#the next fic in the au that i work on has to do with a character's brain injury

[hivemuthur]

hihihihi i literally love ur writing smmmm like i actually need it sb. any time you post ik it’s gonna be peak literature 🙂‍↕️

anyhowwww, i wanted to request an arcane fic with a university au viktor x reader where viktor and reader are like academic rivals or wtv and they’re always bickering but viktor rlly wants to be her friend and doesn’t want to be rivals. sooo he tries like anything he can and as reader eventually warms up to him another guy comes along (maybe jayce or smth idk? or it can just be a random) and becomes their friend like almost instantly and viktor is JEALOUSSSS and envious and just ufhfhhffhhfghhf i need that sb.

it can be nsfw or sfw i literally do not care i just need that plot paired with your writing and ik it’s gonna be an absolute masterpiece.

Hey, love! You know what I'm gonna say, right? Sorry for the long wait. This will have 3 chapters, like for real, not like the other one that now is looking more like 5. I'm gonna say a few things got changed here, because I forgot the essence of the request while writing, but the general message is: Viktor is bad at flirting.

Tightrope - Ch. 1.

viktorxfemale!reader mature (overall explicit), frenemies/academic rivals to lovers, modern university AU

Ch.2. | Ch.3.

word count: 5,9K

tag: #tightrope

summary: You and Viktor are tethering the line between friendship and rivalry, Jayce being one amongst the few common factors you both acknowledge (of course more is there but for the smart people you are, you tend to be very stupid about things). Oh, and you have to do a project together.

author's note: I have a very poor name vocabulary sorry. Here's another Joe, this time he's a dude :v thank you @rennethen for beta reading and bearing through my shit with such grace. One trick pony here we go!

also the artist behind art is here!

Cross-posted on AO3

—

You squint as your eyes scan the list of projects for Heimerdinger’s class. And since the professor is just and fair, like a nice old man who has seen it all, you already know what to expect. But you check anyway.

He wouldn’t pair you—the almost top-of-the-class student, fighting desperately with your feet and elbows to stay there—with someone undeserving. This little annoying thing in the back of your head called hope still glows faintly, last embers about to die as you’ve read through almost all names known to you except for yours.

And as a bucket of cold water gets thrown over the ashen pieces of coal, you find it. And oh—

Of course. Next to it, your least favourite name. Of course, just… great. This is great. This is fine.

The last time you worked together, it ended with a lot of papercuts, pencils flying, and Jayce using notebooks and blackboards as shields—not to mention a tiny explosion because neither of you could agree on proportions.

So, like the responsible classmate you are, you make one final, desperate attempt to convince the nice little man to change your partner. For the sake of public safety and the well-being of everyone who steps foot on Academy grounds.

You are also nice and well-behaved, so even though the door to the classroom is open, you knock on the doorframe before disturbing the professor.

“Ah! I would lie if I said I wasn’t expecting you to show up. Please, come in!” he exclaims, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes in sheer existential pain. If he already knows what you want, you already know how this is going to go.

Still, you press forward, stepping inside and clasping your hands behind your back in what you hope is a diplomatic stance. “Professor, I was wondering if—by any chance, purely hypothetically—there’s a possibility to switch partners for the project?”

Heimerdinger folds his arms behind his back, looking up at you with the kind of patient amusement that makes you feel like a child asking for extra dessert before finishing dinner. “Ah, yes. I was almost certain you’d ask that,” he says, nodding sagely. “And before you say anything else, I do hope you won’t drop out of my class if I say no.”

You open your mouth, ready to assure him that you would never be so dramatic—except that’s exactly what you were about to say, just in different words.

Before you can recover, Heimerdinger raises a hand and continues. “This project is worth thirty percent of your final mark,” he states, his voice gentle but firm. “I am, of course, aware of the... tension between you and Viktor.” His moustache twitches slightly, betraying a hint of amusement. “However, I must ensure fairness in all assignments. There will be no one riding on someone else’s back in my class.”

You exhale sharply through your nose. “Professor, with all due respect, we nearly set a classroom on fire last time—”

“The most beautiful diamonds,” he interjects, tilting his head with a knowing smile, “are shaped under pressure.”

You stare at him, jaw tight. He stares back, completely at ease.

Fantastic. Just fantastic.

“I—” you gulp on air, searching for words. Finally, a breath of surrender escapes you and you deflate completely, saying only, “Thank you for your time.”

Seeing your sagged chest and fingers grasping the edge of your notebook tightly, Heimerdinger offers you a consolation. “I know I seem ancient to you, child. But trust me when I say, I do remember what it’s like to be young, and a little bit of friendly rivalry can be transformed into something truly groundbreaking. Think Newton and Hooke! Tesla and Edison! Bohr and Einstein! All of them were in quandaries that led to further discoveries!”

While Heimerdinger lists off pairs of rival geniuses, completely different names surface in your mind, unspoken but undeniable. Verlaine and Rimbaud. Love and Cobain. Sid and Nancy. Bonnie and Clyde. You are convinced those are the dynamics that loom over you and Viktor—just without all the feelings, of course.

And if only you were just competitors, like Bohr and Einstein, things would be so much simpler.

From the very first meeting, Viktor had been cold and reserved, his sharp tongue laced with enough venom to wither anyone foolish enough to challenge him. But if there was one thing you had to do to stay afloat in this sea of STEM sausages, it was dare. And challenge.

You still remember that moment vividly. How you almost stumbled when Jayce introduced you—because gods, he was gorgeous. An angular face that looked carved from marble, warm amber eyes framed by a fall of auburn hair. A boy so unfairly pretty that, had you met him a few years earlier, you would have fallen hard.

Your eyes swept him from head to toe before you slipped your hand into his, and for a single, traitorous moment, something fluttered in your chest. A rush of warmth, unexpected and unfamiliar.

Then you blurted out your name with an embarrassing stutter—

And the magic shattered the second Viktor opened his sweet mouth.

"Charmed," he drawled, but the dryness in his voice suggested the opposite. His gaze flicked over you in a quick, assessing glance before he tilted his head towards Jayce. "Is she another one of your projects, or does she actually know what she’s doing?"

The warmth in your chest evaporated instantly, replaced by a sharp spike of irritation.

Oh. Oh. So that’s how this was going to go.

With a weak smile, you thank Professor Heimerdinger, and your mind is so out of it that you almost curtsy—which you hastily disguise as an awkward bow. Nearly stumbling over your own feet, you literally fall out of the classroom, colliding with something big and solid.

“Careful there! Hi, oh—” A surprised voice reaches your ears, followed by a strong arm steadying you. “Hi there. Hi, um. You alright?”

Either he’s a halfwit or completely smitten with you, because his articulation leaves much to be desired. Not that you're one to judge, given your current coordination.

“Hi, sorry. Just a small… miscalculation.” You smile sheepishly and extend your hand out of habit, instinctively introducing yourself to your unexpected saviour. After all, that’s how you met Jayce.

“I’m Joe,” he says in one breath, your much smaller hand completely disappearing in his massive palm. “It’s nice to meet you.” He chuckles, a blush blooming across his cheeks—so unabashed, his eyes glinting—and oh.

Nice, you catch yourself thinking in the most obscene, ludicrous way as you zero in on his chest, the tight team T-shirt clinging to it.

“Eh, it’s nice to meet you too.” You grin, nodding, and blink stupidly, batting your eyelashes, not entirely sure what’s happening.

