#i mean ill just write a fic about it no big deal But

[tamajam]

listen IM JUST SAYING in a game with so many themes surrounding healing from trauma and growing as people and escaping toxic dynamics like,,,, cmon guys getting to get kar'niss out of the absolute's hold would've been soooo cool. especially knowing that he comes from drow society + broken by TWO gods( lolth and thennn the absolute) + drider which u just know he's got like a mountain of trauma underneath all that religious fanaticism. lllllike cmonnnnnnnnn.

[tryingahandinholdingapen]

I kind of want to either write or read a time travel fix-it fic where it's Tobirama who travels back in time - BUT it's not Tobirama's POV. He's only a side character. It's mainly focused on Madara and Hashirama. Occasionally Mito, Izuna, Touka

This post got real fucking long so here's a read more

Just a really funny fic where you never quite get to see what Tobirama is doing, because he's not the POV character and the other characters don't know/don't pay attention to what he's up to. But like he is doing important stuff yk he's taking advantage of that future knowledge

For example:

Madara and Hashirama meeting at the river. They've figured out/confessed to their respective clans and are discussing peace and who in their clan might or might not support them

Madara asks about Tobirama and Hashirama is like "Hm? Tobirama? Honestly I don't think he cares about the Senju-Uchiha war at all. He's far too occupied with his own war against the mold youkai."

"....The what?"

(It's not too obvious from Hashirama's POV that Tobirama keeps sneakily fucking up Zetsu's machinations, but what's significantly more difficult to ignore is that Tobirama is increasingly getting ambushed by White Zetsu drones ('mold youkai') - that he eliminates with extreme prejudice and alarming fury)

Just, stuff like that. Main plot is making peace, focused on most of the main family EXCEPT Tobirama (who is otherwise occupied and is thus rarely focused on much) and possibly Izuna. So it's all stuff about battles between the Senju and Uchiha, probably having to deal with internal issues as well (Butsuma/Tajima? Elders? Coup/assassination attempts?) and plotting how they could possibly get peace, it's stuff like negotiating with the Uzumaki + Mito's marriage to Hashirama, it's the Uchiha having to deal with one of their allied clans turning on them (barely noticed sub-plot during this where Tobirama is trying to prevent/rectify the sabotage Zetsu did to the Uchiha's fancy tablet), it's about planning for their eventual village (Hashirama finds notes on plumbing on his desk, written in Tobirama's hand - when the fuck did he have time for that? where did he even learn about plumbing?), it's about trying to get the Daimyo on side, it's about all the politics of trying to get other clans to move into the village too, it's about ah fuck bloodline thieves discovered there were plans for a shinobi village in the works and are doing a frantic attempt to kidnap/'harvest' as much as possible before the bloodline clans are too protected in the planned village so now we have to deal with this fucking trafficking ring...

The sub-plot is an Tobiizu fic where Izuna is (correctly) CONVINCED that Tobirama is Up To Something, and (incorrectly) decided it's malicious to the Uchiha et al, and has taken it upon himself to investigate and Stop Tobirama's Evil Plans At All Costs

Longsuffering Tobirama is far too busy for Izuna's bullshit. He's attempting to prevent/stop/counteract Zetsu's machinations, he's trying to kill Zetsu, he's trying to destroy the big old statue (yk the one I mean, idk what it's called, if it has a name), he's trying to make sure the bijuu are all safe and Won't get sealed into jinchuuruki OR the aforementioned statue...

(he gets distracted for a bit with a side project wherein he decides actually it would be really funny for him to convert the cave the big statue was in, into a place for the kyuubi to hang out. that takes him quite a while since he has to run Zetsu out (so many White Zetsu drones...), destroy the statue, alter the place accordingly, and then find and convince the kyuubi that actually this is a great idea - without the kyuubi just fucking eating him)

...he's trying to make life easier for Madara and Hashirama (oh, Butsuma died from a mysterious illness right before he could enact his incredibly stupid plan against the Uchiha? damn. what a shame. anyway-), he's having to reinvent everything he remembers from last time he lived through this shit because whilst some of those jutsus/techniques/inventions (cough, Edo Tensei, cough) aren't strictly necessary, some of them are VERY MUCH NEEDED

That takes. So much time. Luckily Tobirama doesn't have to do all the research over again, since he remembers it and it's incredibly unlikely anyone will call him out on it (....except Mito with regards to certain seals. he very begrudgingly does research and writes notes and invents plausible-mistakes-that-could-have-been-a-first-attempt) so for the most part he can skip straight to inventing or writing out the final project/knowledge

Some of Zetsu's machinations are incredibly annoying to counter, actually. Like at some point the blasted weed installed/had nearly installed a puppet ruler in Land of Water which, what? Why? Urgh

(Please imagine the absolutely incredible amounts of suspicion and incredulous disbelief and paranoia etc that Izuna is aiming Tobirama's way once he (eventually) discovers that the 'White Demon' is seemingly MESSING WITH POLITICS RE: WHO RULES A FOREIGN NATION?!?!?! is nobody else seeing this!! Izuna is NOT CRAZY look at this bullshit somebody needs to stop him-!)

So long story short Tobirama has a LOT on his plate and he is so so incredibly stressed. Somebody help this man. None of this shit is helped by the fact that

a) Zetsu realised very rapidly that someone was fucking with his plans, and promptly started trying to kill Tobirama off, or failing that, sabotage Tobirama's plans in turn

(thus the years long and increasingly violent 'war against mold youkai' that starts when Tobirama is like, ridiculously young, and Hashirama casually mentions to Madara)

b) Izuna. Just, Izuna. He's fucking obsessed with Tobirama (why) and also the most paranoid person ALIVE it sometimes seems, and he just, won't stop, sticking his nose in Tobirama's business, how does he seem to be fucking EVERYWHERE doesn't he have anything else to do it's not like Izuna even knows the shadow clone jutsu how is he doing this why-

(Izuna like. What could possibly be more important to my rival than ME. And anyway he can't possibly be doing anything GOOD so it's for the best I intervene really this is entirely altruistic-)

c) amongst all this, Tobirama still has to somehow maintain at least a vague, plausibly deniable, belief that he's like. A regular person, involved in only normal things. Because if anyone finds out what he's really doing, or what Zetsu really is, or that he's from the future (IZUNA GET YOUR NOSE OUT OF-), then that introduces just. SO MANY new moving parts and this is already fucking complicated enough as it is, alright? Yeah yeah yeah teamwork makes the dream work, two heads are better than one, etc, but this is essentially a war of information and manipulation between Zetsu and Tobirama and when your main power is info+manipulation the fucking LAST thing you want is more moving parts + more people who could leak info/know your info/unintentionally fuck up your (future) knowledge. No. As much as possible he has to do this on his own. Which means he needs to act like he's doing nothing at all. Actually spend time with his family, be seen running normal missions sometimes, help in clan matters, attend the Senju-Uchiha battles when relevant...

Which is all really really hard when there's only so much time in the day. And Zetsu doesn't have to worry about 'spending time with family' or anything so any time Tobirama spends doing that instead of working towards destroying Zetsu's shit is-

(thank fuck Tobirama still remembers how he invented shadow clones, is all he can say. thank fuck for that)

Over time Tobirama increasingly gets a handle on his terrifyingly long to-do list, which means that 'Izuna is being really annoying and following me almost all the time' moves up his priority list. Eventually Tobirama figures out that the easiest way to get Izuna to stop GETTING IN THE GODDAMN WAY is to just. Humour him. Give him attention. Yes yes you are the most important person in my life and all this inconvenient shit is just stopping me from devoting my energy to fighting you now if you could just put that lady over there under a genjutsu and- (Tobirama trying to get Izuna to help un-fuck Land of Water, it only sort of works)

At some point they fuck because Tobirama's stress levels are at an all-time high and he needs SOME sort of outlet. (Could be entirely sane+consensual (relatively. given who we're talking about) or it could be dubcon) and Izuna actually chills the fuck out for an entire ten hours afterwards. Amazing. Clearly they'll have to do this again

So they do

(yandere4yandere tobiizu for the win. Tobirama starts out normal (again, relatively, considering who we're talking about) whilst Izuna approached everything about Tobirama in a completely sideways obsessive way from the start, but Tobirama gradually starts to also get more obsessive/possessive over time. Like what do you mean the one person who has followed me unquestioningly for years and wants to kill me and kissed me yesterday and volunteered to help me fight a bijuu might LEAVE?? no. fuck you)

(Izuna with a hiraishin marker tattoo-)

anyway back to 'things even further complicating Tobirama's life':

optional letter d) Tobirama is trying so hard to seem normal and not like he's from the future or fighting an evil mold-plant-creature that wants to revive his mom from the moon. So, so hard. But alas, facts work against him

Like, I mean, imagine from an in-universe perspective. There's this guy with really weird colouring, he's known as the 'White Demon', he's better at suiton than anyone else alive and if you've seen him even SLIGHTLY try it's terrifying (think: drowning on dry land, sudden rain/storm/tsunami, blood ripped from a dozen bodies in half as many seconds-), there's? more than one of him? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE and he's so fucking hard to kill but even when you kill him he just. doesn't. die. (friendly reminder that Tobirama is abusing shadow clones like nobody's business in an attempt to stay on top of his insane amount of work to do -> yk, the jutsu he invented, that doesn't work like any other clone jutsu, and that in this timeline he has thus far told nobody about. someone destroys a shadow clone and is incredibly alarmed that theres 1) no corpse 2) the White Demon is STILL ALIVE after they KNOW they killed him?!)

There's also rumours about him fighting/negotiating with bijuu, and quite a few witnesses to his ongoing war with 'mold youkai'

The majority of people (excepting like, people he's close to in his own clan, plus Izuna and possibly a few others) aren't sure he ever sleeps or eats or drinks, and wounds don't seem to last long (healing jutsu from the future + whilst he's sleeping/eating his shadow clone(s) are still out and about)

Then there's the insane amount of knowledge and jutsu and inventions he offers-

Long story short on top of everything else, Tobirama doesn't have to deal with people knowing he's from the future or about the whole issue with Zetsu

....He DOES have to deal with basically svery person in existence being 100% convinced he's not human, though

[impactedfates]

L Bozo Ratio!! - Dr Ratio x GN!Reader

★ Notes: I couldn't think of a better name haha, finally got to finishing and posting this!! This is slightly in a scenario format. They’ll be mini time stamps ^^ It's a kind weird format but it's one that made sense at the time of writing it

☆ Characters Included: Dr Ratio (Romantic) + Aventurine (Supporting)

★ Genre/Trope: (one-sided) Rivals to Lovers (but no one gets together yet) + Fluff + Crack(?)

☆ Warnings: None

★ Extra: Dr Ratio may be OOC // I'm not actually sure if the Intelligentsia Guild has a school but just pretend for the fic // Not fully proof-read // First half may be slightly dialogue heavy

“And you’re sure you don’t know when this started?”

The blonde asked as he shuffled some cards, peering at you through his heart shaped glasses

“Positive!! He was decently kind to me when I first joined the Guild. I don’t know what happened!!”

Aventurine chuckled, dealing out the cards between the two of you.

“If I know the doctor, I know he wouldn’t dislike someone for a reason-”

“He dislikes me?? Why! I didn’t-”

“Let me finish [Name]. He’s not someone who dislikes another for no reason, and I do believe you haven’t done anything wrong. So perhaps there’s a different reason why he acts this why”

He slowly places the remaining cards down, looking at you with a small smile that almost hinted he already had an idea.

“Now tell me the whole story, how you met and how it started. And the things that happened afterwards, just tell me everything from the start to now”

"Huh- Uh okay?"

.

.

.

HOW YOU TWO MET

You had just joined the Intelligentsia Guild. Setting up your classroom and preparing for future lessons with the students who had already signed up for your course when you heard a knock on the door.

You went and opened it and were met with the eyes of a purple haired man who stared at you.

"You must be the one everyone's talking about. I am Veritas Ratio, but many here just call me Dr Ratio"

He speaks before you could welcome him or even utter a greeting. You only smiled before responding yourself.

"People are already talking about me? That makes me a bit nervous...but yes, I'm the new teacher here. You can call me [Name]"

"No ones talking ill about you, don't fret. I just came by to introduce myself. If you ever need anything, my room is just down the hall. Just don't interrupt too much, especially if I'm teaching"

"Oh! Thank you Dr Ratio. I appreciate the help"

He peered inside the room, taking a small look around at the decorating you had down so far.

"Perhaps call an interior designer before you start your lessons, you may need it"

"WHA- Hey! I'm not even do-"

But he was already off walking down the hall before you could finish. With a sigh escaping your lips, you closed your classroom door again to continue decorating

WHEN IT STARTED

You weren't sure on the exact date, I mean who could name the exact date someone randomly seemed to despise you when you thought you had a good relationship?

Sure you weren't close with Dr Ratio, but you weren't exactly not friends with him either. You two would chat, especially when the two of you had free time, but one day he just ignored you?

You weren't sure why, until some of the yearly exam results came out and he proudly showed how well his students did. You were confused at the sudden appearance but it wasn't unwelcomed as you happily showed your classes results as well.

"Our students are pretty smart!! All our classes passed with flying colours"

You happily said as you slid over the total marks your classes did. You expected him to congratulate you or...something? You weren't sure what to expect from his reaction, but not for him to glare at the score, throwing his paper carelessly and walking out, turning to face you. He said in a determined voice. "I'll beat you next time Mx. [Name]"

"...Beat me in wha-"

He slammed your classroom door...

