#my_writing

[skepsiss]

Petition to have more Steddie writers, have Eddie call Steve "leman."

It's literally the Medieval version of "sweetheart" and it's pronounced "lemon" so unless it's on paper, people will just think Eddie is calling Steve lemon. Eddie is a giant freaking nerd and would do something incredibly dorky like this.

[maya-tl]

Gentle Surgery got me on a chokehold ngl. Maybe Spy goes to check on Medic after he's been staying in his lab and it's past 3 am and he hasn't been seen all day.

Anyway love your works and I hope you have a good day~

The first thing Spy noticed upon walking into the dining room for breakfast—fashionably late, of course—was that Medic’s spot at the table was empty.

Scout was already trying to fight over the sausages with Soldier and possibly Sniper as well, who appeared to realise how completely outmatched he was but was still trying his hardest not to get stabbed by a stray fork. Engineer was too busy stuffing eggs into his mouth to chastise them for their table manners and everyone else was either half-asleep or actively snoring into their cereal bowls.

Spy wrinkled his nose in distaste and thumped Demoman on the back as he passed by, who spluttered and immediately started coughing up the milk he’d inhaled. Spy poured himself a steaming mug of coffee and took his seat next to Heavy, who was staring murderously at his burnt toast.

“Unpleasant morning?” Spy asked without looking, and Heavy grunted.

“Soldier patrolled last night,” he said by way of explanation, “Was loud. Did not sleep well.”

Spy hummed as he buttered his own untoasted bread and decided against making a snarky remark on how he wouldn’t have known that, since his own room was soundproof. At least it explained why everyone looked dead on their feet, and quite possibly Medic’s absence, though Spy couldn’t know for sure until he asked; Medic was usually quite punctual, in spite of the fact that he liked to spend his nights working away on his experiments and got little to no sleep.

Spy had casually questioned him about his sleeping schedule once and Medic had simply shrugged and said that there were things to be done and breakthroughs to be had, which were statistically more likely to happen during the night. When Spy had raised an eyebrow and asked him to elaborate on his sources, Medic had laughed in his face.

So Spy left Heavy to glower in peace and assumed the good doctor would show up for lunch. He ate his bread with butter and jam, added a pinch of sugar in his coffee and treated himself to a vanilla brioche from his secret stash. He made a mental reminder to bring his sapper to Engineer’s workshop later as he washed his plate and nodded to his teammates on his way out, ignoring Scout struggling to get out of the headlock Soldier had him in.

Since there were no battles scheduled that day, everyone went about relaxing in their own way, which for Spy included barricading himself in his smoking room with a good book and a fine wine. The hours passed swiftly, and Spy eventually opened the windows to air out the room and made his way to lunch.

It was Pyro’s turn on the stove, who could surprisingly cook up a storm when they weren’t messing with the settings in order to see how high the fire could burn. Spy didn’t recognise whatever they’d put on the table, but it did look appetising enough and ended up tasting delicious, if a bit too spicy for his taste.

He did notice halfway through the meal that Medic still hadn’t shown up and stated as much to Heavy, who frowned at the empty chair. He speculated that Medic might be working on something and reluctantly agreed to bring a tray of leftovers to the infirmary afterwards—Medic didn’t tolerate interruptions very well, even if they were well-intentioned.

Spy had pushed aside his concerns and decided to trust that Heavy wouldn’t let Medic starve. Everyone knew how well they got along and how much Heavy fretted over his teammates’ wellbeing—a leftover habit from looking after his sisters all his life, Spy knew.

So he ate his lunch and then went into town to help Engineer shop for weekly supplies. He himself had been planning on getting a new shoe polish and perhaps a new set of wine glasses. His old ones had dwindled in number over the last months due to his unfortunate decision to lend them to Demoman for game night, which had resulted in their being used to create what Scout had dubbed ‘the world’s shittiest champagne tower’ and ultimately shattering on impact when Soldier had drunkenly dived into them to take a ‘champagne bath’.

They hadn’t even used a decent brand of champagne for it. Needless to say Spy wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

By the time they returned and busied themselves with unloading the van, Spy had nearly forgotten about Medic’s suspicious absence. Heavy was nowhere to be seen, so Spy assumed that he’d gotten Medic to eat and decided to camp out in the infirmary for some peace and quiet, since someone was blasting the radio at full volume from somewhere inside the base. He’d picked up his sapper, thanked Engineer for his service, and returned to his smoking room to finish the book he’d started.

And then dinner came and Medic was still nowhere to be found.

“Door to infirmary was open,” Heavy said in-between bites of steak when Spy questioned him on whether he’d seen the doctor at all, “But door to lab was closed. Assumed doctor was busy, left tray with food on the table.”