Before you get a chance to unglue the dumbfounded smile from your face and actually say something more, Jayce’s voice rings through the corridor, your name echoing off the walls.

“There you are! Oops! Making new friends? Don’t mind her, this is her love language.”

Jayce—the oblivious Jayce, a man so naïve it would never cross his mind what he is doing to someone you literally just met thirty seconds ago. Mortification is too weak a word to describe what you feel inside.

“Jayce!” You smack his chest and shake your head in disbelief. “Don’t mind him, he’s an ass.”

And as if poor Joe doesn’t have enough on his plate already, another voice bombards him, and you’re certain he’s beginning to regret ever catching you.

“Hello. Are you a new face in Heimerdinger’s class?” Viktor asks, wearing that redundant smirk, his voice stretching into a deliberate, chewy, gross thing that makes you scowl. Just outright cruel.

“Heh, no, I just happened to catch your friend,” Joe answers without missing a beat. “And… I was hoping I could get her number.”

And that just. Does it.

You nod faster than you think, already reaching for his phone, clumping your number in there with sticky, shaky fingers and a stupid blush creeping up your neck. You avoid Jayce’s and Viktor’s eyes, but oh boy, you can feel both pairs drilling into you almost viscerally. Viktor’s especially—those fucking yellow embers burning right through you from under furrowed brows.

You flash Joe one last smile and a very awkward, very hurried, “Call me,” not knowing what has gotten into you. Then you let Jayce sweep you away toward your usual route to the cafeteria, while Viktor strolls behind, full of graceful disdain.

“So, I saw the tables, and…” Jayce clears his throat, chattering into your ear. “I’ve seen the pairs! We can share a lab, I’m paired with Sky!”

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh and pat his shoulder—a touch saying more than a thousand words. Words that say how much you can’t wait for another round of throwing objects at Viktor, while Jayce scrambles to catch anything that might hurt Sky.

“Oh, are you not happy about the distribution of projects?” Viktor asks, a small smile playing at his lips.

“The project is fine. The distribution… I’m sure you understand.” You throw him an acidic smirk, your eyes empty of any emotion save for one slow blink. Neural Interface for Prosthetics is actually an incredibly good project—Heimerdinger got you there, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Well, maybe you could be just a little more grateful had he paired you with Jayce or Sky.

“Eh, you will forgive me, but I do not.” Viktor pauses and looks at you—challenging you. And you really hate it, because it works. “I do not wish to have the project jeopardized by something silly, as the topic itself aligns with my interests.”

“I’m sure the feeling is mutual, Viktor. Can we please eat? I am about to eat one of you if we don’t go to the cafeteria right now,” you sigh, exasperated, and your stomach growls to support your claim.

“You can eat me!” Jayce lands face down between your bickering, and you just laugh, completely disarmed.

Once you finally sit down, Viktor simply opens a book next to his tray, ignoring both you and Jayce completely—obviously sulking about something. Jayce, on the other hand, takes massive bites of his sandwich, staring at you intensely, as if willing you to spill the tea. When that doesn’t work, he speaks.

“So… who’s the new guy?” he elbows you playfully and you can barely understand him with his mouth full. But his eyes say it all—he is dying to know.

"Jayce, you’re so transparent I almost can’t see you. Where are you, Jayce? Where did you go?" You wave your hands around dramatically. He almost chokes. Viktor scoffs, unimpressed, barely glancing up from his book as he stirs sweetmilk into his coffee.

Once the immediate hazard of death by choking is under control, Jayce flashes one of those earnest grins—one that practically screams what a good person he is, full of pure intentions. "Oh, shut up. He seems nice, and I’m curious."

"He’s just a guy, nothing more," you hum, taking a sip of your coffee. And even though you have no idea if that little encounter will go anywhere, you can’t resist adding a pin. "Yet."

Viktor looks like he is holding back a scoff, so he just turns the page in his book with a violent sweep.

"Well… do you like him?" Jayce presses, oblivious to the tension at the table. He’s just such a gossip girl.

You let out an incredulous laugh. "Are you alright? Why are you so interested?"

Jayce shrugs. "I don’t know, I always thought you’d end up with someone of equal… interests?" Intelligence is what he really means. But that would be cruel. Just because a guy plays rugby doesn’t mean he’s brain damaged. Surely.

"Oh please, I hate STEM bros." You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms with an air of finality, as if that settles the matter. You do hate STEM bros. They are full of themselves, have no respect for women and look down on you.

Jayce raises an eyebrow, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. "Erm… you are a STEM bro."

Viktor finally looks up from his book, watching you with the barest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your chest as if mortally offended. "Jayce Talis! I am a lady! Not a bro!"

That is Viktor’s cue. “I don’t think that lack of testicles classifies you as a lady instantly,” he says in a deadpan voice.

And you don’t know what pushes your stupid mind to say it. Is it just muscle memory—your tongue snapping back whenever you talk to Viktor—or an actual intention to say something mean to him? You really don’t know. In one breath, you say, voice equally dead to his, “Of course not. If that were the case, you’d classify as a lady as well,” and watch the chaos unravel.

None of that happens, though. The underwhelming events carry on in painfully slow motion—Jayce’s eyes widening so much there’s a real threat they might never close again, while Viktor gulps his coffee with an agonisingly slow bob of his Adam’s apple. It’s only when he’s done that you realise he was fighting not to choke on it—because the next moment, he bursts into laughter, covering his face with his hand.

Jayce exhales the breath he was holding and laughs as well—you’re not sure if it’s at your joke or simply at the sight of Viktor laughing so openly, an event so rare it shouldn’t go uncherished. Despite yourself, you grin. Indeed, Viktor’s face—his eyes squeezed shut to the point of a tear slipping from beneath his long lashes, smile lines filling out his hollowed cheeks, his teeth bared in an uninhibited cackle—is a sight to behold.

The stupid thing in your chest stutters, as Viktor wheezes and lowers his hand to rest on yours. “Remind me to never cross you again. Merciless is an understatement,” he says, barely, with a really warm smile and you find yourself blushing again, for the second time in a mere hour. Because of two different boys.

And as any moment made of pure magic in the history of magical moments, this one doesn’t last either. It gets violently interrupted by a buzz of your phone on the table.

If you wanna take a stroll, I have a free period now :) We can meet by the fountain. Joe, in case you wonder who this is :)

And your blush deepens. You calculate options in your mind and soon decide on the what the hell one. “I’m gonna scram boys. See you in the lab after class?”

“Yes. Please bring the less… distracted version of yourself if you can,” Viktor states and all the warmth evaporates from him at once. Back to the usual version of himself—sharp wit, balancing on the verge of cutting.

As you mumble an absent, “I’ll do my best,” and wave them goodbye, Jayce returns to his sandwich and sighs knowingly.

“You know… wouldn’t kill you to be a little bit nicer,” Jayce says, leaning forward on his elbows. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge of curiosity beneath it, like he’s prodding at something fragile just to see if it will break.

“This is me being nice,” Viktor replies in a neutral tone, lifting his coffee to his lips. The steam curls around his face as he takes a slow sip, his expression unmoving. He is being nice. He is trying to be nice. It’s just sometimes completely impossible to be nice to you when you get like this. Distracted. He scoffs to himself. It’s a strange friendship you have there, but it’s a friendship nevertheless—or so he likes to think.

