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detroit-grand-prix · 1 year ago

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make you better - susie wolff x personal assistant!reader

Summary: There's nothing worse than getting sick when you live alone, far away from family. But someone unexpected steps in to take care of you.

Tags/warnings: Reader/ Y/N perspective, contains descriptions of an (unspecified) illness and references to a gun violence incident, not romantic/ship content.

Author’s note: I wrote this a while ago, right after I had COVID in early February. It was the first time I'd had a symptomatic case of it. I don't get ill often, and I am not exaggerating when I say that I had never felt more ill in my life. I was also living alone at the time, which made the entire experience especially terrifying. After that, I decided to find a roommate.

I wrote this as a way to cope with the whole thing because it was strangely more traumatic than I expected. I've shared it with a few close friends and wanted to keep it mostly to myself, but with all of the requests I've been getting for more Susie-centric fic, it felt like the right time to share it. The illness isn't explicitly named so as to not place it in a specific period of time. The sex/gender of the reader isn't specified, and it is also not romantic or shippy, and that was intentional.

Writing this brought me a lot of comfort when I needed it, so I hope you find it comforting, too.

“Okay, here you go. I have to leave,” a man says, as you swing your leg over the jump seat and slide off of the motorcycle he was giving you a ride on.

“Be good,” he says, as you take one last look at him. He reminds you of your grandfather, for some reason. Your grandfather died years ago.

As you turn around and listen to the roar of the four-stroke engine take off, you look around at the street you are standing in the middle of. It was dark outside, like it was the middle of the night. The only lights are coming from nearby houses, and the sickly orange cast of sodium-vapor street lamps. There was something familiar about where you were standing, like you’d been there before, but it had been a while.

You turn around and notice a large building that looks eerily similar to your primary school. Without thinking, you walk up to the entrance and sit on one of the concrete benches outside the front door, and wait. You’re not sure what you’re waiting for, but you have the distinct, creeping feeling that you are either way too late, or way too early to something.

You hear the sound of a church bell, but it’s oddly distorted and distant, even though it is likely coming from the Catholic church that should only be a block away. It rings four times. That can’t be right. It can’t be that early in the day, and you think you remember those bells being a lot louder, once.

You get up from the bench and walk to the front door, giving a cursory tug at the old brass-toned handle. The door is locked.

“Why am I here?” you think. “What am I waiting for?”

These questions loop over and over in your mind, causing eventual panic to build in your chest. You’re not sure why someone - your grandfather, you suppose - would have just left you here. You think about walking back home, you’re fairly certain you know the way, maybe, but there’s just fog in the distance in every direction that makes you unsure of where you really are.

Not knowing what else to do, you lay down on the concrete bench and rest your head against the red brick wall of the building. Someone should come by eventually and tell you what to do, right?

As more time passes, you don’t see another soul. You just hear the distant, occasional peal of the church bells that sound increasingly distant. You’re still not sure what to do, so you do the one thing you know that you can do, even if it won’t help.

You bring your knees to your chest and start to cry.

But then, the scenery around you shifts. You feel someone shaking your shoulder. Their touch is gentle as it coaxes you into the elsewhere. You open your eyes to see a dimly-lit room. It looks like a bedroom, but it’s not your bedroom.

There’s a petite woman with a light blonde bob haircut standing over you. She has a concerned look in her eyes, and her voice is so soft and quiet that it takes a moment to understand what she’s saying to you through the stubborn fog of heat, sweat, and pain that are gripping your senses.

“There we are,” she says, looking relieved once you manage to narrow your focus to her face. “I brought you some water and some more medicine. I know it might hurt to swallow, but do your best.”

She holds out a glass of water for you as she waits for you to sit up, only handing it over once she’s confident your coordination has returned enough for you to not pour it all over your lap.

“Now, hold out your hand”.

You obey, happy to have some instruction as she deposits two red-and-white capsules onto your palm.

You pop the pills in your mouth and go to take a drink from the glass she’s handed you, remembering why she said something about it hurting to swallow. The water hitting the back of your throat feels like a hot knife, and swallowing requires conscious action. It’s difficult. You can only manage to drink just enough to get the pills down before you can't take anymore and start to cough.

“I know,” the woman says, her voice soft and sympathetic. You continue to cough, trying in vain to make it stop. “But we have to get that fever down.”

The coughing finally ceases and you settle back on the pillows you were laying on, and things start to become clear again, even though it feels like your mind is working on a delay.

The woman standing over you is named Susie, and the bedroom you are in is a guest bedroom in her condo.

Susie is your boss. A friend too, but your boss, first and foremost. You’re ill, and she’s taking care of you.

You came to meet Susie when you got a job working for a racing team in a division called Formula E. The team was called Venturi Racing and was based in Monaco. You moved to Nice, France to commute to work. It was a long way from home - a lengthy flight’s worth of a long way from home, but it was the kind of job you’d dreamed of having someday, so you jumped at the chance, packing all of your possessions and moving halfway across the world.

Monaco seemed like an alien world at first, but you settled into your new routine and your job quickly. The team principal, your boss, a formidable, confident woman named Susie Wolff, was the one that wanted to hire you, and you quickly hit it off, developing a sort of mutual trust that you’d never had with one of your bosses before. Before long, she invited you over to her condo for dinner once in a while. You met her husband and her son. Her husband was also team principal for a racing team, albeit one in Formula 1. He was in charge of Mercedes, and they made the chassis and power unit that Venturi used in their race cars.

You worked for Venturi for two years before getting a devastating announcement at a morning meeting in the early spring. The race team was being sold to Maserati, the Italian car manufacturer. They would take over the manufacture of the car itself and the power unit - the engine - severing the team’s tie with Mercedes.

Because of Susie’s own association with Mercedes, it meant that her time as CEO (which she had been promoted to from Team Principal) of the team would be coming to an end. She was an investor in the team as well, and would be selling her stake in the team to Maserati.

You were dumbstruck. New ownership meant a lot of changes would be made. You couldn’t imagine working for another racing team, or if you would even keep your job. Rumors of redundancies and the potential for reorganizing the entire structure of the team were abound, but you carried on with your job, going to London and Seoul for the last two race weekends, trying to act as if everything was normal.

Susie announced her departure to the public during the weekend of the London EPrix.

The team finished the season narrowly as vice-champions, with Edo, one of the team’s drivers, finishing third in the driver’s championship. It was a season worth celebrating, but it was bittersweet, because it would be the last one as Venturi.

But one day, shortly after getting back from the Seoul E-Prix, Susie called you into her office. It was filled with boxes, as she was packing up. She only had a few days left with the company.

“I have a proposal for you. It’s going to sound unusual, but I’d like you to come work for me, just for a while. I will need an assistant to help me coordinate things, since I won’t have one here any longer.”

She had an executive assistant at Venturi that organized much of her day-to-day work with the company. It made sense that she would want the continuity of that aspect of her life, and her current assistant was already slated to stay on with Maserati.

But, your job wasn’t even remotely related to that kind of role. As you opened your mouth to protest, she cut you off.

“I know it’s not the kind of work you do here, and I know it’s not what you moved halfway around the world to do, but it will just be for a while, maybe a few months. I have some… other activities in the pipeline, but things aren’t settled yet. I will pay you what you make here, and then some. I will take care of transferring your visa sponsorship, and take care of the rent on your flat. If you want, after your non-compete clause in your contract ends in a few months, we can see about getting you a role similar to the one you have now in Brackley, should you so desire.”

Brackley, the town in the United Kingdom where the Mercedes F1 team was based - naturally, Susie would have more than a little sway in getting you a job with the F1 team, if you wanted it. Some might see it as some sort of nepotism, given that her husband was CEO and part-owner of the team, but that was the reality of the world of Motorsport. It was all about who you knew, and Susie was a very good person to know.

You didn’t relish the idea of living in the UK after spending two years in the practically perfect climes of the French Riviera, but…

“I’d prefer someone I can trust, and I trust you. I know you’re organized. You do great work around here. My son likes you, and if I can save myself the process of interviewing and hiring someone brand-new, I’d like to. At least give it some consideration, won’t you?”

She gave you the kind, warm smile she always gave you, and you asked for a few days to consider it, which she agreed to.

