#but you know that's still progress for me

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Dp x Dc short idea

Jason is Danny’s dad

Warning: Language

Jason had just returned to the family publicly about two weeks ago. It hadn’t even been that long for him to settle before something happened. The press weren’t even off his ass and he has Alfred requesting he return home for an urgent matter immediately, which is butler speak for get your ass here right now!

The family was happy but adjusting to everything. They had mandatory family dinners at least twice a month and voluntarily got together more frequently, mostly just the siblings, but every once in a while Bruce would sneak in for a movie in the family room.

Alfred was pleased with the progress the family has made over the course of many years. It finally felt like everything was coming together and maybe settling down. He knew he thought that too soon when he answered the buzzer at the front gate. They weren’t expecting any visitors and looking at the video feed it was a young woman with hands on her hips glaring back at the camera. There were two large bags with her and surprisingly enough a young child playing in the grass just a short distance behind her.

“Wayne Residence, Alfred Pennyworth speaking, how may I assist you, ma’am?”

“Lettin’ me in for starters,” she says back with venom on her tongue.

“My apologies, but you do not have an appointment.”

She snorts, “Nah, but ya see, I saw that bastard on the news and thought I’d drop off what he gave me.”

To get her point across, she turns and looks back at the little boy not paying her any attention.

“Danny!” She snaps and he jerks his head to look at, who Alfred is assuming is, his mother. “Come here.”

He hops up at his own pace and dusts off the grass on his knees before trotting over. She leans down to angle the young boy away from the camera and pushing back his hair.

He couldn’t see it well before by the way the boy was positioned before, but Alfred could clearly see a prominent patch of white hair on the left lower section by his neck. Just like the white batch on Jason.

“You gonna let us in now?” She asks rudely.

Alfred has already determined he did not like this woman. He still buzzes them in. He contacts Jason immediately followed closely with Bruce.

Alfred then helps the two carry in the bags, while subtly checking for any weapons or explosives. Instead he finds things meant for a child.

He really didn’t like this woman.

Bruce is the first one to arrive down the stairs, pausing towards the bottom. He glances at Alfred and can see the displeasure in the butler’s eyes.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Bruce Wayne, nice to meet you.”

“Fuckin’ everyone knows who you are, Brucie Wayne,” she huffs with a roll of her eyes.

Bruce glances down at the very young child who is hearing the foul language. He couldn’t be more than five, and completely oblivious as the little boy runs a hand along the wall and looks around at everything. He particularly keeps going back to the shiny chandelier above their heads.

“Who might you be?” He asks the woman, coming back to her as she almost touches the vase on the entry table. She draws her hand back to fold her arms across her chest.

“Grace.”

The name seems ironic compared to her behavior.

“And how can I help you, Miss Grace?”

“Your thought-to-be-dead son left something of his. I’m here to return it.”

It took no detective to determine she was talking about the boy currently using the door frame to the sitting room as leverage to rock back and forth, holding on with his tiny hands. Bruce could see the splash of white among the dark hair from this angle.

Bruce hums.

“Is that so?”

“I’ve already contacted Master Jason. He should be arriving soon. Shall I prepare some refreshments in the drawing room?” Alfred informs.

“Thank you, Alfred. Right this way,” he says to Grace, directing her toward the left while pulling out his phone to ask Tim to prepare the proper equipment downstairs.

“Danny!” The woman calls with impatience. She glares at the little boy who calmly turns to look at her, then skips behind them.

Grace huffs but doesn’t say anything else as they enter the room. She sits herself in the middle of the love seat and Bruce takes one of the chairs across from her. The boy, Danny, explores the room thoroughly, walking around without pattern and investigating every nook and cabinet to keep himself entertained. Very curious little child.

Bruce tries to engage her in conversation to dig up more information, but she firmly wanted to wait for Jason before divulging anything. He did however find out that Danny is four and needs to be enrolled in kindergarten next turn. Grace works night shift but wouldn’t say where.

Alfred came with three waters, one in a smaller plastic cup for Danny, and a plate of crackers and cut up fruit.

Grace eyes the butler with a raised brow. However, the first words Danny has spoken in their presence is a cute, “Thank you, mister,” before munching on a cracker and sipping from his cup. His curious eyes flick over the fruit and wanders over to his mother who picks at a rip in her jeans. He taps her knee and she sighs.

“What is it?”

“What’s that?”

Danny points to the fruit.

“What’s what?”

He creeps forward to point directly at the blackberries mixed in with the blueberries and strawberries.

“Blackberry,” she answers shortly.

“What’s it taste like?”

“Why don’t you try it and find out?”

He must have approved of that suggestion and reaches in to clumsily wrap a tiny hand around one of the dark berries. He flips it over in his hand for a minute, observing it at all angles, feeling the texture of the little bumps, before shoving it in his mouth. Danny leans his body over the coffee table to drag the bowl closer and rummage through it for more goodies.

Really looking at him, Bruce could see Jason’s freckles and the few other similarities like his square jaw and lip shape. He hasn’t seen it yet but Bruce bets Danny has the same crooked grin as his son.

He has the woman’s pale complexion and nose shape. His hair was straight like hers instead of Jason’s curls, but Danny took his dark coloring compared to her light brunette.

The boy was an adorable mix of both his son and this woman. He almost felt the test was unnecessary, but he didn’t stop Alfred from replacing the plastic cup and take it back to the kitchen where he knew it would be handed off to Tim.

Thankfully it was a day where there weren’t any meetings for either of them to attend.

Surprisingly, it isn’t Jason that enters the room first, it’s Damian coming home from school. The fourteen year old, almost fifteen, holds a leash in one hand with Titus standing patiently next to him, ready for his after school walk.

“Father, I heard we have guests.”

The teen stops in the doorway and Danny turns with interest until he spots the animal, then his eyes bug with excitement.

“Mommy, doggie,” he whisper shouts.

She just hums in affirmative, looking the new arrival up and down.

Danny grabs a blackberry from the bowl and trots over to Damian. He holds out the piece of fruit.

“This is a blackberry,” he states proudly.

Damian blinks down at the small child. Titus tilts his head, his nose working hard.

“I’m aware.”

“You can have it, if you let me pet your doggie,” he negotiates like he needed to give something in order to receive permission.

Damian looks up to his father for answers.

“Jason will be here soon,” is what he gets instead, his father’s lips twitch.

Damian looks back down in sudden realization when he sees the similarities between the man and this boy. He sighs tiredly.

“Pennyworth. A wet washcloth if you please.”

“Right away, Master Damian.”

“Next time, you only need to ask to pet Titus, you do not need to give me anything in return,” he tells the child.

Danny looks down at the berry sitting in his stained hands.

“So you don’t want it?”

“…Maybe later.”

“Okay!”

Danny skips back to carefully set the berry off the side on the tray, as if to save it for Damian for later like he said. He jogs the short distance back to them.

“Can I pet your doggie now, please?”

Damian takes the washcloth Alfred hands him with a nod and crouches down to get level with the boy.

“We must wipe our hands first. We don’t want anything sticky in his fur,” he explains as he holds out the washcloth for Danny’s hands.

The four year old looks down at the stains to see what he means and then places his hands on the washcloth for Damian to get the juices off.

The teen then calmly explains how to properly approach a dog he does not know by letting Titus smell the back of his hand first and then to always stay calm and confident.

Titus, the gentle giant that he is, had no problems letting the tiny child pat him and run small fingers through his short fur. It was endearing to hear the giggles when Titus used his big nose to sniff at the child’s face and neck. Sitting down, Titus was taller than the child standing up, which would have been scary to some kids, but Danny seemed to love Titus instantly. The little boy easily telling the dog what a good boy he is even with the dog sitting there doing nothing.

“Titus needs his afternoon walk now,” Damian informs.

Titus stands at the word walk, clearly ready to go.

“Oh, okay.” Danny turns to the big dog to reach up and pat his head twice. “Bye-bye, Titus. Have a good walk.”

The two leave and Danny skips back over to hang over the arm of the love seat his mother sits in, typing on her phone.

“Mommy, did you see the doggie? His name is Titus. He’s a good dog.”

“Uh-huh,” she comments without really listening.

“Do you like dogs, Danny?” Bruce asks with a smile.

Danny looks at him like he forgot the man was there, tilts his head as he studies him for a moment. Bruce waits patiently until Danny deems him okay and perks back up with bright eyes.

“Uh-huh! I love dogs! Mommy says we can’t get one ‘cuz our ‘partment is too small and they’re dirty. You’s guys are lucky,” the boy rambles as he wanders around the coffee table to get closer to Bruce and away from his distracted mother.

“How do you feel about cats? Damian has a black and white one around here somewhere.”

Danny shrugs and they continue to have a rather pleasant conversation about different animals and foods and each of their houses. It takes up the amount of time for Jason to walk through the door, seemingly already informed of the situation from Alfred.

Jason was… flabbergasted. Bewildered. Caught unprepared. He was a lot of words. Mostly he was scared.

Did he really have a child? A son? If that was true then he missed so much. He missed all of his firsts. First words, first steps, first laugh, first everything.

Would the boy even like him? What if he saw all his scars and was scared of him? What if he didn’t want anything to do with Jason after not being in his life this whole time?

But the boy might not be his. There’s that. That could be… Jason didn’t like the disappointment that thought brought.

Grace was the first one he noticed. Her ripped jeans and low cut top being out of place among the antique furniture and Persian rug. She scowls at him, putting her phone down.

“Finally decided to show up?”

He bites back a comment. He broke several traffic laws to get here, it wasn’t his fault he was fourty minutes away at the time he got the call.

He glances over at Bruce and instead his eyes zero in on the child standing by the armchair Bruce was sitting in.

Just one look and he knew the boy was his.

He looks to Bruce anyway for confirmation, since he has no doubt he sent off a sample to Tim hiding like the troll he is in the basement. The man nods. Jason sucks in a deep breath and suddenly needs to sit down.

He sinks heavily in the matching armchair next to Bruce’s, separated only by a round end table. Jason can’t stop staring at those big, blue eyes that are filled with such curiosity and innocence he almost breaks down right then. But he can’t. He has to be strong. He can’t just walk away to get a handle on his emotions. He’s a dad now.

“You’re a hard man to find,” Grace folds her arms over her chest.

“I’ve been busy,” he answers lamely.

She humphs and looks away with a shake of her head.

The boy, Danny Alfred said his name was, creeps around Bruce’s legs to get closer, obviously seeing something in Jason enough to investigate. The room is quiet as they wait to see how Danny will react.

Coming to a stop right before his knees, Danny stares up at the large man with lots of scars and muscles from what he can see. He wasn’t scared. There was just something familiar that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He looks… he looks like… and he also feels almost like…

Furrowing his brows in a pout, he knows his Mommy doesn’t like it when he does it, but he still makes his eyes burn with green.

The man gasps and his eyes also swirl into an angry green.

“Daddy?” Danny asks with hope and joy.

Daddy swallows and then nods.

“Yea, buddy, I’m your dad.”

“Daddy!” The boy cheers, jumping in place with a wide smile. “Daddy! Mommy, look! It’s Daddy!”

Danny wastes no time climbing into the man’s lap and wrapping his arms around him as far as they’ll go (not very far) to press his ear to Jason’s chest over his heart. He’s practically vibrating with excitement and Jason makes sure to set a large hand on his back to hold him close.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Grace hisses, her eyes wide at the display earlier. Both of their eyes had returned to their calmer blue and teal color, but everyone in the room saw it. “I knew he got it from you.”

His eyes narrow in warning, pulling the boy closer to his chest. He sets a hand over Danny’s exposed ear to protect him from the harsh words he’s probably already heard before.

“Do you have any idea how creepy it is to deal with a tantrum when your kid has fucking glowing green eyes?”

“Did you hit him?” Jason growls, the vibrations seeming to settle Danny even more.

“Please, I’m not my mother,” she dismisses with a sneer.

Could have fooled him.

“Everything was fine until he started doing freaky shit. I don’t know how to raise a meta kid, alright?”

“What are you talking about?”

Now he was just confused. What stuff was Danny doing that Grace thought he was a meta?

“Don’t try to pretend you don’t have powers too,” she points viciously.

“I’m not pretending. I don’t have powers. I don’t have the meta gene. What can he do?” He demands while being transparently clear.

She just glares back at him, obviously not believing him. That didn’t exactly matter at the moment.

“What can he do?” He repeats with emphasis.

She puckers her lips like she’s tasted something sour and then lifts her chin.

“Why doesn’t he just show you, huh? Danny- Would you stop babying him? Danny, show him the things you can do.”

After Jason takes the hand off the boy’s head, Danny turns to his mother warily.

“But you don’t like it,” he reminds, like she forgot.

“He wants to see it, so show him,” she waves a hand at Jason like he just asked for something he would regret.

Danny leans back to look up at his dad.

“You won’t get mad? Or scared?”

He sounds so unsure and scared. As if Jason could ever hate him. Jason really wants to punch something. Preferably something with her face on it.

“I promise I won’t.”

Another parent might have something more profound to say to reassure their child, but Jason was just starting out and honestly, it was more than Bruce would ever say.

Danny thinks for a second before wiggling to get down. He looks back once more at his mother who gives him a ‘get on with it’ motion.

The boy fidgets a little before covering his face with two hands like he’s playing hide and seek, then- disappears. Jason jerks at watching his son blink out of sight like a Martian.