Jayce studies him, his gaze sharp despite the lazy way he’s chewing the inside of his cheek. “No, that is just you being… well, you,” he says bluntly, tilting his head as if he’s considering whether to push further. “Being a dick is not a way to a lady’s heart.”

Viktor arches a brow, unimpressed. “Excuse me, but have we experienced the same scene? I was the one being offended and laughed it off like a gentleman, thank you.” He gestures vaguely with his cup, his fingers tightening just slightly around the ceramic.

Jayce narrows his eyes. “Then why are you so annoyed in the first place?”

“I am not annoyed,” Viktor states flatly, setting his coffee down with a little more force than necessary. He smooths his hands over his sweater as he rises from his seat, already turning away before Jayce can open his mouth again. “I am great. I am so great, in fact, that I will go and start working on that project. See you, Jayce.”

And then he just strides off, his cane tapping against the floor, leaving Jayce mid-sentence with his mouth open, eyes blinking slowly.

Of course, he is not annoyed. Maybe only slightly—and only because you’ve somehow managed to gain another distraction in your life right before you were about to start working on the biggest project of the year. And it’s just, well, fucking annoying.

***

When you glance at your watch, you yelp and press a hand to your forehead. “Fucking hell,” you mutter under your breath before breaking into a sprint toward the lab.

Viktor is going to kill you—especially since there’s no way to prove you were caught up in something important.

Because, well, you weren’t. It was Joe who took up all your time this afternoon. And he is… surprisingly nice. And smart.

You hadn’t expected that.

What started as a casual conversation somehow stretched into something far longer, the minutes slipping away unnoticed. He had opinions on films—actual opinions, not just generic statements about “liking action movies.” He had read some of the same books as you and even suggested a few you begrudgingly admitted sounded interesting. Sports came up, of course, but he spoke about them with a self-awareness that made it bearable. And when the conversation dipped into politics, he didn’t say anything that made you want to throw your coffee in his face. That alone was impressive.

It was… weirdly comfortable. Easy, even. Even when he lingered.

Joe’s gaze held onto you a second longer than necessary, like he was memorising the way you looked when you laughed. And when he hugged you goodbye, his arms stayed around you for just a breath too many. The slow way he untangled himself from you made it clear that if you hadn’t pulled away first, he wouldn’t have been the one to let go.

Shaking off the last remnants of Joe from your thoughts, you push through the heavy lab doors with a hurried stumble, your breath still uneven from the rush.

“Sorry, I’m late, guys—” The words die in your throat as you take in the empty room.

Only Viktor.

He stands at the workbench, sleeves pushed up, hands meticulously adjusting the placement of various tools and notes. At the sound of your voice, he pauses but doesn’t turn around immediately. The rhythmic ticking of the clock fills the silence, marking the seconds you take to process the situation.

No Jayce. No Sky. Just Viktor, and the sharp scent of metal and oil clinging to the air.

“Glad you could make it,” he remarks, finally turning his head just enough to glance at you. His voice is even, but something about it feels... off. You can’t tell if he’s irritated or merely stating a fact. Maybe both.

“Sorry,” you sigh, setting your things down with a thud. “I lost track of time.”

“With your new himbo.” It isn’t a question.

You hesitate for a fraction of a second. “Yes. And his name is Joe, Viktor, not a new himbo.”

Viktor hums—a short, unimpressed sound—and resumes his work, carefully aligning a set of blueprints. Somehow, his silence feels louder than an argument.

“Okay,” you say hesitantly, more to yourself than to him, or rather into the empty space between you and Viktor, which seems to be expanding with each passing second.

“And where are Jayce and Sky?”

“They managed to sketch out the roadmap for themselves in the time you spent with Joe and decided they needed the library for further planning,” Viktor replies flatly, still not looking at you. The way he deliberately keeps his gaze averted only emphasises how much has been accomplished in your presumably very long moment of indulgence. How nice.

“Alright, would you like me to crucify myself, or do you want the honours?” Impatience gets the better of you, and you fold your arms tightly across your chest.

At that, Viktor’s hands still over the workbench. His head tilts ever so slightly in your direction, though his gaze remains fixed on the floor, as if acknowledging you fully would be a waste of effort.

“I am merely stating a fact,” he says, his voice low, clipped. “This is more important than some affairs, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, really, Viktor?” You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. “And here I thought thirty percent of my grade was worth sacrificing for some sloppy making out—but thank you so much for finally making me see the error of my ways.”

That makes him look.

And he is angry.

His head snaps up, eyes narrowing, gears visibly grinding in his mind as he weighs whether you’re just riling him up or—God forbid—whether you actually have made out with Joe.

His jaw tightens. “Just get to work already, will you?”

You say nothing, only flash him an acrid smile before reaching for your goggles on the workbench.

The two of you work in almost deafening silence, broken only by the occasional exchange of necessary questions and answers. You retrieve materials while Viktor arranges the workspace, and you scribble down the general plan on the blackboard, the tension in the air palpable.

Each time the chalk screeches against the surface, Viktor visibly winces, hissing under his breath and sinking his head between his shoulders in an exaggerated display of agony.

You roll your eyes but say nothing.

“Could you maybe try a little harder to make it less cacographic?” he mutters, irritation creeping into his voice.

The suddenness of it startles you just as you’re making another stroke, and the chalk lets out a bone-chilling whine against the board.

Viktor flinches violently, covering his ears. “For fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, voice muffled behind his palms. “Let me do it.” He steps forward, reaching for the chalk without hesitation.

You anticipate the move, tucking your arm behind your back in defiance. A childish gesture, maybe, but if he’s going to be an ass about it, you’re not about to make it easy for him.

He doesn’t stop. He closes the distance between you in a few sharp steps, his expression taut with frustration. Before you can react, his fingers wrap around your wrist—tight, unrelenting. He pries your hand forward and gives a firm shake, forcing your fingers to unclench until the chalk drops neatly into his waiting palm.

A sharp twinge shoots up your arm. It’s not painful exactly, but it’s close enough to make you wince.

Snatching your hand back, you massage your wrist, eyes narrowing. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

For a brief second, something flickers across Viktor’s face—regret, maybe. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, buried beneath the same rigid composure he always wears like armour. He doesn’t apologise. Doesn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, he turns to the board and begins writing, his tone stripped of anything resembling warmth.

“I want to wrap this up before tomorrow,” he says flatly, chalk gliding across the surface with sharp, efficient strokes. “And you are being thoroughly incompetent. I told you to bring yourself not distracted.”

You let out a sharp scoff. “Okay, I am so sorry I was late. I’ll stay longer and finish up whatever we don’t get done in time. But you are outdoing yourself in being a complete twat today.”

You don’t wait for a response. Instead, you march over to the workbench, hands immediately finding the prototype components. If you focus on the task, maybe you won’t be tempted to launch something at Viktor’s insufferable head.

“Oh please, I do not trust anything you do without supervision,” Viktor says, scribbling quietly on the board, somehow making a point out of it.

“Viktor, are you serious right now? We literally have the same grades,” you huff, leaning over the table to pick up the components you need. You do your best to tune him out—his bickering is only distracting, and you need to rewire the prototype from the previous project.

Overall, the task is simple enough. The device is built around an EEG-based neural interface—a system that reads electrical activity in the brain and translates it into signals that can control a mechanical limb. In practical terms, the user wears a headband fitted with electrodes that detect neural impulses associated with movement. These signals then travel through a processing unit, which refines the input before transmitting it to the prosthetic itself.