Heavy had turned away to compliment Pyro on the mashed potatoes, and then Sniper had joined the conversation, and of course Scout had been chattering away the entire time, so the topic of Medic was soon dropped. Spy ate in silence, brow furrowed, and didn’t even react when the others had to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre on Soldier because he choked on a bone.

He offered to wash the dishes simply to take his mind off things, even if Engineer did stare at him like he’d grown a second head and asked him to repeat himself, and ignored the background noise of the team making up some new card game to play before bed. The rushing water brought him little comfort and the sharp scent of the dish soap stuck to his suit, which only further soured his mood. When he was done he tossed away the gloves and marched back to his room without so much as waving goodnight to everyone still hanging around in the living room.

Instead of going to sleep he adjusted his tie, strapped on his cloaking watch and slipped into Medic’s room.

The curtains were drawn, casting the room in partial shade, but the lamp on the far desk was on, shining dimly. The floor was clean and the bed was made, though the closet had been left half-open and the air was stale, indicating that no one had opened any windows in quite some time. Spy knew Medic tidied up regularly, but this went beyond that—the room looked almost unlived in, and when Spy touched the lamp on the desk he found it burning to the touch.

Spy tapped his fingers on the desk, weighing his options, and eventually reached over and turned it off. The only possible explanation for the lamp being on was that Medic had gone back to his lab in the middle of the night and hadn’t returned yet, and he’d forgotten to turn off the light in the middle of the rush. The thought made Spy tap his fingers harder the longer he waited.

Heavy wasn’t a very skilled liar and knew better than to lie to him of all people besides, so Spy had to assume that he’d indeed taken food to the infirmary and left it there when Medic hadn’t come out to greet him. But had he gone to check if the food had been touched afterwards? Had he knocked on the doors to the lab or listened for any noise that might indicate Medic was inside? Had he even thought to check for Medic in his room? On the balcony? In the gun range?

Spy came back to himself only to realise the room had gone pitch black. He checked his watch.

It was fifteen minutes past 3 am.

He didn’t even stop to close the door on his way out. The halls were silent, meaning everyone else was either asleep of holed up in their rooms, with the notable exception of Engineer whom Spy could hear welding something together as he passed his workshop. The doves startled awake when Spy barged into the infirmary and started crooning at him in displeasure, and he had no choice but to pause for a few minutes to calm them down—he hadn’t spent months earning their trust only to give them something to hold a grudge against now.

That and Medic wouldn’t approve of him upsetting his darling birds just because he was in a hurry.

The tray of food was still on the desk and completely untouched, as Spy had predicted, and the doors to the lab were not only closed, but locked from the inside. Good thing Spy was, among many other things, an expert at picking locks.

He had to shield his eyes from the fluorescent lights inside, but once his eyes got used to them he noticed that the room was more of a mess than usual. There were tools and papers scattered everywhere, drawers and cabinets left open, muddled jars of questionable contents and airtight containers that were usually carefully arranged on the shelves now in disarray. Spy stepped over a blueprint that had definitely been borrowed from Engineer and nearly slipped on a page that had likely been ripped from an old medical journal.

There was a flutter of wings next to his ear and a small weight landed on his shoulder. Spy huffed a private little laugh.

“Hello, Archimedes,” he said, reaching up to pet him before Archimedes could peck at his mask like he always did when Spy didn’t greet him right away. Archimedes crooned softly and leaned into his touch, then casually started grooming himself after Spy lowered his hand.

“Ah,” Spy said quietly as he rounded the operating table, “There he is.”

Medic was sitting next to one of the counters, gloves and coat tossed haphazardly at his feet, a stack of books by his left and a microscope to his right. His cheek was pressed against an open notebook, his glasses crooked, and he was snoring softly, fast asleep.

Spy came up to him and snapped his fingers next to his ear. When that garnered no reaction he grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him gently, then more forcefully, until Medic finally stirred. Spy watched him unstick his face from the paper and sluggishly push himself off the counter, then groan at the bright lights, pinching the bridge of his nose and further dislodging his glasses.

Spy, who had been quite prepared to deliver a scathing lecture, suddenly couldn’t muster up the vitriol.

“Busy night, doctor?” he said anyway, just to see how Medic would react.

Medic startled and squinted his way. Blinked a few times. Seemed to finally recognise that it was Spy standing in front of him, and also seemed baffled to see Archimedes staring back at him from his shoulder.

“Mhuh?” he said, eloquently.

Spy snorted, unable to stop himself. He reached out and rubbed his thumb over Medic’s cheekbone, trying very hard to ignore the way his heart fluttered when Medic, still drowsy, instinctively leaned into his touch.

“You have ink stains on your face,” Spy said.

“Mhm,” Medic replied, and instead of reaching up to wipe off said ink stains simply wrapped his hand around Spy’s wrist and leaned even further into his touch.

