and shucks off his shoes, in his usual messy way that Keith will complain about later.

"Babe, I'm home!" He calls out as he shrugs off his coat.

There's no answer as he walks to the kitchen to put away the groceries, and he can't even hear Keith puttering around upstairs either. That's unusual, he's usually home by the time Lance gets back from his last class, especially when he does a quick grocery run after he's finished.

"Keith?" He asks, walking into the living room to look for him.

He smiles when he spots his boyfriend passed out on the couch, his right hand hanging off the edge, fingers buried in Kosmo's fur, who's snoring like a tractor engine at the foot of the couch. Keith's face is smushed against the pillows, his bun messy at the top of his head, the shorter strands that escaped from it hanging into his eyes and snaking down his neck.

He looks so much younger like this, with the frown lines on his forehead smoothed out in his sleep. Lance sits down on the arm of the couch, and just watches him.

It's a rare sight, Keith sleeping, to him -- usually Keith is the one to fall asleep later and wake up first. He can take in the calm expression on his face, the crinkles in the corner of his eye from all the smiling still visible. His smiles are less rare, nowadays, but no less radiant and it still has the same devastating effect on Lance as it did when they were younger.

He gently brushes away the strand of hair that fell into his eye, careful not to wake him. As much as he used to tease Keith about his hair, he grow fond of the long haired look on him, loves running his hands through the silky locks, washing it for Keith because he knows no matter how much he'd harped on him about it, Keith wouldn't take proper care of it -- at least like this, it works in both of their favors, but mostly Lance's. He loves playing with it as they cuddle on the couch, watching a show or a movie on the TV during lazy nights in. Loves burying his fingers in it as he kisses Keith, as Keith takes him apart from the inside out.

He traces the purple mark on his cheek with a featherlight touch, a reminder both of his heritage and the fight with the clone of Shiro. He used to catch Keith staring at it with a frown, touching it with hesitant hands, his eyes sad. Lance did his best to soothe the pain of the memory associated with it, tracing and kissing it with all his affection.

He gets up from the arm of the couch, and steps away to pull a blanket over him, letting him sleep a little longer. His last mission has been exhausting, and even after two days back home the purple bags under his eyes barely lessened. He leans down to press a kiss to the small mole at his hairline, and he ruffles the fur between Kosmo's ears before walking back to the kitchen to put away the groceries.

Not even five minutes later, as he's putting the things into the cupboard over the counter, he hears the shuffling of socked feet on the kitchen tiles. Before he knows it, he's swallowed from the back by a blanket, Keith's arms trapping his against his torso. He feels Keith bury his face in his back, leaning his weight against Lance. A Keith still half asleep is a clingy Keith, and Lance will enjoy every moment of it.

"Hi there, sleepyhead."

"You're late," Keith mumbles into his shirt, his hold tightening on him.

Lance chuckles, and turns around to face his boyfriend. "I had to get some groceries."

"Fuck the groceries."

"You wouldn't have had enough of that sugary abomination you call breakfast for tomorrow if I hadn't gone."

Keith frowns at him. "Okay, first of all, strawberry pop tarts aren't abominations. Second, I could've eaten something else."

"And you would've been grumpy all morning because you didn't get your sugar shock first thing in the morning," Lance says, pressing a quick kiss on the tip of Keith's nose.

Keith scrunches his nose, as he always does when Lance does this, and he's so cute like this, Lance can't help but kiss him properly.

[sengenism]

gen doesn't like losing