That’s the easy part. The rest, well.

The prototype you’re working on today is a refinement of an earlier model. The previous iteration had suffered from signal lag and inconsistent responsiveness—issues you’re hoping to correct by integrating a new set of circuits and refining the algorithm for noise reduction.

You grab the headband from the pile of equipment, turning it over in your hands. It should work just fine if you tweak the wiring to accommodate the new design. Without thinking too much about it, you start securing the circuits, fingers working on autopilot as you weave the delicate wires through the correct channels.

Or at least, you think they’re correct—until Viktor’s voice cuts through your focus again.

“Are you even listening to me? What are you doing?” His tone is sharp, irritated—like he’s already asked this more than once.

Your expression tightens as he strides over to the bench, clearly unimpressed. “I just rewired it. Nothing too complex,” you mutter, adjusting a loose wire before reaching for the power switch.

Viktor doesn’t look convinced. He picks up the headband, turning it over in his hands with a scrutinising gaze. “Nothing too complex,” he repeats dryly. “Yes, because neural interfaces are famously simple. I’d rather be sure. Show me.”

You roll your eyes but oblige, reaching over and flipping the switch.

The reaction is instant.

A sharp jolt cracks through the air, followed by a strangled, almost undignified yelp as Viktor jerks back, dropping the headband as if it has burned him. His entire body stiffens, fingers twitching violently for a brief second before he stumbles, gripping the workbench for support, blinking rapidly.

Your mouth falls open. “Oh—shit—Viktor—”

He exhales sharply, pressing a hand to his chest, his face twisted in a grimace. “Wonderful,” he grits out. “So that’s what you rewired.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” you mumble, rushing to him, ignoring the sharpness of his tone. Your hands instinctively cup his face as you lean in. He blinks, startled, his mouth parting at the sudden concern—your brows furrowed, eyes searching his face for any sign of lingering pain, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he says flatly. “You’ve electrocuted me.” His hands move to seize your wrists, but you twist away before he can. Your palms return to his face, fingers framing him gently, and Viktor’s breath hitches.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper, voice genuine. You are truly sorry, the worry overriding all the anger you had for him mere seconds ago. And Viktor has no idea how to react to this. He stands there, breath unsteady, before muttering, “I’m fine.”

You blink, straightening, and Viktor is almost ready to exhale in relief—until your hands shift again, this time pressing against his chest and back, cradling his heart between your palms. You stand beside him, hands firm but careful, instinct guiding you more than knowledge. You don’t even know if this is what you’re supposed to do for someone who’s been electrocuted, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind.

His heart thunders beneath your touch. The silence is so heavy you can hear yourself gulp on the lump in your throat. You don’t hate him that much, and you hope he knows it.

Finally, Viktor speaks, his breath still rattling. “Well, would you look at that. So there is kindness in your touch after all.” He tries to sound wicked, but there is no venom in his voice.

“Viktor, you bastard. When have I not been kind to you?” you respond playfully, your hands still pressed against him.

“Ah, well. When you implied my alleged castration is the first that comes to mind. But rest assured, my testicles are good and well. I’d show you, but I’m afraid someone has already filled this position in your life,” he trails off, slipping back into his seemingly unbothered attitude.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groan, rolling your eyes. Still, your fingers linger, as if trying to determine whether his heartbeat is elevated from the shock or something else entirely. Or is it always like this? You don’t dare to ask.

Viktor tilts his head, watching you. “What about?”

“Any of it. You make me fucking gag,” you scoff, finally sliding your hands off him.

“Not yet—but I could.”

You barely have time to register the shift before he catches your hand, his thumb pressing against your palm. A slight twitch makes your fingers curl around his.

“You could what?”

“Make you gag.” The words slip out just as a smirk blooms on his face, faster than he can think to stop either. He can’t tell if he regrets them immediately.

The figurative pin drops. A high-pitched whine rings in your ears. Viktor’s gaze is drilled into you, thumb still pressing into your palm.

Your eyes widen, but you don’t miss a beat. “Well, would you look at that. So there is kindness in you after all,” you murmur.

“Ah, for you. Only kindness, nothing else,” Viktor hums, his voice a low purr as his thumb idly circles the centre of your palm. His grip is loose enough that you could pull away, yet you don’t. His eyes flicker with something unreadable—something that makes your breath catch before you force yourself to scoff.

“Yeah, right.”

His smirk deepens. “When have I not been kind to you?”

“Like… ever?” You raise a brow, tilting your head as if you’re genuinely considering it. “You mock me. You think I’m outright stupid and don’t deserve my spot in class. You constantly correct me and fight me over solutions. You hate working with me, scoff at me, and laugh me out in front of Jayce. And Sky.”

Viktor clicks his tongue, his fingers squeezing yours ever so slightly. “Such is my love language.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “Oh, forget it.” You finally try to pull your hand away, but Viktor doesn’t let go just yet, his grip tightening for half a second before he releases you—only for his cane to hook lightly around your wrist, stopping you mid-motion.

“Wait.” His voice is softer now, coaxing. When you glance at him, there’s something else in his gaze, something warmer, but it’s masked beneath that ever-present air of a prank. “I almost died, you shouldn’t leave me.”

You gape at him. “Viktor—”

“Alright, alright! I surrender.” He chuckles, but there’s something breathless in it. His fingers twitch against his cane. “Wait. Please.”

The sudden plea stills you. Your heart stumbles over itself before you swallow and straighten your posture, crossing your arms in an attempt to shake the feeling off.

Viktor exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before returning his gaze to you. “I do not mock you or laugh you out. I simply jest—I do that with Jayce all the time. You should have noticed by now.”

You purse your lips, unimpressed.

“I do not correct you,” he continues, his voice lilting, as if this is all some grand performance. “I offer you my point of view. And I do not fight you—I simply enjoy some intellectual sparring. Not many can provide one that satisfies me.”

Your fingers twitch, nerves sparking beneath your skin at the way he says satisfies, but you ignore it. Instead, you level him with a flat stare.

“You’re just gaslighting me at this point, Viktor. At least give me a head start before you snap my neck with this thing one day.” You tap the end of his cane with a pointed look.

Viktor grins—slow, wicked. His weight shifts, allowing the cane to rest a little heavier against your wrist, his fingers curling just slightly around the handle.

“Oh, come now. That would be far too merciful.”

Your stomach flips, and you hate that it does.

“Are you going to be good to me now?” Viktor asks, his voice so low you barely hear it, but the weight of it settles deep in your chest.

He takes a step closer, and your breath catches when you feel it—his exhale, warm against your skin, ghosting over your lips. His fingers brush against your wrist, the same one he had seized not long ago. A touch that lingers.

“You have almost killed me, after all.” You watch his lips twisted in a smile you’ve never seen before. And it scares you for some reason.

“Stop this,” you say, firmer than you expected, yanking your hand away. You clutch it to your chest like a wound, like something fragile he might pry apart if given the chance.

Viktor tilts his head, eyes sharp with curiosity. “Why?”

Your throat tightens. “You know goddamn well why.” You take a step back, shaking your head, something bitter curling in your gut. “I am not your project, you dick.”

Viktor’s expression shifts—his smirk falters, lips parting slightly as if caught off guard. “Hey, that is not what I meant—”

But you don’t let him finish. You pivot on your heel, retreating towards the door, your pulse hammering in your ears. You need distance. The lab suddenly feels too small, the air too thick, charged with something neither of you were prepared for.