In the meantime, your department met with the higher-ups at Maserati, asking them questions about their vision for the direction for the team. They assured you that they wanted to change as little as possible, not wanting to deviate from the patterns that made Venturi successful, but something about them rubbed you the wrong way, and you realized that you didn’t want to stay past the transition period.

You sent Susie a message to tell her that you accepted her offer. You left Venturi right after the changeover, telling your colleagues that you were going to take a bit of a break for a while.

Being a personal assistant wasn’t the kind of work you necessarily enjoyed, but your job with the race team made you very good with the kind of attention to detail that being Susie's assistant required. You coordinated her travel schedules and all of the associated arrangements (hotels, cars, meals, special requests), sometimes having to work with her husband Toto’s assistant on the logistics. You responded to requests for interviews and scheduled those, handled all of the other inquiries she received (of which there were a lot) and even helped make arrangements for two keynote speeches she gave at various conferences.

You also handled the smaller, daily minutiae - various errands, making appointments, doing the shopping for the household. You traveled with her sometimes as well when she was giving speeches at conferences or going to events. In just a few months, you went on trips to Ireland, Portugal, and even the United States.

For a woman that didn’t technically have a regular job after leaving Venturi, Susie was shockingly busy.

“You’re a lifesaver”, she told you, more than once. “I know you don’t want to do this forever, but I don’t know how I got on without you.”

Hearing things like that, in addition to the more-than-generous wage Susie paid, made the work bearable, even enjoyable at times. Plus, she was generous and kind in a way that made you feel like you were her friend and trusted confidant, and not just her employee.

By the time the new year had come and gone, you’d fallen into a comfortable routine, until you woke up one Sunday morning in January, feeling a bit odd.

It felt like the early stages of a head cold. It was minor, an occasional sniffle and watery sneeze. You convinced yourself that it wasn’t worth worrying about. The heat in your flat was running at full-tilt, after all. Maybe you needed to tell your landlord that it was time to change the dust filter.

You rarely got sick, and it was bearable when you did, so you didn’t give much thought to it. It was your day off, so you took some over-the-counter cold medicine and went about your usual Sunday. You went to the supermarket to do your own shopping, spoke to your mother on the phone (which was sometimes challenging, just because of time zone differences), tidied up your flat, watched something on Netflix, and caught up on some reading before going to bed early.

It was going to be another busy Monday morning. Susie was due to give a keynote speech over Zoom for some conference, and things had to be prepared for her to travel to London for some meetings for the next week, so things had to be arranged for that. You fell asleep that Sunday trying to make mental lists of all of the things that needed to be done over the next few days.

You woke up with your alarm, and immediately knew that this was more than a simple head cold. Your nose didn’t feel stuffy any more, but your throat felt like it was on fire. You had woken up in a puddle of your own sweat, and your mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. Your arms and legs ached like you’d gone to the gym, which you hadn’t in… a while.

The thought of calling in sick crossed your mind, but remembering how much work you had to do that day dissuaded you.

Plus, you felt better after a hot shower and chewing on some cough drops while you were on the train to Monte Carlo from your flat in Nice. The brisk walk in the fresh air between the Monte Carlo train station and Susie’s condo on the eastern end of the principality helped, too.

You could have driven your own car in less time, but you preferred to take the train and walk most days. The weather was almost always pleasant, even in the winter months, and the scenery never got old. (Plus, the tiny, narrow streets in the principality were an annoyance to drive around, and finding parking in your own neighborhood in the early evening was often a nightmare. It was easier to just take the train).

By the time you got to Susie’s building, though, you started to feel bad again. You felt strangely winded, and your limbs felt heavy and achy again. You had gotten plenty of sleep the night before, so you weren’t sure why you were so exhausted. A seasonal cold or allergies had never made you feel this way before.

The building’s concierge greeted you on your way across the lobby, and asked you if you were okay. You waved him off, insisting that your windedness was just from the cold breeze. You stood by the elevator for a moment to catch your breath before getting on and pressing the number for the Wolff’s floor, concerned by how hot and sweaty you felt, especially given that it was chilly outside that morning.

You fumbled with the key to their front door for a moment. The door wasn’t unlocking, and you started to panic, knowing that neither Toto or Susie would be in at the moment. Toto would have left for his work week in Brackley last night, and Susie would be out, dropping her son, Jack, off at school. After a moment of struggling with the lock, you realized that you were trying to use the wrong key.

Feeling momentarily sheepish and glad nobody was around to witness your blunder, you unlocked the door, hanging your coat, scarf, and bag on the coat rack in the entryway. You toed off your shoes and left them by the door, before heading to Susie’s home office and starting your usual Monday morning tasks. She had set up a desk for you as well. It was small, but neatly arranged with your laptop, a whiteboard, and baskets for incoming and outgoing correspondences that the housekeeper would leave when she collected the mail. Most mornings, Susie would leave you a still-warm breakfast pastry or the coffee she knew you liked, depending on how cooperative Jack was with getting out the door for school in the morning, and you almost always arrived when Susie was taking him to school. There was nothing waiting for you on your desk this morning, not even a cup of coffee. It was fine - you had no appetite anyway.

You were in the process of cross-checking Susie’s calendar for the day with inquiries in her email when you were seized with a painful coughing fit, wondering how the air in the condo was so dry when it was located so close to the edge of the Mediterranean. That had to be it, right? Or maybe there was just a tickle in your throat. There was no way you were actually getting sick. You got up to get yourself a glass of water and stood in the kitchen, waiting for the coughing fit to subside when you heard the condo’s door close.

“Good morning!” Susie called out from the entryway. She sounded cheerful as she talked, rounding the corner from the entrance to the kitchen. “My goodness,” she said, seeing you trying to contain your coughing . “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you said between coughs, trying to get a sip of water down. “Just a tickle in my throat, I think.”

Susie looked at you skeptically. “I don’t know… you don’t look so good. You’re flushed, and you look awfully pale,” she said as she stepped closer to you. You could feel her eyes on you. When the coughing subsided, she surprised you by reaching out to put the back of her hand against your cheek, then your forehead. You knew it was cold out, but her hand felt like ice against your skin. It startled you for a second, but felt kind of good. You were starting to feel a little warm. “And you are definitely running a fever, my goodness. Are you ill?”

“No,” you said. “I mean, not really. It’s just a cold, I think.”

Judging by the expression on her face, she definitely did not believe you. You weren’t sure you believed yourself, anymore. You hadn’t wanted to admit it, but what you had was definitely not a seasonal cold.

“Well, I’m going to take you back to your flat. You need to get some rest. And I won’t hear any arguments,” she said, knowing you were about to argue. “I will be fine for the day, and I won’t have you working while you’re sick.”

You gathered your things, and Susie gave you a ride back to your flat in Nice. It wasn’t a long drive - a half an hour at most, but you still felt bad that Susie was not only taking an hour of her day to bring you straight back home, but also that you wouldn’t be able to do your job today. You had always been a bit of a workaholic, it couldn’t be helped.

As she dropped you off at your building, she implored you not to feel bad, assuring you that she would be fine.

“If you need anything, and I mean this - please, please call me, or send me a message. I’ll come right away.”

You promised her that you would let her know if anything changed, despite not planning on bothering your boss with such things, and trudged up the stairs to your flat. You changed out of your clothes, put on pajamas, and took some more medicine before crawling into bed and falling asleep almost immediately.

You slept peacefully for a few hours, but then, vivid nightmares started coalescing. In one instance, you dreamed of your mother dying. It seemed so real - she was hanging on to the edge of a bridge you recognized from your hometown, and you couldn’t summon the strength to lift her up by her outstretched hand. You watched as she fell into the canal below and was swept away by the current.

The dream was so vivid that you nearly started crying when you woke up.

It was dark outside. You scrambled for your phone to check the time, confirming that you’d slept until just past midnight, somehow.

Other sensations became obvious as you came out of sleep - the fact that you were burning hot and drenched in sweat. On the bright side, the sinus congestion had cleared up, but as a trade-off, your throat felt like it was an open wound, or like you’d swallowed a bucket of rusted thumbtacks. Your head was pounding. You couldn’t ever remember a time when you felt this ill.