Spy sighed, but didn’t pull away. His questions could wait until the morning. “Come now, let’s get you to bed,” he said softly, “There will be time for your experiments another day.”

Medic grumbled something under his breath, already half-asleep again, but went willingly, letting Spy guide him around the clutter and leaning on him as they navigated the halls together. They left Archimedes with the other doves and made it to Medic’s room without incident, safe for them bumping into Engineer as he was leaving his workshop.

Engineer had nodded at Spy and Spy had nodded back, and that had been that, a silent agreement that this encounter had never happened.

Spy wiped the ink off Medic’s face with a wet handkerchief and carefully tucked him in, making sure to place his glasses safely on the nightstand. As he made to go something pulled him back down, and he saw Medic watching him through half-lidded eyes, his hand fisted into Spy’s suit jacket. Spy sighed, too tired to argue, shed his jacket and his shoes and his mask and elbowed Medic out of the way as he wiggled under the covers.

Medic pulled him in by the waist and murmured something into his hair, and Spy smiled against his skin when he made out the words.

“Danke, mein schatz.”

[maya-tl]

Hi! I loved this post, so I wrote the fic!

Here you go! Hope it satisfies. ❤️

I have read and enjoyed reading many fics with the plot “Elrond tracks down and refuses to leave Maglor behind when he sails to Valinor.”

I would happily read a dozen more, I am but a simple fan of angsty reunions and unexpected forgiveness that sets characters on a path of schmoopy healing through the power of love and family.

You know what I’ve never seen but would read the shit out of?

Galadriel tracks down Maglor and refuses to sail without him.

Why on earth would she do that? Who knows that’s why I’m interested!

She’s still full of pride and refuses to let one of her cousin’s out-stubborn her record-stay in Endor. If she’s going home, she’s gonna have been the last rebel Noldo on middle earth damnit. Of course this would be couched in language like “Our time on these shores is over, and even penance must have an end.” And sound very wise.

He’s still her cousin and she loves him despite everything. She thinks he’s suffered enough, maybe even regrets she did not interfere to stop his suffering earlier.

She love’s her son-in-law Elrond, and in light of losing her granddaughter to the choice of Luthien, and having been separated from her daughter all these years by the sea, she can’t stand to see a another perminent parting when she can prevent it. Maybe she was even friends with her aunt Nerdanel long ago and has been thinking about how Maglor may deserve what he has sentenced himself to, but those who love him don’t deserve to suffer with him.

She is finally forgiven and permitted to return to Valinor, but she’s still Galadriel, and if the Valar thought her return was going to be simple and predictable they forgot who they were dealing with. How better to stir the pot than bring the last Feanorian home?

She intended to just say goodbye and good riddance, and tie up a final loose end. But damnit, he’s so pathetic, she can’t build up the vitriol.

She feels like, having finally been forgiven, she should forgive in turn, having grown as a person. Boring, I know.

She never actually believed he was living like a hermit on the beach. Her cousin Makalaure? Sure, he was far from the worst of them, but he was as proud as any of his brothers, and perhaps the most fond of material comforts of them all, save maybe Caranthir. But he always was great at twisting a narrative to do what he wanted, and the penitent sinner wandering singing to the wind is just the sort of yarn he’d spin to cast himself in a sympathetic and romantic light before he disappeared to start over. Wait. He’s really here and half mad- half faded? That is the stupidest thing she’s ever heard, she refuses to let him stay like this.

Celebrian once told her offhand she wished she could have met the men that raised her husband and this is something she can give to her, after all the world has taken.

She doesn’t get to see Feanor’s face at finding out she gave three of her hairs to a dwarf, and telling Maglor is as close as she’s going to get to that satisfaction.

Without Maglor around, Finrod is considered the greatest bard of the Noldor, and she’s still pissed at him for dying in such a stupid way. So Maglor will be coming to Valinor to put him in his place whether he wants to or not.

She made a bet with Aredhel on the ice over which of the Feanorians would survive the longest, and she knows rumor and songs are not going to suffice for proof that she won.

Frodo asked her if it was true Maglor still wandered the shores, and if he would ever be permitted to come to Valinor to heal. And she refused to look like someone who keeps grudges for longer than his race has even existed in front of him.

He owes her money.