You grabbed the paper from the ground and double checked the two scores, there must be a big difference if he suddenly challenged you or well...vowed? To get a higher score than your class? Even if it was out of character for him to care-

.

.

.

A 1% difference...?

DURING THE "RIVALRY"

You tried to talk to him, tried to pinpoint why he suddenly cared so much about "beating" your class in test and exam scores. Sure you didn't know him that well, but at the same time? You knew it wasn't in his nature to care about this kind of thing.

Honestly you didn't know anyone who would actually care...

It was just test scores, just showing how well the two of you taught a class...he wasn't trying to show he was a better teacher right...?

Sure the students praised you more but that was merely cuz he was stricter with his teachers. Apparently he threw someone out the window?? At least that's what you heard in passing...

In any case, you couldn't think of a logical conclusion as to why he suddenly wanted to have this sudden rivalry. But you wanted to find out.

You tried to talk to him, knock on his door a few times a month to talk to him, giving him his favourite food. Heck you even gave back the chalk you accidentally on purpose forgot to give back to him.

But he was dry with his response, looking away when you tried to talk to him or heck even smiled at him.

YOUR SMILE WAS NOT THAT BAD.

This became such a habit the other teachers noticed. They already noticed how kindly Dr Ratio already treated you compared to the others when you first joined, and when he became more cold and dry to you they noticed more.

You could see their lingering stares as the scholar once again shut his book with one hand and walked off without another word to you. You tried asking the other scholars but they weren't sure what was going on either. None of them have dealt with this so-called rivalry.

You knocked on his door once again, to which he slowly opened. Being accustomed to the soft knocks that came from your hand.

"Ratio!! I brought you some Stargazer cake!!"

"....many thanks [Name]"

He muttered, taking the plate from your hands.

"So I just wanted to-"

He shut the door in your face...again. Does he have a thing for not letting people finish or are you the lucky one?

CURRENT

"And that kinda brings us to here? But yeah, I'm not sure why he started the rivalry"

"Perhaps it's to hide something~ Something he doesn't want to tell a certain someone yet"

"What? Hiding something...what could he be hiding"

"That he lo-"

"That's enough Aventurine."

You snapped your head up to the source of the voice, as the gambler leaned his head back to look at the new addition to the room."

"Doctor~ Funny to see you here again, good to know your interrupting habits and not letting someone finish their sentence doesn't only apply to your cru-"

"...Shut it gambler...I need to have a word with you"

Aventurine chuckled, as he stood up and placed the cards down on the middle of the table. Telling you he'd be right back as the two of them went into another room.

You sat there, for maybe a minute or two. Until curiosity hit you like a brick. You knew they were talking about you. Or at least, that was most likely, and if you were right. Then that means the duo were chatting about Ratios behaviour...surely a small listen wouldn't hurt?

You slowly walked over to the room, careful to be quiet as you listened to the conversation.

"And what makes it so hard, Doctor? Just tell them. You can't keep using this whole rivalry thing to buy you time"

"You don't understand...it's easier said than done...besides, I'd rather make it more special. I can't just go out there and tell them in this situation"

"What would flowers and a more romantic setting do?"

"Make them feel special...make them hopefully feel the exact same way I felt when I realised I loved them"

FINALLY FINISHED IT!! I got my computer fixed a bit ago but still struggled to find the words to continue but here I am >:D Hopefully this was worth the wait sipadgpsirp

[breezy141]

OMG YOUR CASEOH FIC WAS SOOOO CUTE🩷🩷

PLS PLS write more for him noone writes for him😭😭 maybe a jealousy? One ik it's basic but I think the jealousy trope is so cute BUT ILL LOVE ANYTHING 🩷🩷

of course i csn! also i knoww, i wish people wrote more for him! i hope you like it 💌 masterlist.

jealousy, jealousy | caseoh x f! reader

sum: you and case were currently filming a video for your youtube channel, you were at mcdonald’s chillin. however, case soon became agitated as a “fan” got a little to close to you.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

overtime, you had been able to rack up 2.6 million followers on twitch, and 1.4 million on youtube. you were able to make quite a name for yourself, giving you opportunities to do brand deals for clothing brands, and tech-y brands. as well, you’d met some great people such as, jynxzi, his girlfriend breckie, sketch, and caseoh.

quite quickly, you and caseoh clicked. instantly becoming great friends, and hanging out every chance you could, as well as streaming together. such as, PO box openings, playing 3 scary horror games or even filming a few vlogs for your separate youtube channel.

it was obvious that you and case liked each other, but you were both to shy to make the first move. case knew he was yours, just as you knew, you were his.

currently, you and case were clutching at your stomachs as you were both laughing uncontrollably at the the camera. you had seen such a funny moment take place and neither of you could get it out of your mind. you were sat outside of mcdonald’s eating some nuggets, that you both shared.

“i’m sorry that was hilarious” case says while wiping the corners of his eyes, you breathed out slowly as you attempted to calm yourself down. after a bit you continued you talk about some random topics, making sure to address the camera every once and awhile.

while talking, a guy who seemed to be in his early twenties walked up to you and began talking. “hi! i’m a big fan i was just wondering if i could get a picture with you?” you placed does your drink down and nodded to the man. “hi! of course! what’s your name?” the man smiled sweetly. “adam” you smiled back, standing up and wiping off any crumbs.

you clicked off the camera really quickly.

this isn’t the first time someone has asked you for a photo, it doesn’t annoy you too much as you enjoy interacting with your fans. “can you take the picture?” adam asks, pointing his phone towards case, not very kindly either.

you frowned slightly, case sat there staring at the guy, before moving. “yup” he replied, as he took his phone and placed his half eaten nugget down and stood from his chair.

adam placed his hand on your hip and pulled you to his side. you were kind of uncomfortable, you didn’t expect for him to be so handsy, case continued staring not wanting to show his irritation.

“could you maybe put your arm on my shoulder maybe? sorry..” you spoke with a quiet voice, feeling uncomfortable by even bringing it up. “it’s only one photo” adam said, trying to justify his action.

“she said move your arm, do it your not having a picture with her” case spoke up, trying his hardest to hide the pure jealousy. that should be him holding your hips, should be him getting close to you and holding you close to him.

adam cleared his throat and did as he was told. you smiled sweetly, and case took the photo. almost immediately, case handed the phone back to adam. “thank you” he said quietly, walking away from you both.

you hugged your arms, and looked over to case. he watched the guy as he walked away, “are you okay?” he asked, making his way over to you. “yeah, i just didn’t expect him to do that” he nodded and took your hand leading you back to the table.

“i know, i mean he could of least gave you a warning, there was no need for all that” you raised your eyebrow at him “i mean really, he had no basic respect for you. and he should, especially in your presence” he spoke as he used his nugget to point at you. “i don’t like the way he held you, wasn’t right i m-”

“are you jealous, case?” he turned to you and shook his head. “no, why would i be jealous..” you giggled to yourself.

“i’m not jealous”

“okayy”

“don’t do that, i’m NOT”

“okay okay!” you looked over to him, smiling.

“okay maybe just a little, how could i not be though!?” case explained playing with his cap. you could tell he was nervous. “i just didn’t like how he held you like that, he was too close for my liking” he shrugged as he defended himself.

“it’s okay, i understand. i think i’d react the same” he sighed, feeling guilty about the way he reacted, he didn’t want to look you. his knee bounced as he thought about what he said.

you scooted closer to him, and wrapped your hand about his arm. “heyy, it’s okay i promise. i get why you reacted the way you did. no need to be ashamed” you flashed him a sweet smile, and kissed his cheek.

immediately his cheeks went a dark shade of red, you giggled to yourself as you watched him smile to himself. his knee had calmed down completely.

“thank you”

:)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

i hope you enjoyed. it’s currently 11:40pm and i have a maths exam tomorrow. i should be sleepin 🙏

[thebreakfastgenie]

Who do you think would have done worse if the other one had died in Korea, Hawkeye or Trapper?

This is a juicy question and I wanted to give it the proper consideration! After much pondering, I think my gut instinct was right.

I think Hawkeye would do worse while still in Korea. I think Trapper would do worse after he got home.

We see Hawkeye break down quite a few times in the course of the show. He's sensitive to the horror of it all and sometimes it overwhelms him. Losing Trapper would send him into a tailspin and Trapper is usually the one who pulls him out of it. He'd cry and drink and probably lose it for a few days. They'd probably call Sidney, as a friend as much as a psychiatrist. But Hawkeye actually knows how to cope with grief. Even when he breaks down in Sometimes You Hear the Bullet, he pulls it together pretty fast. He's also experienced. He may have lingering issues with his father's lack of communication about his mother's illness and death, but he seems to have fully processed it by the time we meet him. He's experienced with grief from a young age. Hawkeye's dad is portrayed as taciturn but emotionally intelligent and they have a warm, close relationship, so Hawkeye has at least some model for dealing with grief and he aso has support at home. I think the reality of existing in Korea without Trapper would compound the damage of Trapper's actual death. Hawkeye needs an improv partner. If BJ or someone came along I think it might take Hawkeye longer to warm up, but ultimately he'd give into his need for social support, and getting that need met would help him a lot. Either way, once he gets home the acute absence of Trapper would no longer be such a big problem and he'd process the grief and be able to move on with his life.

One of Trapper's strengths is his ability to compartmentalize to get through a crisis. Hawkeye's death would really shake him. He'd probably drink more, at least for a while, and I think he might withdraw a little bit. He'd be less friendly and outgoing and just have less fun because Hawkeye wasn't there to make him laugh. I don't think he'd make another close friend. He wouldn't be mean, but more focused on work, in survival mode. He'd probably keep going out with the nurses but I think it would become more physical and lose a lot of the playful romance because he just wouldn't have the energy. But he wouldn't have the luxury of breaking down, so he wouldn't. Until he got home and it all hit him, like how sometimes you get sick right after a period of high stress, because your body pours all its adrenaline into fighting it off until it's safe to be out of commission. I think he'd just kind of fall apart. Trapper also comes from a working class background where masculinity is a little bit restrictive and he'd be surrounded by people who weren't in Korea and didn't understand. I think Louise would try, but wouldn't really know how to help and Trapper wouldn't know how to be helped. I think he'd probably learn to deal with it eventually, but delaying the break until he got home would make him break that much harder.

Of course the only way to find out is to write both fics ;)

[horsegirlwarcrimes]

I am SO curious about the SQH Burnout Fic 🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️ i beg <333

i have a bad habit of writing a new sickfic to cope every time i feel unwell 😂 this one is SQH gets anxious about the future, overworks himself, and gets pneumonia. excerpt from near the end of the fic, which i wrote first for some reason?

Shang Qinghua isn’t sure what makes him aware of the change in the room. A shift in the air, a sound, maybe just the slightest drop in temperature. He blinks, sleepy and bleary, at the pages of the novel he was failing to read, feeling warm and syrupy from whatever was in the medicine Mu Qingfang was dosing him with. “My king?” Mobei-jun steps from the shadows silently, and comes to sit at the edge of his bed. He’s dressed down, unarmored— just soft silk robes and simple boots, no weapons or jewelry save a pendant around his neck. Shang Qinghua recognizes it as one he gave his king when he was still a disciple, some ridiculous one-of-a-kind protection artifact that he’d known to snatch out of a crumbling temple thanks to special author knowledge, about forty years before it was going to become plot relevant. He hadn’t realizes that Mobei-jun still had it. Had he been wearing it all this time? Mobei-jun’s cold claw-tips brush through his bangs. “Shang Qinghua,” he says, rumbling and familiar. Shang Qinghua blinks up at him. “My king,” he repeats. And, suddenly struck by the memory of exactly what position(s?) the king of the Northern Desert last saw him in, feels his face heat in a way that has nothing to do with any lingering fever. “My king! I’m so—” Mobei-jun halts him with a raised hand. “You are recovering?” “Yes, my king,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m doing much better already.” “Good.” Mobei-jun pulls over the chair that Shen Qingqiu was sitting in earlier. The sight of his hulking form dragging over and delicately maneuvering into the small chair sparks something warmer than amusement in Shang Qinghua’s chest. “This king… must apologize.” Shang Qinghua’s gaze jerks up. “W-what?” “You were sick. Humans are weakened by the cold. I allowed you to stay and work in the North anyways, and missed the signs of your ill health. Qinghua could have died.” “But I didn’t. I wouldn’t have! My king, I was just sick, it wasn’t… as bad as all that. I’m a cultivator, it takes more than some cold weather to take me out.” He gives an awkward laugh. “It does take more than the cold. Qinghua was overworking himself, and was hiding from this king.” “But I overwork myself all the time,” Shang Qinghua says, the words coming out more earnestly than he means them to. He drops the book and wraps his arms around himself, looking away. “I’ve been working like this since I was a disciple. I don’t understand what’s changed. I should have just felt bad for a little bit and then dealt with it and gotten better. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal.” “I am sorry,” Mobei-jun repeats. He runs his fingers through Shang Qinghua’s loose hair again, and Shang Qinghua leans tiredly into the touch. “I… regret. The part I played in not allowing Qinghua to rest. Then, and now.” Shang Qinghua’s face feels hot. He scrubs at his eyes, the feeling only intensifying as Mobei-jun continues to run his cold hands through his hair, his claws pleasantly scraping against his scalp, the touch comforting. “It’s fine, my king,” he says. “It is not. But I will endeavor not to make the same mistake again.” Shang Qinghua leans miserably into Mobei-jun’s cool touch.

