#this is something she's done to me with many different things

[daveth-isnt-dead]

Coalescence part 1/3

Summary:

She’s so nervous that her breath catches in her lungs and doesn’t come back out, from her side she can hear Viktor’s foot tapping a frantic rhythm against the tiles. Without even thinking it through, her hand finds his and grabs it tight. He doesn’t pull back, if anything he holds hers even tighter. The question rises once again, unbidden. What are we? AKA: She works with Viktor for seven years, she is in love with him for five of them.

Contains: she/her pronouns, supremely slow burn, me pretending to know what science is

Word Count: 7,722

Read on AO3

What are we? She wonders, sitting across the room from the two brilliant minds behind Hextech. Not friends, certainly; colleagues barely. Strangers, probably. She hadn't exactly been looking for assistant work, but after years of flitting between different fields of study but never finding anything that really stuck, an assistant position offered her the freedom to study whatever she pleased without the looming threat of expulsion should she continue skirting the requirement of choosing a major. Heimerdinger had a hand in this, of course. She’s noticed recently, he’s had a hand in a great many things. Didn’t want to forsake a bright mind over some simple indecision, he’d argued, and then tossed her headfirst into the very new Hextech lab without much of a warning. 

She mostly sits in the corner, brings coffee even though neither of them ever actually asks for it, and works on her own research well out of the way of whatever potential explosion brews on the other side of the room. They had a lengthy discussion the day she first joined, both of them up in arms as if Heimerdinger had just assigned her to keep an eye on them. He had, but she had very little interest in doing so and told them as much. 

“I keep to myself.” She’d said, “You’ll forget I’m even there.” Then, remembering that she was supposed to be an assistant, added, “Unless you need something, of course.”

They rarely ever need something, at least not something that they can’t already work out between the two of them. She feels a bit like a hanger-on, and an unwanted presence, but it’s better than expulsion. So she ignores the other side of the room as best she can and quietly flips through a textbook about whatever has her attention that month. Most recently it’s pottery, and she hopes that she might be able to sneak out of the room and try her hand at the wheel in the fine arts wing of the academy before it’s locked for the evening. 

She peers up from her textbook to look at the clock on the wall. It’s just an hour until then and from what she can hear behind her it seems they are still very much in the middle of something. They probably wouldn't even notice if she were to go missing. 

So she closes the cover on her book and tucks it under her arm, spinning around in her chair to announce that unless they need anything, she’s headed to another department for the end of the day, only to stop in place when she realises that Jayce is missing. “How long has he been gone?” She asks, more to herself than anyone else. 

Viktor, who’s hunched over a pile of notes on the other side of the room gives her a dismissive gesture over his shoulder and doesn't even bother turning around. “Only fifteen minutes, he’s getting dinner.”

“I could have done that.” 

He shrugs, “He thought you seemed busy.” and then, peering at her over his shoulder, “He also thought the walk might help clear his head.” She clutches tightly at the book under her arm, suddenly feeling a bit guilty about her plan to leave early, especially with the sun already setting and Viktor now alone in the room. She bristles, almost defensively, “He really should have asked me to do it, that’s the only thing I ever do around here.”

Viktor hums, “Indeed.” She wants to get angry at first, to snap at him. It wouldn't help any though, it’s not like the two of them really wanted an assistant. How infrequently they ever ask for her help is proof enough. They wanted her here as much as she wanted to be here: very little. Even still, they’re stuck together and letting Viktor have it over something that wasn’t his fault would only make things worse. So she bites her tongue. 

“What did he need to clear his head of?” She asks, trying to wrench something from him that might result in at least a shred of goodwill, “Are you having trouble?”

In the month or so that she’s been sequestered in the back corner of the lab, she hasn't overheard anything more than a minor setback, the occasional explosion. Though in her mind, an explosion is still at least a lesson in what not to do. Progress is progress. This is the first time she’s seen either of them truly stumped. 

“We’re at the edge of a breakthrough.” Viktor replies, “But we cannot seem to get over it.”

Decision made, she places her book back down on the desk and starts walking over to the other side of the room, “Hard spot to be in, are you just going through your notes?” He sighs, “For now, yes. Though it hasn’t helped any.” 

His desk is large enough that there’s space for her to lean up beside him. He looks tired when he peers up at her, though from what she’s seen of him, that’s pretty normal. Positioned where she is, she covers up most of the setting sun as it streams in through the window, all but for one perfect beam of it that slices down the right side of Viktor’s face, straight across his eye. Her head tilts, had they always been so golden?

“Do you want to talk through it? I’m a good listener, and saying it out loud is probably more helpful than just re-reading your notes for the hundredth time.” His brow creases, and he leans back a little further in the chair. The beam of light hits his hair now, making it shine almost orange, “Eh, I suppose it couldn’t hurt, at least until Jayce comes back.” he tilts his head in the direction of Jayce’s desk, “Go get his chair, he won’t mind.”

She does as he says, wheeling the chair over and parking herself beside Viktor, resting her elbows on the desk. He shoots her a look out the corner of his eye, and she quickly removes her elbows. “Sorry.”

“Be careful with the things on my desk, I’d prefer it didn't become more disorganised than it already is.”

“Duly noted.” She replies, instead resting her hands in her lap and rotating her chair to face him a little more directly, “Ready when you are.”

She doesn't understand all that much about his explanation, though there are little moments here and there that resonate with her, or that sound familiar enough that she can grasp the concept. Some parts she recognises from hearing the two of them talking about it behind her, but overall she’s just stunned at his retention and how quickly he elaborates on such complex topics. She leans forward in her chair, watching intently at his sharp gesticulation and the way his brow creases when he struggles to find the right word. She nods along even though she doesn't completely understand because the important thing is to get him thinking about it, whether she understands doesn't matter one bit. 

“-but we’ve already established that it cannot be done that way, so all of that work just needs to be thrown away and-” “Why not?” He stops mid-thought, eyes darting to hers, stunned to hear her speak after so long. He laughs, incredulous, “Why not ? We’ve already tried it and imploded.” She still doesn't quite understand the difference between imploding and exploding, but it's irrelevant, “Did you figure out why?”

“It was too hot. We couldn’t produce enough power inside of the casing without it imploding. We did try reducing the power and adjusting the-” He cuts himself off, suddenly turning back to the desk and resting his chin in his palm. His eyes dart across the various notes and blueprints sprawled there and then after a few agonising moments he lets out a breathless chuckle, “We never tried adjusting the casing for airflow.” She smiles, the feeling of it on her lips aching with an unfamiliar fondness, “There you go.” she stands from the chair and heads back over to her desk, “I suspect you’ll be busy until Jayce gets back, then. So I might head home.” a glance at the clock confirms that the fine art wing will be well closed by now, but she finds herself not minding all that much, “Enjoy your dinner.” At first, she thinks that he isn't going to answer, the room filled with the sound of a desperate pen scraping on paper, but just as she reaches the door, he whirls around in his chair and says, “Thank you, for permitting me to talk at you for almost an hour. It helped.” What are we now? She wonders. 

“I’m glad.” She says.

___

What are we? She can’t help but ask herself, giggling at Jayce’s face when his finger is met with a strong zap from a prototype that Viktor had just told him not to touch. 

She still sits on the other side of the room, still makes her way through a growing pile of assorted textbooks (philosophy, currently, operatic theory last month). But now it’s different. Now Jayce calls her name with an excited wave whenever they make a new development, and Viktor regularly uses her as a springboard when he can’t get his own thoughts straight. Her favorite thing though, is when she and Jayce sit cross-legged on the floor to eat lunch, unwilling to move any of the notes and prototypes strewn across the desks to create space for eating. Viktor is hard to pull from his desk, even at lunch, but with enough prodding from Jayce, he will at least spin his chair around to face the two of them while he eats instead of remaining hunched over his work. 

“Okay! Okay!” Jayce says, instinctively shaking his injured hand as if to dissipate the last of the electricity, “Don’t touch, I get it.”

Viktor huffs, but she can tell he doesn’t really mean it, “All this time and he still doesn’t know how to keep his hands to himself.” his head inclines in her direction, his expression of false irritation shattered by the crooked curl at the corner of his lips, “Can you believe this? Even after my warning.” Another laugh bubbles up and out of her, “Wouldn’t be the first time he’s touched something he shouldn't.” Jayce points an accusatory finger in her direction, “Hey! You know I didn’t realise that pastry was yours, you can’t keep holding this over my head.”

Viktor quips back with something that she doesn't quite hear, and she just laughs before spinning her chair back around and returning to her textbook. The three of them must be friends now, she thinks, peering over her shoulder to see that Jayce and Viktor have returned to working on the prototype. At the very least, they like her well enough to tell her what they are working on, even though that information is still strictly confidential outside of the lab. She has their coffee orders memorised, which must mean something. It's been over six months now and while she doesn't have much to offer scientifically, she likes knowing she's there to bounce ideas off when nothing seems to stick. She smiles to herself, flipping through her newest textbook, but retaining very little of it. The new prototype behind her is loud , it's the sort of sound she could easily tune out if it wasn't constantly stop-starting and fluctuating in pitch. 

From behind her, she hears a sudden panicked stream of consonants leave Viktor’s mouth and then the aching pitch of the prototype’s whirring begins to climb and climb until there’s a loud thunk when Jayce shuts off the power. Though her shoulders tense up beside her ears, she doesn’t feel the need to turn around, “Everyone alive back there?” 

Jayce lets out a breathless, nervous laugh, “Yep!”

She hears the rhythmic click of Viktor’s cane as he crosses the room and then after a moment he says, “Just having trouble getting the new prototype to resonate the way the older one did.” “Hah.” She replies, “Just be careful, another interval up and we will have lost our windows.” Silence for a moment, and then Viktor asks, “ Why? ” She spins around in her chair, the two of them are standing by the prototype, both blinking at her owlishly. Her brow furrows, “The sound.” she says, gesturing in the direction of the machine, “It’s hitting just an interval down from a high C. It’s the resonate frequency of glass, a loud enough noise matching the pitch will-”

“Yes!” Jayce exclaims, beaming wide, “The glass would begin to vibrate and then shatter.” Viktor hooks his cane over his arm and leans backward against the desk, “And this is good news, how?” She stands from her desk, buzzing with excitement, “Your resonance problem. Maybe it isn’t just about the power being produced by the crystal, maybe it’s also about the sound .”

His eyebrows jump, and then settle into a thoughtful crease as he cups his chin with his palm. “If organic magic is cast by humans, it wouldn’t be a far reach to assume that there is also a vocal component.” he hums, “If we could find a way to adjust pitch without reducing power then…” he smiles and his eyes meet hers, “You spend a good deal of time in the music wing, yes?”

She nods, “Tuning forks?”

Viktor’s smile grows wider, “Ah, like you’ve read my mind.”

She isn’t used to walking around the halls of the academy with another person beside her. Though she’s pretty comfortable with Viktor and Jayce inside of the lab these days, they rarely, if ever, spend any time together outside of it. She arrives later than they do in the mornings and leaves earlier than they do in the evenings. These days she also goes out for lunch on her own and brings the food back with her. So she keeps peering over at Viktor to make sure she is matching pace with him, clenching and unclenching her hands at her sides because she doesn’t know what she should be doing with them. 

“You study music, then?” Viktor asks after several minutes of walking in complete silence. 

She startles at his voice, not expecting to hear it, “On and off.” He hums, “You keep busy.” “I usually lose interest if I stay with one subject too long.” She admits, tucking her hands in the pockets of her slacks.

The silence returns, thicker than before. Viktor’s cane clicks on the tiles, the sound at least keeps her in tempo with him, so she doesn’t need to focus as hard on how quickly she’s walking. She takes a quick peek at him and sees that he’s just staring forward. The two of them are passing by a set of windows and his profile looks very sharp when backlit by the afternoon sun. It isn't often that she sees him outside the dim lighting of the lab. His eyes turn to meet hers and she quickly busies herself with picking the already cracked nail polish on one of her fingers. 

“Have we been of interest to you, then?” He says, the corner of his lips turning up in a smile, “Enough that you haven’t lost it?” She hadn’t really thought about it, for the most part, she still considered her time in the lab a requirement from higher-ups at the academy, but was that all it was anymore? She shrugs a shoulder, “For now.” she smirks, “Hard to lose my attention when you continually blow things up.” Viktor tuts, “There hasn’t been a single explosion this past month, besides, it’s all part of the scientific progress, yes?”

“If you say so, I’m not exactly an authority on the subject.” The two of them turn a corner and the angle of the sun changes, Viktor squints a little when the light hits his eyes, he sighs, “To think I was about to say that it’s nice to be out in the sun.” He lifts his free arm to cover his face from the light. 

She laughs, ducking her head to hide her smile, “It’s just upset with you for spurning its advances for so long.”