You sat awake for a few hours, trying in vain to soothe your tortured throat and quell the vicious coughing and rasping. You tried gargling warm salt water, which helped temporarily. You ate some ice pops that you’d found in the back of your freezer, left there from an awful heat wave over the summer. You took some cough syrup, wincing as it burned like cheap alcohol as it went down. It just caused more coughing, making your whole body feel weak. You couldn’t do anything else other than sitting on the closed lid of your toilet with your head in your hands until it stopped.

After that episode, you ran a hot shower to try to get the steam to clear the congestion in your chest, and rinse off the sweat that was now drying grossly on your skin. It helped enough that you were able to go back to sleep for a few hours.

You woke up when you normally would have been getting up for work, but immediately knew you would not be going in today. The guilt was momentary, but you felt even worse than the night before, barely wanting to move. Just as you were about to message Susie to let her know you’d be out again, she called you, taking you a bit by surprise.

“I just called to see how you were feeling,” she said.

“Not good,” you responded, surprised at how hoarse and thin your voice was. You hadn’t talked since she dropped you off at home the day before.

“Oh, you sound awful. Well, I -” she paused for a moment. “I’ll be there in an hour. Pack whatever you need for a day or two, comfortable clothes and that.”

She said it without preamble or explanation. “What?” you asked. “Why?”

Surely she wasn’t expecting you to work… maybe she was going to bring you to the hospital? It wasn’t that bad, was it?

“I’d like you to stay with me until you feel better. You sound absolutely wretched. I was worried about you all afternoon, being all alone when you’re ill. I know you don’t have any family in the area, and I’d hate for you to need help and not have anyone nearby to ask. I can’t make you come stay with me, of course, but I would feel a lot better if I could keep an eye on you. Please.”

It was a tempting offer, and your flat seemed a lot scarier last night when you woke up from the nightmares without having anyone else around. On the other hand, Susie was your boss, and as an adult, you weren’t her responsibility.

“I… don’t want to impose, or to get you or Jack sick,” you said, hoping that would be a reasonable enough excuse. You would find a way to manage by yourself. “Plus, you have that Zoom keynote this week and London next week-“

“Nonsense,” she said. “We have two guest bedrooms. You wouldn’t be imposing at all, and I’m doing the conference presentation from my office, anyway. And you were ahead of the curve on the prep for London, so I’m not worried. Really. Please, let me pick you up.”

She knocked down your objections one by one, and not even two hours later, you were settled into bed in one of the guest rooms of the Wolff’s condo. Susie had supplied you with some cold water and hot tea, and set up a small humidifier on the nightstand. It was shaped like an owl, so you assumed that it had come from Jack’s room. You heard a soft knock on the door and looked up to see Susie coming in. She had a tray in her hands with a steaming bowl, and something else that you couldn’t make out the shape of.

“I made you some soup,” Susie said as she set the tray down on the nightstand. “Well, I heated up a tin of it, really, but I thought you could use something to eat. And, I brought a thermometer,” she said, holding up the device. “I’m sure you still have a fever.”

She turned the thermometer on, and after it beeps a few times, holds it to your forehead. The device beeped urgently, and Susie frowned at the display.

“39.5,” she muttered. “I’ll be right back.”

It was high, higher than you were expecting. No wonder you felt so awful.

She left the guest room and returned shortly after, with a medication bottle and what looked like an ice pack, wrapped in a small tea towel.

“Here,” she said, handing you two small capsules from the bottle. “It’s paracetamol, for the fever.”

She handed you the glass of water she’d given you earlier, and you took the pills with tentative sips. It didn’t make it hurt any less, and you groaned and winced. It was just water, but it still didn’t go down easily.

“Sorry, it hurts,” you whined, your voice barely there at that point. You settled yourself back down onto your pillow.

“It’s okay,” Susie said, quietly. She took the glass of water out of your hands and set it on the nightstand. “I know it hurts, but getting some rest will help.”

She placed the ice pack on your forehead, careful to keep it wrapped neatly in the towel, and it felt amazing on your overheated skin.

“Getting that fever down will, too.”

Susie took your hand and gently squeezed it before she turned around to leave. “I’ll come back in and check on you in a bit. Try and get some sleep. And don’t try to yell across the house if you need something, you can send me a message, okay?”

“Okay,” you said. Or tried to. Your voice was only vestigial at that point. “Thank you, Susie.”

“It’s my pleasure, darling. Feel better.” She patted the top of your hand as she stood up to leave. As soon as she closed and latched the bedroom door behind her, you closed your eyes and fell asleep almost immediately.

That is how it went for two days. You lost most of your time to sleeping. You had more fever-fuelled nightmares. Susie roused you every few hours to take your temperature, to give you medication, to try to get you to drink some water or eat some soup or some ice pops. She said she was worried about you getting dehydrated, and it didn’t help that you could still hardly stand to swallow anything.

She continued to bring you ice packs for your forehead to help with your fever, extra blankets when chills wracked your body, tea with honey, and cough drops that didn’t seem to do much. She brought you clear broth that you tried to drink but the salt stung your throat too much for you to manage getting much of it down.

For the rare moments you were awake during the day while Jack was at school, she sat in a chair next to your bed and talked to you. The conversation was mostly one-sided as you still couldn’t talk much, but she was very good company, and it made you feel better that she didn’t seem to mind spending time with you, even if you were too exhausted and raspy to be a decent conversation partner.

At one point, she brought you a plush toy that looked like some sort of alien cat with tiny wings instead of arms.

“Jack wanted me to give this to you to keep you company.” she said. It’s the first thing that made you smile in days.

On the third day, you had an especially realistic, especially frightening nightmare. It must have been inspired by the news you’d read from the United States about a shooting at a university campus, because you dreamed about the university you used to work for before moving to France. You watched in terror as one of your old coworkers was taken down in front of you. You get shot trying to run away, and the wound you sustain to your hip burned. You swore you could feel the blood running down your leg. It all felt so real.

You bolted upright from sleep for the second time that week, opening your eyes to the darkness of the bedroom, but that time, you can’t help but cry.

Your sobbing didn’t make much noise as you still didn’t have much of a voice, but it was enough to prompt Susie to come and check on you.

You were a little embarrassed as she sat on the edge of your mattress and gathered you into a hug, but the embarrassment was momentary. You let yourself be held as you cry into her shoulder. She rubbed your back with one hand, cradling the back of your head with the other, and told you that everything would be okay, and that you’ll be feeling better soon. She didn’t make you explain, she didn’t ask questions, she just let you lean into her and cry.

There was something in you that broke when you realized how badly you missed receiving this kind of maternal - or really, any, affection. You couldn’t really even remember the last time you’d hugged anyone. You moved halfway across the world, and while you don’t regret it, it feels awfully lonely at times. You don’t get home to see your family much, and your mother certainly couldn’t drop everything to fly halfway across the world to come and take care of you.

It meant a lot that Susie is there for you, even though she didn’t have to be. She’s your boss, but she cares enough for you to look after you when you need it. The realization made you cry even harder.

You’re so thankful she insisted on you staying with her, because you’re weren’t sure how you would have managed to weather your illness, whatever it was, by yourself.

She calmed you down enough for you to go back to sleep, and, by some miracle, your fever broke by the next morning.

Within a day, your throat started to hurt less. Your voice came back, though it was thin and airy. Your appetite came back, and you started feeling human again.

Satisfied with the progress of your convalescence, Susie brought you back to your flat after four days in her guest bedroom.

“Don’t even think about coming back to work until next week,” she said, as she parked her car in front of your flat. "I want you to be at one-hundred percent. We've got a lot of work to do, but I'll be fine until you're better."

You smiled, and thanked her for her kindness before you watched her pull her car away, keeping your eyes on it until it disappeared around a corner. Just telling her thank you didn’t feel like enough, but you’re not sure there is a way to thank her that would have felt like enough.

#susie wolff x reader #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #y/n is not used #my fanfic #my fanfic writing #formula 1 fanfic

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theobscurepotato · 19 days ago

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Dear Yuletide Writer 2024

Dear Yuletide Writer:

First off, thank you! I hope you are as excited about your assignment as I am to receive it. Hopefully the lateness of my Yuletide letter didn’t panic you too much! I enjoy a wide variety of fic, and these are truly some of my favorite canons, so really you can’t go wrong...but if you are looking for a spark of inspiration, I hope this letter provides it.