[callabang]

For the fic game, 27 & 48 or 54 & 99 <3

TBH guys this is such a fun writing exercise…. I get to IMAGINE and IDEATE with no care for resolution/structure/quality of prose… it’s just fic chatting in public. We should do this more. anon you can have both requests as a treat <3

Sick/Injured Fic // Fake Dating

Secret Relationship // ​​Magical Accidents

send me a trope mash-up!!

Sick/Injured Fic // Fake Dating

Oh trope city. Some of these are just vintage trope pairings you know. None of that new age shit. THE CLASSICS.

It’s most fun to imagine Sam having to engage in fake dating so that’s what we’re doing. Leaning fully into the cliche let’s say Adam is mildly ill and or injured during Jet Lag filming in Paris and Ben is like you’re the only one that speaks french!! You have to go in!! Say you’re his boyfriend!! 

Honestly this could certainly be that they’re not together yet but it could also just canonically (“canonically” lol. Canonically to MY headcanons that I am boldly posting online) be that Sam is in whateverrrrrr relationship he thinks he’s in with them but doesn’t consider them to be “dating” so it feels like fake dating to him. Ben is like okay this is semantics go ask the doctor if Adam needs antibiotics or what!! Somehow Sam awkwardly volunteers way more information than is necessary to the French hospital staff, it’s truly such a bizarre vibe, meanwhile they are like it’s 2024 you can just see your friend in the hospital sir. He’s in room 403 it would honestly be great if you can go translate. 

Secret Relationship // ​​Magical Accidents

Anon big props to you for being the only person so far to request a truly funky premise (MAGIC), I adore a weird AU sooo much. Shout out to Maria because some of this is stolen from fic chat with her.

I think that the nature of insane poly coworker trio is that it does kind of start out as a secret because it’s just: a lot. Like people see Adam and Ben and make some assumptions but the entire situation is sooo hard to explain. How to begin to explain. Impossible. But obviously they also do have to explain at some point

Ok here I go down kind of a rabbit hole thinking about them explaining this to their parents:

Sam of course tells nobody in the world anything about his personal relationships but sometimes it tickles me to imagine him telling his parents like the world’s smallest tidbits with absolutely NO space for follow-up questions. Like they let him start a youtube empire when he was 11 so probably they’re fairly okay with whatever his deal is. He’s texting them occasional one sentence updates and calling them quarterly and ignoring any subsequent questions they have about him dating ben and adam. I’m running a marathon I’m dating two of my coworkers I’m flying to Japan for my youtube business. period.

Adam I think desperately wants to talk about his relationship to everyone and especially his mom so he is not keeping it a secret. He needs her advice he needs her guidance he needs to share soft stories about ben and sam!!! 

BEN. Ben I imagine is like. Deep in the hole. Didn’t tell his parents about this when it started and now it’s been two years. You guys I can’t tell the truth NOW we have to gaslight my mom. It’s the only way. Sam would do it but Adam is like uh NO WAY this is your problem you have to fix it. so there’s some conflict there

So this is the premise and then magical accident uhhh. UHH. okay i struggled to think of a magic accident but looking at my own ao3 fully 15% of my fics are magic or magic adjacent so i guess i need to GET OVER IT. I mean if it’s like magical realism and not a fully magic AU then perhaps ben accidentally creates a magic stress poltergeist that embodies his various fears and concerns about his relationship and then they have to deal with a kind of rascal spirit causing problems in their household. If we go FULL magic au then ben is a cute little hedgewitch (!!!) and accidentally does some kind of witchcraft to adam during a spat about whether to tell ben’s scary witch mother about their collective relationship and then feels really bad and has to turn adam back from a hawthorne tree or what have you and apologize a bunch. Honestly hedgewitch ben is kind of compelling to me

i also think it would be kind of funny for ben to just go on a whole solo miyazaki adventure that solves none of his problems and he also doesn’t experience character growth and then he comes back and still has to tell his mom about his boyfriends. LOL

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Part two thoughts on an ani x bpd reader? Like, when things get that bad, does either of them wake the fuck up and realize things need to change? Remorse or guilt? The reader leaving? Ani leaving or falling into a self loathing hole, doing bad stuff again and again whether to himself or reader) and not taking care of himself?

It’s interesting to read some of your takes on BPD relationships, because I obviously have no idea what that’s like, but you do. You can make it seem very addicting, but also very terrifying and unhealthy, depending on which way the pendulum swings (I hope you take that as a compliment. Tone is hard through text. Lol. 😅).

I personally do not believe abuse is justified in any situation, whether you have a disorder or not. There’s lots of ways to deal with feelings without taking it out on someone else. On the other hand, I know some BPD’s have described feeling horrified with themselves after an episode like that, and so I’ve never really known just how much ‘control’ someone has in that moment. Either way, I still believe it’s the person’s responsibility to find a way to deal with it. Nobody deserves to be miserable around them just because they can’t handle something.

Anyway, I kind of went off on a rant. Apologies. Lol. My main request was for a part two of Ani x BPD reader! ❤️🫶✨

Not offended at all bby.

I think after I’m done with stalker!ani I’ll write a fic on this. Just cause so many people have asked about it.

100% BPD X BPD would be a terrible pairing. Coming from me as a bpd gal.

Now, personally, I’ve never physically abused anyone during an episode. But I HAVE done lots of property damage and I also broke my hand when I used a concrete wall as a punching bag. I split a wooden bat at the tip from whacking a fence once.

When it gets that bad, I don’t really remember what I said or did. I just feel really jittery, almost like an extreme caffeine high you know? (Imagine old cartoon character drinking coffee and their whole body vibrates, eyeballs and all)

But if it doesn’t get to that point, which it rarely does now that I’m medicated correctly and have a good support system, I IMMEDIATELY feel regret. Like horrible sorrow. Bpd means big feelings and when I feel regret, which isn’t often, it feels like I’m grieving a death that I’m to blame for.

For the smaller, more snappy or short outbursts:

My mouth works faster than the logical part of my brain that tells me not to say something mean.

Sometimes I catch myself in the middle of saying something awful and then I just have to finish it because the damage is done and I may as well spit it out. Then I’ll lock myself in the bathroom for an hour until I’ve hyped myself up enough to apologize, then I’ll go back to the bathroom until the big feelings from my apology die down. I’ll be quiet, basically selectively mute for the rest of the day and be super irritable.

It’s exhausting. But it’s even more exhausting to have to continually remind myself not to spew the first thing that pops into my head or not to chuck the bag of shredded cheese at the wall because I can’t get the ziploc to open.

It’s so stupid that something so small as getting my hairbrush stuck on a knot in my hair could set me off into a teeth gritting, foot stomp and shriek. Like wtf? That’s embarrassing. But it happens before I can even think about what I’m doing.

The best way I can describe it is: I’m a bratty toddler when it comes to emotional regulation.

But you’re so right tho, your illness doesn’t give you an excuse to be an ass. It just proves the person doesn’t want to put in the work to get better if they use it as a justifying reason.

BPD might cause my reactions, but I’m in charge of my actual actions. Sometimes it takes a long time for them to recognize that though. I’m an adult now, I’m medicated, I’ve spent my fair share of days in the loony bin. Looking back at my teenage self? It’s horrific and sad. For me and everyone around me back then.

[miss-writes-a-lot]

A Wonderous Thing To Behold - Jayvik Family Belated Christmas Fic: Part One

(Okay, so I know it's almost the end of January. This was obviously meant to be posted during the holiday season. And not in two parts. I just had crazy burnout and mental health issues that made it really hard to write anything at all. But I'm back! And I'm trying to keep my promise to post here more often. This fic is getting really long so I'm splitting it into two parts here, then posting it in full on my ao3 - link in my pinned post. Content warnings and such posted below.)

Synopsis: Viola has some weird feelings about Jubilee and the meaning of family during the Jubilee season.

Content Warnings: This work contains depictions of violence, mentions of death, religion, and discussions of religious practices, and anxiety. Further tags to be added as things come up.

Additional Notes: So, I wasn't sure whether or not to insert Christmas as an actual holiday within the Arcane/LoL universe. In the LoL universe, they have a holiday called Jubilee that gives thanks to the sea and its bounty, so I mushed the two holidays together. This isn't to say that other religions and their holidays are invalid or not worth touching upon. This is only because I am currently ignorant to a lot of the practices in other religions and I don't just want to make caricatures of cultures and their practices based on stereotypes and my little knowledge of the topic.

Constructive critique is welcomed, especially in regard to how I deal with the religious portions. If anything is offensive or wrong, please let me know so I can work to remedy it and so I don't carry my mistakes over into other aspects of my work or future works I may post here and on my ao3.

Without further ado, onto the fic!

Jubilee, like many other holidays and festivities, is not a particularly “happy” day for Zaunites. 

For nearly every Topsider in Piltover, it was a bright and festive excuse to buy expensive gifts, put up bright and gaudy decorations all along the front of their houses, and get wasted at big, fancy banquets with greasy, fatty foods and sugary cakes and cookies.

But for born and bred Zaunites, it is yet another cold, somber winter’s night that killed so many on the street from frostbite, the worsening of one of the many illnesses one could get from the Gray, and shady deals gone awry. It was another cruel attempt at showboating and a sick reminder of where the two cities stood in nearly every capacity.

Viola was one of the many children sitting by their barred windows and being taunted by the smells of roasting meats and bubbling brews wafting down from the apartments and shops on the Promenade level and the houses inching closer to Topside. They would be beckoned out of bed by the sounds of mirth and merry-making. Shadows bathed in warm, butter-yellow light shouting and singing and being together with no ounce of obligation or reluctance to do so. Presents from wealthy, ignorant children flowed down the gutters into the sea as thanks for its bounty. The briefest glints of gold and ruby red shone down and reflected off the other windows, and it would stir a mix of envy, anxiety, and –strangely enough – want in their belly.

It was sickening, in a way. The want to be up there with all those who made a sport of how high they could turn their noses up at them and everyone like them. The desire to gorge themself on all of those sugary sweets and fatty meats while others struggled and starved to death in cold alleyways and barren houses. The almost intense need for the warmth, the pretty lights, the presents, and the security of others twisted Viola’s insides and forced them back into their bed as the usual specks of blue and gray flickered past their vision.

Yet here they are, standing in front of a jewelry store window two days short of the holiday with their stomach so tightly wound in knots they could keel over, debating on gifts to give their “work” family.

They’ve only got 30 minutes before they have to be at the lab, and they’ve been staring at the same set of shimmering blue and red gems embedded in gold and silver for much longer. From a quick glance up, they can see the storekeeper and her assistant eyeing Viola suspiciously from the other side, gearing up to run and get the sheriff to report them for loitering.

They step away from the window, nearly falling off the icy curb and knocking into some kids running behind them as they flung snowballs at each other.

Still, after regaining their footing, Viola stares at the row of colorful shops that no doubt have been cleaned of their good gifts and sale prices. Their insides twist at the scent of fresh sweet bread wafting down from the bakery on the opposite end of the street as their mind starts to race at the speed of a steam engine.

Only two days before Jubilee. Two days to find good gifts for a total of six people, maybe even more if the other councilors, their bio family, Caitlyn, Caitlyn’s girlfriend(?), her friends, Viola’s friends, and everyone else who even spares a passing glance at Hextech. 

Would they even want gifts from them? Would their friends and Caitlyn’s girlfriend even accept a gift on Jubilee? Would Naph, Reynard, or even Viktor want a gift for Jubilee? Would they even want to a gift from them of all people, regardless of the day and its context? Since working with Hextech, they did have a bit more money left to splurge on whatever’s left to choose from…

Maybe I shouldn’t, Viola thinks, grabbing a fistful of their coat from their middle, It’s a Piltie holiday. I don’t think they really fuck with Piltie holidays, especially not Vik or Rey.

Viola turns and starts to continue on their trek to the lab. They walk a few steps, about to cross the street when they stop again.

But…maybe they changed their minds and they do want gifts? Would it even be appropriate to get them stuff like that?

Viola cringes at their own stupid question.

The seven of them have since crossed the line of “just coworkers”, or “just part-time employees.”

Because if you are just employees, you don’t casually call each other “sis”, “bro”, or “sib” or “kiddo” or all of the cute little nicknames Viktor mutters under his breath when he thinks you aren’t listening. You don’t share and steal clothes and then argue about it later because you’re “just coworkers”. You don’t run from lower Entresol/upper Sump to Piltover with definitely not cleared drugs to help your dying boss and sick companions without a level of affection that Viola isn’t quite ready to address at the moment.

You don’t spend more time with them up top than you do with your real family without it meaning something more than just business.

And something about that…it’s almost as sick as debating on buying these damned gifts.

“Vivi! Wait up!”

Viola whips around, spotting Reynard and Nell, all bundled up and coming out of one of the bakeries with a big brown bag. They smile, their panic momentarily taking a backseat. 

“Hey,” they say, their newly cultivated softness starting to bleed through.

Reynard comes up to them and throws an arm around their shoulders.

“Guessing you got up late too?” Reynard asks, pulling them in for a close side hug.

“Uh, yeah. I…I did. Weird we didn’t end up running into each other,” they reply, trying not to make it seem obvious that they’ve been up and in Piltover for almost two hours. “What’s that?”

Nell grins, holding up the gold-branded bag. “It’s cake! For everyone at the lab! We just got it on sale. It’s really pretty, V. It’s got these cute lil’ frosted berries and powdered sugar on the top that makes it look like it’s covered in snow!”

“Don’t get too excited. Pretty sure it was on sale because it’s old as shit,” Reynard whispers, a cheeky grin on her face.