His brows settle in a scowl, but she can’t help smiling wider when she realises that it doesn’t reach his eyes which instead shine with a playful warmth, “Very funny.”

“I try to be.” She increases her pace a little, turning around to face him. Her backward steps slow at the sight of Viktor awash in the bright light of the afternoon sun, squinting his eyes to keep her in focus. Her continued smile is almost involuntary as she beckons him closer, “C’mon, just down the hall. If we’re quick we can get you some more sun exposure on the way back.”

The older version of the prototype hums on the bench before her, crystal spinning in a consistent whirl. It’s far less refined than their newer attempt, still assembled with whatever pieces they could find around the lab and the metal casing jitters and quakes a little under the strain. She still likes the older prototype better, all its rough edges and shaky frame, it’s a whole lot less commercial than that new chrome casing they’ve been working to perfect, but progress is progress, she supposes. As she lays three of the tuning forks out in front of her, Viktor and Jayce peer down at her expectantly and she isn’t used to feeling intimidated, so she doesn’t like it all that much. 

“I’m pretty good at picking notes by ear.” she begins, “But it’s more uh…mechanical sounding than I’m used to, zippy-” her brow creases, “or zappy? Maybe?” she gestures to the forks, “it’s somewhere within this range though.”

“Go on then!” Jayce says enthusiastically, “Give it a try!” She sucks a breath in through her teeth and grabs the fork that’s tuned to a G4, lightly tapping the prongs on the corner of the bench. The vibrations run up from her fingertips all the way to her elbow and the sound is inconsistent at first, until she raises the fork up vertically and holds her hand still. From behind her, she hears a sharp exhale of breath and then Viktor’s voice much closer than she was expecting. 

“Got it in one.” He says, and she peers over her shoulder to find that he’s leaned in closer to observe. He smiles, “You do have a good ear.”

He’s right, the sound emanating from the fork matches the ethereal pitch coming from the Hextech prototype so exactly that the two sounds begin to merge. She can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips, “Well, I guess the two of you need to figure out how to get your new prototype to hit a G4.” She spins her chair around and passes the tuning fork to Viktor, the sound comes to an abrupt stop when the prongs make contact with his palm, “My work here is done, I’ll be at my desk if you need me.”

She has the weekend off, and the day she comes back Jayce immediately grabs her hand and tugs her over to the other side of the lab with such enthusiasm that she almost topples over. She doesn't even have time to put down her bag. He beams from ear to ear as he positions her in front of the bench the prototype has taken up full-time residence on. Viktor is sitting at the bench, finishing up some last-minute wire connections when she arrives. He spins his chair to face her, and removes his goggles (leaving red rings around his eyes that she resists the urge to tease him about later) before rolling himself out of the way.

“Watch!” Jayce says enthusiastically, stepping towards the device and turning it on. As before, the crystal begins to spin, faster and faster, the casing whining under the pressure as the power builds but fails to resonate. Then from the other end of the desk, Viktor picks up a small remote connected by a set of wires and as he adjusts the knobs, the sound that the crystal creates adjusts in pitch, warbling and quivering until it settles confidently on a perfect clear G4. 

A laugh escapes her, unbidden and she oddly feels like she might start crying. Jayce grabs both her hands and exclaims, “We did it!” “You did it!” She returns excitedly.

“ We did it.” Viktor corrects, and she suddenly realises that we now includes her. 

Friends. She confirms to herself, standing up on her toes so she can wrap her arms around Jayce, she gazes at Viktor from over his shoulder and is pleased to find his eyes look especially warm when he smiles. Friends, she reiterates. 

___

The next six months pass quickly. With the resonance problem fixed, the rest of the research and prototype building seemed to come easily, with only a few notable explosions. Most of the work was still theoretical and Viktor spent hours glowering at the blackboard while Jayce put things together and then pulled them apart. Lots of the original prototypes were cannibalised for parts and she hates to see them go. Jayce was a good sport when the first prototype they ever made had to be put in storage to clear up space, laughing with her as they wrote a terrible farewell poem for it. Viktor did rest a comforting hand on her shoulder as she acted out an exaggerated goodbye to the project because even though the faux waterworks were in jest, it was as if he could somehow tell that her insides ached at the ever-persistent march of change. 

Much of the stress in the lab was around the looming threat of presenting their ideas to the council for more funding, diagrams needed to be drawn and chicken scratch notes needed to be copied into a much more legible format. That was her job for a while, hunching over her desk and transcribing notes, yelling at Jayce over her shoulder for his miserable handwriting and calling Viktor over for translations on what she started affectionately calling ‘Viktor-isms’ 

“You can’t keep giving new concepts names without explaining what they relate to.”

He scoffed, “I think it’s fairly obvious what an AOE Expansion Stabalisor is.”

She looked at him over her shoulder, incredulous, “Will it be obvious to Councilor Hoskel?”

Viktor cringed, “Ehh…allow me to draw up a diagram.”

Her best asset these days is her ability to boil down complicated concepts to their most simple forms. To essentially translate the inner workings of geniuses to something comprehensible by the layman. She has a large bound book that she is compiling all of the most essential notes into and a presentation that she is helping Jayce to draft. 

“Oh, I’ll help you write it, but I’m not speaking.” Jayce huffed, “But Viktor says he doesn’t want to speak either! It’ll just be me up there.” She laughed and gently punched him in the shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll knock ‘em dead, big guy.”

They aren’t just friends anymore. They’re something else. Something closer to family. She spends more time in the lab than she used to, abandoning her textbooks to instead work on the presentation, to sit and listen as Viktor goes on one of his hour-long rambles that slowly starts to become more comprehensible the more she listens to them. She likes listening to them. The smiles on their faces when she first decided to come in on a weekend even though she didn’t have to are still burned into her brain. Jayce’s smile was as bright as it always is, while Viktor’s was subtler, quieter; but to her, it was utterly incandescent and she couldn’t shake it from the corners of her mind for the next few hours. 

“Miss?” A voice says, ripping her from her musings and back into the present.

She blinks a few times, remembering where she is and then replies, “Sorry, Professor Heimerdinger, what did you ask?”

“No worries at all, dear girl.” He says, adjusting himself in his seat, “It’s been over a year now since I first asked you to work in the Hextech lab and I just wanted to make sure the three of you were getting along.”

“We are.” She replies sincerely, “Very well.” Viktor falls asleep in the lab sometimes. One winter afternoon she found him asleep at his desk and couldn’t bear to wake him up, so quickly and quietly, she left the lab and hurried across campus to her dorm room to grab one of her spare blankets. He hadn’t stirred while she was gone, so she took the time to tuck it around his shoulders before returning to her desk. Jayce cames in an hour later and she gestured furiously to Viktor’s sleeping form before he could let out one of his usual, very loud greetings. Holding a finger to his lips, Jayce nodded and they both silently returned to work. The blanket lives in the lab now. 

“That’s good, very good,” Heimerdinger says with a nod. His white eyebrows curve in a sympathetic arch and he leans forward in his chair, “I know that it was a shock to find that your patron had withdrawn their support last year, and while this likely wasn’t what you wanted I hope that it was of some value to you.” He laughs, “Though I do also think those boys need someone keeping an eye on them.”

She laughs, “Even now? They’re making steady progress, I’m not certain they need much monitoring.” “I know from experience that a scientist can so easily become trapped in a box of his own making, but with all your studying and your knowledge across such a wide breadth of subjects, I’m not sure those boys could keep you in a box if they tried.” He smiles softly, “They need that, or they won’t get anywhere.”

“Oh… thank you.” She mutters, pretending to be very interested in whatever is going on outside the window to avoid having to reconcile what sounded like a very genuine compliment. 

“You don’t have to stay in the lab with them if you no longer want to.” Heimerdinger says quietly, “I’m essentially your patron now and I can easily assign you to another department if-” “No!” She says sharply, then shakes her head, “Sorry, that was rude. Um, I mean, no thank you. I’m happy where I am.” Heimerdinger chuckles to himself, “Well then, are you majoring in the sciences after all?” She snorts, “ No , I don’t have the brains for it.”

Two weeks ago she caught a miscalculation in Jayce’s notes, prevented the destruction of yet another prototype. It was just pattern recognition though, she’d become so familiar with the strings of numbers and formulas in their notes that the anomaly practically screamed out to her in bleeding red writing. She was better at understanding what they spoke about now, and able to help with wiring when either of them needed extra hands, but that’s just retention, muscle memory.

Despite her depreciation, Heimerdinger smiles knowingly, “That, I find hard to believe.”

Just a week later she sits next to Viktor in the council room, eyes darting across the expressions of the council members trying to gauge any sort of reaction. She knew they had Councillor Medarda’s vote at the very least, but she’d never even been in the council room before now and had absolutely no way of knowing what direction each of them swayed. 

He must see the look on her face, because, in hushed tones, Viktor starts giving her the limited information he has, “Hoskel will vote the same direction as Medarda” he begins, leaning close to her ear,  “Kiramman has a soft spot for Jayce, Heimerdinger has hopefully swung in our direction but other than that, I have no idea.”

She swallows and turns to look at him, “No, thank you, that helps.” she heaves an uneasy breath in her throat, “I don’t like it in here.” Viktor chuckles, “Me either, but look at Jayce go, there’s a reason he’s the face of this operation.”

It’s true, he’s a natural. While she sits completely tense in the shadows, he gesticulates just enough and speaks at just the right volume. She spent so long helping him to perfect the script for the presentation that she can practically follow it along with him. 

Then it comes time for him to show the new prototype, the final version, the one that sings a perfect G4 and resides in a casing that doesn’t rattle or whine even when the gemstone is generating full power. She’s so nervous that her breath catches in her lungs and doesn’t come back out, from her side she can hear Viktor’s foot tapping a frantic rhythm against the tiles. Without even thinking it through, her hand finds his and grabs it tight. He doesn’t pull back, if anything he holds hers even tighter and they both hold their breath as Jayce activates the prototype. 

A clear and beautiful G4 fills the room, an angelic hum that sounds like magic in and of itself. When all the tensed muscles in her body release, it takes all her willpower not to burst into tears or laughter of utter relief and when she turns to Viktor he looks exactly the way she feels; exhilarated, soft and warm after months of anxiety just melted from him. He smiles and oh god. 

The question becomes more singular, we now refers to two people instead of three and oh god , what are we?

___

What are we? She wonders one year later, frozen in the doorway of her childhood bedroom, holding her breath as if it will prevent him from noticing she’s there. Viktor stands beside her single bed, weight resting on his cane as he leans forward to peek at the old doodles she pinned to the corkboard years ago. He’s smiling. 

Bringing both Jayce and Viktor to her father’s house had not been on the docket earlier in the day, but sometimes fate has its own ideas. The next and hopefully last presentation to the council is coming up tomorrow morning and they have spent the last few months working on a 1:250 scale recreation of the final idea. It took a long time, but it’s finally gotten to the point that they can reliably transport a medium-sized object from one side of the room to the other and if they push the power, they can even manage to move something halfway across campus. 

It was her idea to provide a more accurate visual aid, that if they were planning to push the project as a vessel for trade routes, the council would likely grasp the idea better if the object they were transporting actually looked like a dirigible, instead of the old metal crate they had been using during tests. While Jayce agreed with the idea, it had come pretty late during preparation and he was worried that there wouldn’t been time to get it finished while they also worked together on drafting the presentation. It was Viktor who insisted on building it. 

“I used to assemble these sorts of contraptions for fun .” He’d said, already arranging a collection of metal pieces on his workbench, “Besides, I’m going to be far more useful working on this than I am working on your script.” He peered at her from over his shoulder, “I don’t share your gift for linguistics.” 

So while she and Jayce poured over notes and collected the most legible blueprints they had available, Viktor tinkered at his desk, welding and folding metal. It didn’t take him long at all to finish it, two whole days in the lab with very brief breaks for meals when she or Jayce forced him to eat something and a trip or two to the textile department for the fabric components. She had a great deal of fun inflating the miniature airship and shooting it back and forth through the miniature Hexgate, but the night before the presentation they were overcome with concern at just how long it took for the dirigible to appear on the other side of the room. 

Viktor huffed and pushed his hair out of his face as he stared at it, “It should only take a second for it to make the journey, but now it’s taking four .” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “It must be something to do with the shape? Previously we were using a square object, far less complex.”

So he and Jayce set to adjusting the prototype while she made a few last-minute changes to Jayce’s speech. The problem came when they tested the Hexgate one last time, they had overcorrected and the dirigible emerged on the other side of the room at a greater forward velocity than they had been expecting and collided directly with a pile of discarded scrap metal. Her head shot up from her desk just in time to watch as it started falling to the ground, kicking her chair out from behind her and diving for the airship, letting out a grunt as the heavy object landed in her arms. 