General Likes/Dislikes:

Things I love in a Yuletide fic: M/M, UST, hurt/comfort, banter, happy endings. When I look at the canons I chose, one consistent theme is that they all end on a note of hope, yet the characters I chose within these canons don't always get to experience that. I think, more than anything, what I would love to see is a chance for these characters to catch a glimmer of it for themselves (or for each other, in the canons where I've selected a pairing).

Things I generally don’t like in a Yuletide fic: AU’s set outside of the canon setting (coffee shop, etc), MPREG, graphic gore, body horror, unhappy endings. That being said, if you have a wild idea that goes against these, these are definitely more loose guidelines than DNW’s.

___

Coldfire Trilogy

Damien Vryce/Gerald Tarrant Not sure if there will ever be a Yuletide where I don't request CFT fic. I do write frequently for this fandom, but just because I write in a certain style, please don’t restrict yourself to my “usual” topics. For this canon especially, I’m excited to read what you want to write. I’m starting my millionth re-read of the trilogy, so I am excited to read anything set either during canon, or a post-canon fix-it. Give me all the banter. Give me all the UST. Give me Gerald Tarrant doing something kind (while doing mental gymnastics to justify it to himself as FOR SELFISH REASONS ONLY). Give me Damien forgetting to agonize over what GT is and just enjoying a moment with him (bonus points for him Prophet!fanboying). Give me physical contact of some sort between them, give me the soul bond! I ship these two hard, but I am happy to read pre-slash/gen.

Dimension20: Escape from the Bloodkeep

Leiland (Kraz-Thun) I watched Escape from the Bloodkeep 2 months ago(?) and once I was done, I immediately restarted it and watched the series again. Bloodkeep has some of my favorite Dropout cast characters, but of course it was Matt Mercer’s Leiland who stole the show for me. Someone on Reddit summed up Leiland as “All that dark power and regal lineage turned into a benny hill skit” and in response I can only say, that’s exactly why I’m here. I am happy with both pre and post-canon fic, gen or shippy (and not picky on ship). I’d really love to see Leiland navigate how to be Leiland, and not Kraz-Thun, and getting more comfortable in the “evil” found family he has created. Galfast Hamhead, while not requested, is of course 1000% welcome in any story. Yoroiden Samurai Troopers (Ronin Warriors)

Shuten/Rajura

This was my first real fandom, well over two decades ago now, and Shuten/Rajura was my first ship. I definitely carried a binder plastered outside with the Masho chibi from Amanda Swiftgold’s page and stuffed to the brim with too much printed fic from Mink’s Yaoi Cake archive. This was a rare ship even then, and I am absolutely fine with gen, and fics that include all the Masho. I would of course love a fix-it fic, but I am open to exploring missing canon scenes also. I would enjoy a fic either from Rajura or Shuten’s perspective that grapples with their encounter out on the tracks, and that sprinkles in some of their shared complex history. Feel free to bend canon details in terms of what the armor enables.

Uprooted

Solya/Marek These two have taken up residence in my brain and will not leave me alone. They truly enable each other in a way that is absolutely toxic, but I would love a fic that lets them attempt to do better by each other. I would prefer that Marek lives in your fic, whether that means exploring pre-canon events, or a missing scene during their story, and I would definitely enjoy a fix-it (just think of the hurt/comfort possibilities!) where they get to figure out their version of a happy ending. How do they navigate a world where they both wield less power? Would they be able to make their peace enough with that to carve out something new? Or would they chafe against that lack of power, and it would be that struggle that entwines them further?

#yuletide 2024 #yuletide letter #coldfire trilogy #uprooted #dimension 20 escape from the bloodkeep #yoroiden samurai troopers

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no-psi-nan · 6 months ago

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4) Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

hsfjdlshfks I generally don't go looking for new ideas, they just break into my house and start squatting there lol. Aside from the spontaneously generated ones, I actually take a lot of inspiration from other fans! Blorbo discussions especially tend to spark interesting thoughts that lead to headcanons and stories. Sometimes fanart (all kinds) causes me to go down a different thought path than before - like, I recently saw some truly banger torisai art that changed the planned ending of a WIP lol. It's never direct inspiration though, like I genuinely wouldn't bother making something that already exists unless I thought I could bring something radically different to the table. I'm making the stuff that I wish existed but doesn't!

20) Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Lol. Yeah all my romantic stuff is sweet and cozy and heartfelt because I'm cheesy and love that stuff. Even my most deranged lemons are super affectionate <3 I'll leave it as an exercise for the reader to call me out on other patterns lol.

27) What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

The best parts are the initial concept & brainstorming, plus writing blorbo dialogue. I'm sure it's extremely obvious that I love writing Akechi dialogue in particular – the less hinged, the better!

Worst part is the post-posting creative slump, where I've gone through all the effort of creation & posting and then there's no feedback and it just feels bad. Hate having to wait out stupid human feelings to get back to creating. It doesn't always happen (I was actually really pleasantly surprised by the reception of the toilet blog lol) but it's just a real bummer when it does!

29) What’s your revision or editing process like?

Not too intensive for me since I kinda edit as I go along. Before I get started writing, I always go over the last part (sometimes all of it), to get back in my groove, and I'll tweak it if it needs it. Once I'm done writing, if I have a beta I'll send it over, and either way I'll wait a few days before giving a final read-through and posting. Naturally a few months later I'll be reading the fic on AO3 and find typos or grammatically weird sentences, but that shit happens to professional authors too so whatever lol. Update it and carry on...

40) If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

All fanart is definitely welcome lol, but generally the romantic fics are nearer and dearer to my heart so shippy drawings inspired by my fics would have a same-type-attack-bonus on my heart!

74) You’ve posted a fic anonymously. How would someone be able to guess that you’d written it?

The CSS/HTML probably lmfaoooo.

Otherwise, probably the pairing if it's one of my captained ships, and the way I write my dialogue and don't spend any time describing shit like settings or clothing lmao.

Thanks for the ask @hillbilly---man!! 💜💜💜

[Context] <- still open for these!

#notes to nopsi #nopsi fic

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fatherramiro · 6 months ago

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please say more about the angel+krester spec because you are one of the only people i trust with them <3

hello yes welcome to the only ship adjacent fic for them i will probably ever write <3

tbh a lot of it has come from our discussions of what the sort implications would be for a narrative in which krester's, erm, poor decision making skills? would lead him to have a more negative character arc overall. since this is a post anyone can read i do want to clarify that this is not me being a mean ol' ramiroángel shipper who just wants krester to be a jackass but actually me looking at his story in season one and being intrigued by what it could mean for him to get worse, in fact. i think krester's loneliness and anger are vastly underexplored topics in fandom, and i want to see a story in which he does have a much darker overall role in the narrative. (also watching the rain made me have a mighty need for more tragic villain roles played by lucas so)

and on the flip side, just in general i do think ángel would have more positive character growth if only because he's able to accept what krester literally struggles to accept in season one: someone offering him understanding and a chance to be vulnerable and loved. for ángel, his romantic relationship with ramiro offers that and we see him accept it. for krester, his sibling relationship with tove means she's offering him choice and a chance to get away from their mother's influence and he spits them back in her face. so what happens in a later season, where ángel's growth is more cemented but krester is still struggling to find that for a variety of reasons?

this fic is, essentially, a conversation between ángel and krester set in reality/2099 in a hypothetical season three context. there's a lot of background work im doing for their stories (and for the stories of ramiro and tove, who won't be in the fic but whose influence will be strongly felt) that actually won't end up in the text itself? because i really want to just give a snapshot of this particular version of 1899 that lives in my head in only this scene, where ángel and krester sort of confront their similarities and how they've both become different. it isn't shippy at all, though obviously the simulation stuff will be addressed and i do think there's going to be some... idk, i don't want to say confusion on krester's part over what he feels for ángel, but i do think it is sort of him mistaking that "we're mirror images of each other" bond for romantic attraction when it simply does not exist for either of them (and would not have been healthy had they tried to pursue it). it is very sort of ambiguous and vague, and the ending is extremely open at the moment as to what will happen next, but it's been very fun for me to sort of outline and work on a fic with a dynamic that ive really avoided writing so far (mostly out of disinterest and a preference for other dynamics) but yeah. this is what that is! and it is one of the three sort of Big Oneshots im planning on writing this year to sort of break out of just writing ramiroángel because while i will be writing ramiroángel forever, sometimes a guy's got to branch out into other things so!

ask me about my wips based on their title!