“Boo!” Danny pops back into view, exactly where he was standing before with his hands out like any child on Halloween.

Jason blinks and then starts laughing. This was karma. Danny could literally become invisible, something the Bats train to do for years.

“That was good, buddy,” Jason chuckles, ruffling the kid’s hair.

Danny hesitantly smiles back, a bit of hope and pride in those eyes.

“There’s more,” Grace interrupts, seemingly uneasy with how well Jason reacted.

“Yea?” Jason directs to Danny, his focus on his son.

Danny gives a shaky nod, glancing over worriedly at Bruce who is just silently watching. Jason could see the tension in his shoulders but also the intrigue.

The boy places a hand on the coffee table and focuses on his hand. It took a few minutes of concentration before Danny’s hand went through the table like he was just dunking his hand in a pool instead of through a solid object.

He pulls his hand out and they could see it be slightly translucent.

“That one’s harder to do when I want to,” Danny mumbles.

“You mean it mostly happens on accident?”

Danny nods.

“I drop a lot. And get stuck sometimes.”

Yea, Jason can see how that could be a problem. He can’t imagine how terrified Danny was the first time a body part got stuck in an immovable object. He really wishes he could have been there for him in his panic.

“The last thing is hard too. But I’ve been practicing. Watch!”

Danny jumps once, twice, and on the third time he lingers in the air, coming down slowly like someone in water or astronauts on the moon. Danny pushes off the ground a fourth time, this time floating steadily higher like gravity meant nothing to him.

Despite the kid obviously have done this before and enjoying it with his giggles, Jason stands under him in case he falls. And falls he does. Suddenly, like the strings being cut and gravity taking hold of him again, Danny plummets into Jason waiting arms. The boy grunts on impact and then smiled sheepishly up at his dad.

“Sorry, Daddy. I promise I’m doing better.”

“That’s okay, squirt. I’m glad I was here to catch you.”

Jason plops back into the chair with his child in his lap.

“Anything else up that sleeve of yours?” He teases but is equally as serious.

Danny shakes his head enough to make his hair fluff. Jason looks to Grace for confirmation and sees she is still recovering from Danny’s fall out of the air. How many times has she had to catch him? Or wasn’t able to catch him?

She clears her throat.

“I don’t know if it’s part of it, but he never gets sick. Never even had a cough.”

Children always get sick, that’s how they build immune systems. For Danny to have never gotten even a cold, Jason doesn’t know if it’s worrying or a good thing.

“Any allergies?” Is the first thing on his mind, thinking of what Alfred will need to know.

She shakes her head with a negative hum.

“In one of the bags is a folder with all of his documents. Birth certificate, immunizations, doctor visits. I also made a list of some favorite things and things he hates. It has foods on there too.”

That was… honestly more than he was expecting from her. But it also cements the fact that she intended to drop him off with him and then never see them again. She raised him for four years and she doesn’t even want visitation? Does she not understand there are legal documents she needs to sign to transfer custody properly?

“There are some things you need to sign, but it will take some time to get it sorted,” Bruce chimes in all business.

Long nails swipe through the air like signing her rights away was trivial.

“My phone number and address are on one of the documents. Just tell me when and where.”

She stands to leave and Jason can feel Danny tense up.

“Are we leaving?” He asks worriedly, climbing down from his seat on his dad’s lap. He didn’t want to go.

“You’re staying here. With your dad,” Grace says shortly, not once looking at the boy.

“Are you going home to get the rest of our stuff?”

“No. I’m going home. You’re staying here. End of story.”

Danny visibly thinks on that for a second then scampers after his mother as she leaves the room.

“Is it like Robbie where his mom lives in one ‘partment and his dad lives in a different one?”

Grace sighs and runs a hand through her hair. She’s clearly flustered and is showing it as irritation, but Jason can’t help but trail behind in case she says something that she shouldn’t.

“No, Danny, it’s not like Robbie. I- I am leaving you here and I’m not coming back, okay?”

Jason takes a step forward to draw her attention and send her a look that says ‘choose your words carefully, this is a conversation he will remember for a long time’.

“But- but why? Is it ‘cuz of my things? I’m sorry I scared you, Mommy. I didn’t mean to. I won’t do them again, promise.”

Jason grits his teeth at how desperate his son sounds, trying to keep his mother with him. Even making a promise he can’t keep.

Grace finally looks at her baby. Sees the turmoil and tears in his baby blue eyes. She gets down on her knees to get level and places her hands on his tiny shoulders.

“You will do them again and that’s not a bad thing. Your things are part of you. That’s okay. You’re not in any trouble. I just- I’m in over my head here, Danny. I can’t take care of you the way you should be taken care of, okay? But your dad can, I hope. So I’m leaving you here. With him.”

Danny’s lip wobbles and she has to restrain herself from not hugging him like she always does when he’s upset.

“Then- then you’ll visit, right? Like Chase’s grandma visits him?”

Why is this so hard?

“I don’t think so, baby. I don’t think you’re gonna see me again. I’m sorry.”

Danny is silent for a while. He wipes his eyes and sniffs.

“Are you goin’ ‘way like Jamal’s dad?”

The ten year old in the same building as them lost his dad in a wrong place wrong time type situation. Jamal had told Danny his dad went away forever so he couldn’t see him again. Grace had told him that when people go away forever, they get put among the stars he loves so much to be remembered.

Grace wears such a pained expression Jason half thought she was about to burst into tears.

“Kinda,” she nods. “So give me a big hug, okay?”

Danny was in her arms before she finished speaking. Jason didn’t exactly know why she wanted to stop all contact, but he had a theory that if Danny really was a meta (and with his powers he was leaning toward believing it) then Grace would want to distance herself as much as possible to protect them both. He met her in Crime Alley, he knew they didn’t live in a good spot. If any one of those crooks saw Danny use any of his powers, they could steal him easily from his single mother. She didn’t want to give those kind of people leverage to get Danny and sell him off. She wasn’t trying to be cruel, she was just trying to do what was best for her kid, even if that meant cutting her out of his life.

He had a strange new respect for her he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Grace takes a heavy breath and pulls away showing Danny’s tear stained cheeks. She wipes them like it would do anything.

“I gotta go now, Danny.”

“No,” he cries and Jason’s heart breaks a little more.

“We gotta say goodbye now. Please.”

Grace is just barely hanging on. Jason knows as soon as she walks out that door she’ll break down.

“I don’t want to. Don’t want you to leave,” Danny whines, trying to keep a strong grip on his mother.

She holds his hands in hers and gives him a serious look.

“You’re going to be fine. You’re gonna be just fine with your dad.” She leans in and whispers, “You’re not alone, Danny. You are never alone. Just look up. Look at the stars, baby, and you’ll be okay.”

Danny pouts, but thinks about those words.

“I like the stars,” he mumbles.

She smiles, probably the first one in a while.

“I know you do.”

She kisses his forehead one last time and stands. Danny whines. She steps away.

“Bye-bye, Danny. I- I love you.”

“Mommy,” he cries, tears and snot coming full force now.

Jason can’t take anymore and picks up his son to hold on his hip.

“It’s okay, buddy. I got you,” he assures. He turns to Grace who is having the internal battle of her life in the foyer. “I got him.”

It’s an assurance to her too, that he will take care of Danny, that he would be there for him. It was a promise.

Grace sees it for what it is and leaves out the front door without another word.

Danny screams and cries and struggles, but Jason holds on tight, scared he’ll fall or use his powers to get away and disappear. The man walks back to the drawing room so his son wasn’t staring at the door longingly.

As soon as Jason sits down, Danny struggles harder since they stopped moving. So Jason stands again, adjusting the boy in his arms and starts pacing a path around the room.

Bruce has already disappeared, not knowing what to do with a heartbroken child crying his eyes out. Alfred has cleared away the tray of snacks, leaving two waters on the table, one in a small, plastic cup. Jason spies Damian poke his head in for a second to see what the matter was, and upon seeing no immediate threat went off wherever. Other than that, father and son were alone to figure themselves out.

Danny was going through a lot for a toddler and Jason didn’t exactly know how to handle what happened either. He tried his best with speaking reassurances into the boy’s hair, but he didn’t know if Danny even heard him over his own crying.

It was a rough first meeting to be frank, but after a while (what felt like ages) Danny cried himself to sleep and Jason felt it safe to finally sprawl out on the loveseat with the boy laying on his chest. Compared to a grueling patrol, that was definitely worse. He never wanted to have to go through that again, but knew as a dad it was part of the job description.

[spacerace-secondplace]

I get the worst of this when I'm baking (because literally ANYTHING can go disastrously wrong and ruin the whole dish if you make a tiny mistake) and it's always been a huge block for me, because we're supposed to learn from our mistakes, y'know? But if I make a mistake that sets my progress back two hours then suddenly I'm too blinded by anger and frustration to accurately retrace my steps and plan what to do next... a lot of times I just quit, or I put out a half-assed product that I'm too ashamed to call something I made.

But! Recently I have begun to learn what has become a dish-saving strategy: asking for help! I would never do this before, because the Mad would turn me stubborn and tunnel-visioned and result in me metaphorically knocking my head against a brick wall demanding results. The worst thing is when it's something I know I'm competent at (like cooking!), so the lack of progress doesn't make sense. But recently I've begun to recognize that "help" can mean something different than "do this for me"; it can also mean "do you see an alternative path that I don't?"

An example: I was trying to make Oreo cream-filled cupcakes the other day. The cupcakes came out perfect, and the filling tasted great, but for the life of me I could not get the filling through the piping bag and into the cupcakes. My mother suggested I thin the icing with milk, which I flat-out rejected at first, because THIS is what the recipe said and so THIS must work. After some (much) struggle and a couple irreparably crumbled cupcakes, I finally conceded and let her thin the icing.

But it was still too thick to squeeze out of the piping bag. We thinned it again and again and every time we had to unceremoniously scoop it out of the bag and back into the mixing bowl and wash all the sticky off our hands (sensory nightmare, and a waste of good icing). But because I was able to move past the Mad from before, I had the extra room in my brain to cook up an idea: maybe instead of thinning the icing (and risking soggy-bottomed cupcakes), we should cut a bigger hole in the piping bag.

It worked! Overcoming that hurdle reignited my energy and I was able to finish the rest of the cupcakes myself. And look how beautifully they turned out!

If I wasn't able to put aside my pride and my marriage to the rulebook, then I never would have finished my mole cakes! To do this I had to revise my definition of "help" from "save me" to "give me a new perspective." (And the results were delicious.)

you know when you get Autism Mad. like something happens in a non-ideal way and in your brain you know it literally doesnt matter but in your other more autistic brain youre like screaming & scrying & shitting the bed etc. i think you should be able to go into settings and opt out of that. i have better things to get upset about than failing to put up a decoration on the optimal day or being too stubborn to solve a problem via simple communication

[maskedbyghost]

Recovery (part 2)

Summary: When Simon Riley is injured in combat and left temporarily paralyzed, his world is turned upside down. Forced to take time away from Task Force, he struggles with the loss of his independence and his own demons. His live-in nurse, hired to help him through his recovery, quickly becomes a point of frustration and comfort. Will Simon let himself heal not just physically, but emotionally—and open his heart to the one person determined to stay by his side? Word count: 4.5 k

The late afternoon sun peeked through the blinds, casting faint golden stripes across the living room floor. Simon was at the dining table, arms crossed as he stared at the empty notebook in front of him.

It was part of his therapy—writing down a list of small goals for the week. Simple things: sit up straighter during exercises, transfer from chair to couch without assistance, manage a day without snapping at you (which you were tempted to suggest for the list).

But Simon had been sitting there for over twenty minutes without picking up the pen.

“You’re overthinking it,” you said softly, leaning against the doorway.

He glanced at you from under his lashes but didn’t reply.

Pushing away from the doorframe, you stepped closer and took the chair across from him. “They’re just goals. They don’t have to be perfect.”

He grunted. “It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

Simon tapped the table with the end of the pen, his brows furrowing slightly. “Feels stupid. Writing this out like... like it’s gonna make a difference.”

“It might,” you offered, leaning your elbow on the table. “It’s not about making things magically better. It’s about making it easier to see the progress you’re actually making.”

He still didn’t look convinced, but he reached for the pen anyway.

You watched as he scribbled something down, his hand large and awkward around the slim pen.

“What’d you put?” you asked when he paused, glancing up at him.

Simon hesitated before tilting the notebook just enough for you to see.

Be less of a prick

You snorted, covering your mouth. “Setting the bar high, huh?”

A small, rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Figured you’d appreciate it.”

“Well, as the person who has to deal with you every day, I do.” Your tone was light at that moment.

Simon rested his arms on the table, rolling the pen between his fingers. “Y’don’t have to,” he said.

Your brows furrowed. “Don’t have to what?”

“Put up with me.” He wasn’t looking at you, his focus fixed somewhere on the far edge of the table. “Wouldn’t blame you if you got sick of it.”

You tilted your head, studying him. He didn’t usually offer these glimpses into what was happening in his head, and it made you proud to witness it.

“I don’t ‘put up’ with you,” you said softly. “I’m here because I want to be, Simon.”

Something in his expression shifted, just barely. His jaw tightened, his lips parting as though he had something to say but couldn’t quite figure out how to phrase it. Finally, he nodded, leaning back slightly in his chair.