Luckily she had been quick enough on her feet to prevent any structural damage, but the collision had torn a hole in the fabric and unless they managed to get that fixed before the sun came up, it wasn’t going to fly during the presentation. 

“It’s okay!” She said quickly, the moment she caught the look of quiet horror on the inventors’ faces, “The textile wing will be closed, but I have a sewing machine.” “In your dorm?” Jayce asked, expression quickly losing the air of misery it had just a moment ago. 

She grimaced, “No. not in my dorm and you’ll both have to come, I can’t carry this thing on my own and I probably need to disconnect the fabric so I can put it through the machine.”

Presently, her hand grips tightly to the open doorway, still holding her breath as she watches Viktor rest his cane against the bedside table and take a seat on her childhood bed, leaning down quickly to rub at the muscles in his bad leg. When his eyes dart up and he sees her, he freezes, “Oh, hello.” he clears his throat, “I got lost.” She snorts, “How could you get lost in a two-bedroom house?” she leans against the doorframe, unable to stop her smile, “You’re a terrible liar.” “I wasn’t lying.” “If you say so.” She replies, looking down at her toes just to avoid the broiling gold of his eyes, “I’ve got the machine set up on the kitchen table, so if you’re done snooping -” “I wasn’t snooping .” He interrupts. 

She crosses her arms, finding that she likes the incredulous expression he’s making, almost as much as she likes seeing the sharp lines of him juxtaposed with her soft floral bedsheets, “Then what were you doing?”

He sits up straight, loosely gesturing to her corkboard, “Admiring your work.” His expression settles into a soft smile, “Were you looking to study textiles when you joined the academy?” It’s been a long time since she’s been in this room. She visits when she gets the chance, but always heads back to her dorm instead of staying the night. The corkboard is covered with old clothing designs, swatches of fabric, and a button here and there. She shakes her head, “No, not really. It’s uh, it’s the family business. I haven’t thought about it all that much since taking up studying.”

“You said that your father wouldn't be here.” She nods, “He’s at the workshop, tomorrow is the busiest day of the week. He usually stays there the night before so he can get a head start in the morning.” a sigh escapes her, “My mother used to force him to come home every night, but, well…” Viktor doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. 

“My patron was one of my father’s customers. He offered to do his alterations free so long as he took care of my patronage at the academy.” She chews on her lower lip, not really sure why she is telling him all of this, “I think he expected to make some money from me, that I was some sort of genius, but I was indecisive and refused to major in anything, so he withdrew support.” Viktor laughs, “Bad luck for him then.” he says, wincing a little as he pulls himself back up from the bed, “You’re one-third of Hextech now.” She hums aloud as he crosses the room, shifting in the doorway to give him space to slip past. “Yeah,” she replies and the hand not on his cane rests briefly on her upper arm as he passes, lingering maybe a little longer than it needed to, “I guess I am.”

Her body goes slack against the doorframe, her chest expanding with a warm sigh as she watches him turn the corner to the kitchen, clearly not lost. Their relationship hasn’t changed all that much in the past year, they joke around a lot more and physical contact is more common, though it’s little more than a hand on a shoulder or the usual tight handholding at any and all presentations they give to the council. They’re friends, she reasons and whatever in her heart is telling her that it’s something else is just causing problems, an unnecessary ache. She sighs again, peering into her bedroom and imagining him still sitting there, smiling at her. It’s only when Jayce calls her name that she manages to recollect herself, calling out a quick, “I’m coming!” before they start wondering why she’s lagging behind.

___

Has something changed? She wonders. Even with the tall ceilings and open windows, the ballroom she’s trapped in feels suffocating. She sucks a shaky breath in through her teeth and continues clutching the stem of a champagne glass she’s been holding for over an hour now without actually drinking it. Jayce is planning to give an address shortly, about the success of the recently completed Hexgates, but he rightly refuses to start until Viktor arrives and it’s been long enough that she’s starting to worry he may have decided not to come altogether. 

The last two and a half years were the most difficult for the three of them. A project of such an enormous scale takes up a lot of time and a great deal more hands than the team alone could provide. Viktor quickly learned that he hated working with other people, and most nights at the lab were spent making changes to blueprints, running tests and complaining about the construction team. 

“I swear-” Viktor began one day, furiously scribbling notes on a blueprint, “-I wouldn’t be surprised to find that one of those people ate all of our crystals just because I didn’t specially label them inedible .” She’d laughed, sitting at the desk next to him and updating the construction resources with less technical language, “Be nice. If I hadn’t been eavesdropping on you for three years I probably wouldn’t know what any of this stuff means either.” Viktor sighed, “You’ve done much more than eavesdrop .” his pen stilled for a moment and his golden eyes met hers, “I can be nice, I promise.” Without thinking, she’d let her head drop to rest on his shoulder, “I know you can.” He made no move to shift her off of him, even though the weight of her head was surely going to affect the use of his dominant hand. After a lapse of comfortable silence, he let out a chuckle and inclined his head in her direction, “That cannot be comfortable.” “It’s not.” She admitted, “Your shoulder’s pointy.” “and yet you are not moving.” “That’s right.” 

“Suit yourself.” He replied, his voice barely a whisper. Before quietly returning to his writing.

Jayce grabs her attention from across the room, gesticulating wildly. She knows him well enough to immediately recognise that he is asking if she has any idea where Viktor is. All she can respond with is a concerned shrug before pointing to the nearest door, implying that she will go look for him. Jayce smiles in thanks and then returns to the gaggle of investors surrounding him. The champagne finally gets drunk, it probably would have been nicer an hour ago when it was still cold, but she needs two hands to maneuver her dress. The glass clinks when she leaves it on the nearest flat surface and starts heading to the doors, half considering never coming back, whether she finds Viktor or not. 

Not that she ever makes it through the door, because she almost bumps headlong into him as he makes his way inside. 

“Viktor!” She exclaims, half shocked and half relieved to see him. 

His mouth twitches up in a smile, “Sorry I’m late, outfit problems.” Her eyes dart down involuntarily. His suit is mossy green and the colour brings out the gold in his eyes. He looks good and she is about to say so when she notices the rudimentary steel and leather brace on his leg. Her chest cavity fills with the ice-cold chill of dread and Viktor must see it on her face because he quickly supplies an explanation. 

“Never many chairs at these things.” he says, gesturing to the brace, “A precautionary measure.”

She wants to believe him, wants so badly to believe him. The calculations all match up in her head though, him an hour late, the brace clearly made and not purchased. Four and a half years is a long time to watch someone, especially when watching as intently as she has been for at least the last two. He places more weight on his cane than he used to, and struggles to do anything that involves both hands while standing up. Even from across the lab, she can hear the way he hisses each time he has to rise from his chair and when the setting sun streams in through the window the same way it did that first month in the lab, the shadows settle deep in the hollow of his cheeks. 

“Good idea.” She forces herself to say, ignoring all of the evidence because any other explanation would be preferable. Instead, she returns to what she had intended to say from the beginning, a truth far less daunting, “You look very nice, by the way. Can’t even tell you had outfit problems.” He laughs, though it sounds a little too much like a wheeze, “You’re too kind. Anyway, let’s go find Jayce before he starts worrying.” They’ve already missed the boat on that one, Jayce is in the midst of a nervous sweat when they make their way over. His eyes also dart down to the brace on Viktor’s leg, but she watches in real-time as he dismisses the thought, gives the both of them a quick hug and shakes the nerves off before his address. 

“I’m surprised you survived so long without me,” Viktor says cheekily as Jayce heads over to grab Councillor Medarda’s attention. 

“So am I.” She replies, peering up at him with a smile, “You know I hate these big events.” Viktor returns her smile and his face melts into such a warmth that all the signs of deterioration seem imaginary for just a moment. Somewhere across the room, Councillor Medarda clinks her glass to grab the attention of the room, but right before Jayce begins his address, Viktor leans down to her ear and whispers, “You look very nice too, sorry I didn’t say so earlier.”

The feeling of those words resonates so warmly in her chest that she can’t resist holding onto them and just as Jayce steps forward, just as the usual nerves begin to set in, Viktor’s hand reaches out and grabs hers tight. The way it always does. She smiles softly to herself and rubs her thumb across the protrusion of his knuckles in thanks. Maybe nothing has changed, not really, she might just be imagining it. Even if the bones in his fingers feel more pronounced. 

Applause fills the room when Jayce finishes, at one point he even has the good grace to point out where she and Viktor are standing in the crowd, which she hates , but knows she should appreciate. He’s his usual ball of sunshine self when he comes over, beaming wide and wrapping his arms around the two of them. 

“That went great !” He exclaims, hands still shaking with the usual adrenaline associated with speech giving, “I can’t believe that we’re closing the chapter on Hexgates, whoo!” Viktor chuckles and pats Jayce on the arm, “It’s still early days yet, lots of time for things to go wrong and lots of modification on the horizon.” “I know, I know . It still feels good though, doesn’t it? To have finished something?”

She laughs, “This is probably the first thing I’ve ever finished in my life, so thank you.” her eyes drift to Viktor and then quickly back to Jayce, “Both of you.”

“To finishing things!” Jayce exclaims suddenly, and follows up with, “Wait, we need drinks, one second!” “A veritable font of energy as always,” Viktor says a few seconds after Jayce disappears.

“Pretty sure he’s already had a few drinks.” Viktor looks at her cheekily, “For the nerves, I’m sure.”

“Oh yeah, definitely just for the nerves.” She replies, watching as Jayce gets caught by another throng of investors on his way over to the bar. She sighs, “Poor guy, I’m glad I don't have his charisma.” Viktor hums aloud, “Do you think he’ll know to check the balcony when he comes back?”

“It’s only the place we always frequent at these events.” His eyes light up, “That’s a yes, then?”

“Always will be.” She replies, trying not to get lost in the way his eyes crinkle in the corners. She clears her throat, “Let’s hurry, it’s too hot in here.”

It’s like a shock of electricity when his free hand presses against the small of her back and when she peers up at him to find he is already looking down at her, the question rises once again, unbidden. What are we?

[dedalvs]

Lexember (December 30th)

This is a truly startling and heartbreaking coincidence. The High Valyrian word for "cat" is kēli—with a long ē—named after my cat, Keli. I often create pairs of words to illustrate the difference between long and short in languages that distinguish vowel length phonemically. Back when I created the word for "cat" in High Valyrian, which would have been 2012, I decided to create another word using the Keli's name (which, by the way, her name is a word in Kamakawi—keli "tail"). Since it seemed unlikely the word for "cat" would ever show up in High Valyrian in Game of Thrones, I decided to use the short vowel version of her name for keligon "to stop". This word, in its plural imperative form, is part of Daenerys's famous speech in episode 304. Every time I hear it, I think of her.

I created all these images and scheduled them to go up back in November. I've got a list of which word is going to up when, and this is the word that happened to be scheduled for December 30th.

Late last night, we had to put my cat Keli to sleep. She had a blockage in her colon that we had been attempting to treat for a few weeks now—with some success. For a bit it looked like things were getting better. She started to lose weight, though, so we took her where she got a couple more medications. They didn't work, and especially over the last 48 hours, she seemed to get worse and worse. Yesterday she stopped eating entirely. On the 28th I spent the night with her, and then, outside taking a shower, I spent all day with her. I laid with her on the couch, and carried her to get water and use the litter box when she wanted it, because she was having trouble walking.

We got Keli after losing another cat, Okeo, who was very young (3 months) to congenital kidney failure. I was devastated. I felt like I had done something wrong. I wanted to prove to myself that I could take care of another cat, so after a few months, I went back to our local Banfield on adoption day, and in addition to many cute kittens, there was one cat who was much older (over a year) who had been brought out from the area with all the cages so everyone would see her first. She was clawing at the cage she was in and meowing an awful meow. She seemed so afraid. I asked about her, and the staff said she'd been there a long time. No one would adopt her, partly because she was all black, and partly because there were younger kittens there. I put my fingers in the cage to touch her paw, and that calmed her down. I called my wife then Erin to come bring the cat carrier, and we took her home. That was how Keli came to us in 2010.

I named her Keli because of her unusually long and vivacious tail. She loved thwapping it against things that were hollow so she could hear the percussive sound of it. She really liked it. We also did this thing where I would run my fingers down her tail and then hold it for a little bit. She'd tried to move it, but I'd hold it still, and then I'd let it go. After that, she'd thwap me with her tail, as a little punishment. It was a game we played. The last time we did it was yesterday.

Keli was my cuddle cat. She'd sleep with me, climb up on my lap, curl up next to me on the couch, and especially loved sitting between my legs. I'd pet her and she'd purr and purr and purr.

When it was timed, they asked if we wanted to be present. I said I wanted to hold her. She was so frightened and unhappy in that cage in 2010. I never wanted anyone to take her away from me. And so I held her in my arms and whispered to her until she was gone. And then I held her some more.