Nell lightly smacks Reynard with her free hand—Reynard snickers in response.

“Shut up! It is not!” she says, giggling.

Viola smiles, “It’s cool, Nell. I don’t mind eating old shit. As long as it's good enough.”

“You guuuuys!” Nell win

“I don’t really mind chomping down on a cobweb or two.”

“Yeah and plus, I hear mold’s good for the immune system. Helps build up a tolerance. Does wonders for the skin,” Reynard adds.

“You guys are so mean!”

The trio starts heading towards the lab. Viola spares another glance at the row of shops before Reynard pulls their attention forward to continue poking fun at Nell.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

They arrive at the lab fifteen minutes late. 

Viktor’s at the chalkboard with Naph watching him while Amaranthine sits at his desk, lazily flipping through a magazine at Jayce’s desk. There seem to be more decorations littering the tables, windowsill, and even the chalkboards – Jayce and his mom really get into decorating during this time of year, though it’s always difficult to tell who exactly is to blame for it this time.

Amaranthine glances up from her magazine and turns back to the boys.

“Hey, they're here,” she says, lackadaisically flipping through the pages. “About time you guys showed up.”

“Sorry, sorry. Our bad,” Reynard says, tossing her coat on their on top of their chair.

“Yes, yes. Our bad, even though I was the one being bullied over my choice of sweets!” Nell says, rather melodramatically.

Amaranthine’s head perks up. “You brought food?”

Nell smirks, waggling her brows. “I did.”

Amaranthine gets up and follows Nell to her workbench.

Viola sheds their winter wear and slowly walks behind Viktor and Naph, who are still entranced by all of the equations and things Viola still can’t really understand. She reaches out a hand and lightly taps both of their shoulders.

Viktor is the first to whip his head around. “Oh, myška! You’re here.”

“Sorry, we’re late. Lost track of time. Nell brought some cake and I think those chocolate shortbread cookies you and Sky like if you want something to snack on…”

“I will in a second,” he says, turning his attention back to the chalkboard. “Here, come look at this.”

“Uh, okay.”

Viola fills the space between the two and looks around the board. She recognizes some of the diagrams and phrases, including an image of their old dampener with its contents sketched out in extensive detail.

“What’s all this for?” they ask.

“Well, Naph and I are working on a little project together,” Viktor explains, gesturing to Naph. “He came to Sky and me last night with the idea that he wants to tell you about.”

Naph burns tomato red and he turns his head away. 

“Ass,” he mutters, covering his face with his hands.

“What is it?” Viola asks, trying to keep themselves from giggling.

Naph hesitates, biting down on his lip and awkwardly curling away as Viktor leans closer with a shit-eating smirk.

“We’re…We’re making you a new magic dampener,” Naph finally says through gritted teeth. “We think…We think we can play with the inversions enough to stabilize certain aspects of the Hex gems – well, one of ‘em, at least – we can make you something that actually helps you ‘control’ your magic. Like it’s supposed to.”

Viola’s chest grows warm and she smiles. Naph must notice something else about their face because he frowns and turns away again, somehow burning even brighter.

“Alright, alright. You can stop looking at me like that! Just – consider it your present for Jubilee or something.”

Viola chuckles, enveloping him in the tightest hug they can manage, smushing their cheeks together.

“Thanks Naph!”

“Ugh! Get off me! You’re makin’ a bigger deal out of this than it is!”

Viktor laughs, patting Naph on the back. “Come on. Why don’t we take a break and have some cake?”

Reynard scoffs. “You? A break? You feeling okay there, Vik? Not running a fever or anything?”

“No, nothing like that. I just don’t want Sky or Jayce jumping down my throat for only supplementing my appetite with –”

“Warmed up sweet milk and hot cocoa?” Nell finishes for him. “And you think sugary cake and cookies will convince them you’re taking care of yourself?”

“It will convince them that I’m eating at the very least, which is good enough,” he replies, grabbing a spoon and swiping a chunk of chocolate cake before Nell can cut him a slice.

“Rude!”  Nell exclaims.

Viola giggles as they watch. 

It’s always odd to them how people can spend so much time together in the same place and not get sick of each other. Even when they fought over things – big and small – even when they were annoying or petty with each other, there was never any hate or malice behind any of it. They never found themself leaving this – all the dumb fights and sleepless nights in the lab together, using their coats as blankets and each other’s shoulders as pillows. Stealing snacks from the lounge and the academy cafeteria. 

She doesn’t know how to walk away from this, and frankly, she doesn’t want to.

But it also brings them great guilt to keep staying in the first place.

The lab doors fling open and Jayce hurriedly comes in with his nose ruddy and snow on his shoulders. Sky jogs in after him with an armful of files that are mostly likely from the season’s big important council meeting.

“Sorry we’re late!” she says, shedding her coat on the back of her chair while gently laying down all the documents on her workspace. “It ran a lot longer than we thought it would.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them Sky,” Jayce says, dusting the snow off of his shoulders. “They seemed to have kept themselves busy enough while we were gone.”

“Can’t talk. Eating,” Amaranthine says through a mouthful of cake.

“Don’t let me stop you–”

“We’re not,” Reynard replies.

Jayce rolls his eyes, pecking a kiss on Viktor’s hair. “Sorry for the wait there.”

“Don’t worry about it. The girls just got here a few minutes ago, so you didn’t mess much. If anything, really.”

“Board’s full, so something happened.”

“That’s for Naph’s project.”

“Really?” He whips around to look at Naph. Naph shrinks in his seat.

“Can’t hear you. Eating!” he says back.

“I’ll tell you about it later tonight,” Viktor replies, and that gets everyone’s ears to perk up.

“Tonight? What’s tonight?” Amaranthine asks, “Actually, if it’s gross; don’t tell me. I don’t wanna know.”

“Relax. It’s nothing like that. Vik, Nell, and I are just going to do our own little Jubilee thing tonight before I head off to Mel’s holiday party. She throws one every year with all the clans. You know – fancy people crap.”

“You’re all going?” Viola asks. “Is this like, a whole Hextech team thing?”

“Oh please don’t tell me it’s a whole Hextech team thing,” Amaranthine begs.

“No, no. You all are spared. I’ll do my duty and take the blow for all of us by spending a couple of hours with annoying old rich folks so they can keep giving us money.”

“I told you that I’m fine with going,” Viktor says, “Nell and I can come with you. Make it easier for you.”

“You hate talking to those people, though. And I don't want you and Nell to feel bored, you know? And Nell doesn't really have anyone here age around –”

“Then I'll come,” Reynard says plainly. “If it’ll keep Nell company, I don’t mind.”

“Really, Rey. You don’t have to. You hate these events just as much as Vik and I do.”

“Yeah, I do,” Rey shrugs. “But, if I can make it better by being there, I’ll grin ‘nd bear it just fine. Plus, if it’s at Mel’s place, you know it’s gonna have some good ass snacks.” 

Amaranthine chuckles at that.

“So, when are we going?”

“Around 7 maybe? We’ll be getting ready at my mom’s place.”

“I’ll see you at 6 then,” Reynard says with a sure nod.

“O…kay then. Anybody else want to join?”

“...What are you guys doing before then?” Naph asks hesitantly.

“Hm?”

“You said you, Nell, and Vik were gonna do something before the party. What is it?”

The trio exchange looks. Jayce and Nell are a bit nervous but Viktor nonchalantly shrugs, unphased by the inquiry.

“We’re just praying,” he says. “You know, typical Jubilee affair. Shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

“Oh. Okay…”

“You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like. No pressure to do anything you don’t want to, or don’t practice that is,” Jayce adds.

Naph contemplates the offer, staring down at his hands and picking out old dirt underneath his chewed-up fingernails.

“...I might,” he finally says after a long pause.

Amaranthine sighs dramatically. “Fine. I guess I can come too. Since apparently, you all are in the business of leaving me out of plans now.”

“Not at all, Amara. The more, the merrier,” Viktor says.

They all turn to Viola. 

Her smile shakes awkwardly from all the eyes on her.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Do you wanna come, Vivi?” Jayce asks. “Again, you don’t have to, but since it’s turning out to be a whole Hextech Team thing now, I figured I would ask.”

“Um, I mean – I don’t think I’m doing anything tonight…?”

“You really don’t have to go this time, myška. You’ve been to enough of these already and we wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable…”

It’s true. 

Since starting to work with Jayce, Viktor, and Sky, Viola has been going to every event under the sun. Pilties have some weird addiction to having parties and grand events for no discernable reason other than to flaunt their wealth and get some things made by poor, unsuspecting apprentices looking to get their talent and work noticed.

They haven’t made any great impressions on any of the Topsiders there – though, impressions don’t really matter once people realize where you’re from.

The idea of spending an extra night of the year in the unwelcoming presence of the rich and the council is not exactly appealing to her, especially now with the added pressure and weirdness around Jubilee and gift giving and all the parties –

“Vi–?”

“I can make it.”

Viktor’s brows raise in surprise. “Are you sure?”

Viola pauses, gnawing the inside of their cheek and being the least convincing person in the room.

“Y-yeah. It’ll be fine. I mean, I’ll have you guys there with me, right?”

Jayce’s expression softens into a smile. “Of course, Lola. Always.”

That warm, fuzzy feeling bubbles in their chest as their cheeks burn red.

“Then it’s settled. I’m coming too. B-But, I’ve got something to do first, so I might just meet you guys there. I-I won’t be too long!”

“It’s fine, Lola. We’ll make sure Mel knows,” Jayce says. “Just don’t feel like you have to.”

“I don’t. I promise.”

She catches Reynard’s narrowed eyes. Viola’s eyes dart away and they start rocking back and forth on their heels.

“So – do you guys need me for anything today?”

“A couple of things. Nothing that requires you to use much of your magic.”

“Fine by me. We starting from yesterday?”

Reynard’s eyes are still on them, trying to penetrate their skull and worm into their brain to get the truth.

She’d figure it out soon enough. Reynard always does, and even if she didn’t well – Viola’s never been the type to be very discreet about anything.

Tonight will be no different.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Viktor was not the most religious person growing up.

Many people in his small Sump-level neighborhood – his parents included – were, and he often found himself accompanying them in prayers to the infamous wind goddess whom many in Zaun pay tribute to for keeping them alive and granting them fresh, breathable air every once in a while.

He was not a cynic or lacked the whimsy and faith to direct towards a goddess. He simply didn’t have the capacity at the time to really care or put effort into worship; not when his prospects were starting to deplete with each passing day and his body started to erode faster than his prayers were being answered.

Too much to be done, too little time to do it all, and too little space in his head to keep track of it all.

He can’t exactly recall when he began to pray and honor Janna on his own time. Perhaps it was around the time his parents passed, or when he became Heimmerdinger’s assistant, but at some point when he started going on his walks, he occasionally found himself paying respects to the small statues of Janna embedded at the bottom of Zaun’s side of the bridge. He’d whisper prayers to himself, or keep them in his head during particularly stressful times that weighed heavy on his chest just like the Gray.

Jayce figured it out later in their partnership, but they didn’t start doing this together until Nell and the others came along.

Nell had caught him while he was on one of his walks – she wanted to make sure he was okay – and wanted to join him to reconnect with her Undercity roots that had been wilting each passing day in Piltover. Jayce later joined, both to continue learning how to speak the base Zaunite dialect more and because he simply wanted to know more about the parts that Viktor doesn’t often disclose.

So, every so often—mostly on certain holidays such as this one—they offer quick prayers to Janna together. Through clunky and mispronounced words and weird stares from passing topsiders who don’t hold Janna in as high of a regard as those below them, they offer and ask Janna for peace and any small material or emotional help they need. 

It never really mattered whether She answered or not. Because as of now, Viktor has everything he wants.

Sure, he may still be hurting. He may still be sick and looked down upon by many of whom are meant to be his peers, but he still has his mind. His intellect. He gets up in the morning and can breathe – maybe not as great as everyone else, but he can. He has tools at his disposal to create an easier and better world for the Undercity and its people. He’s still alive and most importantly – he’s alive with them.

He lives in the same universe and shares a bed with a man with love, understanding, and empathy for people as big as the Hexgates. He exists and works in the same lab as his dearest childhood friend who has chosen to put up with him for so long. He talks with and shares an almost home with 5 extraordinary kids, who have cultivated a new kind of affection within his heart that he has never experienced before. Not until now.

Now, while they’re all bundled up in their coats and scarves and hats to keep from getting frostbite while under the bridge, huddled around the little shrine to Janna that often gets taken down by enforcers under the guise of vandalism. 

Amaranthine and Naph curl against either side of Jayce, still shivering despite their many thick layers. Their little boats are cupped in their mitted hands. Nell and Reynard are crouched beside Viktor with their little offerings as well.

Viktor glances at the younger ones and spares them a soft smile.

“This won’t take long. I promise,” he says. “And don’t be too discouraged if you don’t know the words to this; it’s a bit of an old Shuriman dialect… I just appreciate you all being with us tonight.”

“N-N-No problem, Vik,” Amaranthine says through chattering teeth.

“Ki-Kinda sucks Sky and Viola couldn’t be here though. Ma-ma-make it a whole “family” affair, you know?”

“Lola will join us later,” Jayce says. “And Sky sends her regards. And, I dunno, maybe some special little gifts for you guys to enjoy later?”

Amaranthine grins.

Jayce turns his head to Viktor, cheeks ruddy but his smile as warm as the fires in the forge.

“Whenever you’re ready, Vik.”