“That’s dangerous, you know,” he said after a moment.

“What is?” you asked, an amused smile tugging at your lips.

“Caring.” His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, more intense than you expected.

Your breath caught for half a second, but you recovered quickly, holding his gaze. “Maybe,” you said with a small shrug, “but I’ve been known to live dangerously.”

The smile that ghosted across his face at that moment wasn’t forced or guarded—it was just him.

And for the first time, it felt like the space between you wasn’t so far apart.

-

It was a quiet morning, sunlight spilling weakly through the kitchen window as you cleaned up the remnants of breakfast. Simon was at the table, absently turning his coffee mug in slow circles. His workouts were getting a little better, but the strain was still there.

You turned back from the sink and caught him looking at you. Not just a glance, but a slow, lingering gaze, but he blinked and looked down as soon as he noticed you noticing.

“Need more coffee?” you asked, pretending not to notice how flustered he suddenly seemed.

He shook his head. “No.”

“You sure? You seem like you need something.”

Simon’s lips twitched—not quite a smile. “Pushy, aren’t you?”

“It’s part of the job description,” you teased, walking past him to grab the towel you’d left on the counter. His eyes tracked the motion, subtle but noticeable.

It wasn’t the first time you’d caught him looking, but it felt different now. Less guarded.

There was the time you were adjusting his position during therapy, your hands on his shoulders to guide his posture. His muscles shifted beneath your touch, warm and solid, and when your fingers accidentally brushed the back of his neck, he froze.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back quickly.

But Simon didn’t respond immediately. His jaw tightened, and his gaze flicked to the floor, like he was trying to sort through a dozen thoughts all at once.

“Doesn’t bother me,” he murmured after a moment.

The comment lingered longer than it should have.

As the days stretched into weeks, Simon’s walls began to crack in ways you didn’t expect.

One evening, after you’d finished helping him through an especially frustrating therapy session, he sat in the living room with a distant look in his eyes. You hesitated in the doorway, unsure if you should leave him to his thoughts, but he spoke before you could retreat.

“My dad,” he started, voice rough, “wasn’t the kind of man you’d want to be around long. Mean bastard, really.”

You paused, caught off guard by the sudden admission. “That sounds hard,” you said gently, moving to sit on the edge of the couch across from him.

“Hard wasn’t the word for it,” Simon said with a bitter chuckle. “But it taught me to survive. When you’ve been through enough shite, it doesn’t stick as much. Least that’s what I told myself.”

He glanced at you, before he continued. “You, uh… you don’t talk like most people. Don’t pity me.”

“I don’t pity you, Simon,” you said softly. “You don’t deserve that. And you don’t need it.”

For a moment, the expression in his eyes was unreadable.

It wasn’t long after that conversation when the tension between you became harder to ignore.

You were working with him through some stretches, helping to guide his legs into position. As you adjusted the placement of his hips, your hand brushed just slightly higher than usual, resting a moment longer than intended before you realized and pulled away.

Simon didn’t move, but his breathing hitched just faintly, something he couldn’t quite mask. You cleared your throat, pretending not to notice, but he didn’t miss your flushed cheeks.

“Should I worry about your technique?” he asked dryly, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.

“Only if you’re going to keep moving wrong,” you shot back.

He chuckled softly, the sound catching you off guard. You glanced at him then, and the way he was looking at you stopped you in your tracks. Not with the same guarded annoyance as before. His attention lingered on your face, then briefly, the line of your neck before he averted his gaze.

Late that night, you helped him settle in bed. He didn’t need as much assistance now, and you handed him the blanket, your fingers brushing briefly against his.

“Goodnight, Simon,” you said, lingering for just a moment too long before stepping away.

His voice caught you halfway to the door. “Hey,” he said, and you turned to see him watching you again, his features relaxed in a way they rarely were.

“You know,” he said slowly, “this’d be a hell of a lot harder without you.”

Your heart skipped, and you gave him a small smile. “That’s what I’m here for.”

But the way his gaze lingered as you turned out the light suggested that wasn’t all he meant.

-

The winter winds had begun creeping into Simon’s home, seeping through the old cracks in the windows. You adjusted the blanket around his legs, a routine between you both at this point. Simon had been more himself lately—still gruff, still the kind of man who said more with a glance than words, but lighter somehow.

“Bit cold for you, innit?” he said as you set a mug of tea on the table beside him.

“You’re the one who insists on keeping that window cracked,” you shot back with a faint grin.

“Can’t stand feeling caged in. You’d know about that if you stopped fussing.”

“I’m not fussing,” you argued, though the half-smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “I’m making sure you don’t freeze.”

Simon didn’t respond, his eyes flicking from the mug to your face. He always studied you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

You felt the weight of his gaze now, and it sent warmth creeping up your neck.

“What?” you asked as you sank into the worn armchair across from him.

“Just wonder how you put up with me,” Simon muttered, his attention shifting back to the tea.

“You’re not so bad when you’re not being stubborn,” you said lightly, leaning back. “Maybe you’re growing on me.”

That earned a low chuckle, and something about the sound made your chest tighten.

That evening, a particularly biting wind whistled through the cracks in the living room window. You were curled on the couch with an oversized throw, scrolling idly through a book on your Kindle when Simon came back from his room. His hoodie hung loosely off his frame as he maneuvered his chair toward the fireplace.

“Thought you’d call it a night,” you said softly, setting the Kindle aside.

Simon shook his head. “Couldn’t sleep.” He paused a moment, glancing at the throw half-draped over the couch. “Bit crowded up there. You mind sharing that?”

It caught you off guard—he rarely asked for anything that wasn’t practical. Without hesitation, you scooted over, leaving just enough space for him to transfer over to the couch, his movements slow. Once settled, you hesitantly spread the throw across both of you, acutely aware of the heat radiating from him in the small space.

Neither of you spoke at first, the only sound the crackling of the fire. But when your shoulders brushed, you glanced at him, surprised to find his eyes already on you.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Simon exhaled softly, his gaze dipping down to the blanket for a moment before returning to yours. “Nothing.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “Starting to think you don’t actually want me here.”

“That’s not it.” His voice was steady, but the look in his eyes gave him away.

When he reached for your hand beneath the blanket, it wasn’t hesitant. It was natural, like something he’d been waiting too long to do, his fingers curled gently around yours

“Simon…” you began, but whatever you were going to say faded into the air as his free hand tilted your chin slightly toward him.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft, the rough edge of his lips a stark contrast to the tenderness of the moment. He didn’t pull away quickly—if anything, he seemed reluctant to stop, his fingers still brushing yours beneath the blanket.

When he finally broke the kiss, his forehead rested against yours for a moment, his voice low. “You really are impossible,” he murmured, but there was no irritation this time. Only affection.

The fire had burned down to glowing embers, and the room filled with a quiet warmth that seemed to reflect the moment you’d just shared. Simon’s forehead was still resting against yours, his breath calm.

Neither of you spoke for a long while, you didn’t want to move, you didn’t want to break the delicate balance of whatever had just begun to grow between you.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that before,” Simon finally muttered.

“Kissed someone?” you teased, leaning back just slightly so you could look into his eyes, your lips curving into a soft smile.

A faint grin tugged at his mouth. “Not like that,” he admitted, his fingers brushing along yours again beneath the blanket.

“Good,” you whispered, surprising yourself with the honesty in your voice. “I wouldn’t want it to be something you gave easily.”

Simon huffed a soft laugh at that, his shoulders relaxing a little more. He leaned back against the couch but didn’t let go of your hand. “You’re trouble,” he murmured.

“So you’ve told me.”

For a long while, you both stayed there, his thumb moved absentmindedly across the back of your hand, a small, repetitive motion that left you feeling unsteady in the best way.

Eventually, your exhaustion began to catch up with you. The weight of the day, the emotions, and the fire’s warmth all started pulling you under. You shifted slightly, leaning toward Simon without thinking, your head brushing his shoulder.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, starting to pull back instinctively, but Simon’s free hand settled gently against your side, keeping you there.

“Don’t,” he said simply, his tone softer now. “It’s fine.”

You froze for a moment, caught off guard by the surprising vulnerability in his voice. Then, slowly, you let yourself relax against him, your head resting against his shoulder while his arm settled across you. The blanket covered you both like a cocoon, and for the first time in what felt like ages, the world outside faded completely away.

Simon shifted slightly beneath you, careful not to disturb the precarious balance. His warmth pressed against your side, and you swore you could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“Comfortable?” he asked after a while.

You nodded sleepily. “Yeah. You?”

“Think I’ll survive,” he muttered dryly, but the small squeeze of his hand against yours told you everything else he wasn’t saying.

At some point, your eyes drifted shut, and Simon’s hand began to move again, this time brushing lightly along your arm. Whether it was a conscious effort or not, you couldn’t tell, but the steady, repetitive motion lulled you further into the haze of sleep.

“You’re not going to wake up with a crick in your neck, are you?” Simon murmured, his voice cutting through the fading edge of your awareness.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, nestling closer without really thinking about it.

He didn’t respond, but you felt the faintest press of his lips against the top of your head—soft, fleeting, but undeniably real. It was enough to send a shiver through you, your heart thudding in a slow, steady rhythm that matched his.

As you drifted off, Simon stayed awake a little while longer, his gaze fixed on the fire’s dying light. His hand lingered on yours, a silent promise he wasn’t quite ready to put into words yet. But for now, neither of you needed words.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Simon Riley felt like he wasn’t alone.

-

Simon had been quieter than usual over the past few days—short replies, little eye contact, and an edge to his tone that you couldn’t quite place. You gave him space at first, thinking it might just be one of his bad days. He had plenty of those, after all, and you knew better than to push when he wasn’t ready.

But the tension between you lingered.

You caught it in the way he avoided meeting your gaze during his therapy sessions or how his answers to even simple questions were clipped and dismissive. He seemed more frustrated than usual when his progress felt slow, and more often than not, his frustration turned inward.

One afternoon, as you helped him with his stretches, he pulled away sharply, his voice hard. “I can do it myself.”

You took a step back, hands raised in surrender. “Fine,” you said, trying to keep the bite out of your tone.

He barely glanced at you before struggling through the movement on his own, his jaw tight and his breaths uneven.

You wanted to argue—to tell him he didn’t need to do everything alone—but something about the set of his shoulders stopped you. Instead, you busied yourself with tidying up the room, giving him the illusion of space even as frustration churned in your chest.

That evening, the tension spilled over into a sharp exchange at dinner. You’d cooked something simple—a recipe you’d memorized by now after weeks of trial and error with his preferences. Simon barely touched the food, pushing it around his plate with a scowl.

“Is it bad?” you asked, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm out of your voice.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, but his tone made it clear he didn’t mean it.

You set your fork down with a sigh, fixing him with a tired look. “You could at least pretend to appreciate it, you know. I didn’t have to cook for you.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” he shot back, his eyes finally meeting yours with an intensity that caught you off guard.

“No, but someone has to,” you countered, your voice sharper than you intended. “Or do you think everything’s just magically taken care of?”

The next day, Simon was uncharacteristically terse as you helped him into his chair for his morning exercises. His mood seemed darker than ever, and every attempt you made to engage him was met with a wall of indifference or irritation.

When you reminded him of the exercises his therapist had prescribed, his patience finally snapped.

“For fuck’s sake, I said I’ll do it later!” he barked, the force of his voice startling you.

You froze, staring at him in shock. “You’ve been saying that all week, Simon,” you said, your voice trembling but firm. “I’m trying to help you, but you keep shutting me out.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” he said bitterly, wheeling himself a few feet away to put some distance between you. “You think I can’t see what you’re doing? Hovering like some bloody mother hen? I don’t need it—or you.”

The words hit, your breath catching as your chest tightened with both anger and hurt. “You don’t mean that,” you said quietly, though even you weren’t sure if you believed it.

Simon scoffed, looking anywhere but at you. “Don’t I?”

Something inside you snapped then, the frustration, hurt, and exhaustion of the past weeks bubbling to the surface. “You don’t have to make this so hard, Simon!” you shot back, your voice rising. “I’m here because I care—not because I have to, or because someone told me to. But you—” Your voice broke for a moment, and you took a steadying breath. “You can’t even see that, can you?”

His expression flickered for a moment, but the stubborn set of his jaw remained. “Maybe I didn’t ask you to care, either.”

The words hung in the air like a slap, the final blow that sent the last threads of your patience unraveling. You shook your head, your hands trembling as you fought to keep your voice steady. “Fine. If that’s how you feel, then I’ll leave.”

Simon’s eyes snapped to yours, a flicker of surprise in his gaze before he masked it with indifference.

“I’ll call Kate and let her know,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “She can send someone else—someone you won’t hate as much.”

You didn’t wait for a response. Turning on your heel, you left the room, the sound of the door closing behind you echoing louder than anything he might have said.

You spent the evening packing in silence, your mind racing as you replayed the argument over and over again. Part of you hoped Simon would come to his senses, that he’d apologize or ask you to stay.

But by the time you stood at the door with your bag in hand, the house was silent.

“I hope you get what you need, Simon,” you said softly, though you weren’t sure he could even hear you.

You stepped out into the cool night, each step away from him feeling heavier than the last. In the end, all you could do was hope he’d realize what he’d lost before it was too late.

-

The first few days after leaving Simon had been a blur. The pain of walking away felt like a dull ache that never fully went away, lingering beneath everything you did, every conversation you had. You hadn’t spoken to him since that day.