[pleasantcandystarfish]

“ My God, this geographical spot has become darker than the belly of the whale, so there is no god but You, Glory be to You. Indeed, I was of the wrongdoers ”

🖋️ Written by : @reda.bakrim

#redabakrim

#reda_bakrim

#psico_terapique_officiel

#studio_reda_bakrim

#رضى_باكريم

#كتابات_رضى_باكريم

#إقتباسات_رضى_باكريم

#قراءات_رضى_باكريم

#روايات_رضى_باكريم

#كتابات

#مكتبة_رضى_باكريم

#كتابات #كتابات #كتاباتي_ #كتاباتي_خواطري #اقتباسات

#my_writing

#writing

#ecrivan

#photo

#pictureedits #picturebooks #picture_to_keep_nature #pictureframes #picturebyme #picturebooksaremyjam #picturedisc #picturedrocks #pictureday #pictureoftoday

https://instagram.com/reda.bakrim?igshid=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

[yddraigwyllt]

I’m finished SUDDENLY 40-pages (-ish, it hasn’t been edited yet) fic about... *dramatic drums* PRESSLINGTON! *cheering, applause* No one expected this, and I’m first of all.

[skepsiss]

I wasn't allowed to talk about it or promote it before, but please check out this fic I wrote!!

I worked really hard on it, and I think I wrote a really good Wayne and I'd love for y'all to read how much Steve and Wayne LOVE Eddie 💗💞

This fic has a criminally low amount of hits for the amount of work I put in, so please give it a go 🙏

Title: Momento Mori

Author: Skepsis_Ree Artist: @the-aphelion-archives Beta: knormalizeknitting Characters:Steve Harrington, Wayne Munson, Eddie Munson, Chrissy Cunningham, Eleven | Jane Hopper Relationship(s): Steve Harrington & Wayne Munson, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Warnings: Mention of death, mention of suggested homophobia Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff and Angst, back from the dead, Eventual Romance, Drama & Romance, Ghosts, Love Confessions, Supernatural Elements, Post Season 4, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Fluffy, Fluffy Ending Wordcount: 24,914 Summary:

Steve gradually falls in love with the memory of Eddie Munson, while creating a deep bond with the uncle Eddie left behind. Eddie Munson has died. He died and left behind people who care for him—more people than he knew. Despite his reputation, and the slander thrown at him, Eddie is deeply and fiercely loved by the people in his life. Wayne is one such person, and the hole his nephew left in his heart is something he didn’t think could ever be filled. Surprisingly—to all involved—Steve Harrington is another person who cannot shake Eddie’s death from his mind. Gradually, Steve and Wayne bond over their mutual loss, and share their fond memories of Eddie with one another. The living must move on after all… even if the dead don’t remain gone for long.

Momento Mori by Skepsis-Ree

art masterpost by the-aphelion-archives

[jonnestt]

a necessary call

Telephone beeping… click click. An unknown voice answers: “Hello, you’re talking to the reception at coil con., how can I help you today?” “Hi, yea. Johannes my name,” I explain, “I’m gonna have to talk to your contractor... uhm, Coffeein for a moment.” “Johannes?” they exclaim asking, before saying, “I’m sure they’re gonna have time for you. I’ll put you on hold for a second.” and returning me into the long beep of an empty line.

Only a few moments later the vague clickings of a receiver being picked up ring through. They are being followed by a coarse yet ambiguous voice: “Yes, Coffein here, what’s the reason for your call?”  “Heeey, Coff-Coff,” I jump in, which they audibly reject, before I pick up the sentence “you do remember the terms of our contract, right?” “Uhm... yea,” they answer “you take a constant supply of my hands and in exchange you’ll be able to take full advantage of our faculties.” “Yeea, that’s about the gist.” I reply satisfied, ”But there is a teeny tiny problem on your end if I judge correctly?” “Hm, what's that?” They ask, leading me to explain: “I’ve not received enough product to satisfy demand over here since 2018.” A short break. Tiredly they exclaim: “And you’re calling now?” “Don’t you come with that!” I retort, “You know there was an emergency.” leading to another moment of silence. Using this time to collect myself and reformulate my demands: “Listen. Either y’all gonna give me my wakey juice or I’ll burn the bridge, capish?”  But they, unshook, reply cold: “Young man. Do you really think you can betray our contract like this?”  “As stated, you may take advantage of our faculties, nothing more, nothing less.” They explain again. Spurred on I reply: “And I’ll terminate that contract. A S A P.” “Did you not read it? You don’t have a quick way out.” They take a breath, “You’re either going to take me through court, and you know you don’t want that, or you’re going to take the long road of withdrawal. Or alternatively, you could simply honour the contract, and we’ll take your demands into our stakeholder analysis, how does that sound?” 

After a break, I sigh: “It seems, I’ll have to reassess my options.” Causing them to take over: “I’ll guess, you’ll call again once you’ve done that?” “So it seems.” I answer, “Have a great day.” “You too.” They reply and lower the receiver back onto their phone.