Keli was one of my very, very best friends. She's one of the best parts of my entire life, and I will miss her forever.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

stitches. l Joel Miller

before Jackson

Summary: the moment Joel thought he might lose you

Warnings:  angst, blood, weapons, Ellie is in on it, tears, rough night for Joel, some swearing

A/N: this is before they appear in Jackson. the idea for this chapter was given by the wonderful @underneath-the-sky-again . thank you so much! i hope you like it, sweetie. ❤️

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

"Take Ellie and try to get out of here."

You looked at him with fear but also determination in your eyes. He had expected the words that left your lips "I won't leave you, Joel."

"But you have to, if you want Ellie to be safe." You nodded "I'll find you. We'll meet outside the city. Remember that red brick building? We'll meet there."

You didn't ask any more questions, just grabbed Ellie by the arm and led her out the back door. Once again, for a moment, you turned to look at Joel.

"Go. Now."

He should have been less harsh. He should have done a lot of things, and he definitely shouldn't have led you there. The road through the city was definitely shorter, and you could find the supplies you needed for the rest of the journey. 

You were all tired, and Ellie was grumpy. She was tired of sleeping under the stars, and when you got soaked one night, she was even grumpier than Joel.

"Something warm, a piece of dry floor. That's the basics!" she said and finally Joel gave in.

These people were probably thinking the same thing. They knew someone was in the building, but they didn't know how many people were there or whether they were armed, that was to your advantage.

Joel reloaded his gun. Maybe you could get out without being noticed? But he had to distract these people, let them think you left the city a different way. His thoughts ran to you and Ellie once more, he knew you'd be fine.

The moment he entered the red brick building on the outskirts of town he knew something was wrong. It was already dark when he entered and secured the door.

"Ellie?" he called out in a muffled voice "Ellie!"

He almost had a heart attack when the girl appeared at the end of the corridor with a flashlight in her hands. Her eyes were wide, she was shaking.

"Are you okay?" he asked, quickly approaching her "W-What is it? Blood?"

Ellie's hands were covered in blood, some of it smeared on her cheek. She was pale as a sheet. Your name barely escaped her lips, and Joel felt as if his legs were giving out under him.

"That guy appeared out of nowhere!" the girl gasped, "She's bleeding terribly."

Joel rushed into the room after her. He knew one thing, he would never forget this sight. You were lying on the floor. Ellie had somehow managed to take off your jacket, but your shirt was soaked in blood on one side. The old towel that Ellie used as a dressing was already covered in blood.

"Fuck!" Joel hissed, falling to the floor next to you. "What happened?"

"There was a guy..." you replied quietly, you were breathing as if you were fighting for every breath, your eyelids seemed so weak. "A few streets away..."

"And you made it all the way here? In this condition?!"

"What was I supposed to do?!" Ellie groaned, sitting on her heels on the other side of you. "She didn't say anything. It wasn't until we left the city..."

Joel's hands easily removed yours, he lifted the towel and uncovered your side. The red mark from the knife ran almost from your hip to your bra. The wound was bleeding badly, although not as intensely since you moved less and pressed the towel that Ellie gave you.

"She'll be fine, right?" the girl's quiet voice focused Joel's scattered thoughts. "Hey! I'm asking you something!"

He nodded. That was all he could do, because he was afraid his lips would betray him. They would betray his fear, worries and uncertainty about you. It looked like you had lost a lot of blood. How much? He wasn't sure.

Focus! Focus!

"There's water in my backpack. Give it to me!" he ordered.

Ellie quickly rushed towards the backpack and after a moment pressed a bottle into his hand. He poured it over your side to clean it a bit.

"Joel? Joel..." you sighed.

"I know, give me a moment." he mumbled, but your hand lightly grabbed his. "My backpack... Ellie knows."

He looked at you, confused, and then at the girl. She didn't wait. She ran to your backpack lying against the wall and started looking through it, finally pulling out something that looked like a makeshift first aid kit. She threw it towards Joel.

A small bottle of alcohol, some bandages, antibiotics that had long since passed their expiration date. It looked bad, but it was all he had.

"I'd have to stitch the wound up." He said more to you than as if he was planning on actually doing it.

You nodded. Your eyes were closed, your breathing shallow. Despite everything, when he poured the alcohol on your side, you hissed loudly in pain.

"Fuck! I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry..."

"It hurts her." Ellie groaned, her voice shaking as she sat down next to Joel.

"I know, but it'll hurt more."

Ellie's small hands pressed a spool of thread and a needle into his palm. Without a word, she walked to where your head was, took your hands, and squeezed them tightly. She knew what had to be done, and so did you. She laced her small fingers with yours and nodded at Joel.

He couldn't remember the last time he was so scared.

Joel opened his eyes and lifted his head. He shouldn't have fallen asleep. He couldn't.

It was starting to dawn. Ellie was curled up next to you, her bloody fingers still tangled with yours. She had spent the whole night watching over you and it was only a few hours ago that he had finally managed to convince her to go to sleep. The night watch belonged to him.

After you had passed out while he was stitching your body, you hadn't opened your eyes yet. Joel knew that this night would haunt him for a very long time. 

Ellie's pale face, her tears running down her cheeks, your blood on his and her hands. He only hoped that he had done everything right. He couldn't lose you, not now, not ever.

Ellie stirred and rubbed her eyelids.

"She's not awake yet?"

Joel shook his head. "You should still be asleep, kiddo." he muttered.

She sat up and rubbed her face with her hand. Her eyes were puffy with tears.

"Do you think she'll wake up?" she asked.

God, she has to!

"If she doesn't wake up on her own, your talking will do the trick" he said, relieved to see the shadow of a smile on Ellie's lips. "You were brave, you know. If it wasn't for you..."

"You sewed her up like a rag doll." she said. "I wouldn't know what to do."

"You would know. You knew she had a first aid kit with her. Good job."

"Yeah, she showed it to me a while ago. She said it was just in case." Ellie stood up and stretched. "I need to find the bathroom. Will you watch her?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled and quietly left the room. Joel leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. His whole body ached. Warm coffee would be something he would give a lot for.

A thought flashed through his mind - how long will you have to stay here? Is this place even safe enough for another night? What if he did something wrong?

"J-Joel..."

It was quieter than a whisper, but he still heard it. He opened his eyes and saw you looking at him, your eyelids still heavy, but you fought them.

"Hi, darling." he greeted and stood up to crouch next to you. "How are you feeling?"

"Ughh...horrible..." you sighed.

His hand touched your cheek and forehead. You saw the worry written on his face combined with the sleepless night.

"You had a small fever last night. I gave you antibiotics."

"Shit..." you groaned. "You wasted it on me?"

"Best decision ever."

You wanted to smile, but the muscles in your face were strangely numb. Meanwhile, Joel lifted the jacket you were wearing and glanced at your side. The wound was still red, but it wasn't anything to worry about. The most important thing was that you weren't bleeding. And you were conscious.

"Where's Ellie?" you asked.

"She's looking for the bathroom. She sat with you all night." He looked at you with sympathy and worry. "How did you manage to get here? When I showed up, you looked terrible."

"Yeah... That guy, I wasn't expecting him. I didn't want to shoot... That would draw attention."

He nodded. Damn, he knew you were strong and resilient, but he was still full of worries about you. 

Your presence was soothing to him, and the relationship you had with Ellie... The girl would break down if something happened to you. So did he, although he didn't want to admit it. 

You, on the other hand, twitched strangely, making a movement as if you wanted to get up.

"What the hell are you doing?" Joel covered you with his jacket again "You're staying like this."

"We can't stay here. These people..."

"We'll stay another night, or as long as we have to." he declared. "You won't be able to move around yet."

Footsteps in the hallway distracted you, because you clearly wanted to argue with him. Ellie's face lit up when she saw you and a moment later she was sitting next to you.

"Fuck! You scared us so much." she said. "Joel almost had a heart attack!"

The man threw her a look and shook his head. He listened to her babble as she told you in detail about the night, about everything that had happened. He smiled the moment he felt your fingers clumsily find his and squeeze them lightly.

A quiet "Thank you," that he appreciated more than anything. You were alive. Still. Soon you would move on. Slowly, but still, the three of you.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi

[transsexula]

I think you missed my point! I'm not trying to say that transmisogyny is strictly directed at trans women. Though I can see how my wording makes it seem I'm trying to say that.

It's just two different words for two different types of experiences with transphobia. Misandry isn't the point of transandrophobia- though I've heard a few convincing arguments that there are *situational* issues with trans men having to deal with actual literal terfs. But that's not so much the issue that gets talked about with this.

Like- my core experience as a trans man, is being denied masculinity, and being treated like shit for BEING a man. Yeah, some of this can be connected to misogyny- but there's something very very different about growing up in extremely right wing environments. Not being allowed to cut your hair short, not being allowed to dress masculine, having horrible things done to me specifically because I am presenting as a man- something that I am not supposed to have access to.

I used the "two sides of the same coin" because it feels like it fits for this discussion. This isn't a mirror of transmisogyny- its intrinsically tied to it in some really awful ways! Both with the transphobia element- and the misogyny element.

Two sides of a spectrum of experiences with transphobia.

Actually- I'm trying to recall the username of the person I spoke to about this, hopefully she sees and can add on- she spoke about how being a butch trans lesbian has given her experience with both transmisogyny and transandrophobia- because presenting as a butch woman brought on hatred both for being a woman, AND presenting in a masc nature within her womanhood.

The way she explained it was very nice, I feel like im doing a huge disservice here. Like you said- it's not the opposite of transmisogyny. It's just different.

Two sides, one coin, same horrible root cause (hatred or trans people, gender non-conformity, and a whole garden variety of horrific misogyny)

On the same note, I've dealt with transmisogyny personally, too, as a trans man. So I know for a fact it's not just The Thing For Trans Women Only or Transphobia But Pink- it affects many, many queers in many different ways. As I mentioned before-transandrophobia isn't just for trans guys either.

It's also highly contextual- like. Not everyone is gonna get the same flavor of transphobia directed at them. It varies, sometimes they get mixed- sometimes it's just All the bigotry (racism compounding on transphobia compounding on misogyny compounding on transandrophobia)

And. I think another thing worth bringing up is that the -androphobia is very intrinsically tied to the "trans-" portion of the word. You can't dissect it without going through religious history, and wading through veerrryy specific political climates that lead to some very real very brutal happenings towards trans men, and masculine presenting people. I understand not many people like talking about it, because we automatically assume that everyone everywhere is way more chill with GNC "women" than GNC "men" when in many cultures, many places, if you're GNC at ALL you can be punished or killed for it. Plus there's the added bonus that trans men, and trans mascs up till recent haven't really been talked about all that much.

Actually! That's another good point to kinda show what I mean- trans women get talked about non stop, and it causes enormous issues. They're hyper focused on. Targeted. It's not good- but neither is complete Silence and erasure. Trans men get the other side in this scenario- it's rooted in the same issue (transphobia) but presents itself way different because. No one wants to pay any mind to "delusional little girls". Until they grow beards and get muscles and become a "threat" to "other delusional little girls"

I'm trying to find the best words for all of this. Really my argument is just that it's all intrinsically tied together, and that fighting about what words we use isn't really helpful in the long run. It would be better if we could all just talk about our experiences and find the common ground, give each other support in the areas we may not personally understand.

Anyways, thank you for listening to me ramble. I hope my brain fog today hasn't made this a chore to wade through.

my core issue with the transandrophobia nonsense is that it paints transmisogyny as some kind of “pink transphobia”, rather than the intersectional form of oppression that it is

this is especially annoying when the transmisogyny tag get glutted with people talking about how little they care about transmisogyny!

[cannibalisticskittles]

wingmanning - pt. 1

also on ao3 here :)

Lucanis has become accustomed to waking in odd positions in the months since Spite was forced into him, so finding himself half-crouched on the floor, thighs tensed like he’d been in the process of rising, isn’t much of a shock. 

What he is less accustomed to is regaining consciousness with another person present. 

Ward Ingellvar, called Rook by everyone around her and holder of his current contract, is currently peering down at him, worry etched between her brows.

“...Lucanis? Are you… back?”

Is he in control, or is Spite?

But Spite does not press at his mind, clamoring to wrest control away. Instead, he skulks about the edges of Lucanis’ consciousness, faintly grumbling – and yet, relatively quiet. 

“...yes.” For now. Which means he should get up and figure out what damage has been done while he was out.

Rook’s fingers twitch at her side, but she has the good grace not to offer him a hand up and worsen his embarrassment as he stands. She does, however, stare at him with that same look of worry. Intently. Lucanis takes a moment to assess his surroundings more thoroughly.