Behind you, Viktor’s voice follows, just a step behind. “Wait—”

You don’t.

The door swings shut behind you, and Viktor is left standing in the empty lab, staring after where you had just been.

A long exhale leaves him, and he runs a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath,

“Well, damn. That backfired.”

He frowns to himself, rolling his jaw as if trying to make sense of what just happened—of what he just did.

And for the first time in a long while, Viktor realises he doesn’t have a formula for this.

[christinesficrecs]

hihi! you’re my fav place for sterek fic recs as i try to devour as many as possible (i just got into teen wolf this year oof). surprisingly i’m having a hard time finding “meet-ugly” fics. anything that subverts the meet-cute trope but still ends in a relationship. do you have any that fit this? 💕

Hey! Maybe these ones. 🩷

hey asshole by  cryptomoon, everchanginginks | 15.6K

The Hales moved in next door more than a year ago and while Cora and Stiles became fast friends, Stiles has yet to meet his best friend’s big brother, Derek, who’s been attending college in New York. When Derek comes home for the summer he makes less than a stellar impression. And vice versa.

Left Turn at Albuquerque by yodasyoyo | 9K

“Oh no!” Stiles yelps, springing back in alarm, and then, once he gets a better look at who he’s just doused, he whines, “Nonononononooooooooo.”

Because he has just thrown coffee over the hottest guy he’s ever seen: Tall, muscular and dressed in what must have been, pre-coffee, a white tank-top, and what are still, coffee stains notwithstanding, excruciatingly tight jeans. The guy has dark hair, piercing eyes and the sort of scruff that Stiles just wants to rub all over himself.

We Can Work from Home by  samanthahirr | 5.2K

A rom com AU in which Stiles is a massage therapist, and Derek has the wrong idea….

Shower Boyfriends by  paintedrecs | 4.7K

Derek likes sticking to his routines: they give his days structure and keep his goals on track. His carefully maintained habits have never been more important than at college, and by his second year, he’s gotten everything exactly the way he wants it. He has the ideal roommate, the best dorm on campus, and a fascinating set of classes in a schedule that lets him sleep in.

But when mysterious messages start appearing on his dorm’s shower wall, Derek can’t seem to resist searching for answers.

Listen to the Beat by amazingpages | 5.5K | Mature

Of all the things Derek thought he’d have to deal with upon moving into his new apartment, a loudly masturbating neighbor wasn’t one of them.

A Blossoming Romance by Trelkez | 7,533

Stiles will just have to try harder next time. No one can ignore him forever.

latte dick by bleepobleep | 1.8K

It’s really Derek’s luck, though, to start developing a crush on someone who apparently hates him.

We’re Burning One Hell of a Something by calrissian18 | 6K | Mature

Derek’s roommate has already moved in by the time he shows up. And he’s taken up both sides of the room.

you love the hate that we share by bibliosexual | 5.7K

Maybe it’s petty — okay, it most definitely is — but it just irritates Stiles that the universe makes people like Derek Hale. He’s practically superhuman at lacrosse; he’s been blessed by the puberty gods with stubble and muscles on top of muscles and not a pimple in sight; he spouts off effortless monologues in Spanish class while Stiles is still struggling to remember how to say “Can you repeat that?”; he could probably make a killing as a male model; and when he asked Lydia to study with him, she said yes. Like, seriously, what the fuck.

I don’t know why, but I guess it has something to do with you by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 17.8K

“You smell like me,” the guy says, scowling as he crowds in and Stiles staggers back between the coats and finally hits the wall. “Why do you smell like me?”

He barely lets out a garbled sound as the blood rushes to his cheeks. “No reason,” Stiles yelps, struggling to get his footing and grasping at a whirlwind of puffy fur.

[leashybebes]

@mischiefseven also asked for tattoo artist au so here's a bit of fic before i ran out of steam and resorted to bullet points.

Buck's between appointments, putting the finishing touches on a design for one of his regulars when the bell dings and possibly the hottest guy he's ever seen walks through the door.

"Hi," the guy says. "I wanted to talk to someone about getting a tattoo."

"Uh. Yeah. Yeah, hi!" Buck practically tosses his tablet aside in favour of standing up to shake the guy's hand. "Evan Buckley, this is my shop. We don't do walk-ins, though."

"That's okay. I was just passing or I would have emailed."

"No worries. Take a seat, let me know what you have in mind. My next appointment isn't for around thirty minutes."

The guy's wearing multiple layers, jacket down to his wrists, not enough skin on display for Buck to be sure, but the way he's looking around the shop wide-eyed, the slight awkwardness in the way he taps his hands together, make Buck think this is his first ink. He looks like he's maybe ten years older than Buck, a little bit of salt around his temples and in the stubble that covers his sharp jaw, his sculpted cheeks, the superman cleft in his chin. It's an interesting age for a first tat, not the oldest first time Buck's ever done, but interesting enough to catch his attention.

"My name's Tommy," the guy says, as they sit. "I don't - this will be my first tattoo."

Bingo, Buck thinks victoriously.

"Yeah? What are you looking for?"

"So, uh. My mom died a little while ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that, man."

"Thanks. Her favourite flowers were tiger lilies. You know the bright orange ones?"

"Yeah, I know 'em," Buck says. Florals aren't his usual thing, but he's done plenty over the years. He snags his tablet for something to hold while Tommy goes on.

"So, I wanted to get a couple tattooed on me. I was thinking maybe here," he says, spreading his hand (big hand, Buck notes distractedly) across his ribs. "I have some scarring on the other side, thought it might be a good balance."

Buck tilts his head, shrugs. "Ribs isn't the most comfortable spot."

Tommy shrugs. "I'm okay with a little pain."

Buck raises his eyebrows. It's not the first time he's heard that, but it seems less of a brag than he's used to from guys Tommy's size.

"Alright, man. You thinking black and white or colour?"

"Colour," Tommy says firmly. "That was her favourite thing about them."

Buck's a little surprised, but pleased. He loves working with colour. He takes notes about size and placement, and sketches out a very rough design. Tommy wants a single stem, a single flower, and they wind up talking right up until Buck's appointment arrives.

[this is where my brain power ran out so!]

tommy sits like a champ. buck is very impressed

buck's tattooed plenty of stone cold hotties in his day but damn, tommy is fine fine and it's making him a little insane

tommy absolutely gets the bug and is back for his second, third and fourth tattoos in quick succession

it is very important to me that you know that buck in this au has many piercings okay thank u goodnight

[dragon-susceptible]

Different Path Taken

Fandom: The Dragon Prince

Rating: T

Characters so far: Runaan, Rayla, Callum, Ezran, Callisto, Andromeda, Skor, and Ram

Summary: The assassins really can't take vengeance for a life that was never taken, and when Rayla shows him the egg Runaan realizes they're doomed to failure no matter what. He gathers the other assassins and they make a different call.

Note: This may become a much longer fic that covers more of the events of the show. I'd actually like it to be a longer running AU, but I genuinely don't know if I'll be able to hold onto my writing groove long enough to just follow through the ripple effects this change would have on every season. So for now, it's going on tumblr as chapters, and if I get through all of season 1's events I'll put it onto AO3 as a proper fic.

How Things Changed: Moonrise

“How can we take vengeance for an act that never happened?  Ye have to call it off.” Rayla pressed.