He hadn’t reached out, and neither had you. Part of you had hoped that he would, that he’d break the silence, but as the days turned into weeks, that hope faded, and with it, a part of you hardened, protecting itself from the lingering weight of everything unsaid.

You returned to work, plunging yourself back into the routine of your days, though it felt empty without him, without the way he had slowly started to seep into your life.

It had been hard, at first. Hard to focus, hard to sleep, hard not to think about the hurt between you both. There were moments when you caught yourself reaching for your phone, planning to send him a message—just a simple, “I hope you're okay”—but you stopped yourself every time. He had made it clear, in his own way, that he didn’t want you there. It was hard to accept, but you couldn’t keep forcing yourself into a situation that Simon wasn’t ready for.

As time passed, though, you settled back into your life, finding small comforts in the routine. You still missed him, in ways you couldn’t quite explain. It was more than the desire to be near him—it was the moments of tenderness, the connection you had started to feel, that bond you’d developed without even fully understanding how it happened. It was a nagging reminder of everything you could never have.

On the day while you were in the kitchen, stirring the pot of soup you’d been slowly working on, completely absorbed in the task. You hadn’t thought of Simon much that day; your mind had been elsewhere, lost in your cooking, in the quiet of your small apartment. But as the aroma of garlic and thyme filled the air, you suddenly heard a knock at the door.

You frowned, instinctively wiping your hands on the towel before heading over, curious at the unexpected sound. You weren’t expecting anyone, and it seemed strange that someone would come by unannounced. You peered through the peephole, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw who was standing on the other side.

Simon.

You couldn’t believe it at first. It wasn’t just that he was here—it was the sight of him, standing tall in front of your door, no wheelchair in sight, his posture straight and his demeanor almost... shy? The last time you saw him, he’d been a far cry from anything like this. He looked better. More like the Simon you remembered from before the accident. And he had a smile on his face, small but genuine, and it completely stunned you.

You opened the door slowly, hardly able to speak as he stood there, just watching you.

“Simon?” Your voice cracked slightly. “What… What are you doing here?”

He smiled again, though this time, there was a mixture of nerves in his expression. His usual stoic demeanor was gone, replaced with a vulnerability you’d never expected to see.

“I… I’m here,” he began, his voice thick with emotion. “All because of you.”

Your heart skipped, unsure of what he was referring to. He saw your confusion, and the smile faded slightly as he straightened up, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I worked hard,” he continued, looking down momentarily, as if to gather the right words. “I… didn’t want to come back like this—like someone who’s broken or incomplete.” He let out a breath, looking up at you with a newfound softness in his eyes. “I’m sorry. For pushing you away. For everything I said. It wasn’t about you—it was about me, and the mess I was. I wasn’t just angry. I wanted you, and I thought you deserved someone whole, not… someone stuck in a chair.”

The words hit you like a blow, and for a second, you were too stunned to say anything, the guilt and relief overwhelming you both at once. All this time, he hadn’t been rejecting you. He had been rejecting himself—his own brokenness, the feeling of worthlessness he had carried with him.

“I’m sorry, too,” you whispered, taking a step forward without thinking. “I should have been patient. I should have understood you better.”

Simon shook his head, a hint of regret in his smile as he shrugged it off. “No. No more apologies.” Then, his voice dropped into a soft, almost hesitant tone. “I just... I’m asking for another chance. I know it’s been a while, but I’m asking you on a date.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “A date?”

He nodded slowly, watching you with such intense longing that you almost couldn’t bear it.

“Yeah,” Simon said, offering the smallest, most sincere smile you had ever seen. “You’ve been patient enough, and you deserve someone who can give you their whole self… not just part of it.” He took a deep breath and chuckled nervously. “I don’t know what this might be, or even where we start—but if you’ll give me the chance, I’d really like to show you that I’m worth the wait.”

You blinked, fighting the rush of emotion that swelled inside you—relief, joy, the sudden weight lifting from your chest. Finally, after all this time, the silence and uncertainty had ended. He wasn’t perfect. And you weren’t either. But you were willing to try.

After a moment, when you finally found your voice again, you whispered, “I think I’d really like that.”

Without saying anything more, he pulled you toward him, his hands finding your waist as if guided by instinct, not words. The first touch of his lips against yours was gentle but filled with emotion. A little tentative, but deep with meaning, like he was testing the waters of what this was—what it could be.

It was a kiss born from everything between you: all the hurt, the misunderstanding, and finally, the breaking down of barriers. You kissed him back, slowly at first, your fingers threading into his hair as you let yourself lean into the warmth of his body.

The kiss deepened, this time with more intent, and you felt his hesitation slip away as he pulled you closer, if that was even possible. He moved with the slow determination of a man who’d been through too much to take things for granted. His hands traced the line of your back, steady but eager, each movement drawing you nearer to the feelings you’d both buried too long.

When he finally pulled away just enough to catch his breath, he rested his forehead against yours, his lips trembling with a smile. “I've missed you, more than you know,” he murmured.

“I’ve missed you, too,” you whispered, your heart racing in your chest.

Simon stepped back slightly, smiled shyly, and said, “So, what do you say? Another chance?”

Before you could answer, you moved forward again, closing the gap between you. Without a word, you kissed him again, this time with all the certainty you hadn’t felt before. A kiss that was an agreement, a promise—this was a new start, and you were ready. You didn't need to say it aloud—your lips told him everything he needed to know.

It felt like home, but better. It felt like the beginning.

-------------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate @ptbab

[novacqnes]

✩ nights like this // sevika

⋆ summary: no coherent thoughts…just stressed councilmember!sevika coming home to you after a rough day.

⋆ warnings: a shit ton of sappiness & fluff, reader loving on sevika

⋆ pairing: sevika x fem reader

⋆ word count: 1.3k

embers of scarlet and coral smacked against the screen of the fireplace, silently stirring sevika from a trance. her head pounded against her skull, locking the rest of her body into place. now this sofa, cheaply made of leather and nylon, was her only comfort. fragments of light reflected off the glass windows, briefly illuminating the door right across from her. in its midst she could single out a you-shaped figure leaning against the doorway. small crescents adorned your eyes as you rubbed away the fatigue in them.

“come to bed,” you whispered, trudging towards her. you hit the sofa with a soft thud, pressing a light kiss to sevika’s soft lips.

she let out a low groan, snaking an arm around your waist, “not yet, go on without me.”

you nibbled on your lower lip, tilting your head to the side as you inspected sevika’s face. her features were tense, eyebrows drawn together with sharp, pensive lines decorating the space between them. her legs were fixed into the ground, boots still on, which was completely uncharacteristic of sevika. for a brief moment, her hazy grey eyes struck yours, they were gentle and radiant. it always amazed you just how hypnotic they could be. they revealed everything about this woman, but this time they weren’t brimming with intense sexual desire but a fervent need for comfort. 

“that bad?”

she shrugged, “something like that.” you waited for her to say more, but nothing else came. rather, you were greeted by an uncomfortable silence and the impossible task of trying to read her mind. her eyes flickered between the fire and your eyes, calling, screaming, pleading out to you so that there was no need for words. sevika’s body was rigid against yours; she looked as if she’d crawl from her own skin and right into the sofa. she detested this feeling. you couldn’t know. you couldn’t see. she needed to protect you. that’s what she told herself as images of the council and their disapproving glares riddled her mind. deeper and deeper, she became trapped within her own mind, leaving you with no option but to intervene. 

she felt your hands on her thighs first, slowly traveling down to her calves before reaching her boots. 

“let’s take these off,” you cooed. 

you started at the dark laces, pulling each one through the silver loops that decorated the sides. once this was done, you tugged them off sevika’s legs, exposing her fluffy rainbow socks. your lips perked up into a smile as your girlfriend quickly looked away, fighting to keep a straight face. it was progress, although you could see that she wasn’t fully comfortable, so you kept at it moving behind her.

you reached for her cloak, peering down at her for approval. “this okay?”

“mhmm….” sevika nodded, sinking further into the couch. she closed her eyes, humming lowly as the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly began to rise. sevika’s skin burned with each slight touch of your hands against her body. warm and hot with determination, you ran them across her smooth skin, moving to undress her in one quick beat. with the cloak tossed to the side, you peeled off her vest, shirt, and bra, leaving her exposed before you. you ran your palms over her sculpted chest, feeling the muscles tense underneath you.

“you’re with me, relax baby.”

she sighed, “i’m trying….i just hate bringing this shit home to you.”

you brought your hands to her face, rubbing your thumb along the scarred skin of her cheek. her eyes were reluctant at first, but you continued with a soft tone emanating from your voice, “look at me sevika, i’m okay. just let me take care of you.”

you moved the dark strands of hair from her face, eager to meet her eye. they were gorgeous. half-lidded and heavy, they were trained on your face, unwavering in spite of the fatigue that pulled on them. it was like a silent battle, a fight that you only saw slight glimpses of before, but sevika’s mask was cracking. in piltover she was utterly alone, and the mere thought of her shouldering that burden chewed at your soul. thus you moved your hands to sevika’s shoulders, desperate to be the support that she needed. once more you looked at her face for a response. silently she nodded, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw before leaning back. 

time slipped by as you undressed her, softly massaging her skin, freeing her from the strain that tore through her body. slowly her features grew more relaxed, shooting you small grins every once in a while as you worked. from the corner of your eyes, a bright halo and its golden rays peeked into your home through the window. half of the living room was illuminated with a faint yellow glow, making visible the antique table in the center of the room and the rest of sevika’s body.

“how’s this?” you hummed, massaging out the kinks in her neck.

she slurred, “perfect…i swear if i have to hear the word contingency agai—“ 

“you’re doing the best you can.”

sevika shook her head as you removed your hands from her shoulders. “it’s not enough. y/n you should see the look on some of their faces; it’s like they don’t even see me.” hurt, frustration, and anger, it spilled from her in one stifled breath. you moved swiftly to her side, cupping her hand in yours. the two of you sat in silence, caught in the sun’s warmth. 

“sev,” you began, “you’re one person, you can’t put that on yourself.”

“i have too,” she whispered, her voice small. sevika’s eyes stung, they begged her to close them and stumble into your bed, but her mind argued the opposite. doubt crept to the forefront of her brain, pervading her perceptions of herself. was she strong enough to do this? could she be enough for you? in the midst of the murky clouds there was no definite answer, and that tormented sevika beyond belief. she’d stayed up for hours, the allure of sleep looming over her as she clawed for an answer, desperately seeking it in the form of solitude.

“i’ll go with you to piltover.” 

her eyes widened, a sheepish grin taking hold of her face as sevika brought a hand to her mouth, “oh, you wouldn’t last a second.”

“what?” you sputtered, playfully smacking her hand away. “i’ll go everyday if i have too…i hate sleeping by myself.” 

she let out a low chuckle, snapping her neck towards the sunrise, taking in the bright, soft pink and yellow hues that fully lit up the room. sevika looked back towards you, her heart beaming with an intense longing and love for the person before her. she adored the way the colors merged with your skin, basking you in a warm glow of sunlight. it captured your beauty like no other, making your girlfriend fall even deeper for you. bare and exhausted, sevika yearned to pull you close. she wanted to feel your skin hot against hers as you floated into a deep slumber, fleeing the world and its worries for just a moment. this was her answer. 

“i love you so fucking much.”

“do you?” you teased, leaning in to place delicate kisses to the underside of her chin.

she nodded, “yeah baby, i do.”

you moved to her ear, allowing your breath to lightly tickle the sensitive skin, “then you know that you don’t owe anyone anything. not those council members. not even us zaunites. you can walk away, and i will love you all the same. i just want you happy.”

“this makes me happy,” sevika smiled, rising from the couch before quickly scooping you up in her arms. 

“good, let’s go to bed.”

[mariamegale]

Alexey Luchin, former Ice Pick Lodge employee, has commented to support the allegations against Dybowski, giving more insight and making additional accusations regarding grooming, physical and emotional abuse.

One of the most noteworthy things is his claims about Dybowski's current relationship with IPL. According to Luchin, Dybowski has not cut any ties with IPL or vice versa, and is only claiming that to avoid alimony payments:

Nikolay formally removed himself from the company (IPL) in a legal sense, in order to avoid paying adequate alimony. The payments on the screenshots are as low as 100$, which isn't nearly enough. [...] He's still working, the maneur [sic] is only to avoid alimony. Though I must say, these days the team is "carrying" him mostly. New Ice-Pick Lodge is great, there are lots of motivated people who gre up on old Ice-Pick games and are doing their very best!

Full comment thread here.

I will also post his comments below, for those who may not have or wish to visit Reddit. Special thanks to user Winterlings for asking follow-up questions, and of course a massive applause to Luchin for being willing to share this under his own name.