#this is a fic that will probably be posted a lot later this year than anything else im writing if only because like #im really working out how to balance the sort of negative character growth for krester without it coming across as me demonizing him?#which like tbh is something that is more the imaginary 1899 fandom in my head accusing me of that than anyone real but

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hergan416 · 10 months ago

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ao3 wrapped writer edition asks: 5, 10, 11, 19

AO3 Wrapped (writer edition) from here. Feel free to send in more asks about 2023. I should actually clear this out tonight xD

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

I also think the answer to this is also Poison Paradise (contains explicit content, mostly sherlouis with a side of alwill and some fred/bonde/moran)😅 The fic really was just so unexpectedly well-liked. I never would have expected that I could write a fic that has an average of 15 comments per chapter before I got into the yuumori fandom. Of course this includes my replies to others and when we go back and forth but that has been so satisfying. And you drew me art to go with it??? and I have been told (also here) that I inspired at least one other writer with it?? akjldjsf;jl I would NEVER have predicted that that conversation when we both joined the AW server would result in all THIS. I'm forever grateful for you opening my eyes to sherlouis, and also for inspiring me so greatly.

10. What work was quickest to write?

This year? Let's see... Probably either The Path To Enlightenment [A Beast Consumes You] or Left Alone, I Will Break [Come Back To Me Brother]. Both of these were written directly onto tumblr as a result of their asks first and then uploaded onto AO3 retroactively. (The Path to Enlightenment is rated T and includes Albert & Mycroft interacting, but I wouldn't call it shippy. Left Alone I Will Break is explicit and contains multiple dead dove type things, including hints of LW incest, necrophilia, dubious consent/blood slavery, other heavy Vampire the Masquerade themes. Both are yuumori fics set in the Vampire the Masquerade universe). Anyway, I don't think these took much more than an hour a piece.

11. What work took you longest to write?

Um well.. considering Poison Paradise is ongoing...

But if you take the Poison Paradise chapters individually... probably something that hasn't yet been published like the "Knot In My Name" fic that is probably not at all going to go to that event and is just going to be published on private like everything else. (That event was about filling AO3 with ABO fic to give AI bad data but like. It's still data. I can't stop writing like me, so it's going to get my voice -- even if I try a different style. I don't really feel comfortable with that -- but I DO have many many words in a document that may never actually see the light of day of Milverton/reader, Milverton/Ruskin, and Ruskin/reader omegaverse with many content warnings soooooo).

19. What's one pairing you want to explore next year?

Ummm hmmm. many? Can I just say "a lot"?

Milverton/Albert? I think it would be good to strike out of my comfort zone and start that AU back up.

#thank you for the asks!#ask meme #ask answered #karasu #sakuplumeria #moriarty the patriot #my writing

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letpaimonbitepeople · 1 year ago

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Childe headcanons pt 2

they're yoinked from my fic, so they're written a certain way

featuring PTSD, selective self-awareness mixed with self-contradiction, mild alcohol use, referenced underage drinking, guesses about Snezhnaya based on Russian culture, and shippy simping for the Traveler (I unspecified which Traveler, so you can imagine it's Lumine or Aether)

(btw I'm not about to donutsteel any of this lol, by all means use the ideas if you like them!)

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He has no hangups about being naked in front of [people], provided they don't have an issue with it. Nudity is relatively normalized in Snezhnaya thanks to ice swimming and the banya.

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Smiling, he drops a sashimi slice and crouches slowly so as not to startle the cat. Not that the cat was at all hesitant about sitting on his shoe this morning! He just feels, again, like his presence should intimidate the cat as much as it intimidates Fatui subordinates. Again, he reminds himself that animals just don't know any better. For that, he counts himself lucky.

[The cat] eats the second piece of sashimi from his hand. The third, too, and when he ventures to pet the bony arch of its back, it doesn't even flinch.

Why am I bothering with this?... This has nothing to do with getting stronger. I have this precious time away from the bank to do whatever I want, and this is how I'm spending it?

He searches for an excuse. He tries to glue together some prattle about an obligation for a warrior to respect the natural hunters of the world and learn from their primal pursuit of survival. It doesn't sound convincing even in his head.

The unavoidable truth is that this is what he wants to be doing right now.

It's hard to accept that. (Never mind that he often does things that have nothing to do with his ultimate goal.) It somehow makes him aware of how much he's checking that his guard is up: listening to the sounds around him, watching the shadows in his peripheral vision in case a new shadow looms in the lanternlight behind him, holding in mind the fastest ways out of this area, inventorying the advantages and disadvantages he currently has... That's reassuring on the one hand but on the other hand it reminds him why he ought to be more vigilant. He's not the strongest warrior in the world yet, and the necessity of his own lies today was proof that that weakness remains a liability despite how far he's already risen.

What he would call situational awareness submerges him gradually, then all at once. He gladly sinks.

He examines every sound and everything he can see, one by one, cataloguing what is normal so that he'll notice if anything changes. Rehearses in his mind his best options for responding to an attack if one came right now. He breathes slow and shallow to be silent—something he's more practiced at than anyone would expect—and stills his body, so that he might go unnoticed, be overlooked, and gain the element of surprise.

He measures some of the information around him by his heartbeats. They're accelerated but steady. Now that nearly all possibilities of being caught off guard have been prepared for, he feels a meditative serenity. His heart is only beating fast because it, too, has to be ready.

Something changes. All of his attention instantly focuses on it. Threat? No, it was already there and it's just a cat. It could be eliminated in no more than one second with minimal risk. Safe either way. Soft fuzz nuzzling his hand, whiskers tickling, sandpaper tongue. Safe.

Childe emerges from the familiar state. He's always more tired after than before, yet girded with clarity and reassured. Sometimes it's like a reset. Like turning over a snowglobe: the fake snow whirls, falls, and then settles once more. Usually it lasts much longer when he's alone, though. He looks down at the cat licking his hand.

————————————

He visits the Amenoma bladesmithy and, merely via open interest and enthusiasm, obtains a long talk from the forge master on Inazuman styles of making, testing, and wielding blades. He doesn't mention to the old smith that he once made a Hydro copy of a katana shown to him by another Fatuus, and that he can now guess the origins of that katana.

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His next stop is Yae Publishing. In his search for books to send home, he takes his time browsing and skimming, making sure his younger siblings won't receive any unpleasant surprises. No stories where the dog dies. Who does that in a book for children? Probably someone like Arlecchino, he grouses.

Finding perfect gifts for his family is a point of principle and pride. Nothing ill-considered can be allowed to reach their hands. As long as he has any agency in the matter, he will not disappoint the last three people he hasn't yet. Someday he will, of course: someday his younger brothers and sister will learn he's been lying to them. Following that day, their love and their joyful greetings will wither, replaced by yet more wary glances and awkward silences whenever he visits. But until then...

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I just want to...get my hands on [the Traveler]. If I attained the level of competence that would allow me to disarm [them], and the fight was reduced to its simplest form, testing the training of our bodies and minds against one another directly by just wrestling and grappling... That would be quite something, wouldn't it. Though [they]'d have to disarm me as well and I'm not sure that's even possible. Ohh but if anyone could do it it'd be [them]. [They]'d have to get my Vision and my Delusion. [They]'d have to get through every form of defense I have.

Eagerly he tries to imagine how it could be done. Anticipating his own weaknesses (in combat) and the possible exploitations of them (in combat) is so important that both meanings of 'anticipating' are applicable.

But he keeps getting sidetracked by an image of [the Traveler] pinning him to the ground. Weaponless, Visionless, Delusionless, too spent to risk transforming. Helpless. Maybe [the Traveler] would use Geo to pin him. There is nothing Childe can snatch away from [the Traveler] that would prevent [them] from using the elements.

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The Traveler never introduced [themself] to Childe, nor [were they] introduced by Paimon. When Childe intercepted [them] fleeing the Millelith, he already knew [their] name from intel and he used it without hesitation. There was no time for the Traveler and Paimon to question it. Later, on a boat to Snezhnaya to report back after all was said and done, he decided he would never again address [them] by name unless and until he earned that right by surpassing [them].