His mind was already racing.  They couldn’t.  They were bound to take vengeance for a death, but if the original victim was not yet dead, their mission was impossible.  They would fail tonight, no matter what actions they took, because their task could not be completed. 

“Rayla, you know it doesn’t work that way.  We bound ourselves.  There’s only one way to . . .” Runaan broke off.  There was only one way for them to release themselves.  If the victim they fought for called off the mission, then -

“Runaan, please,” Rayla begged. “There has to be another way.  This is a miracle, a chance for peace!”

Peace? “The humans struck down the King of the Dragons,” Runaan snapped back. “And stole his only egg.  What chance is this for peace?”

“Because we want to give it back,” The small boy holding the egg replied before Rayla could, gray eyes wide and earnest. “If we bring the egg back to its mother, maybe she won’t be angry anymore!  We can have peace again.”

He was just young and naive enough to believe it, too. “No.  Give me the egg.  We will take it back to Xadia ourselves.”

“Nope.  Sorry.  The gesture that matters is if it comes from us.” The older boy argued, though as Runaan bared his fangs he saw his gloved hands shaking. “We want to do this.  To make up for what our people have done to the dragons.”

This was rapidly going sideways.  Rayla couldn’t stop him, but she could slow him down long enough for the boys to escape with the egg if he tried to take it by force.  Aside from that, if anything happened to the egg and the Dragon Queen discovered they had not recovered it, her wrath would come down on Moonshadow Forest as well as Katolis.  It had to make it back to Xadia.  Worse, it had to at least leave the castle with these human children.

They would have to leave the king alive to make it work.  If they killed only him the news would reach Xadia before they could return, and the consequences for the assassins’ families could be severe.  No sending the shadowhawk, then.  If the mission simply was postponed, the dragons would at least wait for the next full moon before they reacted, assuming something had delayed their journey.

“Runaan, listen,” Rayla pleaded again.

“Wait here.” He said shortly. “I will gather the others.  This . . . changes things.” He glanced over the children, one frightened but too naive to understand what danger he was in, one terrified, and then- 

He turned away from Rayla’s face and added the rest over his shoulder. “A vote must be taken.  Stay here.  Stay hidden.” He leaped back up onto the crenellations and ran for Andromeda’s pathway.

 Runaan sent Andromeda to fetch the others and fell back to Rayla’s position.  He could not risk her trust in him failing, and her bolting again.  Luckily, she and the human children, and the precious dragon egg they carried, all remained where he had left them.  For once.

The other assassins weren’t far behind, and when he spotted the shades begin to approach, he showed himself again, dropping onto the rampart path with her.  He stood across from her as before, but faced the approach of the other assassins.  He did not draw his weapons.  They would know not to attack.

“What is this?” Callisto was the first to speak, shimmering back from Moonshadow form on a crenellation just ahead of the human children.

“Is that what it looks like?” Andromeda asked in awe, her eyes already fixed on the dragon egg as she landed on Rayla’s other side.

Skor landed in a crouch and his eyes fixed on Rayla, his teeth bared, but he didn’t move towards her.  Ram landed beside him and ignored her entirely. “You can’t just disrupt the entire plan once it’s already begun, Runaan.  It’s a path to failure.”

“No plan survives direct contact with the enemy.” Runaan replied dryly. “And circumstances have changed.  Dramatically.” He gestured at the egg. “Rayla, tell them what you told me.”

“Me?” Rayla almost yelped, but she gathered herself when he raised an eyebrow at her, and turned to the other assassins. “The egg of the dragon prince wasn’t destroyed.  It was stolen.  These human princes found it and now they wish tae return it in hopes of makin’ amends for what was done, an’ foundin’ a new era of peace.  We can’t take vengeance for an act that never happened, we have tae help them get the egg home to its mother!”

To its mother.

Runaan’s lips thinned, thinking of the same thing he imagined Rayla was, and the betrayal of the girl’s own mother, which had led to all this. “She is right,” He said firmly before any of the others could reply. “No matter what actions we take tonight, we will fail.  We are bound to take a life for a life.  If the death we avenge has not yet happened, the life we take is not an exchange.  We will not be unbound.”

The other assassins exchanged glances, and Skor finally shimmered back from Moonshadow form to press his lips into a thin line.  Ram jumped down from the crenellations. “So we kill the king, and then take the egg back to Xadia.” He said, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“We would rather you didn’t,” The older prince said, and Callisto’s mouth twitched up at the corner.

Runaan shook his head. “No.  If we kill the king and word reaches Xadia that we completed only half our mission, and abandoned the rest, you know the price our families will pay.” He met Ram’s gaze until the boy dropped it, eyes widening with realization. “Likewise, if word reaches the dragon queen that we did not recover the egg when we had the chance, consequences could be far worse.”

“So why not just take the egg back ourselves?” Callisto asked practically. “Why do we need the extra weight?  They’re children.  They won’t be able to travel as fast as we can.  They’ll slow the whole mission down.”

“Perhaps.  But they believe they can make amends for what was done to the Dragon King, and Rayla believes in their cause.” Runaan said, and looked at each of them in turn. “And she may not be able to stop us.  But she can hold us here long enough for them to escape with the egg - or at least raise the alarm to ensure that we fail at all of it.”

“She wouldn’t.” Andromeda said, but her brows were furrowed.

Rayla flicked open her butterfly blades, her face hardening. “Care tae gamble on that?”

“Having the human children with us would provide an advantage movin’ back through Katolis.” Callisto said without quite looking at anyone.

“What possible advantage could there be in that?” Ram demanded.

Skor looked through his hair at Callisto and bared his fangs. “We don’t.  Take.  Hostages.”

Callisto shook their head. “No.  We don’t.  But they don’t know that.” He looked up at Runaan. “We have willin’ volunteers to make confrontation we have on this side of the border easier.”

Runaan nodded. “We do not judge.  We do not decide right and wrong.  We take life only when it is necessary to prevent greater evil.  The king in that tower has committed a terrible crime, but if we kill him now, when this egg lives, and fail to bring it home, we bring down the wrath of both human kingdoms and the dragons upon our home.  I believe our best course of action is to assist the human princes in their gesture of peace, for now.  If we lose too much time . . . we may reevaluate.”

“We’ve got a week.” Skor said flatly.

“He has a point,” Andromeda said with a frown. “We didn’t even make the trip here in a week with just the six of us.  How will we make it with those two slowing us down?”

Callisto tilted their head and jumped down to the ramparts. “Then it may be useful to us to bring them, even if the peace doesn’t work.” He said, and shrugged when they all looked at him. “To carry the egg.” He added with a meaningful flex of his wrist, where the assassin’s binding was already fitted where it had been loose. 

“I believe our best course of action is to leave.” Runaan said bluntly. “We cannot risk losing time or resources in an attack.  We take the egg and the children and bring them back to Xadia as quickly as possible, to minimize the damage this disaster may cause, for dragons, humans, and Moonshadow elves alike.”

“You’ve always led us well.” Callisto said simply, meeting his gaze, and then looked over at Rayla. “And what Rayla’s found here changes things.  We took an oath.  That oath is impossible.  Our only path to freedom for our people at home is to make certain this egg gets back to the Storm Spire.” Callisto took a long, deliberate breath, and met Runaan’s gaze again, and presented their bound hand as they had when they took the oath. “My breath for freedom.  I am with you, Runaan, and Rayla.”