“You make it sound like I’m some sort of expert with this,” Viktor says with an amused smile.

“Ca-Can we hurry this up?” Naph asks, shivering. “I’m starting to lose feeling in my fingers.”

“Right. Of course.”

Viktor kneels down in front of the small statue of the windswept goddess, hands clasping together as if he were 5 years old again and his mother was guiding his hands to the right position.

‘Just like this, Vitya. Yes. That’s it.’

“Beyond these walls, the storm's fury grows,” He starts. Reynard, Jayce, and Nell repeat to varying levels of success. Viktor swears that he can hear Naph muttering it to himself and trying to explain the words to Amaranthine.

“Over land and sea, the storm's fury grows. But I have nothing to fear… For the bluebird is with me,” he raises his head to the statue. “Goddess, we offer you these gifts as thanks for your blessings and ask for your continued mercy towards us, and all these things that we continue to ask from you all of these things –”

He reaches for his cane and his little boat. Jayce helps him to his feet. He turns to the waterfront, carefully crouches down, and releases the boat. 

“For the prosperity of Hextech and my family,” he says softly.

Jayce stands, walks to him, crouches right next to Viktor, and gently releases his boat into the water, wincing as an icy chill hits them both.

“For the good health and protection of the ones I love,”  he says, kissing Viktor’s temple.

Reynard joins them with Nell in tow, sending off her little paper boat. “For the future prosperity of the Undercity.”

Nell follows suit, “For an easy rest for the souls gone from this plain.”

Viktor glances back. Naph and Amaranthine stand side by side, hands tightly threaded together.

Naph lets go of a shaky breath that billows out as cold air. The two amble over, synchronously kneel, and release their boats into the water.

“For my family,” Naph says as his boat leaves his fingertips.

“F-For them,” Amaranthine stammers, her face burning a deep shade of scarlet as she quickly glances at the rest of them.

Viktor smiles, biting back the tears starting to well up in his eyes. “Thank you. All of you. I…I appreciate this. Truly.”

Reynard puts a hand on his shoulder, “No problem, Vik. It was…nice.”

Viktor pats her on the hand, sighing. “Okay. Let’s start heading off to Councillor Medarda’s before one of us loses a toe to this cold.”

“That – can that really happen?” Amaranthine asks, a bit panicked. 

Jayce shakes his head, sighing as he helps Viktor to his feet. “You’ll be fine, Amara. Vik was just kidding.”

“Mostly,” Naph mutters. It leaves Amaranthine more anxious than she was.

Everyone rises to their feet and wraps their clothes tightly around them to brace for the winter’s icy breath on the journey ahead.

Everyone except their eldest.

Reynard stays crouched by the water, staring curiously at her rippling reflection.

“Everything okay, Rey?” Jayce asks.

“Yeah, yeah…Hey. You guys can go ahead without me. I’ll meet up with Vivi down in Zaun and see you guys at Mel’s place.”

“Are you sure?” Viktor asks, his hand tightening around the handle of his cane. “Viola did say she was going to be late. And I can’t imagine an easy journey down given all the ice.”

Reynard waves off his concern, smirking. “Don’t worry about it. I got up here just fine this mornin’, didn’t I?”

Viktor’s brows thread tightly together.

Reynard’s expression softens. “I promise I’ll be okay. The second I find a phone or a messenger walking about, I’ll let you know how Vivi and I are doing. Sound good?”

Viktor and Jayce exchange hesitant looks with one another. Viktor gnaws at the inside of his bottom lip.

‘She’s from Zaun. She’s seen it all and fought through it. She can handle herself just fine.’

“There’s no need for that. Just…be careful. Watch where you’re going and keep warm. The both of you.”

Reynard nods. “Promise. And I promise we’ll both make it back alive. That’s the Rossi Guarantee!”

Viktor smiles wryly.  “We’ll be waiting then.”

“Ooh! And save me some of those shrimp toast things. Those things are sick!”

Jayce chuckles. “Will do, Rey. Be safe.”

Nell lunges at Reynard and envelopes her in a tight hug. “Be careful, yeah?”

“ ‘Course, Nell,” Reynard says, patting Nell’s back.

“Later Rey!”

The others begin their trek up the path to the main road.

Viktor lets the others walk ahead of him. 

He stops, turns back to get one last look at her –

And she’s already disappeared.

[lakesbian]

this isn't qualifying as fanfiction or even dialogue with a point but i jotted down a random snip from my imaginary better version of the twig chapter where sy negotiates for the lambs to give him helen + pieces of ashton in exchange for a doctor he and jessie kidnapped. because ive been doing this thing lately called just writing whatever the hell appears in my brain for lambwriting practice and so i don't forget scene ideas in actual fics. and im never gonna have a reason to actually incorporate this into anything so ill just post it

“I…can't say I have anything better,” Jessie said. 

Lillian gawped at her. Then she pointed, sounding almost aghast. “I've just realized, you're–you’re in on all of this!”

Jessie took a bite of her danish and chewed for a good ten seconds before responding, which I supposed was a strategy to give Lillian a moment to calm down, and to avoid saying the obvious No shit. 

“It's not ideal,” she said. “But you have to admit, it's not reasonable to ask for Berger without giving something of equal value back. You also have to admit that Berger is an extremely valuable person. Right? Helen makes a fair exchange in terms of commitment. But we can't use her in the same way you can use Berger. Throwing in a piece of Ashton isn't hurting you, and it gives us something slightly more even.”

Lillian scowled. 

“My main complaint is that taking a piece of Ashton bothers you, and it's still not as useful as Berger. So we'd be coming out on the worse end of the deal, and losing some of your good graces in the process.” She gave me an annoyed glare. “But I don't have any better ideas, so that leaves me backing the Sylvester plan.”

“See?” I crowed, spreading my arms in triumph. “Even Jessie likes my idea.”

“Why is that supposed to be convincing?” Duncan asked, sounding offended. “You're–she’s your girlfriend, of course she would agree with you. It doesn't make it any less insane.”

“That sounds sexist, Duncan,” Jessie said, turning her judgment on him. “I'm his girlfriend, so I'm automatically subordinate to whatever he says? Did you not just hear me criticizing it?”

“No! No, I didn't mean it like that, what I mean is–you two are dating, and you're leading this whole project together, so it shouldn't be a point in his favor that you're both on the same page.”

I leaned on the table, getting closer to Duncan. “I can't blame you for not knowing this, Dunc, since you haven't been around Jessie long–”

“Duncan, please,” he interrupted. 

“Big mistake,” Lillian muttered. 

“But the thing is, Dunc,” I carried on, “that Jessie likes to complain about my ideas more than anyone else you could find. In fact, I'll count selling her on this as a greater victory than selling you.” 

“That sounds…completely backwards.” 

“No,” Lillian sighed. “That makes sense. Of course he's not concerned about being able to manipulate us.” 

“I'm noticing I'm starting to hear lots of people at this table agreeing with me!” I said brightly. 

“Two,” Jessie said. “Two people begrudgingly agreeing.”

It was a brilliant dynamic, really. By siding with everyone else in being exasperated with me, she could argue for everything we wanted, and look perfectly unbiased while she did it. 

“Three!” I said. “Three, if we count Helen wanting to come with us, which I absolutely do.” Helen waved cheerfully at the mention of her name, still munching her pastries. “Why, including me, we've almost got a majority.”

“We're not including you,” Jessie said tiredly. “You don't get a vote on your own plan.”

No one spoke up to tell her she didn't get a vote. The verisimilitude and convincing effect of her exasperation, of course, came from how she wasn't even remotely acting. 

“I disagree,” I said. I beamed at her. 

She shoved her glasses up and pinched her nose.

[smaragdine-snz]

Streamer AU D/ick Gr/ay/son Sickfic

I am not bothering to // the rest of the fic. If it escapes snzblr, fine. I am too lazy for this shit. Anyway, here is Dick with a cold + OC Amelia because for me mentally doing character design if fun and using an OC means I get to make my own canon for her. Woo!

Prompt based on a combination of a prompt from @ Lyritha and a snzario from @mew31

CW: Mess, Cold Sneezes, Sneezed On, Coughing

If you need something else tagged/listed, please let me know. I am new to this! Anyway, have fun.

For more of Richard or for more DCU characters, tags for future writing will be Sick Grayson or DCU Flu (even if not specifically illness, just for my own organizing purposes).

Everyone loved Dick Grayson. Almost.

He bore all the qualities of a natural leader with his charismatic and friendly nature, boundless optimism, and infuriatingly good looks. Those on his team would say he was the only valid choice for raid leader in the party. A skilled tank player, a respected member of the community, a successful streamer. Perfect. Popular. Beloved by all.

All except one. One teammate who met him with disdain and hostility at every turn. One teammate who disregarded every olive branch extended to her. Nothing he said, nothing he did, made a difference. It reached the point of tension where his viewers started to ship them with one another, to the infuriation of his teammate. Her viewers merely seemed to think of him as a pest.

A lesser man would have let it be. Maybe he should have let it be. But Dick Grayson was not a quitter. And something about today felt different. He had been on a roll since he woke up, the day as smooth as silk from the moment his eyes opened to see the morning sun shining through his window.

NIGHTWING: Hey. Wanna do dailies? Just us. You can keep the loot.

His eyes followed the letters as he typed, watching his screen with a small flutter of trepidation.

He had no reason to be nervous, none at all. No sensible explanation for being so invested in just getting a response, any response. Most days, his DMs were ignored.

SUNKILLER: Busy tonight. Tomorrow?

NIGHTWING: “I have a 24hr charity livestream tomorrow. Offering to join me?”

SUNKILLER: Fine. What time?

His jaw nearly dropped as the words appeared on his screen. She agreed, readily? No sarcasm, no snark? Was she sick? Did she need money? Was the end of the world approaching and he just missed all the warning signs?

NIGHTWING: Starts at 2pm. Try not to be late!

It seemed better not to question it. If he asked if she was certain, it gave her the opportunity to change her mind or quip back with something like ‘of course not, dumbass, did you really think I’d join you?’ or some other hope shattering statement. Excitement had his heart racing. Perhaps he could trust his gut feeling. Perhaps this meant progress. Could he finally be winning her over?

Luck abandoned him the next morning.

The alarm clock roused him from his sleep. Blinking away the haze as he sat up, Dick groaned. His body ached, muscles heavy and unresponsive. A dull ache throbbed in the back of his throat with every swallow and mumbled complaint as he pushed himself out of his bed. He could feel congestion in the back of his nose, faint but present.

He had no time to be sick, not today. The twenty-four-hour charity livestream happened to be a big deal. After promoting it as much as he had to try and get as much interest as possible, wanting to blow the set donation goal out of the water, the last thing he wanted to do was call it off. Not only would it let his audience down, it would let the charity down. Plus, he’d finally gotten his raid teammate to agree to join him one on one for some game time.

He just had to not be sick.

So, he stuck to the plan and figured he could just ignore it. Banners and graphics galore decorated his setup, the timer to start the twenty-four-hour countdown in the corner just beneath his camera feed. A meter to track donations decorated a separate monitor. Chat started buzzing with excitement before he turned the camera on, watching his “Starting Soon!” screen with anticipation.

His post last night before bed about getting Sunkiller to join him broke his chat. The messages flooding the screen seemed torn between optimism and teasing.

REDRIDINHOOD [MOD]: Dude, are you sure she’s not just screwing with you?

LIGHTSHOW: This is awesome, Sun’s finally giving you the time of day! Shoot your shot, man!

SHARKNADO72: Nightwing is a masochist, confirmed? 24 hour enemies to lovers speedrun.

CYPHERPYSCHO: Romantic relations with one bearing the word ‘Killer’ in her name is ill-advised, Richard.

IC33POP: She’s so pretty! Ship it!

He turned his camera feed on with an eye roll at the comments section, just in time for Amelia to join the call. Clearing his throat in an attempt to sound normal and not like he spent the morning intermittently sniffling; Dick plastered his signature grin on his face.

“Ready to get started, Sun?” his voice came through a bit raspier than he would have liked, but his smile did not waver. “I was going to do a bunch of solo story games but since you’re here, I changed the line-up to some co-op games. Starting with It Takes Two.”

He could see her on the camera, her eyes shifting to the side to look at his video for a moment before returning to look at her primary screen. He watched her lip curl, getting a flash of teeth and the subtle sound of her clicking her tongue. She knew the game in question. A pointed choice of co-op game considering how his audience felt about his involvement with her.

“Let’s get going then. Try not to slow me down,” a teasing tone crept into her voice as she spoke. “You know how I feel about losing.”

Despite the way his nose felt plugged, and his throat ached, his excitement reigned supreme. It overshadowed the feeling of illness creeping through him, at first. As hours ticked by, he could no longer manage to hide it when he cleared his sore throat to try ridding himself of the hoarse, congested tone from his voice. His sniffles, increasingly pronounced, started garnering attention from the chat as thin streams of mucus dripped from his pink nose and glistened in the light. His nostrils flared, breath hitching as he turned his attention back to Amelia.

“Cad you – snrff. I need you to go to the other side of the gap and stay on the pressure plate, I think. Please?” he flashes a charming smile toward the camera, hoping to distract from how awful that sniffle sounded.

“Sure. Are you feeling okay, Nightwing?”

“Huh? Yeah, of course. I’b fide…Hh-hH–! NGKssHHHhuhw!!”

He lost control of the sneeze he wanted so badly to contain, his head diving into his elbow as he covered it. The crook of his elbow, now covered in a wet spray, stayed well below the view of the camera as he repositioned himself, a faint flush to his cheeks as he looked at his screens to gauge the reaction of both Amelia and his chat.