The last he recalls, he was writing notes, and now… well, at least Spite has not brought them far. He is still in the Lighthouse, not far from the pantry he has recently taken residence in; Spite’s escape attempt only brought them as far as the dining room.

The fire is out. The scent of wet woodsmoke hangs heavy in the air. There are potatoes scattered across the floor – as well as a few of the place settings that were formerly at home on the table. 

What exactly was Spite doing?

“What… happened?” he asks carefully. The words are spoken with great reluctance. It is… less than pleasant to have to rely on others to get answers for these missing moments.

“Spite… got into a few things,” Rook says. “Well. A lot of things. Tried to talk him out of the more, ah, dangerous ventures, but that wasn’t hugely effective, so then I tried to… distract him.”

“With – the potatoes?” 

Rook laughs, suddenly, then claps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. You just sounded so – …sorry.” She clears her throat. “No, the potatoes are my fault, but it wasn’t intentional. I came in to take stock of how many we had; Harding wants to make stew. But when I went to check, it… drew his attention, I suppose? He came out of the pantry, startled me, I dropped them, they scattered everywhere… then he started to poke around the room.”

“Just in the room?”

“Mmhmm. He said something about leaving, or wanting to leave, but he didn’t seem to be actively trying to go anywhere. More… seeking new sensations?” She shrugs. “I imagine there’s a lot here that was not present… before.”

In the Ossuary, she means. 

It’s been mere days since stepping foot on solid ground, and in that time alone, the demon has witnessed far more than he ever did when they were trapped down in that accursed place. It should be more than enough to keep Spite occupied – but it is not. 

Spite has been incessant with his questions since getting out, pestering him about new sights, new concepts – and yet, between all this, Spite makes demands to leave no matter where Lucanis goes, and complaints of being trapped when he declines. It makes no sense. The demon has always been insistent when he wants something, and he does seem to struggle to understand much about this world that is different from his own, but how could walking free of their prison have made Spite more restless? 

Now, it’s like he rankles whenever Lucanis isn’t in motion. Even in the Ossuary, the grousing was less frequent. It’s enough to drive a man mad. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to it, nor does there seem to be any rhyme or reason to what Spite has been doing here.

But… he considers Rook’s words. Is that what it is? Curiosity? The desire for these new sensations? Mierda. If that’s true, he’s not sure the demon is ever going to be satisfied.

Lucanis spots a bent spoon amidst the fallen tubers, and a fork with its prongs bent back by the fireplace. “Spite’s handiwork, I assume?”

Rook nods. “Mmhmm. He did get ahold of a few more than that, though I’m not sure where they ended up.” She peers around the room as Lucanis sighs, then  adds, “it’s not so bad – there weren’t enough place settings when we got here, but the Fade spit more out, so I’m sure replacements will show up eventually. And while he was preoccupied with that, I was able to move the knives out of the way.”

“The knives?” 

Lucanis glances at the far corner of the kitchen, where he can detect a flicker of violet – a telltale sign that Spite is lurking nearby. The demon does not deign to chime in, though. His silence feels purposeful. 

…or perhaps he is simply bored and wandered off. Maker knows he did it often enough in the Ossuary, even if the wards in place kept him confined to their erstwhile cell. 

“Half the kitchen knives were laying on the countertop,” Rook says. “Felt like the sort of thing he should probably know his way around, but not without some… supervision. So. I moved ‘em. Set ‘em outside the doors, on the little balcony.”

Spite does pipe up now. “No fun,” he grumbles, then disappears from view, in the direction of the door.

“It’s not supposed to be fun,” Lucanis fires back.

He realizes too late that he has spoken aloud, when Rook stops in her tracks and shoots him a puzzled look. That’s a habit in need of breaking. 

“That… was for Spite,” he explains with a sigh. 

“Ah!” Understanding dawns in her eyes immediately. “Is he – still here?”

“He’s never far,” Lucanis says, “but I believe he has left us for the moment.”

Rook nods, but her eyes still drift in the general direction Lucanis was facing when he spoke to Spite. “I wonder how far he’s able to wander from you,” she murmurs. “And… does actual, physical distance have any bearing on how well you can communicate with each other? Are there sound waves moving through the air and it’s a matter of attuning to it, or is it entirely magical and facilitated by, or through, the Fade? Is there a way to become attuned to it?”

As she muses, Lucanis surveys the damage once more. It could be worse, all considered. Though the fact that Spite was able to take charge so soon – so easily – is… worrying. But there is little to be done about that now besides fixing the disorder the demon caused. He bends to pick up one of the wayward potatoes at his feet. 

This, at last, breaks Rook from her reverie. “Oh! Sorry, here, let me help.” And she begins to do just that. She takes to the task with fervor, scrabbling on her knees to scoop up nearby tubers and coax them out from the nooks and crannies they have rolled into. 

“Rook,” Lucanis says, “you don’t have to do that. It isn’t your mess to mend. It’s Spite’s fault – which means it’s mine to handle.”

But Rook is not to be deterred. 

“Oh, no,” she says. “There wouldn’t be a mess if not for me. Not this one, anyway; I suppose he might have still gotten to the silverware later on. Even so, this?” She waves a potato in the air demonstratively before, for some reason, tucking it into one of the many pockets adorning her coat. “This one’s my fault.”

“You were only preparing for dinner. There’s no fault there.”

But she grimaces. “Weeeell, if it was that simple, I might agree with you. However…” Another potato, another pocket to stash it in. “I… may have come to, ah, hide them.”

“To hide them,” he repeats. “Is that why you're keeping them in your coat?”

Rook pauses, shoots him a glance, then… tucks yet another potato into her coat. “Yes. Better here than within reach.”

“And why exactly is that?”

“Harding wanted to make stew.”

“Yes,” he says, “you’ve mentioned that.”

“Ah. Right. You weren’t here the last time this happened. Harding made potato stew once before, soon after we came to the Lighthouse, and it was… well…” 

She pauses for a moment, staring off into the middle distance as though beset by a terrible memory.

“The taste was… passable.” Yet the wrinkle around her nose and the way her lip curls slightly as she says that suggests otherwise. “But the texture… I don’t understand it. It’s like every mouthful, there was something different wrong with it. Crunchy, then mushy, then gritty, and sometimes even rubbery.”

“In a stew?”

Rook nods. 

Suddenly, a comment Bellara made the previous night about acquired tastes makes sense. 

“I don’t know if it’s a Ferelden thing, or if it’s because we’re in the Fade, or what,” she says. “When it was just her and Varric and me, we almost never had access to a kitchen, so I can’t say I really had a reference point for her cooking skills outside of the sort of things you could throw together on the go. But I know she could make a killer sandwich. I had so many of the Lace Specialty when we were tracking down Solas, and her yam and jam slam was perfect for traveling, too.”

“...yam and jam slam?” The words sound bafflingly foreign together. 

Rook nods. “Y’know, just… buttered toast, slices of roasted yam, and some butter in between. Keeps for a surprisingly long time.”

That… sounds heinous, but he lets it pass. He won’t bother asking about the Lace Specialty – it might be best to keep that one a mystery. 

“Whatever it is, though, when Harding said she wanted to make it again tonight, it seemed like it might be for the best if the main ingredient was to be… conveniently lost. But they were heavier than I expected, and I dropped the bag the first time I tried moving them, and then Spite came out, and I dropped it again and spilled them… so really, if I hadn’t been so uncharitable, maybe Spite wouldn’t have come to investigate in the first place. No noise, no mess.”

“Or,” Lucanis says, “perhaps Spite would have done more than bend a few spoons – he may have wandered off without any eyes on him.”

He is loath to admit the limitations of his ability to control the demon, but it does no good to ignore the potential threats it poses. 

“Mmm.” She considers this. “You may be right. Still, I say I’m at least half responsible for the mess,” she says, and resumes her efforts to tidy. 

Lucanis does the same. 

A few minutes pass in silence this way, filled only by the sound of quiet shuffling and tiny clang of silverware being scooped up.

Lucanis is the first to speak. He has done much for the sake of a contract in his life – much that was miserable, or injurious, or torturous, even – but the thought of rubbery stew will not leave his mind. That… cannot come to pass. 

“What did you plan to tell her?” he asks. 

“Hmm?”

“Harding,” he says. “When you went back to her empty-handed. Surely she would find that odd, knowing that there had been plenty here, before.”

“Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Rook says. “Maybe that we misremembered what we had? Or the Fade did something to them? Or… I tripped and fell and lost them all in the abyss.”

“And… what did you plan to eat, then?”

“Had not thought that far either,” she admits. 

He makes a contemplative noise and picks up what seems to be the last of the ruined silverware. Unless, of course, Spite has stashed more elsewhere in the room. Lucanis wouldn’t put it past him. 

“You know,” he says, “I do know how to cook.”

“You do?”

Perhaps he ought to be offended by her tone, but amusement wins out. “I do,” he confirms. 

“The master assassin has kitchen skills?”

“The master assassin has to eat.” 

“I suppose so.” She cocks her head to the side and blinks owlishly at him. “Wait – are you saying you’d be willing to make dinner tonight instead? Really?���

“Seems a waste of perfectly good potatoes to hide them away,” he says. “That is, of course, if you do not mind a master assassin handling your food.”

Rook scoops up the last handful of potatoes at her feet and rises. “If you poison me with something edible, I’ll die happier than I’d live if I ate that stew again.” And then her expression reflects a sudden panic. “–not that I really think you’d do that!”

“It’s natural to worry about,” he says. They ought to consider the possibility, at least. He won’t be poisoning anyone today – but a little more caution on their part wouldn’t go amiss.

“But I really don’t think–” She cuts herself off before finishing. Instead, she worries her lower lip between her teeth, then asks, “are you sure you’re alright doing this for us?”

There is apprehension in her voice, in her expression, but he is unsure of the reason for it. “I would not offer if I did not mean it,” he assures her. 

“I only mean – we’re asking a lot of you, as it is. Killing… gods, or ancient mages, if that distinction means anything. That’s your contract, not… playing scullery maid or chef. We really should be providing for you, not the other way around.”

Ah. The fear of overstepping. That, he can do something about. 

“If I allow myself to be sickened by tainted food and am too weak to hold a dagger straight, my odds of fulfilling my contract become… low,” he says. “And I do not fail contracts.”

Rook nods slowly at that. “Point made. …you don’t think it would do any harm to tell Harding a little white lie, do you? Say that you were already making food when I came in – something with potatoes, so, alas, we’re fresh out, and dinner is taken care of for the night. You know a recipe that involves potatoes, right?”

A recipe?

“I'm sure I can think of something,” he says mildly.

“Excellent. And… maybe Harding will just forget about stew by the time we get more.” She rolls her shoulders. “…I suppose there’s no need to hold on to these, then.”

Rook crosses to the kitchen area and begins to set tuber after tuber on the countertops, first arranging the ones from her arms, and then pulling them from her coat pockets. Lucanis brings his armful over as well, placing them beside her pile until there is a nice, tidy row. 

“We’ve got sort of a hodgepodge of various ingredients,” she says, “and they’re a little… scattered.”

“I’ve noticed.” The pantry has plenty of root vegetables, but not nearly as many essentials beyond that, and while he may not have had much time to examine the areas of the Lighthouse besides his erstwhile living space, even a quick perusal of the cabinets did not turn up much more.

“Honestly,” she says, “it’s been difficult to keep track of what was here before we got here, what we brought in, and what’s just… appeared. Still! There ought to be enough to make… something other than that stew. Would you like some help?”

But as she asks this, another voice steals away his attention. 

“Smells. Like earth.”

Lucanis has the composure not to jolt or visibly startle when the demon speaks into his ear – but it does delay his response by a moment. What was it she said? She asked if he needed help? 

“There’s no need,” Lucanis says, “you’ve already done more than enough, straightening out Spite’s chaos. I shouldn’t require any further help.”

“I’m sure you’re quite capable in the kitchen and you don’t need help,” she says, “but would you accept some anyway? To speed it up, or to give you less to do? I can’t say I’m particularly practiced – I never spent all that long on a cooking rotation – but I also never had my rotation ended early after giving the whole hall food poisoning like some of the other Watchers did, so…”

Spite chooses now to hover around her, craning to peer over her shoulder, and then looks back at Lucanis. “Lucanis. Why?”

Lucanis does his best to ignore the demon and process her words.

Does she ask out of that fear of overstepping again? Not wanting to give him too many duties outside of his contract? Lingering distrust, despite her insistence on the contrary? Wanting to be sure he isn’t going to slip something in the food and poison them after all? Or is it simply a genuine desire to be helpful?

He’d like to think he would have a better read on that, normally – when there isn’t a demon speaking incessantly into his ear. 

“Different. From potatoes. Different. From the others. Lucanis.”

“...Lucanis?”