Runaan nodded, something in his core eased at having one of his most trusted warriors at his side.  Callisto had served as his second on this mission and would continue to do so.  He turned his gaze to the next noise, a rustle from Andromeda.

She was looking at Rayla, and then the egg, and shook her head in disbelief. “I pledged my eyes for truth,” She said simply. “This is the truth.  We have to make sure the world knows it.  I am with you, Runaan, Rayla, Callisto.”

Skor finally jumped down from the crenellations, the last of the company to do so.  He looked at Rayla, then at the egg, and finally to Callisto.  His face did something complicated there before he looked back to Runaan. “I swore my strength for honor.  These boys will honor the dragons with this, or we all die trying.  I doubt your motivations, Runaan.  I doubt their convictions.  But if this works?” He shook his head. “Then perhaps some humans have honor in their hearts after all, and we can work with that outcome.  I am with ye.”

Runaan nodded slowly.  He had expected nothing less.  Skor was one of the oldest assassins in the Silvergrove aside from himself, and his trust was hard-won, his loyalty even harder.  He was proud to have attained it, enough to make this work - and fortunate.  If Skor had fought back, he was strong enough to have proved a real problem.

He turned his gaze to the last member of their group.  Ram stood slightly apart from the rest of them, and the young assassin’s gaze moved openly towards the king’s tower before lowering to them. “I pledged my blood for justice.” Ram growled. “There is no justice to that king being left alive after what happened to the King of Dragons.”

“A life for a life?  Is that justice?” Rayla protested, and took a few more steps towards him.

“If you kill him, it just becomes a cycle,” The older prince argued, more firmly than she did, and Runaan’s interest in the boy grew. “The humans strike back again, and then so do you, and it never ends!  We have to stop this, and it starts with getting this egg back to where it belongs.”

Ram bared his fangs at them and looked at Runaan with a challenge in his eyes.

Runaan shook his head. “It’s too risky to start that fight.  If we are to recover the egg, we must leave.  Quickly.  His justice can come later.  But Ram, life and death are a cycle - but life must always come first.”

Ram glanced toward the egg again when Runaan gestured at it, and his clenched fists slowly eased.  He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “My blood for justice.” He said slowly, but he nodded when he opened his eyes again. “I am with you.”

“My heart for Xadia.” Rayla agreed, and looked to Runaan hopefully. “So we’re doin’ this?  All of us, together?”

“Yes.” His heart ached seeing how eager she was to have them all on her side, as if this were a game she were excited to play.  There was a new depth in her eyes now, though.  She knew what she had risked for this. “We will need to slip out undetected.  Andromeda, Skor, Ram, retreat the way you came in.  Callisto, find us an exit the children can traverse.  You, Rayla and I will guard the egg and the princes.”

“Oh, we can just go down through the halls and leave through the courtyard.” The older prince said. “All the guards are pretty focused on the tower right now.  There’s no one down there.”

No one?  At all?  He’d encountered no guards on his entry path, either.  Runaan frowned. “Has anyone seen guards outside of the tower?” He asked suspiciously.

“No.” Callisto was the only one who replied verbally, but all the assassins shook their heads.

Alarm bells rang in the back of his mind.  What angle was this?  Was this a trap to begin with?  Why wouldn’t the humans be trying to block every entry point? “Rayla, when did you enter the castle?”

“Oh, uh, I dunno?” Rayla answered, clearly caught off-guard by the question. “An hour or so before sundown, I think?  Maybe a little longer.”

“There was still sunlight and you saw no guards?”

“Yeah.  I thought that was a bit weird.”

Weird indeed. 

“I can, maybe clear this up.” The older prince - Runaan really needed to use his name - said. “The Crownguard are concentrating where they know you’ll hit the hardest.  They don’t think they can stop you from getting in, spreading out to cover the entrances will spread them too thin.  They’re just all blocking one location instead.”

It still didn’t feel right, and Runaan was inclined to distrust humans’ word on anything, but he had nothing else to go on. “Go.” He said shortly to the trio he had sent ahead. “But stay on high alert.  Do not engage.  Just leave.  Meet us at camp.”

They nodded, and split up.  Andromeda dropped back down into town, and Skor and Ram darted to other stretches of the wall.  Callisto looked to Runaan with a quirked brow. “We’ll likely not be able to slip through the halls unnoticed.  Especially not you.” They pointed out. 

“We’ll go down through the halls.  I’ll keep an eye on the humans.” Rayla volunteered. “We’ll meet ye in the courtyard below.”

Well, she struggled with orders, but she rarely failed at things she’d volunteered for.  Runaan nodded shortly. “We will meet you there.  Move quickly.” 

She nodded, and turned to usher the human children back inside.  Callisto gave him a look that Runaan firmly ignored as he turned to the castle walls again and aimed for the courtyard.  She would succeed in this.  While she had violated his trust, and his orders, she believed in this, and so he believed she would do it.  It had nothing to do with his soft heart, no matter what Skor or Callisto might think.

Fortunately, the other assassin remained silent as they followed on Runaan’s heels.  Whatever they thought of his agreement, they would not discuss it here.

[aitadjcrazytimes]

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Bruce has a 'if you can't beat them, join them' mentality about the tabloids claiming he adopts too many kids- Developing foster homes that are paid for through the Wayne inheritance, personally vetted by the Bats, they're the leaders in the space for child health outcomes and family placement. Insert Danny.

---

Bruce has too much wealth, too many rumors and not enough reach into the abhorrent foster homes around Gotham to improve them. Tim ends up being the one to suggest it- He's the one who buys up their real estate for their safe houses after all- and Bruce is more than ready to pull the metaphorical trigger to get new clean welcoming spaces, Bat-background checked fosters and a new era of adoption in Gotham underway.

He's lobbied the state and the federal government for reforms of course, but this is a project he can micromanage. He spends time with every kid that comes through, talks with all the families that want to adopt and makes sure that these miniature homes are provided only the very best. Alfred personally hires all the staff, and with Barbara more than happy to help relocate the unhoused children she spots while they patrol, the project is a glowing success.

Occasionally, spots in their houses fill up, and those are the weeks were Cass takes on the Cowl of Batman- Bruce Wayne will personally invite a child in need to his home. He always has one of his kids present (they rotate on a pre-determined schedule) and he does his best to try and get them to understand that they deserve the world, have all the potential that anyone else has and can achieve a bright future. That he will personally aid them in their ambitions.

PR goes crazy for it of course, but Bruce and all of his children know its genuine. Almost too genuine, because a betting pool 'WILL THEY BE ADOPTED' regularly circulates between the siblings and the entire JL when someone spends time at the manor. And not just the black-haired, Blue-eyed kids get picked as favored outcomes- but obviously the running joke gets passed around.

It's a Thursday night when Bruce gets the call that the houses have once again filled up, and that there is a child in need of a home. The social worker (he knows her as Marsha and he has flowers planned to be sent on her birthday next week, like he does for all of his employees) (Say micromanaged one more time) explains that the kid is a bit cagey but has opened up with some humor. She explains that he has a few strange... mannerisms. She's not sure what to make of him, a non-gothamite for sure but something is, well, distinctly 'not from around here' about his energy.

Danny arrives at the house, meets Duke and Alfred, and by the time Bruce meets him at the dinner table it seems as though Marsha had it all wrong. This kid was laughing, he was teasing, he was totally playing along like he'd gone through nothing. Bruce is glad he's in high spirits but its just so... so different from all the other children he's taken in.