He'd slipped up once, sort of, when thanking the Traveler for seeing Teucer safely through Liyue. But it was, as he said, his sincerest thanks, so it didn't feel right to avoid [their] name like usual.

————————————

Maybe how Xinyan called him 'brother' and he instantly started thinking of her like a sister? Hey, he lied to her just like he lies to his real siblings. His feeling of verisimilitude on that point isn't lessened by the fact Paimon started the lie this time. He went along with it and never really corrected it. Xinyan still thinks he's an adventurer from Mondstadt who had nothing whatsoever to do with her home city nearly getting destroyed.

Let it never be said, by me, that battle is the only thing I'm great at. I'm also great at going along with other people's plans, heh. And that's fine. It gets me into the center of chaos. Whether I'm a pawn in a game, an actor in a play, or simply a weapon, it all serves my goals in the end. That's the truth and it always puts him at ease.

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Ahh, who do I think I'm kidding here. I've always preached a far greater clarity of purpose than I've practiced... If any of this is owed to the Onmyou Chamber, it's that the bliss of those six days of uncommon purity allowed me to forget that. To forget one's own fallibility is...the kind of indulgence I really can't afford.

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He's very pleased with himself for setting up this surprise dinner. But more than that, in the brief moment between hearing the Traveler's voice and seeing [them], he's filled with a joy the likes of which he rarely finds outside of battle. Returning was the right idea, his heart assures him, and any possible objection from any other quarter is drowned in the flood of that joy.

[...]

And there's that feeling Childe got before when the Traveler smiled at him and because of him. He'd all but forgotten what it felt like. With this warmth swelling in his chest, he can't understand how he could ever forget. Only a few days and he could no longer recall it the way it really was? That doesn't seem right. But here it is, and there [they are]. "Of course!" he replies, performing confidence without even trying. It comes naturally—more so than usual—with his mood being so elevated and his doubts vanishing into the distance.

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[...] and Xingqiu's name is ringing a bell. Cogs rotate in Childe's mind while he checks the bread and speaks over his shoulder.

[...]

Intel reports? No, business papers... Childe is content to take a rain check on sparring. "It wasn't necessarily tomorrow I had in mind anyway, and certainly not tonight," he says cheerfully. ...Ah! The Feiyun Commerce Guild. Xingqiu is...one of the heirs in the clan that heads it? Yes. Inevitably they've had interactions with the Bank. Hmm.

————————————

Having Ekaterina listen in on the Traveler's conversation at the Bubu Pharmacy wasn't something he enjoyed; he's not about to go out of his way to repeat that sort of thing.

Though, if someone happened to have an interesting conversation too near wherever he might happen to be, he wouldn't hurry to leave.

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Dinner goes smoothly enough with everyone having food and combat to talk about. [The Traveler] vigilantly steers their discussions of the latter into benign technicalities and away from murder. It's easy to spark long debates over things like the finer points of how a specific weapon should be maintained, or how much the smithing methods really matter, or whether prototype ultra-mechanized crossbows coming out of Fontaine are any good. But even in those discussions [they have] to be on guard against Childe's tendency to digress into dangerous territory.

[They resort] to trying to signal at Childe to change the subject. Eyebrow shenanigans prove ineffective, but lightly kicking Childe's boot with [their] shoe works. The length of Childe's legs makes up for the shortness of [theirs]; [they don't] even have to slouch down to reach.

[...]

The first time the Traveler kicked him under the table—if that tap he barely felt through his boot could be called a kick—Childe didn't know why [they] did it, but it made him forget what he was talking about. The second time, he realized the Traveler was trying to change the subject. It wasn't until the fourth time that he saw the commonality between the subjects the Traveler was trying to avoid. He kept getting those nudges throughout dinner though, because again and again he dove into the deep end of his favorite subjects without thinking. Rather than shoot the Traveler any kind of look in response, whether they'd have been sulky or apologetic or otherwise, he did [them] the favor of his best efforts to make the interruptions seem natural.

————————————

Childe flicks his hands and the water flies off into suspended droplets before falling neatly into the sink.

————————————

"Well, have you ever been to the Chasm in Liyue?"

"Oh yes, I've snuck in a couple of times for work. I've even been underground, albeit not far."

"How'd you get down there with the seal still active?"

Childe winks. "Fatui secrets."

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[They carefully pick] up the jacket to have a rarefied closer inspection, studying its various metal accessories and dangling decorations. [They] can't quite tell whether any of them are 'decorations' in the military sense. Altogether, it's rather heavy, at least compared to the light-weight attire [they prefer for themself]. The fabric isn't as stiff as it looked, though. The only part of it that seems to denote Childe's status as a Harbinger is not part of it: Signora had a cape or cloak with the same colors and ornamentation as Childe's sash, and Scaramouche had something similar attached to his belt that [the Traveler] never got a good look at.

Childe leans against the other end of the counter with his hands resting on its edge, watching the Traveler examine his jacket. He hasn't taken the time or acquired the supplies to sew up the rips yet. He should, or else they might get bigger. Then again, he can just have it replaced. It's pretty typical of the two very different lives he's lived to recommend polar-opposite actions to him.

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The Traveler had thought he might not come back? Did [they] believe anything Childe said? Ever?

Will [they] ever take me at my word? Hah, why should [they]. [They know] how I lie to the people I love the most.

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Childe laughs. It's a strong and pure sound, unlike his last one. It's the opposite of the type of laugh [the Traveler] has heard most often from him: the slightly manic one that ends sounding like he's dying or about to cry.

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Being around the Traveler is a bucking horseride of highs and lows, but at least it's never boring. And, despite Childe being far more inclined to dwell on lows than he'd ever admit to anyone, the highs are convincing him it's all worth it. All of it, all the way back to the original events that set him on the path where he'd meet the Traveler. He started thinking that way at such an early point in their friendship that even he himself looks back on it as somewhat irrational.

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His way of being a middle child, with three older siblings and three younger, was to compete with the older ones on responsibility. It got him some attention and praise, and if his help was taken for granted more often than not, he still got to monopolize his father's attention for long hours when they went ice fishing, and that wasn't always unrelated. He'd had a very comfortable niche in his family, in hindsight, and because of his timid nature back then, he was never a rebellious teenager. Until he was.

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The surface [of his mask] is the slightest bit glossy, resembling metal. But fire is commonplace in combat, whether against element-touched monsters, Vision wielders, or just a normal human with a torch. Ceramic can be highly temperature-resistant, whereas having metal against one's bare skin is a liability when fire enters the equation.

The mask's design was left up to him. He went with something that evokes his Foul Legacy form. Of course, there typically weren't mirrors sitting around on a battlefield, and when there were, it was inside a building where transforming would only cause him problems. But, he wields Hydro. He's seen himself in water's reflections. He saw the Devouring Deep reflected in pools of blood the first time he succeeded in transforming.

The mask's craftsmanship was masterful. Light weight, fine edges, flawless glaze. Anything custom-made for a Harbinger had to be the best.

————————————

The reason that Fatui wielders of Delusions must all wear masks isn't one he understands well, but it's supposed to reduce the side effects. It doesn't cost him any fun to wear it, so he never had any objection. It limits his field of view, yes, but that just adds a small margin of challenge. As he retested a few days ago, even fighting with his eyes closed isn't what he'd call difficult; people make all kinds of noise as they move.

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Back home, shoes are always taken off and slippers put on, but he's seen no slippers here. It makes sense: Snezhnaya's floors are cold and these aren't. There's something to be said for the role of culture in such things, of course. As he discovered in Liyue's traditions, it's not just about necessity.

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It's time for blini. To save time he'll have to use unyeasted batter. That's fine. First, he browses the few bottles of alcohol the Traveler has on hand. He doesn't expect to find vodka, simply because it's not as popular outside of Snezhnaya as within, but there it is: one bottle, previously opened but almost full. Probably used for cooking. That's what he's going to use it for, too—just not in the same way.

The only way to cook authentic Snezhnayan food is while tipsy on vodka. That's what his babushka used to say, and who is he to argue?

He pours himself a glass of vodka and a glass of water. As he takes his time getting the ingredients and dishes together, he sips liberally from both.

Among the Fatui he was always presumed to be a lightweight, and they weren't wrong in the beginning. He arrived as a scrawny kid to work and fight alongside some of the biggest men in the world, the most hulking specimens of Snezhnayan hardiness, insulated by so much muscle and fat they claimed they didn't feel the cold. Those men could've thrown him halfway to Fontaine...if only they could ever catch him without losing body parts.