As a former colleague (I worked on Pathologic 1, The Void, Cargo, and a bit of uncredited work on Pathologic 2), I am sad to confirm, that this is most likely true. There is a link to follow the ongoing court considering the child alimony payments, and it looks like there will be another one, considering recent occusations. (As link to Russian websites are banned, see original source in the mod comment. You will need a VPN to go further down the first link in the post to see the court progress, or use google translate on that link to bypass the need for VPNs) I know Nikolay well, from at least 2006, and unfortunatelly his "misbehaviours" have been an open secret for a long time, on which I didn't comment for two reasons. One - he is not the studio, and isn't involved much in development since The Void - do NOT take out your anger on the talanted and good people working of Pathologic 3. Second - I've been kind of a coward, until I've learnt in 2018 or so, that a girlfriend of mine was also groomed by him, while we were still dating, and since then I broke all ties with Nikolay. He has been a raging, violent and erratic alcoholic, a sociopath and a pathological liar all these years. I personally know at least 10 people who he harmed directly in relation to public accusations (but it's their stories to tell, not mine). He is a manipulative sociopath, that is very good with words, another reason why these stories only surfaced now. The reason I'm speaking up right now is because I figured that after the last ephebophilia and grooming accusations, that cost him his job as a univercity teacher, and danger of going to court, he would change his ways. But things have gotten worse and more rotten since then. There isn't a reliable "reputation institution" in Russian gamedev, but it must start at some point. I believe the best path for Nikolay would be to leave Ice-Pick Lodge to not tarnish their reputation with his own fuckups, and leave the current studio to work as is - they're doing a great job on Pathologic 3, and they once again should NOT be harrassed for a single person's misdeeds.

When asked about identity verification:

I'm easily googlable by my handle, my name is Alexey "The LxR" Luchin. Though my work is uncredited on both Pathologics ironically, but also I'm falsely credited on Knock-Knock, which I haven't worked on. Anyhow, it'll be easy to find me in the credits for The Void and Cargo and by traces of my active participation in building the early game communities on the forums. :) Also possibly another colleague of mine in this thread may verify that it is indeed me, though I'd understand if they wish to remain anonymous.

Whether or not we as a community should hold IPL as a company responsible for this in some way, or go through with a financial boycott, I am leaning more and more towards at the very least requiring some kind of statement. Not only because of what Dybowski has done in his personal life, although that's more than bad enough, but because this crosses the line into actively having an impact on the dev team, the games, and in turn the community. I want to be able to know that this is something they take seriously and that Dybowski is gone, before I give them more money. But that is just my stance, and any nuanced take is of course welcome.

[freyadragonlord]

Recently I’ve been thinking about the different types of love languages in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, The S-Classes That I Raised, and Lout of the Count’s Family…

Not to say that each of the stories describes only one single kind of love language; they are, after all, all novels that focus on Found Family, with many different types of relationships between characters that express their love for each other in as many different ways.

Yet, I’ve noticed how at the core of each of these three stories there is one specific act of love that recurs more than others, and that becomes the true Theme each novel revolves around.

In Lout of the Count’s Family, the main love language is providing food and a home.

“Home” is such an important concept in LCF that Cale collects houses like they were pokemon cards. The source of his trauma when he was a child as Kim Roksu was that he was not given sufficient food, and that where he lived was not truly a shelter where he could feel safe, just a place he was trapped in.

And I don’t think there are ever more than 2 chapters in a row without a character offering food to others, or asking if they’re hungry, if they’ve eaten, why haven’t you eaten, here have some apple pie!!

Cale uses his newfound money and power to make sure his loved ones are provided for. That’s how he adopts bonds with most of his new family.

The first thing Raon does after he’s freed from the prison he’s been trapped in all his life, is to leave food for this hopelessly weak human.

Choi Han, who has lived alone in a dangerous forest for decades, would do anything to protect his home.

The Crown Prince, who has been isolated and untrusting of everyone ever since his mother died, makes sure to always have cookies in his bedroom in case guests “break in” for a visit at any time of the day or the night.

I love you, you’ll never be hungry again. I love you, my home is your home.

In The S-Classes That I Raised, the main love language is words.

Yoojin’s powers are literally activated by telling people “I love you”. Because all he ever wanted was to say “I love you” to his brother one last time.

Because the tragedy that starts the story happens because Yoohyun loved and protected his hyung in secret for years. Silence creates misunderstandings, it creates distance, it leads to loss.

Loving someone isn’t enough, tell them! Reassure them. Remember what they say, because their words are important!!

Ever since the regression, Yoojin always let people know when he loves them and appreciates them. “You’re perfect, you’re cute, you’re so talented, you’re so handsome, you are loved.”

And as the novel progresses, whenever Yoojin is in pain, or doesn’t know what to do, he turns to Sung Hyunje because he needs to be reassured, he needs to know he did well, he needs to hear he is still important to the people he loves.

I love you, please know that I love you! I love you, please tell me you love me back.

And finally, in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, the main love language is time.

Time is one of the greatest sources of horrors in ORV. Eternities upon eternities of suffering, being trapped for ages in the same, hopeless loop, wishing for everything to just stop.

And yet, time is also the greatest gift characters give to each other.

Because the wounds Dokja suffered as a child, and then again and again through his whole life…. They need time to heal. They need so much time. They will probably take forever.

So let them take forever.

Despite how much pain and worry he causes his companions by giving up on himself over and over again, his companions never give up on him. And he doesn’t understand why!! He doesn’t think he’s worth it. But it’s not his choice, it’s theirs. And they will go through as many tries, as much pain, as much time as it takes, before they can finally save him.

I love you, so I will wait fifty years for you. I love you, so I will live through thousands of lifetimes to find you. I love you, so I will read and reread your story for the rest of time, just to keep you alive.

[urstruly-ghst]

i think he knows !

in which you're hiding two things from your friend, romantic feelings and the bunch of cupcakes you made for him. will he accept it?

wc: 1.7k (edited)

author's note: what if i told u im back?!! have a holly jolly christmas xoxo ghst

ace trappola

Ace was someone you fell for gradually. It was unexpected. You liked him as a friend, then it progressed so naturally. How could you not? He was undeniably a charmer and just… He had this aura, as Cater would say, “totes cutie throughout.” After coming to terms with your feelings for him, the next step was to confess– it didn't need a reciprocation. You just wanted some closure to your feelings. The grand plan was to be outright, give the cupcakes, and get an answer.

You enlisted the help of Deuce and Grim, though they don’t know why you needed help with baking. However, a bribe was never out of the question! The simple bribe was enough to grab their attention and cause havoc in your kitchen. 

Yet, in times like these, you wished you had asked for help from someone else; being covered in powdered sugar and two rascals fighting over the batter spoon was enough to deter you. Deuce and Grim quarreled as they had different objectives with said spoon. Honestly, why didn't you ask Trey for help?

However, even with the trouble, you can't help but smile. They knew of your feelings and didn't tease you… Instead, they immediately insulted your tastes in men. When you dropped the bomb, you liked Ace, and they had to do a complete stop.

“ACE? THAT ACE?!” Both yelled when you first admitted your true feelings for the other part of your friend group. Grim was faster to judge, and his paws slapped your face with disbelief. 

“You can't be serious?! Ace? There are plenty of people here, henchman! What about Jack? He’s literally right there?!” Grim groaned as he couldn't believe his henchman was dumb enough to fall for that redhead. There were plenty of suitable candidates, but they chose Ace, resident troublemaker?!

Deuce shook his head and tried to help you unclaw Grim from you, but he was no less judgemental. While he finds it cute that the two of his friends have fallen for each other, though you weren't aware, he still judges your taste. Ace? The man who has done nothing but tease and even get all of the group in trouble?!

“Grim, come on, you can't force a heart to love and choose who to love. That's why love is messy,” Deuce said as he tried to placate Grim so he would not slap you with his paws. You felt loved in that moment for your feelings to be accepted (exclude Grim; that little monster would come to terms with it). 

You sighed and sat on the floor, exhausted. Who knew baking with love was exhausting? Deuce sat next to you and smiled while patting your head for encouragement, which made you feel slightly energized. He gave you that classic “You got this” smile. It was his trademark, the classic encouraging Deuce Spade. Before you can thank him, the rapid knocking was on the door, followed by that painfully sweet voice.

“Prefect! Hellooo! I heard you invited Deuce?! The hell, you hang out with Juice without me now? Just say you hate me!” It was Ace, his whining reaching to the kitchen. You panicked and immediately hid the cupcakes and tried to look presentable. Deuce and Grim also helped, panicking as Ace couldn’t be patient; his knocking was about to break down your new door!

“In a bit!” You yell out, embarrassed as you see how messy you look. Why is Ace even here? You remember you asked Cater to distract him! Then again, Cater could be busy, too. You cursed the world as it couldn’t time things the way you wanted. 

“Fu-nya! Stop breaking down our door, Ace!” Grim yelled out, annoyed, and shot you a look. He was judging you. Deuce and Grim tidied up and finally opened the door for Ace. He was in his dorm uniform, with a glare and pout. He looked at Deuce and you before dramatically sighing.

“How could you do this? I thought we were OGs here! Is this the duo in a trio moment?!” Ace said as he plopped on the couch with a hand over his chest. You sighed and shook your head, laughing before hiding your face.

“I was bribing them to do my work, Ace. I knew I couldn’t bribe you, so I went with Deuce.” Pandering to his ego, Ace looked at you suspiciously. It made you sweat. Does he know what you plan to do? Ace was glaring before shrugging and showing off his signature smirk.

“Hell yeah! You can’t bribe me; Juice here can be bribed, though!” Ace points at Deuce, cracking his knuckles. He is ready to roundhouse Ace to the next dorm. Ace laughed at his threat before saying, “Hey, don’t look offended!” 

You can’t help but feel flushed as Ace's laughter fills the dorm lounge. How dare he make you feel this way? You want to say it now, but that felt rushed. While your friendship with Ace was an adventure, your feelings were not something you wanted to rush to; it felt right to take it slow. Amidst your thoughts, Ace looked at you, and you panicked. Oh, were you staring too much?

Unknown to everyone, Ace had an idea why you were hanging out with Deuce. (He doesn’t.)

“Anyways, I know why you guys hang out without me. Hurts, though.” Ace shrugs as Deuce, and you look confused. Though, your heart was in your stomach at the moment. You were cursing internally as Ace smirked.

“You and Deuce, you’re dating, huh?! Come on, the cat’s out the bag. Hey! I’m happy for you two!”

Oh, thank the Sevens. He’s an idiot. You thought as you paused, trying not to laugh. Deuce looked confused before shaking his head. Grim deadpanned at you and Ace, feeling the hopelessness seep in. 

“No. We really are just friends. There is no duo in a trio moment here, Ace,” you explain as Deuce shakes his head and Grim just sighs. Both can’t believe how you fell for Ace.

“Whaaa? Okay, darn, my vibes must be off.” Ace said as he groaned. He was so confident, hoping for some drama too. He sighed before shrugging and acting as he usually would. You sighed in relief as he dropped the topic, and Deuce and Grim whispered amongst themselves.

[Next Day; Lunch]

You sat anxiously on the table alone, and the other friends were leaving you alone because today was the day! Though, can’t Ace come to the table any sooner? He’s taking his sweet time on the lunch line. You were fidgeting, and you couldn’t help but glare as the rest of the group were cheering awkwardly on the sidelines.

Except for Sebek, he’s cheering as loud as he can. He was saluting and clapping while giving a thumbs-up, too. Ace returned to the table, confused, as you sat alone. He teased you, 

“Why are we alone? What? This a date?” Ace joked before looking away. Unknown to you, Ace was flushed at his own joke. Sevens knew that he was wishing it was a date. You stammer and try to make the atmosphere light. 

“I mean, could be?”

“Wha–?!” 

[Two Days Earlier…]

Ace was sulking in his room while sighing loudly as the night seemed to drawl. The hangout you 

had earlier went by too fast. Ace was longing to be in your presence. He knew why, and it scared him to admit that. His phone's bright screen annoyed Deuce, who was forced to room with Deuce for a night. Deuce woke up and glared.

“Dude, you’re being loud, and your phone is so bright!”

“Deuce, I need your advice,” Ace said thoughtfully as he looked at the disheveled boy. Deuce faltered and pinched his skin to knock him out of his dream state. Ace's tone was so sincere that Deuce momentarily doubted that he was still talking to his friend. He gaped at Ace and straightened himself before gesturing for Ace to continue whatever melodrama he was experiencing. 

“So, our dear friend. You know, [Name]? Yeah, so… Uh…” Ace stalls as Deuce tries to make sense of what Ace is implying. Deuce looked at him, encouraging him just to finish because there was no judgment here. Ace and Deuce are quite literally bonded for life at this point. 

“I like them. And not the “Oh, they’re cool” type of liking. Sevens… I want to date them, okay?! I need… Why am I even asking this from you? Ugh,” Ace grumbled as he hid in his pillow. He was flushed, the tip of his ears peaking with red, while his hands were shaky. Deuce never saw Ace this way. It was almost laughable/

“Ooh! Someone’s got a crush.” 

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in. Listen, man. There’s no hope for me here. [Name] is way too good for me!”

“Heh, you got that right,” Deuce joked as he looked at Ace, who was staring at the ceiling longingly. He never looked this vulnerable.

“Oi! I’m trying–! You know what, good night!” Ace glared as he flipped Deuce off. He grumbled as he tucked himself back into his blankets and glanced at Deuce, who was laughing.

“Wait, come on! I’m listening!” Deuce laughs as he tries to coax Ace to confess what he is about to say. Ace grumbled and threw a pillow at Deuce, resulting in a pillow fight.

[Present Day, Lunch Time]

“I said… This could be a date!” You find the courage to say it. Ace flushed deep red as he tried to play things cool. You finally brought out the cupcakes with a nervous smile. As you offered the baked goods, the proud look in your eyes made Ace tremble and melt.