[mercy-thought]

الإسلام حافظ على المرأة من خلال تسترها و وضع لها حدود لحمايتها من شرور الآخرين.... لكن بعضهن عكس هذا يريدون التحرر وهن لا يعلمن ان هذا ليس في مصلحتهم. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Hashtag : #instagood #instagram #twitter #writting #my_writing #explore #anime #otaku #silentvoice #positivevibes #الايجابية #تحرر #مرأة #كتاباتي_الخاصة #رحمة #اكسبلور_فولو #اكسبلور #انمي #اوتاكو #انستقرام #كاتبة #بقلمي (à 'Aïn Taya, Alger, Algeria) https://www.instagram.com/p/CBWMkxpne5U/?igshid=1iv5e67s0fl45

[antenoracocytus]

الطين يملأ الشارع .. الساعة الثانية بعد منتصف الليل .. حيث الوقت متأخر جدا لوجود الأسر و الفتيات و مبكر جدا لوجود مصلي الفجر ..

الطين يملأ الشارع .. و الحثالة و السكارى يبدأون نوبات مجونهم ..

أنا لست حثالة و لست سكير و لكني أيضا لا أسرة لي و لا أصلي الفجر ..

لنسمي حالتي إذا سقط مجتمعي .. أنا جنين مجهض ... أنا أنصاف حلول و أنصاف حالات .. أنا نصف بشر

البشر يخافون مني ...حتى الحثالة و السكيرة ...

عيني الواحدة تلمع في ضوء القمر و فمي المخوخ من الأسنان ينفرج عن ثقب كفم حوت .. أنا ككلاب الشوارع ..

البشر يخافون أما الكلاب فلا

أنا كلب و لكن ذهني لا يزال حاضرا لحسن حظي او لسوئه

تمر سيارة مسرعة يتقاظف منها الصياح وسط علو صوت المسجل ...

تمر محدثة طرطشات في برك المطر و المجاري

يعقبها رجل يسير مهرولا و هو يلتحف معطفه الذي يبدي من تحته ثوب الأطباء ..

هو طبيب إذا عائد من نوبته ليس زبونا

يتقاطع مع هرولته مراهق ينفث الدخان من فمه

جميعهم يمرون و أنا جالس أتحسس جيبي الثمين

يدعونني العراب ... و لكني لست عرابا هذا لقب فقط .. كباقي الألقاب السخيفة التي لا معنى لها

الإسم يفقد المرء هويته .. يحوله من كيان إلى مجموعة أحرف متراصة .. بعكس الأرقام

في السجن يعطونك رقما و سروالا أزرق و قميصا بنفس اللون ...

تتوه وسط ��وامات القمصان الزرقاء الأخرى .. و مع ذلك تحافظ على هويتك .. على رقمك ..على كيانك المتفرد وسط باقي السجناء

في السجن حيث تسلب حرية الجسد .. تعود الروح حرة

الفتى المراهق يدور حول نفسه يتلفت يمنة و يسرى .. ينفث دخان سيجارته مرتعدا

أراه يقترب منى ببطئ ممزوج بحذر

يتفحص وجهي مرتعدا ..

"أأنت العراب"

لا ينتظر إجابة و يتابع حديثه متلعثما "أريد شريطي ترامادول"

أخرج من جيبي شريطا واحدا

ينظر إليه و لا يطالب بالآخر .. فقط يقول " لست مدمنا أنت تعلم .. أربده للمذاكرة أنت تعلم"

يكرر أنت تعلم و كأنها حقيقة كونية .. أنا أعلم شيئا .. أنه يلتمس عذرا لنفسه

هنا لا مكان للأعذار .. لا مكان للأحكام .. نحن هنا أخوة .. في عالم بعد منتصف الليل ..هنا لا تسري علينا قواعد البشر نحن حراس الجنان و زبانية جهنم ..نحن كلاب المطر.. نحن العرابون إن شئت أن تسمينا

أومئ له رفعا للحرج و عطفا على وجله .. يعطيني ورقة واحدة من فئة مئتين و بهرول بعيدا

[skepsiss]

This is the art piece for my Big Bang Fic!!! Check out my poem and short story about Max 💞💞💞

id : a warm toned digital painting of robin and Max in front of a hilly landscape. Robin is riding a grey spotted horse facing right. She is wearing the top of a plate armour with the knees and calf protections. Her armour is decorated with sun imagery and golden filigree. Max is walking beside her, talking and gesturing, wearing a dark gambeson, a light shirt tied around her upper arms with laces ending in charms. She has on spiked leather forearm protections, similar protections on her thighs, and a yellow embroidered historical pocket. her double bladed awe is hanging down her back from her shoulder. They are traveling on a dirt path, fields and hills continuing behind them until they reach a pale blue cloudy sky. /end id

Drawing done for the reverse big bang which means the lovely @skepsiss wrote a fantastic story AND a poem which is so far beyond my skillset i can only applaud. Have fun reading Survival of the Sister!

[skepsiss]

Steve and Eddie being each other's first queer kiss, but they don't fall in love instantly with each other. It's real freaking awkward and they're both like "that was weird" and quietly move on.