As in all things, that's what practice is for. Until he reached drinking age, he could only sneak a bottle once in a while, and he was always punished for it both by the hangover and disciplinary action from his superiors. By the time he learned how to avoid the former, the latter was no longer forthcoming.

He waits until he starts to feel the vodka before he mixes the dry ingredients, adds the wet ingredients, and whisks them together.

[...]

His dexterity is uncompromised, and it'd take quite a bit more alcohol before he'd have any problems on that front. His senses, however, have begun to dull ever so slightly, and the alcohol relaxes him just enough that the uncontrolled loss of acuity doesn't make him panic. It's a minor respite which he has never chased into an addiction. Indulging or perhaps overindulging now and again is one thing; blunting and hobbling himself with a dependency is another. Besides, he doesn't want to be like this all the time. It just makes a taste of home that much more enjoyable.

#tw: alcohol #cw: panic attack #cw: trauma #Chilaether #Chilumi #Tartaglia #long post #headcanons

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anjael · 1 year ago

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FFX SECRET SANTA 2023 - SIGNUPS OPEN

It's that time again!

If you are reading this and would like to join, welcome! Even if you aren’t participating, I’d be very grateful if you could signal boost by re-blogging! I’ll also be cross-posting to my Twitter *here* so RTs much appreciated if you’re on there ~

What’s a Secret Santa?

For those who have never done a Secret Santa before, the way it works is you submit a gift request, which goes into a pool which is then randomised. The randomised requests are then handed out to the participants.

So basically, its Mystery Gift! Everyone draws/writes a gift for someone.You won’t know who it’s for, and you won’t know who is doing yours! Then at the exchange, the completed gifts are handed out anonymously to whomever they belong, via email.

Sounds good, where do I sign?

Send your email applications right here! -> [email protected]

What do I write in my application email?

1. Your name / tumblr tag / most used social media - a link to your blog would also be helpful so I know who you are and can contact you if emails are not working or something. A link to examples of your work (art tag, etc) is also appreciated!

2. Preferred gift rating. NSFW requests are totally okay as long as they are not offensive/racist/sexist but if you’d like something NSFW, please also provide a SFW alternative request as not everyone is comfortable producing such content. If you don’t mind receiving NSFW but would prefer not to submit it, please tell me and vice versa.

3. Your actual request! If you prefer shipping/non shipping, please tell me. If you would prefer a shippy request, please provide a choice of pairings, if possible. Please try to word your request so that it can be filled by either an artist or writer, if possible, as your gift-giver is randomly assigned!

Examples of requests (just for reference, there’s no required format):

- something with your fave pairing / a particular scene

- an AU you’d like to see (please provide some details)

Your requests don’t have to have any particular theme, request whatever you like!

4. Whether you would be able to pinch-hit (fill an extra gift if needed).

5. Whether you would like to remain anonymous to your gift recipient and/or on the master-post of entries (which will be posted up on Tumblr a few days after gift exchange)

———- DEADLINES ————–

Applications Close: 29th October 2023, 00:00 GMT

Prompts Sent Out to Participants: by 1st November 2023, 00:00 GMT

Gift submission: 20th December 2023, 22:00 GMT

(Please submit your completed gifts to [email protected])

Gift Exchange: 22nd - 24th December 2023 (TBC)

———- RULES/GUIDELINES —————–

- Don’t be a butt. (generally the best rule to live by)

- Complete the gift using your MAD SKILLS, be it drawing or writing fanfic! If you have other cool magic abilities like animating, you’re welcome to use those too!

- Please submit completed works only. Your gift should be fully coloured if it’s art (unless you are specifically doing a monochrome / inked piece), and properly formatted, spell-checked and at least 1,000 words if it’s a written piece.

- For written pieces, google doc links/word documents are fine for the email exchange, but if you want me to include your fic in the tumblr master-post please bear in mind you need to post it somewhere link-able such as AO3.

- if you are submitting NSFW art, AO3 hosts art too and can be a good alternative to tumblr/twitter restrictions.

- Please don’t post any completed gifts on your blog before the gift exchange date!

- if the deadline is approaching and you know you won’t be able to submit your piece in time, please tell me as soon as possible so I can arrange for someone else to fill your assigned prompt.

- if you’d like to remain anonymous, please tell me (there will be master-posts of all the submissions a couple of days after exchange)

- I’ll be tracking the tumblr tag ‘ffx secret santa 2023’.

There’s also a Discord group - please let us know if you’d like an invite!

#ffx #final fantasy x #final fantasy 10 #ff10 #ffx secret santa 2023

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easilydistractedbyfanfic · 2 years ago

Note

Hello :) Could I request some riventrix angst if you still take requests?

Hi, Nonnie! I had to think about how to answer this because I don't typically take requests outside of ask games. Not so much because I don't like requests but because I've usually got a full plate with my own inspiration for fic! But I was recently playing the "Write 3 Sentences" fic game (though I was terrible at it since I am a wordy human), so how about we add this request there (even though this also is nowhere near 3 sentences lmaooo).

Also as a side note, I don't personally ship Riventrix - I'm a Stellatrix/Rivusa fan but I do like them as friends & partners in crime! My apologies if you wanted something super shippy but I am probably not the writer for that! Anyway, here's a potential take on how things might have gone after Bea gave up Riven to Rosalind so Andreas wouldn't be punished, and there IS some angst...

"I didn't have a choice!" Beatrix tries to reason with him, following him into his room despite his efforts to close the door on her.

"Keep telling yourself that, Bea, and maybe one of us will believe it." Riven collapses onto the edge of his mattress, weary from both the conversation and the bone-deep ache in his muscles. The lingering headache he's had since Beatrix left him in Rosalind's office two days ago doesn't help.

"He's my dad, okay? And I knew you were hiding something! What did you expect me to do, side with you instead?" She glares at him like the entire idea of it is preposterous, and the memory of walking down the school hallway with her hand in his suddenly flickers through his mind, thoroughly at odds with the venomous tone she's using with him now.

Riven sighs, runs a hand emblazoned with bloody knuckles across the back of his neck. Yeah, he had known something about Silva's escape, but nothing concrete. It had all happened so fast, and he'd already been second-guessing everything once Silva was involved anyway. So a bare second or two of mysterious fumbling in the back of the vehicle just before Silva got away was more than nothing, but all it pointed to was a fairy being involved. And yeah, maybe he had his suspicions about who would have been brave enough - or really, stupid enough - to pull the whole thing off, but he wasn't about to throw anyone to the wolves that were Rosalind and Andreas without actual solid proof, no matter what most of the school currently seemed to think of him.

That betrayal isn't honestly why he's angry with her though. He gets what she did. Why Beatrix picked Andreas. He could tell her it was much the same for him; that Silva was the closest thing he had to a father figure, and maybe she'd understand why he had hidden what little clue he did have about the escape. But ultimately that's just another thing that they have in common, putting family first. They have too many things in common, probably, and it makes his head throb harder.

Right now he needs to focus on the thing that nags at him most, and he holds up a hand to stop her when it looks like she's going to start talking again. "Just tell me one thing. Did you ever like me, or was it just about what I could do for you, how you could put me to use?"

It's not easy to ask the question, feels almost like he has to wrest it from his throat, but it wasn't easy watching Beatrix walk away without a backwards glance when she left him in Rosalind's clutches either.

Beatrix doesn't even wince. Instead she tilts her head, watches him calmly like he's an insect about to be pinned to a board. Riven has seen the exact same look from Andreas. "Does it really matter?"

Riven gets up from the bed, ignoring his protesting thigh muscles, his sore feet and the dizziness that threatens to overwhelm him. He's had worse. He crosses the floor to the door more sluggishly than he'd like, opens it and gestures with his head in an obvious sign for Beatrix to leave. She passes by him, her eyes locked on his. He waits until she's on the other side before he answers.

"It could've."

He shuts the door behind her, certain she hears the resounding click of the lock before her heels move steadily away.

#my inbox #asked and answered #riventrix #my fanfic #my stories #ask games

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korereapers · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Fated Encounters

Rating: T?