“If you only knew how much trouble I went to making these,” You say as you laugh to make things less awkward. Ace was shaky as he accepted it; the usual smirk he did was gone. He looked so shy it made you wonder if you were still with the Ace Trappola.

Ace grabbed the small box and smiled, flaunting his charm, before closing his eyes to steady his heart. He winked at you before smiling.

“So, I’m guessing there will be a duo moment in a trio?” He joked, making you blush when you realized what he meant. Oh, Sevens, is he?? “I think I know what’s gonna happen next,” Ace whispered as he sat beside you.

[avelera]

I’m curious how you think Jayce and Viktor’s romantic/sexual relationship most likely unfolded within the context of the two Arcane seasons. Do you think it would have looked something like the trajectory from Distinguished Innovators or were they just pining for each other but entirely oblivious of the other person's feelings until the very end (especially with what you said at some point about the possibility of Mel being Jayce’s first)

Hmm, so there's fanfic and canon to consider here. I think with fanfic, it can be anything the author desires.

Technically, I think the most canon-accurate romantic read of what's happening on the page is that Jayce and Viktor have feelings for each other but neither is totally aware of their feelings until Jayce has his moment staring into the fire in 2.07 when he "chooses" Viktor. Then Jayce basically confesses during their big final scene and we get a lot of hints that Viktor has felt the same way or been silently and hopelessly pining for him and now they're finally together.

But that never quite works for me because it requires a little too much "carrying the idiot ball" like... these guys spent the entire time skip between 1.03-1.04 in close quarters at all hours of the day creating Hextech together. That's before Jayce becomes the "Man of Progress" or any of that stuff and was just a regular and possibly crazy researcher who almost got banished, so it can't always be a status difference. And Jayce is so affectionate, and he falls for Mel so quickly, I really truly struggle to imagine that with no barriers to a relationship (Runeterra canonically does not have homophobia) they wouldn't have gotten together sooner if something else wasn't in the way.

So, personally, I think that they've tried to or come very close to a relationship in the past, but something prevented them from going all the way and now it's that near-miss is still there in their physicality with one another, and both might still long for it, but one of them is holding it back from happening while the other just thinks it's hopeless and I honestly think after S2 it's Viktor holding back because of his declining health, while Jayce is the one thinking he hasn't got a shot so he might as well, tragically, look elsewhere.

And I'll go into a bit more detail on why I believe that for a romantic read of these two:

(Obviously you can just go the boring old "cuz they're not romantic" but I think that's dull and reductive and presumably not why anyone is the Jayvik tag)

I also don't totally buy the idea that they hadn't figured it out yet? These are two young men in their 20s, who basically instantly connect with one another, share everything, and are openly physically affectionate with each other from the first. In my fic Distinguished Innovators there's a certain amount of shyness and the fact they're just busy to deal with but they're still young men, it's why the fic postulates a physical relationship between them that isn't exclusive or official and thus doesn't change their status as "partners".

But in fics of mine like Parley I first floated another possibility that with time I find more convincing argument: Viktor knows he doesn't have long to live, so he's resolved to keep a certain distance from Jayce and not interfere with any sort of love life he might have (even if it destroys him with jealousy) because he doesn't want Jayce to be totally destroyed by his death, which given how openly affectionate Jayce is, seems inevitable.

This one works for me increasingly because it means the characters don't need to carry the idiot ball. Viktor can have his own strong reasons for not wanting to involve Jayce in that kind of relationship and Jayce can read that Viktor doesn't want to be involved with him in that way, and maybe they even got close and he was pushed back, and he's just respecting that now because he's just happy to have his soulmate in his life in any way he can have him (which I truly sincerely believe is a canonically supported read of Jayce no matter how romantic you see their relationship).

Then the tricky thing about a disease like that is... how much time does he actually have? If it's months, he should focus on leaving a legacy, which Viktor does. If it's years, in theory, they could work on a cure for him, but what if that doesn't work? Then you run into the tragedy of the longer he lives, the more he comes to regret not being with Jayce anyway. Then there's the question of a Hextech cure. I can see Viktor resolving to himself that if he's ever cured, then he'll confess to Jayce. Which feels all but impossible at the end of S1 when Sky dies, but then in 2.08, in the Council chamber scene, it really feels like Viktor finally feels like he's allowed to openly pursue Jayce because he's "perfect" now, and that to me is a linchpin of the idea that Viktor was holding himself back from pursuing Jayce openly because of his health.

Oh and I still think it's possible that Mel is Jayce's first as a result, or very near his first if him and Viktor maybe fooled around a bit or if Jayce had other relationships before that. But there is something very innocent in the way Jayce approaches sleeping with Mel that to me feels very much like he's had only a couple partners or fewer at the very least, if he hasn't been outright "saving himself for marriage" levels of hoping Viktor will notice him someday, which is my Jayvik romantic read of that moment he pauses before returning Mel's kiss, he's thinking, "Do I realistically have a shot with Viktor?" and concluding sadly that, no, he doesn't so he might as well stop denying himself a possible relationship over it anymore.

[burst-of-iridescent]

Personally Kat.aang looks bad to me because Aang gave his most lightest skinned child special treatment 💀 there were air acolytes who weren’t air benders themselves but were still dedicated to keeping the culture alive so leaving Kya and Bumi out on account of them not being air benders is absolute bullsh*t. You don’t see Zutara shippers calling Kat.aang shippers racist because of it 🤔

yeah see this is one of those things that again ties back to bry.ke being totally oblivious about the implications of what they were writing because the optics of the kat.aang family are… troubling, to put it nicely.

the darker-skinned woman is a waterbender. the lighter-skinned man is an airbender. the nonbender is conveniently in-between. their clothing all correspond strictly to their individual elements (except bumi who gets chucked to red for the audacity of not being born an airbender — at least till he conveniently turns into one). if you knew nothing of these characters you’d never know they were biracial at all.

which is just… so disappointing. part of the reason i love zutara is how the fandom handles the incorporation of both cultures, and yet bry.ke couldn’t even be bothered to do the bare fucking minimum of at least having the kat.aang kids in blue and yellow clothes. if you’re going to claim that a significant aspect of this new, postwar world is the increased cultural exchange across nations then the kat.aang family of all people should be emblematic of that change! but no, instead of taking the opportunity to actually delve into and depict the intricacies of a blended household, we might as well just stick to the same shit we’ve been doing since atla because why think of something new, right?

it’s even more troubling that within the strange cultural division of the ka kids, it’s katara’s culture that gets the shaft. tenzin’s entire family might as well be air nomads through and through, and while bumi and kya seem to have been intentionally excluded from air nomad culture through no fault of their own, they don’t seem to know (or care) any more about their swt heritage either. the natural conclusion to draw from that is evidently that katara’s culture just doesn’t matter as much as aang’s in their family, and that paints a very disturbing picture of how aang views his wife’s heritage (especially with the worldbuilding of atla portraying the air nomads as ‘spiritually pure’ in comparison to everyone else).

i have no patience for the common ka defense that aang is a survivor of genocide so his culture should take more priority because a) katara is also a genocide survivor, as ka stans are so fond of pointing out until it doesn’t work in their favour and b) why are we acting like cultural integration is some sort of zero sum game? tenzin, kya and bumi aren’t going to run out of space for their air nomad traditions and practices just because they know more about their swt background as well. there’s no arbitrary limit on how much you can learn of your heritage.

yes, i know bry.ke didn’t intend for the ka family to come across this way. but whether the implications were purposeful or not, they still exist, and it’s fucking galling that the fandom will call zutara and zutara shippers racist all while defending the shitty writing choices of two american white men — and then pat themselves on the back for being progressive, as if genuine activism means harassing real poc in the name of fictional ones.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 8- Something to Believe In

Summary: Frankie makes good on his promise to pick you up from work.

Word count: 3.7K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: Having a panic attack (cue Frankie to the rescue), mentions of death and grieving, angst, yearning, could we perhaps be ✨making progress✨?

A/N: Hi friends!! Thanks for bearing with me after no new chapter last week! This one's also on the shorter side, but that's not to say there aren't some BIG things happening 👀 My hope is to have another chapter done by next week, but with holiday business, it may have to be two weeks between chapters again (sorry sorry sorry!!) Thank you as always for your lovely and kind words, ily all so much MWAH

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Frankie, Present 

“I’m done at ten.” 

By the time he gets back home at 6:43, he’s already counting down the hours until you’re finished with your shift. 

Three hours and seventeen minutes, to be exact. 

For as much as Frankie could easily spend the next three hours and seventeen minutes doing nothing but staring at the clock hanging adjacent to the TV in the living room, he knows he’ll drive himself out of his goddamn mind. He needs something to do. 

If he keeps himself busy, he can’t fester on the million and one ways he could manage to fuck this up. 

Frankie forces himself to eat some sort of half-assed dinner, despite his nervous nausea that’s got the best of him. He purposely uses as many dishes and utensils to make a sandwich as humanly possible- if he does, it gives him something to do after. 

He cleans out his entire truck, down to vacuuming every last crumb crunched between the driver’s seat and center console. He debates washing the car himself in the driveway, but if he drives it to the carwash three blocks down the road, it’ll kill more time. 

On his way home, he stops at Auto Zone to get you a new car battery and exchanges it for your old one, dead, under the hood of your car. 

Frankie takes a shower so long, he can feel in real time the water shift from boiling hot, to luke warm, to ice cold. He washes his hair twice. His body, three times. 

He unpacks just about every item of clothing from his suitcase, laying them out on his bed in multiple combinations of pants and shirts, debating whether you'll think he’s a psychopath for showing up in a different outfit only a few hours after dropping you off. Frankie settles on shorts and a t-shirt- nice enough he doesn’t look like a fool, but casual enough for you not to suspect he’s been staring at every article of clothes he owns for the past thirty minutes. 

And somehow, after all of that, he still ends up in the Parrot’s Nest parking lot at 9:23. 

Thirty-seven minutes worth of waiting is a lot more manageable than the better part of three hours. 

Unfortunately, the last thirty-seven minutes he spends sitting in the parking lot are the most agonizing of his whole endeavor. 

He throws the last few innings of the Tampa Bay Rays game on the radio in the background, unable to stand the sound of silence that haunts him when he’s alone with his thoughts. 

Frankie tries not to panic at the fact that it seems like he’s forgotten how to engage in basic human conversation, praying that no one can see the way he’s rehearsing his greeting to you upon your arrival into the passenger seat. 

“Hey, what’s up? No, fuck, that’s stupid.” Frankie mutters to himself, running his palm over his face, “Hey, MacKenzie, how was work? No, ‘cause what if work was fucking awful and I’m just gonna piss her off more. Jesus.” 

He takes a few more long, deep breaths, staring at the roof of his truck while he tries to concoct the perfect set of words to string together. 

“Hey, Kenz. Kenzie? MacKenzie? Does she even fucking go by Kenz anymore? Fuck. Hey, miss me?” He jokes by his lonesome, his fake smile quickly fading at the anticipation of your response, “She obviously didn’t miss you, idiot. You’re lucky you can barley get her to fucking talk to you. Fuck me.” 

His pained groan and scrunched shut face are enough cut off the awareness to his surroundings just long enough to leave him oblivious to the fact you’ve not only exited the Parrot’s Nest, but have made your way across the parking lot and have your hand wrapped around the passenger door, rattling the handle. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Frankie shouts, nearly jumping out of his own skin at the way you’ve announced yourself by shaking at the locked door. 

So much for rehearsing. 

“F-fuck-” He stammers, taking a moment to catch his breath from your scare, praying he hasn’t managed to shit his pants from how badly you’ve startled him. Once his pulse settles to rate low enough he’s convinced he hasn’t died of a heart attack, he leans over to unlock your door, unable to make eye contact with you as he grimaces his face in embarrassment. 

“S-sorry.” you murmur, sheepishly climbing into the seat next to him, quietly clicking in your seatbelt. 

“Jesus Kenz, you scared the shit outta me.” Frankie gulps, still trying to compose himself. He runs his hand through the curls of his hair, taking one last slow inhale and exhale with his eyes peeled to the floor, hoping the pink drains from his cheeks before he looks over at you. 

“Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to. I thought maybe you fell asleep, or something. You shrug, trying to defend your reasoning. 

“I wouldn’t offer to come pick you up and then fall asleep on you, I’m not that big of an assho-” 

Frankie cuts himself off before he can finish the rest of his thought, feeling the “L” and “E” of “asshole” die off somewhere in the back of his throat, killed by the death glare you give in proclamation of his own self-righteousness.  

He starts the car without another word, pulling out of the parking lot and hoping that his silence begs enough forgiveness. 

The crackling static of the car radio fills the void between you, Andy Freed’s ecstatic voice capturing both of your attentions enough to let the current state of the Tampa Bay Rays game shift your focus. 

“What’s the score?” You ask, nonchalant, eyes wandering anywhere but Frankie’s direction. 

“Oh- uh, I- I think it was 1-3 last time I checked, but it sounds like someone on the Rays just hit a sac fly, so I’m guessing it’s 2-3, now.” 

There’s a moment of silence, Frankie assuming you’ve got it in you to at least make one question’s worth of small talk. You seem just as surprised as him that you don’t let the conversation die there. 

“Did you um- you watched the game when you got home?” 

Your gaze won’t lock with his, but now, it’ll at least travel in his general direction. 