REDRIDINHOOD [MOD]: Get a tissue, dickwad, gross!

BLUDPR1NC355: Aww, bby, are you getting sick??

Apart from his brother, kind comments were flooding in, thousands of viewers blessing him or expressing concern for his wellbeing. Pointing out how pale he looked, how red his nose had gotten, or the constant sniffling he thought he had been subtle about.

Sheepishly glancing at Amelia’s video, he silently pleaded she would not be disgusted by him. Her in-game character jumped the gap and stood on the pressure plate just as he requested, but he noticed that she kept glancing at him. The way she stared, eyes narrowing every time he sniffled or fought back a sneeze. Though she made no comment on his health, her responses to him seemed a little softer.

After a few more hours of her ignoring his suffering and his chat fussing over his health, Dick could no longer breathe through his nose. His sneezes had only worsened, becoming wetter and more frequent. His body lurched towards the camera as a pathetic attempt at rubbing his nose only served to make everything ten times worse, causing his sneezes to tear through him.

“Hh…Heh'KSHht! —kSHh! H-hihh! Hih'KTCHh! Ugh…hh! HT’TSCHh! t’CHSHh!-’itschh!–ihHK’TSCh’uh!”

He ignored the chat for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He covered most of them, but there were still droplets of spray on the camera lens. Wiping them off with the hem of his sleeve, he reached for the tissue box he grabbed during their last bathroom break, only for his fingers to touch the cardboard bottom. Empty.

Through the haze of congestion in his head, and as he sniffled in a futile attempt to contain the flood of mucus dripping from his nose, he heard a little ping! Someone sent him a DM. Pinching his nose while he read it, he couldn’t stop the look of surprise from flashing across his face.

SUNKILLER: DM me your address and I’ll order you some soup. You are not okay.

NIGHTWING: I’m fine, really! Don’t worry about it.

The congested laugh of shock turned into a wet cough, betraying the lie instantly.

SUNKILLER: Liar. Hurry up.

NIGHTWING: Fine, fine. Here you go.

He sent her his address, smiling as he watched her on the camera. With nine hours out of the twenty-four-hour stream already out of the way, and there had been no hostility. One on one, it felt like the person on the other end of the call was a completely different person. He had her perspective of the stream up on another monitor, his eyes scanning her chat.

SP00KYGALZ [MOD]: Mel, what are you writing? I can hear your pen.

K1LLERQUEEN: He’s so pathetic looking today, it’s hot.

GOTHIKAT [MOD]: You’re plotting something. It never ends well when you do that.

SUNNY2881: The NightSun shippers are having a field day in his chat, girl.

LUCIFURR: Lol why wouldn’t they? Queen Mel is hot, he’s hot.

MAGNIFIQUE: You’re being so nice to him today! What happened? Pity party or do we like him now?

He nearly laughed, but a choked cough came out instead, prompting a fit of them as he covered his mouth and nose with his shirt. Watery eyes squeezed shut, shoulders trembling, and throat on fire, he continued to be distracted by his coughing until he heard the familiar ping of his DMs again.

SUNKILLER: You should just cancel. You sound awful.

NIGHTWING: The donations are going to help a lot of people. I can last fifteen more hours!

SUNKILLER: Then change of plans. You have an extra controller at your place?

NIGHTWING: Yeah, why? Coming over?

SUNKILLER: Yes. You won’t cancel the stream? Fine. We can keep playing this game on your couch. Deal?

NIGHTWING: Sure. Come by whenever.

The words he typed came out so casually, but his heartbeat almost stalled. Her chat was right. She was being a lot nicer to him. He barely registered her voice on the stream again, Amelia announcing that the stream would be switching gears and that they were going to continue the game on his couch after she picked up some things for him. Both chats exploded into a frenzy of activity, but Dick was too busy trying to be discreet about wiping his nose on his sleeve to notice.

“Hh… h'ngtchh! Eberyode, I’b deed a few to mbove by setup,” he set his stream to the break screen as he glanced blearily back at Amelia’s stream on the monitor, standing up to start moving the lights and the cameras over to his couch and TV before prepping the game on the console.

The scenery around Amelia kept moving and the video quality changed, showing glimpses of her actions. Snippets of her apartment. A streak of black as she tugged on some shoes. The sound of an engine starting up. Her viewers must be looking through her helmet camera, for the motorcycle videos she sometimes made. The camera only showed her dashboard and a snippet of road as she drove. Luckily for him, she kept the commentary going on his behalf until she walked into… a grocery store?

“Abelia, whadt are you doing?” he unmuted the microphone, leaning in as his voice came out as little more than a congested croak.

“Picking you up some things, like I said. What do you need, Richard? More tissues, cough drops? Soup?”

“Uhhg, mbore tissues. Mbedicide. I’ll take adythihgg,” he must have missed it when she told the stream she was going to get things at the store for him, but at this point he certainly couldn’t say no. 

Picking up various products off the shelves, Amelia took the time to show Dick each item and let him choose what he wanted. As the number of things in her grocery basket grew, so did the number of comments on the stream about their situation. Things like ‘how domestic!’ or ‘I feel like I’m intruding lol’ peppered the chat. Not wanting her to get annoyed by how intent the viewers had become on trying to label their relationship, not after he only just got her to drop some of her walls around him, Dick hurried to finish moving his streaming setup.

It took her twenty minutes to get to his house. He knew they lived in the same city, but never expected anything would come of it. Until now, with Amelia standing in his living room as he hunkered down on the couch. Blowing his nose with a fresh tissue from the box she purchased, he could not tear his eyes away as she flitted around his apartment like some sort of fairy godmother. She put a thermos of soup on the coffee table for him along with a bottle of DayQuil and some tea, oranges for snacking on, several boxes of tissues, a bag of cough drops, and even some extra blankets.

“Alright. Let’s do this,” she picked up his spare controller, settling in on the couch right beside him.

Part of him expected her to sit further away. She needed to be close enough to stay within frame of the camera, but their shoulders were touching. Closer than necessary. The warmth of her arm against him, seeping through the fabric of his shirt, was tantalizing. He could only offer a nod, picking up his own controller and resuming the game.

The DayQuil helped… marginally. Not as much as Dick hoped it would.

“Ih'shiuhh! Ih’TSHh! ItcSHsSHew!” The sneezes filled his tissue, a grimace on his face as he threw it away only to realize it had leaked through onto his hand.

Groaning and wiping his hand clean with another tissue, he leaned further back against the couch. His body slumped to the side slightly, seeking the warm presence of the woman beside him. He felt her shift, inching closer to him as if understanding what he needed.

“Hey, Richard? Can I hijack your stream for a little while?” her tone lacked all of the sarcasm it usually held, with her carefully taking the controller out of his hands and setting it down on the coffee table. “Maybe we can do a Q&A.”

“Huh? Sure, I’bm dowd. Ng'TCHht!”

An attempt was made to stifle his sneeze against her shoulder without Dick realizing what he had done. More followed suit.

“Heh'ESHHuh! Heh'KSHihh! Ugh…”

Afterward, sniffling and blowing his nose into a tissue after he pulled away from her, he noticed the prominent smear of his mucus that remained wet against the fabric of her jacket.

“I'b sorry Abelia, I didd't mbead to. Hold od,” he mumbles, getting up without giving her any time to protest.

He disappeared down the hallway into his room, rummaging in his dresser. Harsh coughs left him breathless and unsteady as he made his way back toward the couch, holding one of his hoodies in his hand. Setting it down in Amelia’s lap, he offered what he hoped looked like a confident smile.

“You should borrow this, sidce I god yours dirty.”

“Thank you, Ri—Dick,” she corrected herself while taking off her soiled jacket, using his nickname for the first time since they met.

Tugging the hoodie over her head, she folded her jacket and set it down on the floor before shifting closer to him yet again. She invited the viewers to start submitting questions for the Q&A portion of the stream while tugging a blanket over the two of them, her arm wrapping around his waist underneath it. A startled look flashed across his face, but he felt too awful to question it. He pressed himself into her side, resting his head against her shoulder.

“Questiod twedty. Why were the two of you always arguigg?” Dick read aloud, after blowing his nose for the umpteenth time, only to stare at Amelia expectantly.

“Oh. That. That was my fault. He just seemed too enthusiastic all the time, I thought he was faking it. It made me feel guilty for not always being in a good mood. Wondering why I couldn’t just be more like him, why did I have to let things get to me? So, I got frustrated. But he really is just that kind of person, and it is hard to stay mad when he’s just trying to be friendly. Besides… now I know he isn’t flawless all the time. He really is human,” she laughed, but it sounded somewhat forced and her tone was… apologetic. “I’m sorry, Dick. For being difficult.”

“You dod't have to aAhh- hahh…Heh'ESHHuh! Apologize,” he buried his face against her side, a soft moan escaping him as his sniffling did nothing to staunch the flow of mucus. “I already forgave you.”

The viewer’s questions felt endless as he leaned firmly against Amelia, her arms wrapped around him almost protectively. The heat of her body against him felt warm and comforting, soothing the chill that plagued him. The stream would be over soon. He only needed to make it for a few more minutes. His body, however, had other plans.

“Hhht’khschh! Hh…Heh'KSHht! Ngh…” the sneezes refused to abate as Dick shuddered in Amelia’s arms, her hand coming to hold a tissue against his nose for him.

She held him a bit tighter, one hand firmly grasping the tissue and the other rubbing his back. His own hands gripped the blanket as if hanging on for dear life, his entire body shaking against hers with each wet sneeze. The chat, the cameras, the stream… it faded into the background, Amelia focused solely on him. When he caught his breath, she tilted his chin up to get a good look at him.

Dick gazed back at her through watery eyes, tears smeared across his cheeks. He felt her thumb brush over his skin, wiping away a few. Her palm cupped his face, and he leaned into the soft touch, bringing his own up to tuck a loose section of hair behind her ear.

“Are you alright?” came the hushed whisper as Amelia leaned in closer to him, resting her forehead against his and feeling the warmth radiating off of him.

“Doh, but it’s fide.”

She studied him, watching his chest rise and fall with each congested breath. His lips stayed parted; Dick unable to breathe through his nose at all. A smile still played upon them, but his eyes seemed unfocused, roaming around her face and yet always settling back on her mouth.

“Do you… want me to kiss you?” she murmured, letting a finger trace his lips.

“God, yes,” he breathed, eyes fluttering closed when she moved closer to him.

A quiet groan rumbled from his throat the moment he felt her soft lips press against his, leaning into it as one hand tangled in her hair. The world around him melted away, letting him forget for just a moment how awful he truly felt.

Until chat exploded.

Banners and sound effects created a cacophony in the room, snapping the two out of the moment they so nearly lost themselves in. Comments flooded in at breakneck speeds, the text moving up the screen too quickly for Dick to process a single word said. But Amelia just pulled him closer, kissing him again while her fingers pressed the power button on the camera.

Stream Disconnected. Twenty-four-hours complete. 

~ Bonus ~

The door opened near silently, Jason’s steps filled with the intent not to disturb. He missed the end of the stream due to work matters, leaving a different sibling to take over moderator duties (thanks, Tim). Now, he merely wanted to confirm his older brother didn’t collapse on the floor or miraculously die in the night. 

But he heard about what happened. Anyone who followed Dick or Amelia’s socials knew what happened. 

Unable to help the smirk stuck to his face, even with no one around to see it, Jason made his way to the living room. The cameras were off, but had not been put away. Blankets lay strewn over the back of the couch, and there was a small trash next to a tied off bag of used tissues. Someone had emptied it but not taken the bag down to the dumpsters yet. Nonetheless, the fact Dick was not passed out on the living room floor or asleep on the couch seemed to be a good sign. 

He made his way down the hall, the sounds of congested snoring growing louder as he approached Dick’s bedroom. The door, left open, did nothing to muffle the sound. Pressing onward out of a mixture of curiosity and the desire to be able to tease his brother, Jason peered into the bedroom. 

Out cold on his back with his limbs splayed like some undignified starfish, Dick’s head lolled sideways, his face partially buried in the curtain of Amelia’s dark hair. His mouth hung open, drooling in the depth of his sleep. His nose, redder than the night before, pressed against the top of Amelia’s head as it oozed, coating the strands of her hair. 

Gross. 

Her face stayed buried in the crook of his neck, her arm draped over chest. She wore the hoodie Dick let her borrow during the stream, along with… ah, yes – Dick’s boxers. 

It took a great deal of self-control for Jason not to laugh at the absurdity of it. Instead, he chose to preserve this moment… and give him something to harass Dick about when his brother woke up. Silently, he snapped a photo of the two of them together and left, texting the image to Dick without another word. 

[lesbianlanarcher]

currently on S11 of my perpetual Archer rewatch and it reminded me of an old fic i wrote years ago. figured i would post it on here since i rarely ever see any Archer fanfic on tumblr, and maybe it'll prompt me to start writing again... maybe...

——————————————

Between the Cracks

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 2,605

Relationships: Lana Kane/Sterling Archer, Lana Kane, Sterling Archer & Abbiejean Kane-Archer, Sterling Archer & Pam Poovey

Tags/Warnings: Alcohol abuse/alcoholism, Angst, Canon-typical behaviour, Character study, Depressed Sterling Archer, Hurt no comfort, Season 11

Summary: A welcome back party usually means people noticed you were gone, right? So, why does Archer feel a lot less than missed by all his friends who don't seem to understand that booze and blessings can't replace everything he's needed since he woke from his coma?