Fandom: Original, Dungeons and Dragons

Characters: Ohmrom von Allmen, Kore of the Eternal Forest. Background characters (Velia, Barkilara, Minthe)

Relationships: This is not a shippy fic, woa!

AO3

Kore sighs, her legs cramping a little after the long walk.

The Citadel is not too big, but it's always busy, so incredibly noisy that her ears hurt after years of having lived in the Eternal Forest. A perfect place to bury oneself among people, to hide oneself in plain sight. A tree in a forest, she guesses. Even someone like her doesn't attract anyone's attention, everyone being so used to each and every kind of being.

A tiefling is old news, apparently, when there's an anthropomorphic moth going around. Not that she is anyone to judge.

But she has no time to overthink. Thinking too much usually leaves her drained, and she has a tendency to remember what she shouldn't, and to dwell on it. Today, she is on a mission, she cannot afford to forget that. She cannot allow herself, the sounds and smells making it easy to lose herself to it all, her mind going back and forth towards her memories.

Minthe would like it here. She would really love it here. She should have been the one to represent the elves from the Eternal Forest, not her. A paladin of the forest, not just a cleric of death.

Kore keeps walking, trying to ignore her thoughts. It never really works.

The man she is supposed to meet is… apparently very conventional. The typical male human that would come to mind. The Citadel is also full of these, so she has to ask around a little. Trying to discern exactly which human she is looking for.

Chestnut hair, amber eyes. A beard that is a little bit too uneven, dark bags under his eyes, a perpetually worried expression. A blue armor, with a golden symbol on his shield.

Some people grimace when she describes him. A faint discomfort in their features that Kore doesn't quite understand. She was told the man was helpful, and nice enough. Visibly anxious, but genuinely sweet.

She is told that he can easily be found, both at the biggest pub in town, or at one of the different altars in the middle of the city. He is a man of faith, after all. Faith in both his god, and the mystical power of alcohol, apparently.

Kore is not a stranger to either of those. She may not be a heavy drinker, but running from your problems is an issue she knows well. They always seem to catch her, dragging her along, but she embraces the feeling eagerly. It's her fault after all. She wasn't there when her people needed her. When Minthe needed her.

It's only a matter of time before everyone leaves and she is alone. Shouldn't it have to be like that from the very beginning?

Dark eyes without pupils blink slowly, because she is on the verge of tears, and she cannot afford it. It makes her mad, really, how fucking useless and weak she feels.

She starts looking by the local pub, and the noise makes her tense immediately. One would have to be terribly drunk to zone out from the high decibels, so she takes a quick look and leaves.

She looks down to a piece of paper, the man's symbol drawn in it, an oval that has been broken and opened up. An omega , as someone from her people had called it. She recognizes the symbol, but she guesses it comes from a language she doesn't understand.

Maybe if he looks for the symbol on the many altars…

A very nice lady approaches her, luckily enough. She has six arms, and wings, and Kore mistakes her for a butterfly at first, but she realizes that the woman is, in fact, a moth lady. She reminds her of her own mother, genuinely nice and helpful, a little bit too nice for a place like this.

When Kore asks about the man she is looking for, the moth woman perks up a little, her wings buzzing a little. It's almost cute, in a way.

"Oh, I know him. I have seen him around, actually," she smiles awkwardly, pointing to one particular direction with one of her limbs. "He seemed particularly gloomy today. No way you'll miss his anxious energy."

Okay, that's weird. But her people say he is a man that can be trusted, and that's all that Kore needs. For now.

Indeed, the moth lady is right. She finds an altar with a very visible omega in one of those improvised temples, and in front of it, there is a human kneeling. His hair is a little dirty, eyes lost somewhere, as if he were having a very deep and intense talk with himself. He is not small by any means, bigger than any elf she has seen, broad shoulders and strong body, but he looks tiny like that, as if trying not to attract attention to himself, and failing miserably.

She knows a haunted person when she sees one.

Her staff gently hits the ground, trying to get his attention without disrupting him too badly. She actually sees fear on his features, oddly defensive for a man that is almost twice her size. As if he had seen a ghost. She realizes then that his armor is not very well kept, rust and blood making it look older than it probably is. The kind of dirt that never goes away no matter how much you try to get rid of it.

What makes her feel nervous are, in fact, his eyes. He does seem… stressed, no matter how much he tries to smile, a charming smile that is too shy and awkward to belong to a warrior like that. His eyes, his eyes feel strange when they are on her, because even if they are friendly, she feels… observed. Not in a creepy way, just… seen.

"Ah, sorry, did you want to pray, too?" He asks, and she realizes that his knees are trembling. It reminds her of herself, of when Minthe died, how she kept asking her lady Wee-jas for guidance, feeling guilty of even having the thought of having her wife back.

Death is nothing but life's counterpart, after all. A part of the cycle. That thought has never been enough to ease her sadness.

"I was looking for you, actually," she answers, and immediately feels the air tensing, anxiety on his features.

He smells of blood and sweat, and the presence she feels behind his eyes becomes even stronger. Both burning and chilling at the same time.

"What… did I… did I do something wrong?"

Spineless, and yet so dangerous. She can see indentations on his armor and shield, hits that should have killed almost anyone, and yet this man is still alive and breathing.

So she does the only rational thing.

"Are you stupid? Who would even think something like that? I come from the Eternal Forest, I'm your freaking contact. For the gods' sake"

The man blinks, slowly. Like a big puppy, his expression so guilty it makes her recoil from the emotional whiplash.

"Ah… sorry. Oh, I'm sorry, excuse me for my rudeness, I didn't expect-"

Kore raises her eyebrows, her skin even pinker in anger.

"Yeah, of course. You expected an elf. You get me, though. Deal with it."

He gulps, visibly intimidated by a woman that can barely reach his chin with her horns.

When he speaks again, her eyes widen, because she recognizes the language, but it's definitely not Common.

"I swear. I apologize. I harbor no kind of hatred towards your kind. You just… reminded me of someone I used to know."

That's in Infernal. A perfect Infernal, if she is being honest with herself. Humans don't usually know Infernal, even less such a pious man.

"What the hell," she states plainly, in Common, a little bit calmer when he actually chuckles, and behind all of that stressed energy, behind the sweat and the blood, he is actually kind of cute.

She almost smiles at him, his aura suddenly devoid of any kind of threat. There is still something she cannot place, the feeling that they are not alone, but she doesn't really see anything out of place.

"It's a long story. A pretty boring one, too," he excuses himself, and Kore cannot really tell if he is lying. "But yeah! You seem to be a little tired from the trip. Do you mind if we chat while we grab some beer?"

Kore blinks at him, judging him silently. The man scratches the back of his neck, his smile nervous.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologizes too darn much. "Tea, then? And cookies?"

Kore does smile a little at that, her long eyelashes framing her pitch black eyes, her smile genuine, the kind that reaches her whole face.

The guy is just trying so hard to be nice.

"Just, don't think anything weird of it. I like women."

The human blinks at that.

"Ah, that's good. I like men."

Kore does let out a chuckle at that, and the man just smiles, a friendly smile that makes her forget about his whole unsettling aura. She will dig into that sooner or later.

He offers her his arm, such an old fashioned and chivalrous gesture it makes her roll her eyes.

"Care to join me, then? I'll answer all of your questions. Or most of them. You know."

Kore doesn't really know, to be honest.

"I'm good, I can walk by myself. But also, you haven't told me your name."

The man blinks, his face a little red from embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm so stupid. Sorry. It's Ohmrom," he pauses, as if giving it a thought. "Von Allmen. Ohmrom von Allmen."

He is not lying, and yet… there is something unsaid about that name. Kore shrugs. She wants to know if she can fully trust the guy, but she doesn't really give a flying fuck about his personal issues.

"Kore. Of the Eternal Forest."

Ohmrom's smile is genuinely friendly, and it reaches his eyes, but she feels something subtle behind them, a whisper, something she cannot quite reach. Something that doesn't fit a man who is, by all means, not just pretending to be nice to her.

"Nice to meet you, Kore. Something tells me you're going to love it here."

Kore doubts that, but she cannot really say no to tea and cookies, can she?

"We'll see… Now, about that tea…"

#my stuff #dnd #dungeons and dragons #ohmrom von allmen #kore of the eternal forest #the gay-lesbian solidarity fic

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