But... they remain friends of course and as the years pass and partners come and go from their lives both Steve and Eddie (privately) are falling deeper and deeper in love with one another. It feels like something that will never work out, so neither of them act on it, but the more time they spend together the more they like one another. A love that is not on sight, but built through hours spent together and learning all of each other's complexities and flaws. That is what makes them fall in love with one another. That is what leads to 3am phone calls and goodbyes that take an hour. That is what will eventually lead to kiss number 2 which will topple into a real romance.

[maya-tl]

MEDISPY MEDIC WITH HANANAKI DISEASE shakes aggressively and stims

Medic knew what it meant when the flowers started coming.

He was no botanist and he may have lost his medical licence along the way, but he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the morning sickness or the tight feeling in his chest, and especially not the unassuming little bundle of flowers he’d coughed up into the sink the day before.

They were small, smaller than his fingernails, round and fluffy and coloured a vibrant yellow. Medic wasn’t that well-versed in flower language apart from the basic variants of roses, but he’d caught Heavy reading a book on the subject in the living room once. He’d startled quite badly when he noticed Medic watching him, but then calmly explained that it was good practice for his English and asked Medic if he was interested in borrowing it.

Medic was quite fluent in English, in spite of his accent, and he knew that Heavy knew this, but he decided against embarrassing his friend and politely agreed to have a look at it. He’d forgotten to return it, but Heavy hadn’t asked him about it since and so he figured it would be alright if he held onto it a little longer.

Yellow acacia flowers. Secret love.

Medic had run the tests and checked his vitals, in spite of the fact that he already knew what it was. Hanahaki, a disease caused by unrequited love where the afflicted coughed up flowers over a few months—or, in rare cases, years—until the plants multiplied inside their lungs quicker than they could be expelled and suffocated them. A slow and agonising way to die.

Medic had known what to expect. He had, after all, been coughing up petals for weeks.

He hadn’t expected the whole flowers to come so soon, due to the nature of the respawn system, but he supposed it was inevitable either way. There was no cure for the disease and Medic couldn’t hope to achieve what centuries of research had failed to do in such a short time—because his time was short, there was no doubt about that. It was advancing too quickly.

Surgery wasn’t an option, and Medic had laughed bitterly when he realised that. He was a damn good surgeon and the Medigun would allow him to perform the surgery on himself, so logically the odds were stacked in his favour, especially since the thought of permanent death was terrifying. He would survive and return to health and no longer have to worry about dying.

Except the thought of no longer loving him was worse.

So Medic endured. It was easy enough to pretend he was fine around his teammates, who knew not to ask too many questions lest they lose an internal organ in their sleep. Heavy sometimes looked at him more closely than Medic would’ve liked, and he’d caught him talking in hushed whispers with Engineer before dinner on multiple occasions. Engineer would throw him a quick look, notice him staring, and then avoid him for the rest of the evening.

Normally Medic wouldn’t hesitate to insert himself into their business, especially since it was very obvious it concerned him, but lately he couldn’t be bothered; too many sleepless nights spent vomiting in the bathroom were taking their toll on him.

The yellow flowers didn’t last long, replaced instead by more beautiful but just as small flowers of a striking dark indigo colour. Medic had picked one out of the more recent bunch, washed off the blood and flipped through the book until he’d found the right page.

Heliotrope. Eternal love and devotion.

Of course.

Medic tossed the book on his nightstand and fell back against the pillow with a sigh, clenching his hand into a fist and crushing the delicate flower. When he opened his hand to brush off the petals, a sweet fragrance wafted into the room, much too potent to belong to one single bloom. That was surely the reason for his watering eyes.

His performance on the battlefield worsened as the disease progressed. He often found himself short of breath, which made him slower and more vulnerable and constantly turned his vision blurry at the edges. Nearly every time he died and went through respawn he was forced to run to the bathroom and throw up the day’s dose of flowers, which made him late to coordinated attacks and led to them losing matches.

The others were starting to catch on, and Medic was trying too hard not to vomit all over the dinner table every night to say anything in his defence.

Eventually, as it was bound to happen, he misstepped.

He’d dimmed the lights in the infirmary and turned the lamp on his desk away from him and still everything seemed too bright. He was supposed to focus on the team’s monthly medical check-up sheets, but every time he tried to write something down a tremor came over his hands and the letters on the page fused together into intelligible gibberish. In the dead silence of the soundproof infirmary, his own breathing grated on his ears.

By the time he reached the bottom of the first sheet he was exhausted, and he put the pen aside and dropped his head in his hands, focusing on taking one breath at a time. He was so frustrated—at his teammates, for not leaving him alone, at the universe, for doing this to him, at himself, for catching the disease in the first place—that he didn’t hear the doors opening or the footsteps approaching his desk.