Rook, this time. Her brow is once again knit with something akin to worry. She has said something else, he realizes, that he did not catch, preoccupied with Spite as he was. 

“It’s… Spite,” he admits. “He is… curious again.” 

Rook tilts her head and narrows her eyes as though doing so will allow her to hear the demon. As though this is something to desire instead of something to endure. “What is he asking?”

But Lucanis shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. Best not to indulge him, it will only encourage him to try this again.”

She frowns and opens her mouth as if to protest, then shuts it again. Which is just as well, because Spite continues to pester him, needling him with increasing agitation. 

“Are you okay? Do you need anything?” she asks, just as Spite growls, “Lucanis!” 

He needs —

A moment to himself. Some quiet. Rare though that may be.

Lucanis runs a hand through his hair as he gathers his thoughts. “…didn’t you say you were going to tell Harding her efforts were no longer needed?”

“Yes!” Rook clasps her hands together. “Right. I should let her know. Then she can rest of it longer, after all that rock magic she did today. Why don’t I do that and then I can come back and… peel? Stir? Scrub? Any of those tedious little tasks you don’t feel like doing, foist them onto me, yes?”

“Yes,” he agrees, though really, he has only ever been able to tolerate the presence of others in the kitchen with him in small doses, aside from those who had the kindness to teach him the basics in the first place – and Illario, though his cousin usually tested his patience before too long.

He shouldn’t refuse, though. What grounds does he have to turn her down?

Rook nods, and then she is off. 

When she is gone and Lucanis is as alone as he can be, these days, Spite redoubles his questioning. 

“Like dirt,” says the demon, “earth. But not like. Harding.”

“No,” Lucanis sighs. “Not like Harding.”

Harding smells like… loam. Fresh, healthy soil, flecked with green and growing things. Rook smells more like… old earth. Drier, dustier. 

“Why?”

“Why does it matter?” He cannot keep the exasperation from his voice any longer. 

“You notice. But won’t. Say why.”

He does notice. It’s an old habit, and one he intends to keep sharp. Things left unnoticed are things he cannot account for, and even a scent can be a warning sign of some danger lying in wait. 

“It isn’t important enough to interrupt,” he says. “Spite, I cannot focus when you’re speaking over someone. Others… notice.”

“But why? Why not. The same?” 

“It’s just different. There doesn’t have to be a reason.” Even if there is, it’s not one that the demon is likely to understand. What does he know of gardening, or catacombs? And he does not have the time required to give Spite an answer that would satisfy him.

“Is,” Spite grumbles. “But Lucanis. Never wants. To say. Why.”

Spite continues to voice his discontentment, but Lucanis turns his focus away from the demon and towards the task at hand, taking the opportunity to take stock of what’s in the cabinets.

It isn’t much. The shelves are in dire need of restocking. But… there’s olive oil. And several glass jars with the names of various spices written on them in what looks to be Bellara’s handwriting. 

Below, pots and pans of… sufficient size and quality, at least for now. Right. He can make something of this. 

He diverts, briefly, to the pantry, and returns with root vegetables, as well as a few onions. It won’t be the stew Harding envisioned, but there is enough for soup. 

As he sets these on the counter, besides the row of potatoes, he says, “Spite.”

Spite is entirely uninterested in his attempt at conversation, preferring instead to stare intently at the vegetables. He bends until his face is almost flush with the countertop, then reaches out and pokes at the pile, watching one of them wobble.

Lucanis isn’t sure if that actually does push it forward or if it’s simply unbalanced. Truly, he’s not certain how much influence Spite can exert on the world when he isn’t considering Lucanis’ body. There wasn’t much to test this on in the Ossuary; the venatori did have enough sense not to provide a practiced assassin with anything that could be used as a weapon. Which was, well, anything, when you’re a Crow. So the only thing Spite could consistently attempt to influence was… him.

If Spite is able to influence physical objects even when incorporeal... well. It’s something to watch out for. Another layer of danger to this whole situation. Even if Spite is only using this influence to poke around at root vegetables. 

“Spite,” he says again, firmer. 

The demon glances his way, which might be the most acknowledgment he’s going to get.

“You cannot – we cannot – be walking around whenever you want. And you cannot just… take over like that. My body isn’t yours to do as you wish with it, and – besides that, a demon in the midst of everyone, outside of the Fade, it scares people.” As it should. 

“Wasn’t. Outside it! And she. Already knows! About us!” Spite protests.

“Yes,” he says, “but losing control like that – not knowing where I am? – it’s… unprofessional.” 

Spite grumbles but makes no other reply. Lucanis opens the cabinets again and begins sorting through the jars of spices. 

“We – I – seem less… competent. Less trustworthy when this happens.”

Spite doesn’t even bother to grumble in response this time, only presses his face closer to the counter, watching how light filters through the glass jars. 

Lucanis sighs. His professional reputation has surely been marred enough by his absence; that he has been made an abomination and cannot seem to keep a tight enough leash on Spite for this fact to stay secret forever… well. It will not help that. The whispers back home may not have started yet, but it is only a matter of time, and all his past deeds, all the respect and good regard he once had earned, may crumble in the face of his new, permanent guest.

And he can’t even say this isn’t exactly what ought to happen. Who would trust a man – an abomination – who could lose himself at any moment to the capricious whims of a demon? Even here, now, amidst all their kind words, these excursions cannot foster encouragement about his ability to fulfill his contract. 

“What must they think…”

Spite pokes at a potato now.

“Rook thinks. You have. Nice hands.”

Lucanis pauses. He closes the cabinet to get a clearer look at Spite.

“…Spite,” he says quietly, voice carefully restrained, “how do you know that?”

Spite barely spares him a glance between examining root vegetables. “She said so!”

“Yes, but – why did she say so?”

A thousand different scenarios flash through his head. Rook said Spite bent silverware, chased potatoes, was interested in knives, but… what part of that could have inspired a comment like that? What else could Spite have done while Lucanis wasn’t in control?

Spite spares another glance at Lucanis, but seems faintly baffled by the question. “No. Fun.” 

That’s hardly an answer. 

“Spite.” Lucanis is terse, now. “What. Exactly. Did she say?”

“Careful, Spite. Don’t want to ruin. His nice. Hands.” Spite makes a face – with his face, which should feel stranger, but doesn’t, after so many months with only reflection of his own face gazing back at him as his only company. “And then!” the demon says, no longer mimicking, “she put. It. Out!”

“The knives?” Lucanis asks. 

“The fire!”

Spite’s expression – his expression – suggests this is an offense of the highest order. He practically pouts, jerking his chin towards the fireplace, which he now gazes balefully at. “Wouldn’t. Let me touch,” he complains. 

“…ah.” That… makes sense. The smell of wet wood, the decidedly damp logs in the fireplace… “Spite, fire is not to be touched.”

“Why. Not? Rook makes fire.”

“And Rook still doesn’t go sticking her hands in fireplaces. You shouldn’t, either.” He sets another jar on the counter, then adds, “or ovens. Or candles.”

Spite’s lips twist down. “Lucanis is no. Fun. Rook. Is no. Fun. Only want. To see! Not fair!”

“Touching is not seeing, Spite.” Lucanis can hear the sound of footsteps, faint but growing nearer. Rook is returning. “You’re welcome to watch and see all you like, now, but keep quiet. …I’ll see about relighting the fireplace if you can manage it.”

This, at least, elicits a positive response from the demon, and Spite is grinning as he says, “deal!”

It is a deal Spite is likely to break before long, but Lucanis will cherish the brief moments of silence he gets all the same. 

[luciferanalyzestar]

Wow that valastor person is a scum bag, calls the other people fake bitches than leaks private discord messages to prove what a fake bitch they are. Loves and cosmic are fans but they’re aren’t blind followers they recognize that the shows are flawed and like every fan use HC and fanfiction to cope, they know how to have fun. Only thing I heavily disagree is shitting on someone’s art. Dani is a bully and has driven alot of fans away, especially asexual fans that drew a lot of angel and alastor porn from the show because of how affiliated they are with viv and SH crew especially Morgana. being praised by SH crew for being a bully. The lesson that should be taken is that you’re not safe anywhere in the HB/HH fandom and it’s gonna get worse from here on it

I am going to be hyperbolic for a second, this fandom has reach three of ten signs of a cult.

You dare have criticism something or someone! BANISHMENT. Ex-fans are viewed as 'antis' or bunch of crazy people or 'jealous of Viv' like no. The standom believes that the leader (Viv) cannot do nothing wrong because she is 'mother' (yes, I seen fans call her that) and she not a flawed human being (even though every person on the spinning rock is flawed, even me and you). Ok, I am done with being hyperbolic.

The Hellaverse fandom cannot handle that there is another fan has a different opinion that goes against the norm.

We ALL have to like the songs, we ALL have to the same characters, we ALL have to like the popular ships, we ALL have to support Viv unconditionally. If you do, you are no longer a fan. You are just a little bitch hater. Like I am sorry, but the world does not work like that. We all have different tastes and views on things and humans have always been like this. I do not care if someone says the hate the characters and/or the ships I like. I am not taking it personally because I am my own person, that stuff does not define me.

I am only okay with leaking private messages if someone was being a bigot or being creepy towards someone, not because they have opinions OVER A CARTOON! It has always been obvious that Lovearts23 was not the typical fan, she is the reason I joined this community. Criticisms are all over her videos, it was never a secret. When looking at the critical opinions in the screenshots I was like:

I use headcanons and AUs to cope that Hazbin will never do any of the character's justice when it comes to writing. The fandom is the main source of giving characters depth and whatever else. I cannot count how many times I have seen fans take headcanons and theories made by fans as 100% canon, it is crazy.

I know Hazbin is very flawed and my ass will be right there when season two drops and I am going to have a gay old time watching it because:

Shitting on someone's art is "deviantART cringe" compilations behavior, critiques are the way to go. Danidraws is 100% a ride-or-die Viv stan. She needs to do self-reflective because this is a weird thing to say about someone for doing harmless Hazbin redesigns.

I know what 'pop' means because my mother said to me as a child. Pop means you are going to hit someone mainly in the face for talking back. Saying that you want to hurt someone for not liking your favorite shows is not okay at all.

This fandom has an acephobia problem nor can they wrap their heads around asexuals who like to draw and make nsfw or kinky content. I am sex repulsed ace, and I love kinky content even though the idea of indulging in stuff like it IRL gives me the ick. Some asexuals tend to be Aegosexual or Adesexual.

There is a lot of fans who are on the ace and aro spectrum (and a lot in the critical community too) and we have to fight for other lives and defend our sexuality and explain it to allosexuals who are too lazy to do a simple google search.

A lot of fans need to look at themsleves in the mirror and think:"Why I am doing this?" or "Has the stuff I done and say online have effect someone in a negative way?" because this fandom forgets that there is another human behind the screen.

[chunkypossum]

2024 Fic Writer End of Year Roundup

Answer and then tag three or more creators to keep the game going!

(If you're in my answers consider yourself tagged if you'd like to play!!)

1. How many words did you publish on AO3 in 2024? 619,247... with the way A03 calculates I don't think that's entirely accurate but that's what it says... I would take off 225k and guess it's more around 350-400k

2. How many fics did you complete this year?

18, those event weeks really had a chokehold on me

3. How many in progress or ongoing fics did you start this year?

I have only posted a couple of WIP this year. I have stared at least 20 more, but have yet to post anything on them. Hopefully, I will have them all organized by this evening so I can start with my 2025 goals of getting them all done or at least well on their way!

4. What was your favorite thing you wrote?

I had the best time with What We Deserve!! It has to go at the top of the list.

Honorable mention would be Mother Save Us From Your Twisted fate just because it came out of nowhere and I think I started the first part and finished it in a day or two like a madman and posted without really giving it a second look. Truly a fic of strange passion.

5. What piece was your most experimental or different from your usual style?

probably Lighthouse in the Woods. Exploring a poly dynamic in a fic I didn't originally intend to be poly was an interesting choice for my brain lol but a fun and rewarding challenge!

6. Did any fics surprise you - either while writing or their reception?

Under the Weeping Beech shocked me just because it demanded I write it but there was very little reward with how sad it is. Y'all know I love sad angsty shit but I always seem to find a way to make everything ok in the end. Not so much this time but I simply couldn't make myself write it any other way. This was how it was supposed to be

7. Do you have a fic you wrote and loved that went under the radar? (This is your sign to reblog/repost it!)

Everything kind of went how I expected it to this year, but a fic that went under MY OWN PERSONAL RADAR was When Even Moonlight Burns. I adore the outline but couldn't make myself get serious about it this year. I'm waiting for my depraved self to rise to the surface for that one. It needs to be a beautiful disgrace

8. Who is an artist that inspired you?

I'm not sure I could name anyone without naming EVERYONE. If you have created Azris, you're on this list.