“N-no, I just uh- I just turned it on while I was waiting in the car.” 

“How long were you waiting for?” 

“N-not that long.” He barely gives you enough time to breathe, let alone call him out on his bullshit before he’s changing the subject, “How uh- how was work?” 

“Oh- It was uh- it was fine. Went by really slow. B-because it wasn’t um, it wasn’t that busy.” 

Frankie’s no code breaker, but he hopes the way you’re so quick to give him a reason why your shift had dragged on is a secret way of saying you spent just as long thinking about him as he did about you. 

“Sorry it was so slow.” 

Frankie knows his apology doesn’t do anything for you, but the way he’s picking each word that comes out of his mouth has him feeling like he’s tiptoeing through a minefield, too scared to make any move besides the one that seems the safest. 

“It’s okay, not your fault. That’s honestly part of the reason I took this job- was to give myself something to do, so I don’t spend every last second that my dad is alive dwelling on the fact that pretty soon, he’s not gonna be alive. It’s stupid, but I guess if being preoccupied with serving middle aged couples mozzarella sticks and over-cooked steak tacos for a few hours helps, then so be it.”  

He knows better than anyone that your attempt at humor is your shield, but it’s not hard to see how weathered and worn it’s become, barely hanging on by a thread to protect you from the worst battle you still have yet to face. 

“N-no, it makes sense. Distractions help. I-It’s been hard, having to see him like this. I get it.” 

His last sentence makes your head snap up from the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Frankie hopes that maybe your attentiveness means he’s had a breakthrough, showing enough genuine empathy that you’ll cut him a little slack. 

When he turns enough to see the scowl plastered across your face, he realizes he’s stepped on a bomb, and he’s moments away from explosion. 

“Oh, you ‘get it’, huh?” You scoff, sadistic smile curling in the corner of your cheeks. 

Frankie can see the way your blood is beginning to boil, trying to backtrack as quickly as possible to find any way to save himself. 

“N-no- I mean, shit-  no, Kenz, you know what I mean.” Frankie pleads. 

“No, I don’t know what you mean, Frankie. Please, explain.” 

The way your arms are crossed and head is cocked tells him everything he needs to know. Against his better judgement, Frankie decides not to take cover. He goes headfirst into the warzone. 

“C’mon, Kenz, don’t be like this.” Frankie sighs, preemptively kicking himself that this is the route he’s chosen to take. 

“Like what?” You snap back, sharp and sarcastic. 

“Like it’s not hard for me, too. Like I can’t be sad about it. You’re not the only person who cares about him, MacKenzie. He was the closest thing I had to a dad, too.” 

“But he’s not your dad, is he? And if you were, that’d make you a pretty shitty son, wouldn’t it?” 

It hits him like a cold, hard slap to the face, the way you don’t dare to show him even an ounce of mercy. There’s something about the bitterness in the way you ask it that hurts even more than if you would have just screamed at him, cursed him out, punched and pushed him until he bruised. 

A stark silence falls over the car, tension so thick, it’s like a bag of bricks has been dropped from the sky, drowning him in a useless pile of cement. There’s no use in crying for help. He doesn’t dare to speak, simply out of fear that if he does, this won’t be the worst of what’s yet to come. 

Frankie stays trapped for what feels like hours, each second passing by more painfully slow than the last as you stare out your window, watching the shadows of street lights dance across your body, illuminating you just enough to see the way your chest trembles with short, frantic breaths as you unravel. Your sobs can’t hide behind the silence in the way your tears can in the darkness. 

“Do you know how fucking lonely it is, Frankie? How lonely it is when everyone you’ve ever cared about leaves you? It’s like I’m fucking Midas, but everything I touch, eventually, I lose. A life before cancer, my soccer career, an engagement, a future, my dad, you? You don’t get to tell me how hard it is for you, because you get to let go of what you want on your terms, when it’s convenient for you, don’t you? I’m so sick of losing, Frankie. I’m so sick of it.” 

He watches in real time how something inside you snaps, like a bottle of soda that’s erupted after someone’s violently shaken shaken it, the twist of the cap releasing all the pressure and tension that’s been stored up and compounded upon with each rattle of their wrist. 

Frankie knows he’s not responsible for all of it, but he's the last bump you can take before you have no other choice but to overflow, leaving every ounce of you to seep out, vulnerable and exposed. 

What starts off as softs sobs, quickly shifts to heart wrenching heaves of your chest, every word you’re trying to get out lodged in your throat. He sees how your eyes fill with fear at the way you suddenly can’t catch your breath, body shaking as you shrink into your seat, fingers wrapping around your seatbelt with an iron grip around the worn fabric. 

“Kenz? Kenzie, are you okay?” It only seems fair he’s completely disregarded everything you’d had to say, beginning to panic at your tremoring figure crumpled next to him, speaking in nothing but violent wails you can’t control. 

“I- I- f-fuck, f-f- Frankie, fuck, n- no, no, I-” 

He won’t let you finish your thought- he only lets you stammer out the few words you can manage before he’s pulled off on the nearest neighborhood side street he can find. He blames it on military habit, how quick he is to react in the face of your panic, but he knows damn well it’s nothing but instinct the way he’s all but throwing off his seatbelt so he can reach across the center console and wrap you in his arms. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here. Just try and breathe, okay?” Frankie whispers, squeezing you so tightly in his arms you just might break. 

“I c-can’t, I can’t, fuck, i-it- it, it f-feels like I can’t breathe.” You sob, feeling your tear stains pool in the fabric of his shirt covering, face buried against his chest. 

“I know. I know it’s scary. I promise you’re okay, it’ll pass. Just try and breathe with me, okay?” 

He hopes you don’t notice how shaky his own breaths are, trying his best to stay calm with each long inhale and exhale he takes. The wave of grief that washes over him is different than the one you’re drowning in, the kind that makes his heart break at the type of panic he’s known all too well- he’d give every bone in his body to absorb your pain and make it his, but the best he can do is hold you until it subsides. He’ll hold you all night, if that’s what it takes. 

It’s a few minutes before he can finally feel your heart rate starting to slow, the stiffness of your muscles beginning to ease in his grasp as you come back down to earth with him. Your tears haven’t stopped, but at least your chest starts to rise and fall with his. It’s a baby step, but he’ll take any steps he can get in the right direction. 

“There ya go. Just like that. It’s okay. Worst of it’s over, I promise.” 

With the way one thumb is gently stroking your back and the other is carefully brushing the back of your head, it’s safe to say every inhibition Frankie could have has flown out the window. He hates how there’s a selfish part of him that can’t describe the way it feels to hold you again, even if it’s like this, but that’s a battle of his own he’s not willing to face today. For now, he’ll accept the sweet bliss of his self-indulgence while you’re curled against him. 

“You’re okay, Kenz. I’m here. I promise, you’re okay.” 

Enough time passes that his t-shirt isn’t getting any wetter, finally brave enough to peek your head up from the crook of his neck to wipe your tear stained cheeks with the back of your hand. Frankie’s grip only loosens enough to let you sit up, arms still engulfing your frame, tight enough to make sure you don’t float away on him again. 

“I- I’m s-sorry.” 

It’s so soft as it leaves your lips, if he wasn’t waiting on your every word, Frankie just might have missed it. Little do you know, he’s hanging on your every breath. 

“Hey,” he pauses, your eyes locking with his, softly pouting at the way your panic has made your face red and puffy, carefully swiping his thumb across your cheek to catch the wetness still streaming down the corners of your eyes, “you have nothing to apologize about, okay?” 

He waits in the silence again, letting you softly nod your head in agreement, watching the gears turn in your head as you process everything that’s just happened. You’ve come to enough to notice the way his hand still sits on the small of your back- he’s just as surprised as you when you let him keep it there for another moment before subtly shifting back in your seat. 

Your face scrunches shut, wincing with the last few deep breaths you take, like you're trying to push the rest of it out of your system for good. Frankie runs his hand through his messy hair and down the nape of his neck as he takes you in, still riding his melancholy high of the weight of your body pressed into his. 

“Thank you. For um- just, t-thank you.” You mutter, too sheepish to look him in the eye again now that full blown embarrassment has set in. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” 

Frankie nods, trying his best to let you know that he means it- really, truly means it. It’s the way he won’t take his eyes off you that must let you know he understands, watching you shift just enough in your seat for him to notice how your body turns ever so slightly to face him. 

“They’ve uh- fuck, it just comes out of nowhere sometimes. It’s um- it’s happened before, but these past few weeks, it just- it’s been a lot, I guess.”  

“It’s been a while since I’ve had one, but I um- I got ‘em all the time after I came home. Feels like you’re dying. It sucks.” 

It’s not graceful, but it’s genuine. Vulnerable. Honest. Frankie knows it’s the most truth he’s given you in more years than he’d like to admit. It’s not much, but it’s enough to see you scale the top of the wall you’ve built between you and him and kick down one of the bricks that’s holding it together. It’s not much, but it’s one less brick than that wall has had for a very, very long time. 

“What are you talking about? That was so much fun.” 

In the shared moment of soft, sympathetic laughter, it’s that he realizes the softest smile that’s stretched in the corner of your lips. Frankie tries not to stare, but when he sees it, he remembers how much he’s hated living without it. He takes it in for as long as he can, memorizing every crease and crinkle in your face, no matter how subtle. He’ll soak in every second he can. He’s thankful he does, because it’s only a matter of time before it starts to shift, corners of your cheeks shifting as you pick at the skin around your nails. 

“I- um- I’m sorry- a-about what I said earlier.  I- I didn’t mean it.” 

Frankie lets out a huff of confusion, convinced you must be playing a joke on him with your unprompted apology. He’s almost tempted to laugh again, but the way your jaw shifts back and forth, anxiously grinding on your teeth while your eyes stay peeled to the fingers working away at your skin reminds him of every other apology you’ve ever offered. The same look when you accidentally popped the brand new basketball he got for his 13th birthday, the same fidgeting of your fingers when overreacted to the dent you thought he put in your brand new car backing out of your driveway, the same tick of your jaw when you had told him why you hadn’t written him more while he overseas on his last tour of duty. 

You really do mean it. 

“It’s okay. I deserve it.” Frankie admits. As hurtful as it was, he knows you weren’t completely unjustified in what you said. He also knows if you’re offering him an olive branch, he’ll offer you nothing short of a whole olive tree back. 

“No- well, I mean, maybe a little-” your sarcastic self correction makes him laugh again, something long forgotten warming in his heart at the way your hidden grin reappears in the corners of your cheeks, “No- I just- that was shitty of me to say. I’m sorry. It’s- it’s just a lot right now. Not totally fair to take it all out on you.” 

“I know. It’s okay.” Frankie pauses, captivated by the way your eyes flicker up to meet his, still wet and sparkling from the last of your tears, shimmering in the warm glow of the streetlights. He wants to reach out, to grab you, hold you, press you against his chest again and tell you that everything will be okay, but he won’t risk burning the bridge of the progress he’s built. Not yet. The best he can do is keep building, nail by nail, plank by plank. 

“If you um- if you ever need someone to- to talk to, or whatever, I’m always-” 

“I know.” 

There’s a different kind of silence that fills the empty spaces of his truck the last ten minutes of the ride home. It’s no longer heavy, burdened by pain and fear with every breath that enters its void. It’s the quiet kind of reassurance that doesn’t need any words. The kind that says everything it needs to from stolen glances back and forth, accompanied by the warmth of pink cheeks hidden in the black of the night sky. 

The last thing that’s said after he’s pulled into your driveway is a simple “thank you”. It’s only two words, but something about those 8 letters put together seems like enough to fill a book with how much it says. 

The only thing that says more is the way you look over your shoulder when you make it to your porch, so brief that if he wasn’t looking for it, he surely would have missed it. 

Because in that moment you look back at him, he swears there’s a smile straining against the line of your lips that you’re trying desperately to fight. 

Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe he’s truly lost his mind. Maybe he’s crazy. Whatever he may be, Frankie Morales knows he won’t sleep a wink tonight at the thought that he’s finally the reason for the smile on your face again. 

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland @guelyury

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[tilskkarishma]

*hugs you back!!!*

Oh god no. :( Well at least I don't have to go to school anymore. It was a nightmare back then! It is almost 30 years ago and I still have trauma because of this time.

I feel you so much. Because this is also part of my struggles. I am fat and ugly and yes when I say I want to kill myself I mean it. The last time I was 2019 in hospital for a trial. And the worst is, that I made progress and everything. And now? Everything I achieved is gone. I lost almost everything (also my 2 cats) and 2 days ago I started again to harm myself... my boyfriend knows this by the way... and then he was like this to me today... I feel so exhausted.

And you are creative and I would be sad if you would be gone. I love you as you are. And I wish for you that there will be a huge positive change. ♥

Being good to each other is so important, guys.

[vaguely-concerned]

my capacity to see a bad fandom take and just blithely say 'okay! I disagree' internally and move on because it's not my responsibility or concern that someone else thinks that has leveled up so tremendously over the years. I haven't quite escaped the pit of misery yet but I think I'm getting there

[thewistlingbadger]

I think the scene with Jinx and Vi in the bunker would have been better if Jinx had broke down at the sight of Silco's jacket. For self indulgent reasons? Yes, but also for three other valid reasons.