A hand rested gently on his shoulder. Medic, against his better judgement, startled himself into looking up, and once the room stopped spinning and the vertigo passed his heart seemed to halt.

Spy looked down at him, the visible parts of his face schooled into careful neutrality. Medic met his eyes and his lungs immediately constricted painfully, and it took every ounce of willpower he had for him to swallow the flowers threatening to spill from his throat.

He expected Spy to simply raise an eyebrow and stare at him until Medic gave in and explained himself, or perhaps to subtly prod at him until he found what was wrong, or even to forego subtlety entirely and outright ask for an apology. Spy was too much of a gentleman and much too dignified to start yelling obscenities at Medic, even if Medic had technically wronged him for a good reason. He’d been avoiding him, yes, but he’d been avoiding everyone.

He did not expect Spy to wordlessly hold out his other hand and reveal a single, blood-stained indigo flower resting in the middle of his palm.

Heliotrope. Eternal love and devotion.

“You were not in your room,” Spy explained when Medic simply stared at the flower, “So I checked the bathroom. I found it on the floor next to the sink.”

Medic swallowed, his throat dry, and dared to look back up. Spy’s features were as neutral as ever, but there was a sheen over his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and Medic was so shocked to see it that the words he’d wanted to force out died on his tongue.

“Were you going to tell me?” Spy asked softly, in that tone of voice that meant he was either furious or wounded.

Medic couldn’t figure out which one it was, and in the absence of a response Spy tightened his grip on Medic’s shoulder.

“Well?” he insisted, “How long?”

Medic managed to get his voice working. “A few months,” he rasped, too busy watching Spy’s expression to cringe at the horrible sound. Spy closed his eyes and nodded slowly, the way he did whenever he was emotionally overwhelmed and trying to compose himself, but when he opened them again they still gleamed in the dim light of the room.

“Is it someone I know?” he asked, trying for light-hearted and missing the mark completely.

Medic blinked. “What?”

“Doctor,” Spy said, not quite forceful enough to hide the way his voice trembled, “I am trying very hard to be supportive in the face of learning that you are actively choosing to die for someone who surely doesn’t deserve you. Don’t make this harder on me.”

Something clicked.

“You don’t know,” Medic said, bordering on hysterical because he’d always assumed—

Spy scowled. Definitely furious. “And how on Earth would I know who the object of your affections is? You’ve never talked about…”

Spy trailed off. As much as he prided himself on his ingenuity, Medic had always known that he wouldn’t ever be the smartest person in the room so long as Spy was there with him. He was good at his job, better than any other spy Medic had ever met—his only weakness was that he tended to overlook himself whenever he was part of the equation.

Spy’s grip on Medic’s shoulder went slack, and the mask of neutrality cracked and shattered when he met Medic’s eyes and found there all the answers he needed. Medic watched his expression rapidly change from realisation to incredulity, to relief and then finally to unmistakeable, blinding anger.

“You utter imbecile,” Spy hissed, grabbed Medic by the front of his shirt and pulled him into a searing kiss.

Medic made a noise of surprise in the back of his throat and then immediately melted into the touch, bringing his hand up behind Spy’s head to deepen the kiss. The office chair creaked under the weight of two bodies as Spy unceremoniously climbed onto Medic’s lap, and Medic suddenly found all his previous thoughts scattered on the wind.

“You thought—” Spy gasped when they broke apart for air only to immediately kiss him again, “For months you—” This time it was Medic who pulled him back in, again and again, and eventually Spy had to rest a hand firmly on Medic’s chest to allow them both to catch their breath.

Medic instinctively began to rub circles into Spy’s waist, his chest painfully tight. His face must’ve been positively love-struck, because Spy huffed out a laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners and leaned down to brush his lips against his.

“I love you too,” he whispered, and something in the vicinity of Medic’s heart spasmed.

He turned away and began to cough, a horrid noise that only got worse the longer it went. He felt Spy hastily climb off his lap as the flowers started to come, first fluffy and yellow and then beautiful dark purple, and just when Medic was beginning to feel lightheaded and thought he might die from the blood loss after all the coughing suddenly stopped, leaving him gasping for air in a way he hadn’t been able to do in months.

A hand was gently patting him on the back. Medic leaned his entire weight into the body next to him and started to laugh, and when Spy pressed a kiss against his temple and teasingly asked him what was so funny he simply pointed to the floor.

Among the blood splatter and the veritable sea of scattered petals there lay a single, thin stem filled to the brim with miniscule pale flowers in full bloom. Spy leaned forward to have a closer look and immediately sneezed, and he muttered something about his allergies to the sound of Medic’s laughter.

Ambrosia. Reciprocated love.

[feneriareina]

Quiero hacer una cultura y un culto grandísimo sólo, usando casi solo literatura, música, dibujo y algunos videojuegos.