@queercontrarian inspires me daily with her work. Her attention to detail and the fashion work in her pieces are notches on my bones, that's how permanently they have changed me. I find myself staring at them for entirely too long to be appropriate and keep coming back to revisit my favorites!

@elleybug has a vision for her art that speaks to me on a cellular level. Every single piece supplies me with endless amounts of emotion that just make me want to create and create and create!

9. Who is an author that inspired you?

This question is really testing my memory because every time I read something I get inspired. All of you are just too damn good so if I forget to tag you it's only because I am stupid or I simply haven't been able to get to your amazing work yet BUT I WILL... and not because you don't belong on this list!!!

@fieldofdaisiies for her sweet pieces, @born-to-riot for her funny pieces, @acourtofladydeath for her thoughtful pieces, @secret-third-thing for her weird pieces, @iftheshoef1tz for her poetic pieces, @g00seg1rl for her horny pieces, @pippsmcgee for the dazzling intricacy of that piece she is teasing me with @talibunny30 for characterization in that nesta fic that wont leave me, @jules-writes-stories for the emotion she brings, @the-darkestminds for her dark mind that's like a twin flame, @mistandmemories for all that edging and absolute adorableness, @yanny-77 for the mastery of the dynamics between characters, @fourteentrout for the delicious intimacy, @brunetterebel010 for the vulnerability, @neciebee for the lyrical prose, @whisperingmidnights for the soulful prose, @mudandmire for the gorgeous and unique ideas, @unanswered-stars for the heartbreaking beauty!

10. Who is a new author you discovered?

so so many this year! Special mentions to @jules-writes-stories, @the-darkestminds, @mistandmemories who I really consider to be the big three of 2024 for me! Following along each of your beautiful stories this year has been a highlight!

11. Did you do any collaborations? How did it start?

not this year!

12. What accomplishments are you proudest of?

Everything I managed to finish lol. I was worried it would be nothing at all!

13. What did you learn about writing or creating this year?

I work best when I am just dishing out what's been gnawing at me, and trying to participate in too much just for the sake of it was too draining!

14. Any advice you’d like to share with new or aspiring writers?

It's fanfic, take the pressure OFF and just write the thing! If there is a story in your heart you really want to have exist in the world, you need to get it out and let it breathe! Don't focus on numbers or style or craft while you're just getting started. Have fun and create because you NEED to, everything else can come later.

15. What are your creative goals for 2025?

I have approx 12347576412 projects I would like to get written... I'm here to mass produce simply because I can't keep up with my brain. LOL. But truly if I can get one full multichapter fic completed this year I will be very happy!

[silverdragon-imagines-blog]

This is my happiness

[Finally wrote the sequel to "What about your happiness?". I hope you all enjoy these two getting back together to end off 2024. ^u^]

Sailing away from Wano was... different. After so long without the full crew, Sanji found himself feeling tense. And not just because of everything that had changed since the last time they had all been together.

Whole Cake Island was one thing, but after that call during the raid with Zoro... well, things were tense now.

They had broken up, that had been said and done for a long time now, but even during the party after Onigashima, he could feel lingering eyes on him. He never made eye contact, but he knew it was Zoro. Who else could it be really?

Despite things ending amicably between them, Sanji could feel the air between them was different now. It was not exactly tense, but there was something he couldn't place.

It had been a few days of this, and he dreaded when the crew would ask questions. Unfortunately for him, Nami's knowing looks let him know that the questions would come sooner than he would like.

"Sanji-kun, could I talk to you for a minute?" the navigator had come into the galley only five days from Wano, and of course, he could never deny her anything.

"Of course, my sweet! Anything you desire, I will do my best to give you," Sanji smiled, turning away from meal prep to give her his full attention.

Nami smiled, taking a seat at the bar separating the kitchen and dining room.

"I wanted to see how you were doing after everything at Wano. I saw you at the party with several women, and I was curious where you disappeared to after." Nami's smile was as lovely as it was mischievous. She propped her chin up on her hands as she looked at Sanji.

Sanji could feel himself flush at the question, clearing his throat for a moment. The afterparty at Wano was lovely, and he enjoyed the company he found himself in, especially the chance to flirt with all of the beautiful ladies who joined him. However...

"Your insinuation, while flattering my sweet, is incorrect," Sanji looked away, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. I was with many beautiful ladies, that is true. However, after some time, I left the party to go back to where we were staying. No one was with me."

He didn't say that the thought of bringing anyone back with him felt... wrong. Though he supposed there wasn't a reason for that feeling. He could have taken someone back and no one would be upset, and yet.

"Really? That's a shame, you looked like you were having a great time."

"I was, Nami dear, that I can promise you. What brought on the questions though?"

Nami shrugged, though her kind smile betrayed her.

"I suppose I wanted to see how you were really feeling. After everything we went through together, I guess I wanted to make sure you're actually okay and not just lying to save face again."

"Ah, I see," Sanji nodded, taking a deep breath as he looked at Nami properly, "I'll admit that things are... different now I suppose. Not necessarily in a bad way, but..."

He trails off, looking out the small porthole window above the sink. He hears Nami get up from her seat and approach him, her soft hand holding onto his own.

"Are you happy, Sanji?"

That was the question wasn't it. He wished he could answer her yes, he was happy now, but he knew that wouldn't quite be true. He sighed, turning to face her.

"I wish I could say I was happy, Nami dearest, that I finally have everything I wanted. But now I think that what I had was enough and it's too late to change it."

Nami shook her head, squeezing his hand in hers for a moment. With a smile, she started to tug him to come with her.

"I think you'll find that not every mistake has to stay permanent."

She led him out to the deck, the bright sun blinding for a moment before he took in the scene before him. Luffy was messing around on deck with Chopper as Franky and Usopp shared their projects with each other. Brook was playing his violin as Jinbei watched from the upper deck with Robin watering her plants beside him. And then there was Zoro, leaning against the main mast as he took in everything going on. From here, it looked like nothing changed at all, that they were all just how they were so many months ago. Back when he and Zoro could linger near each other without tension filling the air.

Nami led him down the stairs towards Zoro and he could feel as each step made him nervous. It was like he was admitting he was wrong, and while he knew that was exactly the point, it felt like a failure. Like he was admitting that he missed waking up next to Zoro, that he missed the late night conversations and casual touches that lingered long after the sparring concluded.

He was lying to himself, he did miss all of those things, but why would Nami bring him to Zoro? Zoro who he was sure wanted nothing to do with him. Nami must have sensed his distress, as she looked back at him just a few steps away from the relaxed moss on the deck.

"Hey, it'll be okay," she said, squeezing his hand again. "Trust me that you're both more alike than you think. I've sailed with you for a long time, and I know how you both are."

"My dear, I want to trust you, but I don't think I believe that he'd want anything to do with me outside of being crewmates."

Nami squeezed his hand again, tugging him the last few steps to stand in front of Zoro. His shadow blocked the light, causing Zoro to open his eye.

"You both are lying to yourselves, and I know it's hurting you just as much as it's hurting the crew. Please just try talking to each other, I think you both need it."

There, Nami left him as she walked back to the upper deck. Sanji stood there, just watching Zoro as the swordsman looked back at him. They said nothing to each other, but it was almost like they both knew what each other was saying with the silence.

Zoro stood up, stretching and yawning. Sanji just stood there, taking the time to light a cigarette, if only to relax his nerves.

"C'mon, dartbrow, let's go somewhere away from the crew."

Sanji nodded and followed quietly as Zoro headed up the ladder to the crow's nest. It was quiet compared to the deck, but as the swordsman closed the trap door, it felt almost oppressive. Sanji elected to sit on the bench, opening the window just enough to breathe out the smoke from his cigarette. He watched Zoro pace the room for a minute, until he sighed and sat on the ground next to him with his back to the bench.

"I know what the witch is trying to do," Zoro spoke, though he did not look Sanji's way, "we talked in Wano. She's worried I think, but I already told her it's fine. My only concern as far as this," he gestured to Sanji and himself, "is concerned, is you."

Sanji took a long drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke settle in his lungs before he breathed out through the window.

"What concern, shitty mosshead? It's over, we both agreed on that, right?"

"We did."

At this, Zoro turned to him, his expression closed off as he regarded Sanji.

"Cook, the only thing I care about now is your happiness. I saw you with those women, and I don't think you've ever smiled that brightly since I've known you."

It felt like a punch in the gut, how wrong Sanji really was about how much Zoro cared about him even now that they weren't together. He sat there, smoking away until his cigarette burned down to the filter. He exhaled, the sound turning to a sigh at the end.

"I think I know now what my happiness is, and how stupid I've been." Sanji admitted, sliding off the bench to be at the same level as Zoro. He looked into the other's eye, seeing his confusion. It was amusing, but he didn't let it linger any more than was necessary. He closed the distance, letting his lips meet Zoro's and pressing himself as close to the other as he could. He wrapped his arms around him, feeling tears start to gather in his eyes as he felt Zoro reciprocate the kiss.

He pulled away to rest his forehead against Zoro's, letting himself take in what he almost lost.

"This, right here, is my happiness. That is if you'll have me."

Zoro chuckled, a calloused hand running through blonde locks as Zoro smiled at him.

"I'd be happy to have you back, Curls. As long as you want."

[stxrfclls]

"  no  it  doesn't.  "  she  says  with  a  laugh.  though  she  also  understood  when  was  not  the  time  to  tease  him  and  chose  not  to.  even  when  siara  was  simply  out  to  annoy  the  commander,  to  get  a  rise  out  of  him,  she  did  so  carefully.  picked  her  moments  wisely.  siara  liked  to  be  a  thorn  in  his  side,  but  she  never  wished  to  cause  actual  damage.  she'd  learned  how  to  read  him  very  quickly,  and  it  seemed  that  had  been  her  opening  through  the  walls  he  placed  about  himself.  it  hadn't  even  been  hard,  which  was  perhaps  frightening  if  it  weren't  for  the  way  he  did  the  same  to  her.  siara's  upbringing  was  many  horrid  things,  but  it  was  also  the  reason  she  was  able  to  stare  into  his  gaze,  unwavering  and  unfearing.  he'd  never  scared  her,  his  reputation  had  only  served  to  interest  her  further  in  figuring  out  how  the  man  worked.  what  further  drew  her  in  was  his  way  of  possessing  so  much  power  within  their  court  but  not  screaming  about  it.  he  had  a  quiet,  commanding  way  of  whispering  his  control  and  from  the  moment  she  met  him  all  he  ever  did  was  catch  her  curiosity  and  snare  her  in  deeper.  each  gaze  cast  her  way  had  cut  through  her,  but  never  scared  her.  in  truth,  only  once  had  she  been  worried  around  him  –  and  that  had  been  when  she  learned  of  his  daemati  abilities.  she  hadn't  flinched,  she  only  hoped  he  wouldn't  poke  into  places  uninvited.  and  for  all  she  knew,  he  hadn't.  it  was  one  of  the  many  reasons  she  trusted  him,  despite  his  lack  of  understanding  how  she  could.  and  as  she  learned  him  more  her  confidence  grew,  in  her  own  abilities  as  well  as  her  pleasure  at  knowing  she  was  the  only  one  able  to  do  certain  things,  and  able  to  pull  certain  things  from  him.  the  game  became  her  addiction  –  he  became  her  addiction.  slowly  that  trust  she  had  in  him  was  something  she  felt  him  return,  and  eventually  it  became  shared  in  a  way  neither  trusted  any  other.  she  had  a  dangerous  power  over  kalore,  but  he  did  the  same  to  her.  when  everything  finally  crashed  between  them,  every  wall  and  every  ounce  of  stubbornness,  it  had  been  the  awakening  to  something  siara  never  thought  she'd  have.  he  belonged  to  her,  made  for  her  and  her  alone.  everything  they  had  been  doing  before  was  simple  foreplay,  leading  them  to  where  they  were  always  destined  to  end  up.  "  well,  you  were  always  my  favorite  toy.  "  she  teases,  but  her  words  mean  a  lot.  she'd  never  enjoyed  someone  as  much  as  he,  and  while  it  was  quite  backwards  in  most  courting  definitions,  the  way  she  poked  at  him  had  been  a  marker  of  her  interest  long  before  she  realized  it.