Tonight’s guest of honour — recent coma-survivor (if that's what you called people who had just woken from comas), former World’s Greatest Spy (not through his own choosing), and self-proclaimed 'star' of the 'show' — is retching his guts up in the murky office bathroom. Spiralling. Shit-scared. Trembling, as he pushes himself away from the stinking toilet bowl. About to figuratively piss his pants if he doesn’t pull himself together within the next three seconds, for which there doesn’t seem to be much hope. And, worst of all, he’s stone cold sober.

It is pitiful, to say the least.

Sterling doesn’t know what prompted the throwing up; he hasn’t eaten all day but it can’t be that. He suspects it might be the sobriety, fucking with his regular circadian rhythym. Or maybe it’s the fact he’s trapped in the office, on a Friday night, when he could be up to his eyebrows in overpriced whores, cheap booze, and extortionate bumps of something or the other.

Lana — in her unwavering determination to screw him over as much as she possibly can from the constraints of a loveless marriage — had suggested a welcome back party. It was about four months too late, and massively pales in comparison to the house parties Sterling had thrown himself. None of which any of his co-workers had shown up for, except Pam. He hadn't invited any of them but that shouldn't have mattered. Who wouldn't have wanted to party with him after he’d been gone for three years? It was a pretty big fucking deal, after all. He’d basically risen from the dead.

Right?

It isn’t outrageous to think that?

Right?

Waking up from a three-year coma was rather unprecedented. To his recollection, no one else had gone through such a fate before, no one of any significance anyway. People should be worshipping him at his feet; begging to touch him to cure themselves of their terminal illnesses like they did with saints. He should be proclaimed as a saint.

“Saint Sterling…” He mutters to himself, pushing open the cubicle door and stumbling out. “Has a nice ring to it,” He leans against the countertop, exerting all his weight as his head hangs limply. “Or would it be Saint Archer?” A weary, almost shuddering sigh escapes him, “Surely, they'd let me choose, being the saint an’ all.”

Who was he fooling?

Lately, it feels like he can’t even believe half the shit he comes up with himself.

And when did he get so fucking rueful? Regret is not something he dabbles in; it is an abstract, and he never entertains abstracts when alone. It doesn’t bode well for his rule against introspection… Or a lot of other things he knows he’d mourn if he ever gave himself the opportunity. It was unsightly. His mother would smack him upside the head if she knew the sorry thoughts he’s wallowing in with that damned purse of hers.

He sighs again, growing increasingly more frustrated. At whom? It's hard to say any more. It's not their fault, yet that's all he can think — Assign blame to others as not to wonder how much of this ordeal he's responsible for.

Sterling grabs his tie, yanks at the knot, once, twice, and indecorously pulls at it like a toddler grabbing a toy. He’s too flushed for formalities right now but it won’t fucking loosen, so he keeps pulling and wrestling with the fabric until it’s tightened even more and he’s clenching his jaw so hard his face starts aching.

His innocent Turnbull & Asser bears the brunt of his frustrations that should really be directed at the room full of idiots outside, and it’s a wrinkled mess when he finally does get it off. He undoes one then two then four buttons of his shirt, and stamps his feet as he rests over the sink again for a moment, exhaling sharply, before lifting his head and stuffing the tie into a pocket.

Now, they owe him an additional three-hundred dollars as well as a modicum of emotional support, he thinks to himself as grabs his cane that he had thrown on the floor in an earlier tantrum. Another one is threatening to bubble up when he kicks open the door and begrudgingly returns to the party. And then his leg starts throbbing dully.

Fucking nerve damage. Reducing him to some frail fucking idiot who has to think twice about doing shit like taking a flight of stairs or going out when it's sub-zero.

He’s pissed, as well as a few other select emotions, mostly because his hip flask is already drained and that means he has to wade through a sea of morons to get to the makeshift bar that’s been set up at the end of the office. That is, assuming all the good stuff hasn’t been wasted on chumps who don’t deserve it.

Strung up rather needlessly and depressingly is a banner that reads 'Welcome Back Archer!' As well as a deflating balloon arch, childlike confetti scattered over every surface in sight, and a table of sad little finger food platters. God, this is pathetic. Is this is what his life is now? Shoddy attempts to right decades of wrongs through well-intentioned but poorly-executed soirées that make him feel queasy more than anything else?

He stands in a darkened doorway, fiddling with his cane, watching the lacklustre celebrations unfolding for a moment, contemplating sticking his pistol in his mouth and playing Russian roulette with himself.

But then he reasons that wouldn't solve anything; he'd probably be stuck as a sad, lonely ghost, wandering the corridors of the office. Forced to deal with an eternity of watching them... His supposed friends.

It’s all the usual gang, minus Malory since she already had a date night planned — He can’t say he misses her presence all that much.

Cheryl is swirling a finger in the sangria jug with a devious smile on her face; Sterling makes a mental note not to sample it.

Cyril is attempting to best Pam in a game of drink/strip blackjack. He already knows how that one’s gonna end.

Krieger is acting as DJ so at least there’s some half-decent music on, but Ray seems intent on ruining that too with his requests for pop princesses.

“Look! Here he is!”

An unidentified arm tugs at him, dragging him a few paces over before he realises who it is and he's stumbling against Lana’s frame, straight into her purple sweater dress that smells faintly of perfume and liquor and gun metal.

“Abbie, honey, say hi to your–”

She catches herself before she says it. Sterling sees her face fall from an easy, tipsy grin to a flat line in the bottom corner of her phone’s screen. Russian roulette is becoming more and more tempting. Then, she's smiling again, pulling him closer so her tits brush against his chest. The touch does nothing to alleviate any of the unrequited feelings. Hardly even warms his cheeks or makes it down between his legs like it usually does.

“Say hi to Archer.”

There’s a lot of nothingness when he looks at her; indiscernible fog, like she’s a complete stranger when he thought he knew her inside-out. But he realises now he’d been incredibly misguided to presume she would wait for him. As though having a child together meant nothing to her despite it meaning the world to him… even if he didn’t show it. In his defence, the closest he’d ever gotten to a good example of parental affection were the fabricated memories of a father who never existed and his mother’s promise of bourbon each time he fell ill with the croup. And Woodhouse, too, he figures. But he doesn't want to think of Woodhouse right now; it'll only make him regretful or some other dumb shit.

Lana looks at him, too, and keeps smiling that dangerously sweet smile. Her cheeks blossom with a faint, barely there blush that matches her baby pink lips but, still, nothing stirs in him. Not a single thing. He would wonder if his cock is still working but there's been more than enough messy, depraved, degrading nights since he woke up to know that it most certainly does. It's just Lana; this must be how she affects him now. Or doesn't, that is.

She tilts her head towards his, curls an arm around his back. Instinctively, he wraps one around her waist but, while he enjoys how small she feels under his hand, how he can feel the outline of her panties through her dress, he can’t bring himself to do anything with the sensation.

Jesus, could things be any more dire?

Lana's fingertips draw small, innocent lines on his back, stoking even more at that frustration.

He thinks that she must be wasted. She’s kept her distance up until this point, both physically and mentally, and it’s still hard to believe that she was the one who wanted this stupid, shitty excuse of a party for him. Whatever it means is lost on him. He's not trying to understand her intentions or feelings anymore; it's exhausting.

Lana turns her attention back to AJ, who isn’t looking at either of them. “You remember Archer, don't you, sweetie?”

And he doesn't really want to speak to his daughter who most definitely doesn't remember him. He wants to be left alone with as many bottles of scotch he can steal. Maybe some coke, too. Yeah, coke would be fucking great right now.

“Hi, AJ.” He greets meekly.

“Hi, Sleeping Beauty,” She returns with little to no enthusiasm. “Mom says you guys are having a party.”

“Yeah, kinda, shouldn't you be asleep?” He feels Lana’s hand slip further down his back. “It’s pretty early over there.” His hand follows suit and she doesn’t stop him.

She’s a complete asshole for doing this to him, now of all the instances she could have picked. And she's a total bitch for attempting to show she possibly cares when all wants is to be left the fuck alone. He needed this kind of acknowledgment and attention four months ago — When everything was still tender and raw. Not now, when it feels like a badly healed scab. He'd rather pick at it until the frangible flesh underneath starts bleeding deep crimson than be bandaged up in her pseudo-plasters of unspoken... affection? Does she even have any of that left for him?

“I have a guided meditation session in half an hour.” AJ explains, barely keeping her focus on her parents.

Lana keeps smiling and nodding, assuming the role of some insane, drunk bobble head. What the hell is going on with her? Nope, he doesn't care.

The flat, dead air feels suffocating. Or maybe that's the sobriety again, desperately rearing its head in a wave of nausea, pleading to be extinguished for good.

Sterling has no idea what he’s meant to say to his daughter. There’s a lot he knows that he perhaps should impart to her — fatherly advice or whatever the hell could vaguely pass as that from him — but it’s neither the time nor place nor headspace for that. And he's still sober, so fuck knows what garbage would spew from his mouth. Plus, he lost the right to all that when Lana replaced him with a personified tree stump crossed with an overgrown ballsack. Apparently, he didn’t lose the right to grope her ass though.

She glances at him, an eye twitching involuntarily when she reads his expression and uncharacteristic hesitance, and finally decides to wrap up the call for them.

Sterling wonders what he's done to deserve such an excruciating night. Then, he instantly stops wondering because isn't it all pretty fucking obvious? Being him is enough to warrant this and a whole lot more. He should be thankful he even gets to speak to AJ.

“You should go get ready, honey,” Lana detaches herself from him, smoothly and without thinking anything of it because his grip has already loosened, “Text me all about your day too, it’ll help with the hangover.” She wanders off, garbling to her phone as she does, a hand lingering on the spot he’d been caressing.

He scoffs quietly to himself; that's just downright fucked up.

He doesn’t have the heart to keep a possessive, proudly-creepy stare on her ass like he normally would. For once, he feels disgusted by it. By her, by himself.

Instead, he hobbles towards the table holding various bottles and a few plastic red cups, and snatches a half-empty scotch. Bypassing the cups, he flicks off the cap and tips a large mouthful straight down his gullet.

The effect is almost immediate.

“Archer! My man!”

Two hefty hands land on his shoulders and he spills some liquid down his neck. He would be mad if he wasn’t upset over the waste.

“Pam,” He says, hoping he doesn’t look as miserable as he feels, and turns to face her when she’s eased off. “What’s up?”

He’s willing to try with Pam because she’s the only one who’s made it apparent she missed him. The only person he doesn’t feel like a lesser version of himself around. Aside from Cyril, but that goes without saying.

The blonde swipes a bottle of vodka from the table and downs a couple generous gulps before she speaks again. “This party sucks ass,” She guzzles some more, Sterling copies her. “And not in a good way.”

“Yeah,” He grumbles, shaking his head at the abysmal scene of Lana and Ray cutting some horrific shapes that could barely be considered dancing while Cheryl’s hands crawl all over a passed out Cyril. “I’m starting to wish I was still in that coma.”

Pam laughs, bellylaughs, literally clutches her stomach and nudges him a little too hard so he nearly topples over and has to lean on his cane for support. “Oh, don’t say that,” She clinks her bottle against his. “Then I wouldn’t have my best drinking buddy back.”

She’s not drunk enough to say buddy, as in regular, plain old buddy, so it stings a bit, but he knows he needs to stop taking things so personally.

No one else’s life came to a standstill for three years.

Or maybe she is drunk enough and it’s what she honestly thinks. That he’s good for one thing and one thing only.

Jesus fucking Christ. He never used to get so caught up in the little details before. Never overanalysed or overthought tiny fucking words. His bout of unconsciousness must have unlocked an especially pathetic, weasley part of his brain because it hasn’t shut up once since he’s been awake. Even when he’s asleep again, usually through forced means of over intoxication or exhaustion from a night spent rolling around his bed, he can’t get his mind to be quiet. Nothing seems to work. It's just full of... Shit.

He used to be able to control it, ignore it even. Pretend it wasn't there. Block it out. Deal with it. Compartmentalise.

He doesn’t know how he’s meant to do that anymore.

He’s uncertain of a lot of things; issues that had never seemed to be so insurmountable before.

And if he starts to resent Pam, the one person who’s shown him an ounce of empathy, he doesn’t know how he’s meant to cope with the rest of them. So, he clinks his bottle back to hers, shoots her a dazzling smile he prays will cover up any misgivings, and does something he does know very well, perhaps the only source of comfort and familiarity he has left — He downs the remaining whiskey in one breath.

—————

originally posted on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/41727258

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (1-3)

parts 1, 2, & 3 of ?? | 888 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Wayne is sick and they don't have the money for the treatment he needs. Eddie, desperate and spread thin between school, a part time job, and dealing, spots Steve outside of a gay club and opts for blackmail. Steve, who has heard about Wayne through Dustin... just sort of lets him.

I started writing this while Ao3 is down. Haven't quite finished it yet, but I've got 6.7k written so far, so I should be able to do daily posts for at least a while!

Now also posted on Ao3.

Quick note, if it helps anyone who might be hit too close to home by Wayne's serious but relatively brief health scare. First, he's going to be fine. I love Wayne, I wouldn't do that to him. Second, Dustin's mind goes straight to cancer when he hears that it's serious serious, but Wayne's illness is never specified. The only symptoms described are basically a cough and general weakness/fatigue.

1.

Dustin is really upset one day after school, the day he tells Steve about his dad. 