Silco was a huge part of Jinx's life, and we only got to see her grieve and mourn him twice. Her breaking down when encountering yet another reminder of him would be accurate to what the season has already established and would progress this part of her story.

Silco has told Jinx the story of Vander's betrayal countless of times throughout her life, to the point where she was detached from the notion and didn't truly realize the severity of their rift. But the image of his jacket nestled within Vander's would make their relationship so much more real to her and would have caused a moment of reflection for her.

This scene was the perfect moment to get the sisters to talk about the two men that raised each of them respectively, since we've never seen them talk about any of them before in a meaningful way. From Vi's perspective, Silco captured Jinx as child because Vi was unable to protect her and brainwashed her into being a delusional psychopath. We know that this couldn't be further from the truth. We know that the relationship between those two was one of love and care, one between a father and a daughter. But Vi doesn't know that because she and Jinx never talk about it. Silco means so much to Jinx, how can Vi possibly understand her sister if she doesn't understand her relationship with Silco? We see in this scene that Vi still harbors resentment and bitterness towards Silco, this was literally the perfect opportunity to address her feelings towards him. To me, you can't reconcile the relationship between the sisters if you don't reconcile Vi's perception of Silco. She's always going to hate him, but that doesn't mean she was to be willingly ignorant about him. Like, in this scene, Vi is still completely oblivious to Vander's betrayal. She has no idea he's the reason for Silco's scar and change in personality- only Jinx knows that. This was the perfect opportunity for Jinx to share that knowledge. If Vi understood that Jinx loved Silco and that love was reciprocated, it would make her question her own beliefs, which could lead to development for her character. It could teach her to not think so black and white. Seeing Jinx weep for Silco would also make Vi realize that her sister is still human, still capable of vulnerability and solely capable of harm and violence. This was the perfect opportunity to have an open and honest dialogue between the sisters and have them actually unpack their baggage.

[luci-chan666]

I used to have a cat named "Tuesday," she had short grey hair and yellow eyes, I adopted her from a shelter and spoiled her. I miss her.

Honestly, my comfort food would have to be french fries, 🍟 lets be real.

My main language is English, I can speak and understand some Japanese, (Hiragana is still a work in progress for me), I can speak, write and understand Norwegian, I know some ASL, and yeah!! There you go!

Random fact about me, I was born on February 19th! That makes me an Aquarius-Pisces cusp! (Well known as; the cusp of sensitivity.) ♒ ♓

Something I'm proud of is myself. I've been through a lot and I'm still here. I'm glad that I'm able to be here. I'm proud of all the progress I've made, not just physically but mentally!! I'm used to doing things for other people instead of helping myself, so I still need to work on that.

( mutual peoplez; @kora-moon @pinkapplejaybird @arcadiafairy @simps-for-a-fictional-character @titanloveraaaaa @nikosamaki @hiraethsdumbassry @th30sstuff no pressure guys!!~) 🎁🎄🎋

Tag game because I want to know you better !

-Do you have a pet ?

-Comfort food ?

-How many languages do you speak ?

- Random fact about yourself

-Something you’re proud of

To begin this little tag game, I’ll tag @ebony-reine-vibes @freddie-77-ao3 @newobsessioneveryweek @thehaikuman and @miraclesnail

I hope the questions aren’t boring and love you all 😘

[shiny-jr]

Plagiarism? In this economy???

Aside from that, I just wish the user just gave up and actually write on their own. (Although I kinda doubt that) I just wish creators create anything from their own hardwork. Who cares if it's cringe when you create it, it's part of the growth. Hell, it's satisfying to see how you progress. If the user see this, plagiarism won't give you anything other than temporary happiness when people see your work. Even it's from zero, people acknowledge your creation as yours are way better than people labeling you a irresponsible stealer.

MAJOR UPDATE for the plagiarism situation here and here.

I know, right? Plagiarism? Much more likely than you would think! Why, you may ask? Because we got a serial plagiarizer here on our hands, folks. That's right people, with the help of mutuals, we've discovered that user Kristynaka1 from Wattpad has plagiarized from not one, not two, not even three, but at least FOUR different writers (myself included). We're fairly sure it's more, but we're still working on the others to see if there's more.

I have reached out to the other three and have only received a reply from one so far, which explains my latest reblog if y'all have seen it. Thankfully, by the time I woke up this morning, their copied story was already gone. However, mine and the others still remain.

Now, here is where I would like some help. God, I feel kinda bad to be going on about this, but I want this situation to be over with before we can return to our regular program of posting and writing silly things. Anyways, as a famous man once said, "I am once again asking for your support."

Firstly, please continue commenting discouragements on the copied story In The Right Time.

Secondly, please report the account now instead of a singular story. If the account is gone, then all the stories are gone.

Thirdly, please check the profile linked above. If you know anything, whether you find it familiar or discover the original source for their assumingly copied stories Falling Into Madness and Encanto fic, let me know! I'd like to reach out to all writers this user copied from, as I'm certain there are more than four.

[sibillascribbles08]

Big Ol' Rottmnt Fic Rec List

Hi, I've needed to do this for a while, so here's a big bundle of fic recs from me !

I've broken it down between one shots, chaptered fics, and series. I'll try to mention what the character focus is along with a brief summary and some personal thoughts. If you need more details I encourage you to check the fics summary and tags for yourself! I will only include an author's tumblr account if it's easy for me to find haha

One Shots

Mama's Boy - ashtreelane: Technically two chapters but it feels like a one shot. Casey Jr. angst, involving him finding out that maybe you can fix kraang infections and that he failed to save his mother. I love when people really pile the grief on Junior after all the fighting is over and the fic does it so well.

Forget-Me-Nots - GibbousLunation (AKA @klunkcat ): Hi, oh my god??? Leo and Mikey centric angst, in which saving Leo from the prison dimension has an insane ripple effect. Mikey dying? Nah he's going to start getting erased from every timeline and Leo slowly watches it happen (and refuses to do nothing about it). I utterly adore how this fic handles this concept. You see almost all of it from Leo's POV, noticing the little changes but writing them off as memory failures, because of how subtle some of it is.

Fight or Flight - pickledcarrotsandradish: Leo centric, post movie, Leo keeps waiting for his family to start lecturing him about all the dumb stuff he did during the invasion, and they aren't, so it's getting to him. A very neat narrative about how self loathing can warp our perception of how others see us. A++++

The Friend Zone Sounds Pretty Good, Actually - Cryptvokeeper: Eating this, eating this. You probably already know I love aroace Leo and this fic is an INCREDIBLE exploration of that. Even as just an ace person it hit SO many notes where I was just like "Oh god... I've been there buddy". And as a bonus the dynamic between Leo and Yuichi is v sweet. Love this a lot I've read it like five times.

Pink in The Night - unnamedmystery: Incredible April/Sunita fic. Like seriously this author wrote April's crush so well I think I was starting to fall in love with Sunita. Just incredibly cute all the way through, and great April writing, adore it.

《 until then, matriarch 》 - chiangyorange: HI OH MY GOD A nice chunky oneshot about Karai, about her being a leader, and it's phenomenal. It hits and hits and does not miss, really going in depth about her emotions involving her father turning into something wicked and having to destroy him, and how it ruins all of her good memories.

The Kindness of Collision - SpoonerizedSwiftness (AKA @splickedylit ): Hi I still remember the fic and the art suddenly showing up in the tag and then I was thinking about it for the next like five weeks aslkdjf A very interesting idea that when the turtles reach the age they were in the doomed timeline before things got reset, all the memories of their other life more or less hit them like a train. All of them have to comb through that information and it's a wonderful and emotional ride.

Chaptered Fics

Hamartia - Punable (in progress): Hi this is one of my all time favorite rise fics, mainly because in a way, it helped me come to terms with my chronic pain. It's Donnie centric and smack full of angst in all the best ways. Shorthand summary, an explosion in Donnie's lab almost takes him out (or kind of DOES take him out) and the recovery is not only long and agonizing, it may only go so far, and Donnie doesn't cope well with that.

Kick It Up a Notch - Brokenpitchpipe (completed): Hi this is my other all time fav rise fic. Donnie centric separated AU in which Donnie is raised by Draxum. My love for it stems a lot from the characterization of Donnie though, and even Draxum in this case. Not to mention that in a lot of cases it matches the vibes of the show. And in spite of all the humor, there's a few really gut wrenching moments. 10/10 will re-read.

Lightning in Our Fingertips Today - DaFlangsLairde (AKA @daflangstlairde-art) (completed): Leo and Donnie centric, mostly angst, with body swapping between the twins which results in Donnie finding out that Leo's ninpo hurts him. Love love love the character writing in this, and also how the swap is written.

Under Pressure - ParvumAutomaton (completed): Not sure this is a single character focused fic, but basically April goes cave diving and is out for a while, and the turtles get worried and go looking for her. This might be personal bias but as someone who gets really into caving stories, this fic hits the spot for so many reasons. A really great emotional ride, and if you wanna see April go through it then I super recommend it.

Nothing Haunts Us (like the things we don't say) - mad_and_thick_as_theives (completed): A lot of great fics by this author btw, but this one personally stood out to me. It starts of silly and light only to sweep in with the emotional weight. Turtles are all cursed with a truth spell, basically, but I think my favorite bit is who gets out of it first (and why). V sweet.

Creation of a Philospher's Stone - IgnisCanis (completed): Whoooo boy, if you want some Draxum centric character exploration this is a great one. It really fleshes him out as a morally grey character and also does a fantastic job at writing Mikey when he finds out.

The Ol Switcheroo - radishhqueen (AKA @radishhqueen) (completed): Haha not going to lie I have a few by this author (so I'll only tag them once) but MAN. Hands down my favorite take on future leo coming to the past, and maybe I'm biased because I like when those fics actually explore Junior's character in the process buuuuut I love it. Junior's already struggling to adapt himself to the present, and after getting caught up in a foot clan spell which summons his sensei to the present too it really doesn't get any easier.

Vigilantism for Fun and Profit - radishhqueen (completed): The Cassandra Jones fic ever. Zero contest. If you're uncertain about writing Cassandra because she had so little development in the show I encourage you to read this for inspiration (I know it inspired me a lot). It does such a great deep dive into her character post show and a bit of the movie too. Honestly anytime radishh has a Cassandra fic I am clicking.

Tried to Grow Up Good - Sroloc_Elbisivni (AKA @sroloc--elbisivni )(completed): The Casey Jr. fic ever. CRAZY in love with this post movie take on him. It's messy, it's fun, it's so so real and you get a good chunk of Casey Sr. in here too. Adore it.

Hold On (Or Three Times Donatello's Soft Shell Almost Killed Him, and One Time it Saved His Life) - dunk_on_em (AKA @spockazilla )(completed): If you ever want a bit of angst involving Donnie's shell this is my go to. Every chapter has an emotional swing, even the positive ones. And shows something most people might see as a disadvantage as a good thing, actually.

Atlas, My Brother - swampcryptid (AKA @the-name-is-rizzotherat)(in progress): Get your Raph angst, specifically involving him always shielding his siblings, this time via a curse. My guy is already going through it and I think it'll get worse if a solution isn't found.

I've Got You Under My Skin - Cass_Phoenix (in progress): More Raph angst, and some Donnie, a truly chilling exploration of the possible consequences to connecting with the kraang. This fic constantly has me on the edge of my seat, and constantly stressing for Raph.

What We Leave Behind (How We Start Anew) - iam57311 (AKA @iam-57311)(in progress): Any Baronjitsu fans here? An alternate take on canon in which Draxum and Splinter co-parent the kids since they're first born (made?) Hilariously while I love the Baronjitsu content in here, I think some of my favorite parts are actually with the sisters, Big Mama, and Draxum's sister who is so so cool I love her.

Proof of Redemption - iam57311 (complete): Another one of theirs! A short and sweet lil close to canon fic about Draxum steadily gaining the trust and affection of the Hamatos, with each chapter focused on a different character. I love how they're all paced out from each other, really hits how some are much slower than others to trust Draxum hehe.

No Crime* Only Brooches - OllieTheScribe (AKA @olliethescribe) (in progress): Well I have to get THE HypnoWarren fic in here. Such a fun take on these characters, I love love love the backstory they built up for Warren too, plus the dynamic between these two and the turtles after (eventually) become friends haha.

Minor Interference - bambiraptorx (AKA @bambiraptorx) (in progress): What can I say? This fic is delightful. Between the hilarity of the turtles going with Draxum just to mess with him, the lore additions for yokai and the Hidden City, HoH Donnie, and their slowly building dynamic, always eager for a new chapter with this one.

Series

A Butterfly with a Mechanical Wing - Amethyst_Goldenwind (AKA @amethystgoldenwind ): Donnie centric series about being a non-verbal autistic. I'm always fond of non-verbal/mute explorations of characters, and so far I really like how, because his family has grown up with it, all of it is very normal for them. The various forms of communication are delightful. Excited to see further entries.

Analogous Hues - alwerakoo (AKA @alwerakoo): It's a separated AU with similar titling themes as my own, needed to check it out. The titles are just about all they have in common though! This AU focuses a lot on the turtles (Raph and Leo with Splinter and Donnie and Mikey with Draxum). I love how this explores not only the dynamics of the two groups and how different they are, but also the dynamics between each of the siblings, also how some magic sibling connections can influence that. Not to mention the different home life in more ways than one. If you're into separated AUs that really dig into the turtles dynamics try this one out !