Quiero que se vuelva real para siempre

[piecake-dbd]

And if you needed proof That humans are a little crazy Well just look around At the show, at the train, in the crowd Little pocket universes, a million miles away Like ghosts passing by in an elaborate dance Waiting for just a little spark of excitement To draw their attention together

[fumi-gogo]

Mercy Left Behind

With the recent Retribution comic release, a lot of my story head-cannons are still in tact with the characters who end up in Talon are actually working to stop a corrupt overwatch leadership (Higher up than Morrison, such as Director Petras).

This is a short chapter but I wrote it as a quick set-up to the events that Angela experiences immediately following Retribution.

[CLICK HERE TO READ ON AO3]

I looked at the clock on the wall, it was nearly 3 AM; surely no-one else in the lab was awake. I stood and let out a groan as I stretched out the tense muscles in my body from top to bottom. I looked at the clock again, 3:01.

I collected a few loose research notes onto a clipboard and  made my way to the cafeteria for a snack. Humming to myself, I began thinking about the next steps to my work on medical nano-technology, the Overwatch research team had made amazing breakthroughs through the past months. Ways for metals and organic material to slowly regenerate on their own. It was hardly ready for any kind of practical field use, but we were getting there.

I turned a corner and saw that the lights were on in Dr. O’Deorain's old office, glancing through the frosted glass on the doors I could see two silhouettes.

Muttering under my breath, “Pardon…?” I pulled on the door handle.

There were hushed voices for a moment and then immediate silence. The closest individual was standing and facing away, but I immediately noticed Commander Reyes sitting on the exam table adjusting his shirt as if he had just put it back on.

“Ah, Doctor Ziegler.” The chilling, slow voice came from the tall standing figure.

Moira turned her head slowly to glance sideways at me. My stomach dropped, Ive never had a good feeling when she was around. She turned her head back towards the equipment next to her and threw something in a drawer and closed it.

Gabe hopped off the table and approached me, his calm smile putting me somewhat at ease again. “Angela! What are you doing up so late,” He pulled back Velcro on his wrist and checked the time. "Or so early? Wow, its 3 in the morning.”

“Oh, I was organizing research notes for the Valkyrie project. We’ve gone through so many revisions and changes, Its hard to not keep working.” I gestured to my clipboard. I looked back at Moira who was now approaching as well. She was so tall and slender and kept her hands behind her back like she was hiding something. “What are you doing here at the Swiss branch?"

Moira curled her lips and parted them to speak but Gabe interrupted. “I invited her here for some TS Blackwatch projects. We started working this afternoon but just lost track of time.”

My mind began racing and I felt extremely uncomfortable. Moira is infamous for her blurred ethics and has been reprimanded too many times to count with fingers. I wasn’t sure if experiments in the middle of the night for Blackwatch was better or worse with the program suspended at the moment.

“Why was I not consulted instead?” My eyes were locked with O’Deorain’s as I asked. I regretted the question as soon as she re-applied her fiendish smile. “I mean, Im Chief medical officer for this branch, this is the first I’ve heard of any Blackwatch projects.”

Gabe brushed a finger over his eyebrow and spoke up again. "Im so sorry, Angela. I can’t tell you anything right now. This is on a need-to-know, despite security clearances. The voices in charge have selected Dr. O’Deorain for this project."

I sighed. Gabe…You are the voice in charge for Black watch.

I took a step back into the doorway, taking my leave. “I understand, sorry for intruding. Commander Reyes, Dr. Odeorain.” I gave a small nod to each of them and turned out the door, hearing the smallest chuckle from Moira before the door closed. My face warming up and my heart beating faster, I swiftly made my way back to my office and locked the door. I clutched my chest and let my clipboard drop to the floor.

Oh my god. What is going on.

[maya-tl]

"Be you so courteous, my dearest Judith, as to awaken the good sir? For my person fear 'ere if he tardies soon very little shall be left of his meal."

"...beg your pardon?"

"I'm just gonna go out on a limb here and say that he wants us to wake up the old fart who's sleeping upstairs right now before his kitchen burns down because his dumb ass left the stove on."

"How in the name of sweet mother Mary are we supposed to do that? We're dead, son."

"Don't worry bro, I was messing around the other day, you know, doing ghost stuff or whatever, and I totally figured out how to make the lights flicker and shit."

"Woah there lad, watch your language - "

"I'm gonna haunt the hell outta this motherfucker, he won't even know what hit him. Hold my damn beer."

"May hap... my person was to hasty in mine asking, would thou not say, Judith?"

"Who in the blazes is Judith? My name's Richard, you ossified old egg."

Three ghosts, each one from the 1400’s, 1920’s, and the modern day, all decide to haunt a house together. Write about the shenanigans that occur as they try to get along.