"  i  don't  expect  to  regret  anything  between  us  kalore.  but  i  shall  take  everything  you  offer  me  happily.  "  greedily  so.  it  was  incredibly  ironic,  how  easy  it  was  now  for  her  to  show  him  parts  of  herself  she  caged  away,  ignored  and  pretended  did  not  exist.  she'd  chipped  away  at  kalore's  armor,  but  he'd  done  the  same  for  her.  siara  was  a  different  creature  for  it,  but  only  for  him.  the  rest  of  prythian  still  saw  the  guarded,  cold  hearted  shadowsinger  of  the  nightmare  court.  she  knew  the  same  went  for  him,  opening  up  to  her  but  not  to  a  single  other.  these  moments  were  for  each  other  and  none  else.  when  kal  spins  her  away,  it  allows  siara  to  remember  where  they  are,  and  when  they  rejoin  the  words  he  offers  settle  inside  of  her.  the  idea  of  the  mating  ceremony  was  not  something  she  shared  lightly,  and  she  knew  kalore  understood  that.  siara  had  never  been  one  to  share  traditions  or  offer  rituals  to  anyone,  let  alone  someone  who  was  not  even  illyrian.  while  she  didn't  need  the  ceremony  to  know  he  belonged  to  her,  his  willingness  to  embrace  the  heritage  she  had  so  often  ignored  settles  into  her  soul  in  just  another  way  that  seals  her  fate  to  him.  hearing  him  say  as  much  nearly  leaves  her  breathless,  only  siara  isn't  a  pining  lady  of  the  court,  she's  a  warrior  who  knows  how  to  measure  he  reactions.  "  i  don't  need  anything  to  know  you  are  mine,  but  i  think  i  would  like  to  do  the  ceremony.  "  admits  she.  it  would  also  create  an  actual  bond  between  them.  for  illyrians  it  ranged,  from  knowing  where  one  another  was  or  even  feeling  their  emotions  if  they  were  strong  enough.  siara  wasn't  sure  what  the  ancient  magic  would  do  for  she  and  kalore,  especially  with  his  ability  and  her  half  blood  status.  she  wasn't  afraid,  though,  she  wanted  him  in  every  way  he  was  willing  to  give  himself.  siara  held  a  lot  of  importance  in  illyrian  rituals,  even  if  she  would  deny  it  to  anyone  else.  it  marked  the  side  of  her  blood  she  hated  due  to  her  father,  but  they  were  also  so  beautiful  she  couldn't  deny  it.  she  wasn't  often  sentimental  or  sappy,  but  for  this  she  found  she  was.  the  spymaster  ignored  or  avoided  talking  about  such  things  with  anyone  else,  but  with  kalore  she  found  the  words  tumbled  out  without  her  permission.  they  were  meant  for  him  to  hear.  for  so  long  the  pair  of  them  danced  around  the  unspoken  truth,  of  their  feelings  for  one  another  not  needing  to  be  spoken  aloud  to  be  felt.  and  siara  was  fine  with  that.  words  were  sometimes  difficult,  but  their  actions  and  gazes  had  been  more  than  clear.  love  terrified  her,  it  always  had,  but  it  seemed  she  had  no  choice  in  feeling  this  with  kalore.  nor  would  she  have  it  any  other  way.  but  the  time  to  say  those  avoided  words  had  barred  down  on  them,  and  she  relished  in  the  press  of  his  lips  when  she  finally  let  them  out. 

the  kiss  was  full  of  the  fierce  passion  they  shared,  but  also  the  tenderness  only  kalore  could  possess  that  nearly  left  her  trembling.  his  firm  grip  on  her  frame  is  all  that  keeps  siara  standing,  though  she'd  be  hard  pressed  to  admit  it.  the  spymaster  melts  into  her  commander,  hands  fisted  into  his  jacket  to  support  her  body  against  his  own.  this  kiss  was  more  too,  it  was  a  promise  and  an  affirmation  that  neither  could  run  from  the  four  letter  word  any  longer.  and  then  they  part,  and  the  words  he  utters  leave  her  in  a  whole  new  state  of  being.  siara  always  thought  she  was  unbreakable,  but  it  she  could  now  see  she'd  been  wrong.  his  words  shatter  her,  but  the  broken  pieces  fit  back  together  how  they  were  always  meant  to  be.  his  love  puts  her  back  together  the  right  way,  healing  from  all  the  broken  examples  of  love  she'd  been  offered  before.  "  i  didn't  expect  to  ever  hear  someone  say  that  to  me.  "  she  admits  softly.

"that  depends  on  the  day."  he  tosses.  there  were  seldom  things  the  commander  would  ever  admit  to,  and  with  siara  he  did  not  need  to,  for  she  understood  all  that  he  did  not  say  and  read  between  the  lines  too  well.  it  was  still  quite  frightening  that  siara  was  able  to  see  through  the  walls  he  had  secured  so  well  around  him,  that  how  was  it  this  strange  woman  seemed  to  chip  away,  without  even  intending  to,  at  his  armor  until  there  was  seldom  left  for  him  to  hide.  kalore  enjoyed  his  reputation  as  the  enigma  commander,  his  gifts  only  known  to  a  handful  of  people,  but  it  seemed  that  siara  had  been  quick  to  piece  apart  the  daemati.  it  was  both  intriguing  even  it  had  been  unsettling,  and  it  certainly  had  caught  his  attention.  he  hadn't  set  out  to  intimidate  her  at  all  when  she  had  joined  the  inner  circle,  it  was  simply  a  response  he  was  used  to  from  others  in  his  presence.  he  should  have  know  she  would  not  fear  him,  the  steel,  unwavering  look  of  determination  in  her  gaze  when  she  sized  him  up,  that  despite  not  knowing  a  single  thing  of  her,  it  was  hard  to  deny  the  story  that  hid  behind  her  dark  hues.  a  story  he  wished  to  uncover  more  and  more  the  longer  he  was  within  her  presence.  then  kalore  could  not  understand  this  strange,  inexplicable  draw  to  her,  only  that  he  was  certain  even  if  he  had  denied  then,  that  she  had  been  made  for  him.  his  predictions  had  been  proven  right,  she  had  turned  his  life  upside  down,  but  in  a  manner  that  left  him  entirely  breathless.  in  a  manner  that  she  has  brought  him  back  to  life,  when  he  had  entirely  sealed  away  his  personal  desires  for  the  good  of  his  court,  to  carry  on  what  his  late  parents  had  began.  the  closer  he  was  drawn  to  her,  he  did  not  wish  to  be  alone,  that  he  needed  her  by  his  side  in  whatever  form  she  would  allow  him.  as  difficult  as  the  thought  was,  the  fears  taking  hold  that  when  she  learned  every  bit  of  him,  kalore  vanishes  the  thought  as  swiftly.  he  trusted  her,  and  understood  that  without  a  doubt  she  would  stand  by  his  side  regardless.  it  was  a  silent  promise  he  had  made  to  her,  that  before  he  went  any  further  into  her  mind,  he  would  first  allow  her  into  his.  if  he  claimed  to  love  her,  and  he  does,  without  a  doubt,  this  would  be  his  way  of  proving  it  to  her.  the  realization  had  settled  in  long  before  this  moment,  and  he  wondered  if  she  could  see  it  in  his  gaze.  "and  you  knew  this  long  before  i."

that  rare  look  of  tenderness  appears  on  his  features  as  he  watches  her.  "i  will  make  this  promise  to  you  for  that  alone  -  you  will  not  regret  all  that  you  have  given  me  of  yourself.  i  intend  to,  i  will,  offer  you  every  bit  of  myself  ,  as  you  deserve  nothing  less."  it  was  becoming  easier  to  allow  the  thoughts  of  her  to  be  spoken  between  them,  that  each  time  siara  displayed  her  vulnerability  it  made  him  wish  to  do  the  same  for  her.  that  her  efforts  did  not  go  unnoticed  that  he  knew  it  was  as  difficult  for  her  to  do  so,  as  it  was  for  him.  he  tried  for  her,  and  would  continued  to  do  so,  and  he  would  once  this  evening  was  over  and  they  were  alone,  he  would  keep  his  silent  promise  and  this  verbal  one.  he  simply  wished  to  hold  her  and  dance  with  her  tonight,  so  he  spins  her  gently  when  the  music  changed  before  reeling  her  back  against  his  frame,  once  more  as  she  expressed  her  thoughts  of  the  illyrian  mating  ceremony.  "then  how  fortunate  an  illyrian  claimed  so  that  she  cannot  be  rid  of  me  if  i  earn  her  ire."  this  bit  was  a  jest,  but  the  words  laced  with  something  far  deeper.  that  he  could  not  fathom  not  being  with  her,  after  all  that  they  shared,  he  didn't  wish  to  be  without  her,  without  his  heart  that  was  entirely  hers,  and  whatever  good  remained  in  his  compromised  soul.  "you  do  not  need  any  such  thing  to  know  i  am  yours.  nonetheless,  it  is  something  that  means  a  great  deal  to  you.  anything  that  is  imperative  to  you,  it  is  for  myself,  as  well."  kalore  wouldn't  deny  it  was  a  strange  feeling,  it  left  more  puzzled  and  intrigued,  and  while  he  was  never  one  to  dabble  in  such  ceremonies  or  rituals  as  a  whole,  what  she  wished  to  do  with  him  was  something  to  take  pride  in.  illyrians  were  guarded  and  protective  of  their  rituals,  and  something  he  was  certain  they  did  not  offer  to  high  fae.  the  commander  felt  only  a  sense  of  privilege  and  honor  that  she  had  deemed  him  worthy  of  being  a  part  of  that.  it  was  one  thing  to  be  close  friends  with  an  illyrian  but  another  to  lay  claim  to  something  so  sacred  to  them.  he  waits  with  baited  breath  when  he  all  but  demands  she  finish  her  earlier  thoughts,  the  word  she  cut  abruptly,  not  allowing  her  gaze  to  move  from  him  but  only  drawing  her  flush  against  him  as  his  arms  nearly  became  an  iron  grip  around  her,  careful  still  not  to  hurt  her.  he  doesn't  know  how  long  he's  yearned  to  hear  them  until  she  offers  them,  it  was  uttered  so  softly,  it  was  her  warm  breath  brushing  over  his  lips.  the  racing  of  his  heart  intensifies,  a  searing  hot  sensation  settling  in  his  being  as  her  words  echo  in  her  mind.  she  loves  him.  there  was  a  far  more  intense  look  in  his  gaze  allowing  her  to  read  what  she  confessed  to  him,  in  his  own,  "just  as  you  are  mine."  it  was  then  he  drew  her  closer,  slipping  a  hand  around  the  nape  of  her  neck  and  kissing  her  tenderly  but  with  the  ferocity  of  his  passion,  and  the  love  he  held  for  siara.  there  was  not  an  ounce  of  emotion  he  had  left  out  as  his  mouth  claimed  hers,  every  bit  of  long  his  longing  poured  into  the  kiss,  every  thought  that  crossed  his  mind  of  her,  felt  through  his  kiss  since.  kalore  had  waited,  impatiently  for  the  return  of  his  abilities  so  that  he  could  show  precisely  how  she  existed  in  mind and inside his being,  that  his  words  would  never  do  any  justice to encompass all the drew from. "as  i  love  you,  siara  darke.  my  brave  shadowsinger,  and  warrior."

[jewishbarbies]

my mom has been very vocal about how much she doesn't like that i'm a horror fan for several years, and now she laughs when i mention anything about the Barbie movie because she "can't believe i like Barbie" since it's so different, like, if she only knew what i post about on the internet. oh boy.

[longmaxsilvarg]

something about max being dressed in lighter colors at the beginning of the game vs her almost being dressed in all black / just straight up dark colors near the end just scratches my brain so good

[cuteniaarts]

Digitalised + coloured + redesigned version of my Suiren and Vaatu sketch from two days ago, as promised!!

Coming up with Suiren’s design was a very long process of trying and failing because after you’ve drawn 9+ different versions of one character, the creativity starts to run a little dry, but I’m actually really proud of this one, she looks absolutely adorable <3

(Also yeah I did mostly just scribble Vaatu’s pattern because who has the energy to draw the all out accurately. Not me, that’s who, I’m chronically tired. People who draw him on the regular have my utmost respect. He’s still a funky little guy though :D)

Bonus, Raava incessantly screaming inside Suiren (and being completely ignored because Suiren is tired of her) while all this is happening:

[llilychen]

it’s really sad that i always looked forward to rhaenyra and/or alicent scenes last season but i now feel the urge to fast forward every time one of them comes on screen

- every alicent scene is her looking sad or crying or her with cole but nothing she does adds anything of value to the plot

- we get the same black council scene in which the men are undermining rhaenyra twice per episode and still nothing is done (i do believe she will make some progress in the next episodes but it’s just so boring to watch her have the same scene over and over again)

cersei and dany i miss you both so much

[mashmouths]

florence welch shouldn't be allowed to write songs bc what if i listen to one and it punches a hole in my chest. no for real what do i do i'm bleeding out in my kitchen.

[fardf150]

fuck

[guinevereslancelot]

toddlers when i tell them to please please stop kissing eachother on the mouth because of germs: ❓️🙄❓️🤪🦠😙

when i tell them to stop because of cooties: 🤯😨🤢❌️😷