Steve had never asked, alright? It was family shit, and that kind of thing was. . . . Well, not sacred, he can’t even think that and keep a straight face, but definitely private. There could’ve been any number of reasons why Mr. Henderson wasn’t around. 

Turns out it was cancer.

And . . . it’s not insensitive to wonder, right? Steve doesn't know if it’s an anniversary or if someone’s been giving him shit at school about not having a dad or something. So, after a few bumbling questions about why this is upsetting him now, an explanation comes tumbling out.

The leader or president or whatever of the nerd club Dustin joined at the start of the year had to cancel their game this week. “Eddie never cancels, Steve,” Dustin insists, eyes red from crying and voice gone all squeaky. “And we were giving him shit about it, we all were, even the upperclassmen guys, and he. . . he j-just broke, Steve. Said his uncle is r-really sick, bad sick, and I know what that means. They don’t have the money for treatment. He’s Eddie’s only family, and he’s probably going t-to. . . .”

Steve regrets dropping Robin off at her house first today. She might not know what to say either, but at least they’d be in this together. “Dust, that’s. . . . That’s awful.”

Turns out he doesn’t have to say anything else, because Dustin thumps against him and bawls his eyes out. 

2.

“It was awful, Robs,” Steve says, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he talks into the phone. “I haven’t seen him like that since after Starcourt, when we had to tell him about Hop.”

Robin’s wince is audible in her reply. “Yeah, that's. . . . That’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah.” He heaves a sigh, hoping it’ll get some of the constricted feeling out of his chest. It doesn’t.

“Steve? Are you okay?”

“I don’t know.” It’s just, he hates it. Hated it then and hates it now, because both times there’s no way for him to jump between Dustin and this thing. “Everything was starting to sort of feel okay again, and then suddenly there's Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson and his uncle, who I’ve never even seen in my life—”

“It’s not about the Munsons, Steve,” Robin says gently. “You and Dustin have that ‘you die I die’ thing. He’s like your kid brother who annoys the shit out of you, but you love him to death anyway. And right now he’s sad but you can’t do anything to help.”

Lifting his face from his hand, Steve looks around the room. He’s on the big comfortable couch in his big fucking house with too many rooms, all empty except for this one. His parents are never home, always away on business trips that got way more frequent after Barbara Holland disappeared from a party he’d hosted. They send money—not an allowance, not since he didn’t get into any of the colleges he’d applied to. But the utility bills are always paid up, and a gardener still comes around to do lawn maintenance every other week.

He wonders how the cost of maintaining a house they don’t live in compares to the cost of whatever kind of treatment Munson’s uncle needs.

Doesn’t let himself wonder if it would make a difference, but he knows that treatments don’t always work. It hadn’t, apparently, for Dustin’s dad.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees heavily. “I know.”

3.

The nice thing about being done with high school and working weekends at a shitty retail job is, Steve can do whatever he wants on some weekdays. As long as he doesn’t have a shift that starts before noon the next day, anyway. Which he doesn’t.

So, a few days after Dustin’s revelations, Steve drives up to the nearest outskirts of Indy. Eventually he ends up in one of those clubs that he and Robin have been researching how to find.

He tells himself that he’s scoping it out before he brings her, but he wants to get lost for a while. Empty his head out of things he can’t do a damn thing about—the Upside Down, the monsters, the Russians, the Munsons, the memories of Dustin crying and, just for funsies, of Nancy calling him bullshit. Because that’s always somewhere in the mix, these days.

Fill it back up with music and movement. Not with drinks, because he still has to get himself back to Hawkins in one piece.

He goes and he dances and he sweats. Sometimes guys dance with him, and Steve goes with it. Who cares? No one knows him here, it doesn’t mean anything.

Turns out, it does mean something after all. 

When Steve finally stumbles his way out of the club, he finds none other than Eddie Munson sitting on the hood of the Beemer he’s been buying off of his parents in installments. (Their idea. It’s a ‘pay for it or lose it’ kind of deal.) 

The buzzing under his sweat-tacky skin—satisfaction at successfully getting out of his head—fizzles out. He keeps walking and stops when he draws even with the car. 

Eddie Munson, looking tired and prickling with restless energy, and exhales a cloud of smoke and vapor into the chilly air. “Hey, man. What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?”

[tansyuduri]

Merlin Loregasm Rewatch S1E2

Hi Everyone! Welcome to my rewatch of Merlin focusing on the lore. I am a giant nerd so pretty excited about this. Time for VALIANT!

So this brings up heraldry in the series. We see Arthur using Camelot heradlry, and other knights doing the same but during tourneys, we see Lots of different other patterned shields. So either people usually use the shield of their overlord in battle but their own in tourneys Or no knights of Camelot besides Arthur appear in tourneys. (I think Lancelot will make this a bit clearer when we get to it.) Either way either this is Valient's family crest, or he serves someone with a family crest. Either way it makes sense for why he murders this dude. As the shield is KINDA a dead giveaway to his identity. (And we know he is a knight or at least is acting as one and pulls it off better then Merlin's later first attempt at identity theft.) They obviously do not require patents of nobility at tourneys because Gwen, Arthur and Merlin pull off a fictional Knight later just fine.

I think he is likely a knight because ARMOR IS EXPENSIVE Y'ALL.

He also says he is from the Western Illes. Because the island of Mora And Ealdor this is the first place we hear about besides Camalot. Does he mean Ireland? I think he means Ireland? ALSO! are you used to my messed up grammar and punctuation yet? I have an LD in both. This is why I always need Betas for my fics despite creative writing being my thing. (I mean besides just wanting them to be better.) (This is an example of autistic oversharing. You are welcome! BACK TO MERLIN!)

So we only see this kinda sparing with Merlin in armor and holding a sword and shield once. (Usually he just holds a target for arthur) However, Merlin does get better with a sword somewhat as the series progresses so I think it likly continues. (Though perhaps a bit more nicely) It's interesting because Arthur has his pick of people to spar with, we see that later. Yet he says "Most Servants collapse after the first blow" So who is he sparing with? Has he been given manservants he didn't like before and just used this to make them quit? ANYHOO this was not as much lore so will not often comment on character dynamics but yesh.

Okay so I will spare you the talk of different armor parts. BUT this is really interesting compared to mentions of "Camalot forged steel"

See many Castles would have their own blacksmith and the one in the villager would be more for horseshoes, nails, and the like. Because armor and weapon making was A BIG DEAL

This implies Gwen's father was a HIGHLY SKILLED blacksmith who likely served the knights of Camalot. (He can't have been the only one because when he dies there is a period of time before Elyan comes and in Gwen's words Gets the forge running again.) But for a regular blacksmith to serve as an armor and weapon maker is a BIG DEAL that kinda knowledge was highly specialized! And yet Uther killed him easily.

OKAY time to nerd out a bit! This is quartering, an advanced heraldic tradition in which an individual for some reason or another wanted to show MORE than one coat of arms they were entitled to. You guys should look all this up, its fascinating! But onward!

Okay yeah remember what I said about Gwens family likely descending back to the Roman times? It's still possible but if Arab knight equivalents can get to Camelot then her family could totally have come from northern Africa for other reasons. Also I like the dude in Mauve having an Anglo-Saxon Helm and the due behind him having one from the 1100s I love Merlin's stew of things from all over history.

Okay this is perhaps just Uther being an ass. Because I'm sorry if you are not the king of Mercia I refuse to belive you are the king of Ireland. (Albion is not united yet.)

Perhaps its mostly knights of Camalot here with some exeptions? I mean if we are creative with the dude CLEARLY of the middle east we can say somehow became a noble of camalot. It would explain a few things. Did Valiant come from Ireland (Sorry I mean The Western Illes) originally then somehow for reasons we will not question also moved to Camalot? (Unlikely as Uther asks him to stay later.) There are also very few people here so likley perliminary tournaments were held? I mean we do see in Lancelot people come from all over to try to be knights of Camalot. so THEORETICLY Uther might be being honest here?

Okay this guys helm is the same as the Arab dude we saw before I think he just took his outher coat off. BUT And some of this gear is very European. So Camalot somehow has an Arab noble family that fights in ancestral gear when they can OR he got repairs along the long journey to Camalot in local styles. Take your pick!)

(You know because I can't be normal and just say they throw this in for visual appeal.)

Something to note! This would normally be the job for a Squire. A Squire was also usually the step before knighthood but in the Merlin world they do not seem to exist!

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

WIP Weekend

Weekly WIP update:

Got a bit side-tracked this week with a tiny extra project that I'll be posting on Sunday, so I haven't actually made significant progress on anything else, whoops! 😅

Chapter 3 of the King's Gift should be finished some time soon.

Chapter 3 of by Big Bang fic is about one third to half done, but I might have to alter the outline a bit because I'm not quite happy with how it flows. That might mean having to add another chapter, but I'll worry about that some time next week. Also, oh God, how are claims next weekend??? I'm freaking out!

14 out of 29 ficlet requests are filled, and I'll start working on the next this weekend.

Send me an emoji, and I'll write and share three sentences from that project (sentences from the Big Bang fic will be blurred, as I'm not allowed to talk about them yet).

🏰The King's Gift

❓Steddie Big Bang Fic 2024

🥳 1k follower celebration ficlets

Nothing new to share from anything else, so here's more King's Gift for the snippet:

“What the hell is going on here?” 

Steve’s stomach plummets to somewhere near his knees. When he whips his head up, it is to see Eddie storming out of the castle, Wayne and Chrissy hot on his heels. From somewhere to the side, Robin is hurrying towards them, nearly tripping over her billowy robes in her haste. But that's not what makes Steve groan in annoyance. 

Because none of them just spoke. That was Gareth, who is already halfway across the yard, flanked by his two ill-tempered friends. 

“You again,” he says when he reaches their little crowd and spots Mike and Erica. “We've been over this, what part of no more fighting didn't you get? We have a million bigger problems to worry about, I don't have time to deal with your- … Oh, look at that. If it isn't our magnificent champion, right in the middle of the fray. You're supposed to get us out of trouble, y’know, not stir more of it.”

Steve feels his temper flare and his jaw clench, but before he can spit out a reply, Max has shouldered past him, orange braids whipping with the movement. 

“What's your problem, you dickwad? He doesn’t have anything to do with this.” 

“Steve was just showing us how the camera works,” Will agrees, voice quieter, but firm. His eyes are trained on Robin, who is just stumbling to a halt in front of them. “He really didn't do anything.” 

“Yeah,” Gareth drawls, and trades meaningful glances with his two friends. “Why doesn't that surprise me? Not doing anything seems to be what he does best.”

[differenteagletragedy]

if requests are still open, i hope you don't mind writing some comfort headcanons for mc who's ill with olba boys (i'm down with covid again,, its making me kinda sad because its near the holidays). if you're not comfortable write these, its fine!! thank you for writing olba fics and works - they're like a source of comfort to read esp since the game is officially finished 🫶

I hope you feel better, friend!!!

-- Cove is doing the thing where he's freaking out but he's trying not to make this about him, but like he's REALLY freaking out. Especially if it's covid (I know covid isn't a thing in Our Life Land, but he would NOT be well in 2020, or for a while after).

-- He's not concerned in the least that he'll catch it. He'll wear a mask if you ask, but he's more concerned about taking care of you. Literally tell him anything you need and he'll get it/do it. If you feel up to it, you can get some good laughs this way.

-- Gets one of those thermometers that you can just hover over a forehead to check someone's temperature, checks yours constantly, even (especially) while you're sleeping.

-- If you still live at home or nearby, he's having your moms and/or Cliff cook for you. He can heat up some soup, but he's going to be asking for the good stuff for you. If you don't live nearby, he's going to have to get something delivered.

Cove: *barely paying attention to his phone while checking your temperature for the umpteenth time that day* Hey Siri, DoorDash soup.

Siri: I'm sorry, I --

Cove *throws phone out the window*

-- Cove will take care of you diligently with sort of a panicked undertone. Derek will be just as diligent, but as a certified third parent to two baby brothers, this isn't his first rodeo.

-- Guy actually has a notepad on the counter that he's using to monitor your symptoms.

-- He picked up one of those little oxygen sensors too, you know what I mean? Like the little things they put on your finger at the doctor to check your oxygen levels (science). You can get them for your own person use too, and he grabbed one at the pharmacy when he was picking up supplies.

-- If he has to take you to get medical care, he is going to present as calm and collected because he knows that acting like the scared little lovesick boy he is on the inside isn't going to help anything, and he's an expert about pushing his feelings down anyway, so he's had practice!

Nurse: *after listening to Derek give a summary of your symptoms* Wow, you really know your stuff! Are you in healthcare?

Derek: No, this is just who I am as a person.

-- Baxter is a little bit of a mix between the two! He'll pretend to be calm, it's no big deal, you're just sick, you'll be fine. But on the inside, he's giving Clingy Cove a run for his money.

-- Do you guys have those nurse lines where you can call and talk to a nurse and they'll tell you what they advise you to do? Yeah, they get on a first name basis with Baxter during this.

-- He's not sleeping until he's certain you're going to be ok. If you're good and sick for a few days, you are going to have an absolutely unhinged nursemaid looking after you.

You: Baxter, you can go to bed, seriously, it's fine.

Baxter: *dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, he threw on one of your t-shirts because he stopped being able to work buttons after being awake for so long, he looks absolutely feral and not even remotely in a hot way* I'm all right, darling! Don't worry about me!

-- Will cook for you, is cleaning up everything while you sleep, work can wait. This boy is ANXIOUS, again, especially if its covid. Maybe you might have to have a talk about it when you get to feeling better!