Bruce re-focuses on the conversation when Duke mentions something flashing, and its the first time that Danny goes quiet. Entirely still.

"...you noticed that?" Danny quietly asks, a bit of disbelief in his tone.

"You don't have a flashlight on or something do you? It was super bright whatever it is that you had in your hand a second ago?" Duke tries to sound chill but he's looking very much not chill. Bruce saw nothing, and that puts him further on edge.

"Look... I uh, I've been though... I've been through a lot lately. And the last lab I was in kind of, messed with me. I'm normally much better at dealing with it all, I promise." Danny sounds nervous, and the room seems to chill.

"Ah shoot, sorry." Danny notices something and frantically apologizes.

"Sorry for what Danny? You've done nothing wrong but I am worried about you- You said you were in a lab?" Bruce is desperately trying to calm him down while not slipping into Batman interrogation mode.

"Uh, yeah, like a lot of labs. It should get warmer in a second, its just cause I startled, I promise."

"You're a meta." Duke speaks softly and with hope in his voice- Danny is looking between them with wide eyes filled with fear.

"I mean I don't technically have the gene-"

"Danny, have you told any of your case workers where you were? Do any authorities know what you've been through?" Bruce needs to know, desperately, that who ever gave this young boy super powers is brought to justice. Danny goes quiet.

"I'm really sorry." He says softly, but he doesn't leave them.

Duke and Bruce try to ask a few more questions but the silence that meets them declares the conversation over, even with Duke admitting he himself is a meta. Danny didn't even look up from his plate. They watch a movie after dinner, and Danny seems to get back to the smile-y happy guy he had been before dinner.

Each of the bat-fam have their own interactions with Danny- And even if they're getting along amazingly, Danny won't open up. He doesn't open up to his provided therapist. Doesn't talk to Alfred. No one knows what's up.

So when Marsha calls Bruce back explaining they now have a spot for Danny and he can move out of the Manor... Bruce replies that he'd like to get started on Adoption paperwork, so long as Danny is fine with it.

---

Turns out, Danny is fine with it. he's both the newest Wayne and their newest case. (And godamnit, his new family is going to avenge him. If only he'd let them try.)

Danny figures out that Duke= Signal early on because of that dinner, and if he's going to keep his parents out of jail, he needs to be as close to the investigation as possible. He knows that he shouldn't protect the Fentons, but he feels the upset in his core at the thought of letting them befall any harm. He has to protect them. Has to protect Jazz and her hiding spot as a mole within their lab. Has to.

Even if it meant lying to his new family who loves him, and who he loves in equal return. Even if it means lying to The Bats.

---

Tabloids go crazy about the black-haired blue-eyed thing of course, but no poll was ever taken by the batfam or the JL who know the whole story.

[starry-bi-sky]

mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.

now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.

He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.

(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)

The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.

The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.

And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.

(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)

The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.

anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)

[decarbry]

[mylovelookup]

Modern au

[specialgradefckr]

the masses have spoken!!! kitty hybrid au wins,,, by a pretty thin margin, too!

For the curious, these WiPs were:

Unnamed longfic WiP from my drafts (canon fix-it edition)

Nerd!Gojo/Bully!Reader series

Unnamed Bully!Gojo/Reader WiP from my draft

Kitty Hybrid AU (for which I have two different ideas lol)

Teacher!Reader/Student!Gojo (older woman/younger man)

Sukugo/Reader

Unnamed longfic WiP from my drafts (soulmate edition)

Gojo Twincest series

Fuckboy Gojo series (finale!)

Beat Your Heart to Death (part 3)

Heatwave

A promise made is a promise kept... I'm not sure I'll get it out this coming week, but I'll aim for next week! A Speg gave their word, so to the drafts I go~

[cabeswaterdrowned]

There’s more I could add but some of those things aren’t set in stone / could change and these I’m 100% committed to (I’m unsure of Who the lavender marriage drama happens between but there is definitely lavender marriage drama in the fic)

[blizzardfluffykpop]

alright~ a few updates about everything! so this weekend I'll be seeing changkyun in chicago- so I prolly won't be posting until after I'm alive again from that 😂😅 (I am vv excited about it- I just know I'll be vv tired when I return home). Anyways, I have a few fics in the works~ one of them that is a request 🤭 I'm vv excited to work on them! But I think I'm going to change my masterlist a bit when I come back. I'm going to retire a few groups from the main masterlist and I've been debating for the past year about it... But I think I'm going to add a yearly masterlist- So it would go from most recent to the beginning of this year~

I'm also thinking about changing my pfp- I haven't been really into stray kids for uh... years- But I will be sure to make an update about that if I go thru with that too- (It may be ji changmin next 🫣🤭)

Anyways those are my few updates 🥰💖

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

my greatest fear whenever i get a fixation on a new piece of media is that after roughly 1.5 years, without fail, i will lose interest in it and feel like a soulless shell of myself until i find something new to obsess over.

the good thing about me being obsessed about s class he/roine is that i went so overboard with it that i started writing fic and now i always have. checks notes. at least 2 giant WIPs at any given time. so whenever i've sucked all the taste out of canon, i just turn to one of my AUs instead while i let canon/my other WIPs fallow

[tennessoui]

ko-fi fic uploads

hey guys, I'm going to start putting some of my new tumblr prompt fills and writing warm-ups (ficlets of 4k-6k length) up on my ko-fi!!

Monthly supporters will be able to go into the gallery tab on my ko-fi and click on an uploaded image. The title will be which tumblr-based au the ficlet fits into and how many words it is. The description beneath the image will be a quick summary of the au and a link to the google doc containing the ficlet. The "root" au post, aka the post that started the au on my blog, will be linked as well on that google doc.

This will not affect my wips and progress on them in any way! I feel like that's very important to state - I write these sorts of ficlets all the time because it helps get me in the writing mindset for writing ao3 fics. I will just be spending a little extra effort on them to put them up on ko-fi.

I will NOT be posting any ficlets on my ko-fi that you need to read to understand a fic on ao3 - that's some disney monster conglomerate kind of shit. I will also still be posting shorter ficlets (1k-3k) on tumblr as I write them, especially if I'm answering a prompt someone sent me here. Again, I think it'd be a bit of dick move to not do that

I'll try to vary which ficlets go up on ko-fi and every time I upload one, I'll make a post about which au it is as well as a link to the page in case anyone wants to, idk, unsubscribe for a month because they hate the hopeless in coruscant au, and then refollow next month because they enjoy the playmaker au etc etc

I'm definitely still trying to figure out what I want this to look like and what feels fair or reasonable, so hopefully this isn't a huge mess on my end!

All this being said:

I've posted the first ficlet/fic on ko-fi: it's for the Senator Menace AU, an au that's basically "What if phantom menace but reversed? how fucked up would anakin get over the youngling his father master died to protect?"

the first au post is here // my ko-fi is here

[grasslandgirl]

THE THING THEY DONT TELL YOU WHEN YOU START A LONG FORM NARRATIVE PLOT-FOCUSED FIC FOR THE FIRST TIME AFTER ONLY WRITING RELATIONSHIP-CENTRIC GET TOGETHER FLUFF IS THAT YOU DO ACTUALLY. HAVE TO FIGURE OUT THE PLOT. AGONIES UPON AGONIES!!!!

[thepandalion]

I have a fic idea and I dont know if I want to write it or not send help