#this was supposed to be a SHORT chapter

[tmnt-obsessed-ace]

When The World Crumbles: Chapter 18, Just Like Him

[ruporas]

i’ll find you again in every universe. let us be a little more honest, let us have a little more time.

[riant-draws]

tw for panic attack, eyestrain (last page), swears

@tsunochizu's backwards through the snow!! this fic is my lifeblood

this scene's from chapter 15, in which iirc sig is like "ok pebbs is acting weird as hell time to get to the bottom of this" and pebbs wants some modified neuron flies for extra storage (which sig can send him the blueprints for), which ends up in them having a very... exciting video call

also I belatedly realized that the author made designs for sig and pebbs in btts but haha I am not redrawing pages~

this took me over a month I'm not even kidding

*dies*

[highlordofkrypton]

I sincerely believe that you don't just write a Vanserra. They simply possess you. You are merely a vessel for them to sass through, and charm the hell out of everyone.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 4

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

CW: POV depiction of anxiety and dissociation, How It's Made, reader character wearing a wig (positive, protective style), Soap (nosy), mention of sex toys, Simon Riley Is Honesty Just A Big Guy (TM),

Simon and Price are gone for less than a minute before you feel awkward. You’re almost done with the water, so you look around for the TV remote. It’s Gaz, absurdly pretty for some kind of international British SWAT team, who hands it to you with a half smile before wandering off, you assume to the bathroom.

That leaves you clicking through the TV while Soap does something on his phone. All of the local channels are in German, you know, so you look for something to stream. You chance a sidelong glance at Soap, but he’s already looking at you. He grins when you make eye contact.

“So yer LT’s girl, then?”

Fuck, that’s not a question you know how to answer. “Um.”

“Leave it, Soap,” Gaz says, returning from the bathroom. He smiles at you as he pockets his phone. “You don’t have to tell us anything you’re not comfortable with. Lieutenant Riley’s a private person, we understand.”

“That’s… it’s okay.” You tap into the PictureTime channel, since it’s not one you usually have access to. As you browse through the educational options - ooh, How It’s Built! - you say, “I think we’re both… a bit surprised to see each other here.”

“I can’t imagine,” Gaz says, sitting down at the other end of the couch. “Oh, I’ve not seen this one on puzzles and cheesecake.”

You tap into it, because you like puzzles, cheesecake, candles, and paintbrushes. Just in time to finish your water bottle. The armchair is a bit narrow and awkward, so you wiggle the cushion from behind your back so you can plop it, and yourself, onto the ground. You shuffle your legs to start your warm up as the theme song plays.

“How'd'ye come to answerin’ LT like yer military?” Soap asks. “’Acknowledge’, ‘acknowledged’, all o’ that?”

“Oh,” you answer, without thinking about it. “That’s just our protocol, to make sure I understand his directions.”

“’E’s givin’ you enough directions to need protocols?” He gives you a considering once-over. “Interestin’. Impressive that it held up in an emergency. That takes practice.”

Shit. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“’S he your, what’er they called? Dominant partner, then?”

God, Simon, why didn’t you take this one with you? “I’m… not at liberty to say?”

“Leave her alone, Soap,” Gaz says, exasperated. He tosses a throw pillow at Soap’s head. “She’s in shock, Simon’s trying to keep her calm and comfortable.”

“Ghostie adopts a civilian an’ ah’m supposed to have nae questions?” Soap grins at you. “She’s got a signal if she dinnae want to talk. Four fingers, right?”

“Bother Ghost about it, later,” Gaz says. He turns to you. “Do you know what you want to eat? There’s a few places open.”

Soap doesn’t pester you, after that. The three of you settle on Mediterranean food, and then they summarily leave you alone. Gaz seems content to watch the show, though Soap watches you do your floor stretches curiously.

You could probably have moved to another stretch a while ago, but you’re still in your work slacks and blouse. You think longingly of the yoga pants you laid out on your bed before leaving for meetings. And then you cringe to think of Simon coming in to sweep through the room and pack up all of your things. You hadn’t packed a lot, but you’d unpacked into the space to make yourself comfortable.

You realize that your sex toy is charging in the bedside table and cringe. You hope he doesn’t notice it. It’s good quality, but you can always buy another one.

And then you start to worry about your phone. You’d left your personal in the room because of the time zone change slowing down all of your personal messages. You’d lost your work phone and computer today with… everything that happened. Were people trying to get a hold of you? Had news of the incident made it to the US? Would Simon see your embarrassing phone background?

You resist the urge to get up and pace. Instead, you settle into butterflying your legs.

“You need more water?” Gaz’s voice startles you, but you nod and he passes a bottle to you on the floor. “Cap says that they’re done with the official stuff, he’s grabbing food while Ghost grabs your things. Probably less than an hour before they get back.”

Your anxiety shouts that that isn’t enough time. But since you can’t definitively answer the question For what?, you take a breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”

Maybe it’s because your heart is beating a little faster, muscles a bit warmer, but you have trouble settling Into the show. Your mind races. You have to remind yourself to relax, then have to clamber to your feet and shuffle off to the bathroom because you relaxed your pelvic floor a little too much.

Your eyes in the mirror are a little too wide. The wig - every time you wear a good one, you almost forget you’re wearing it - is holding up admirably, at least. It feathers around your face, a bit squished where you slept on it. But with the smudged eyeliner and mascara you can kind of pretend you’re in an action movie.

Thank goodness agent Ghost rescued me and the other hostages, you think to yourself, pouting your lips dramatically as you wash your hands.

The last time you washed your hands there was a dead body on the floor.

“Nope,” you say aloud, practically flinging yourself into the bedroom. “Nope. Nope.”

You pace in a tight circle, kicking the door closed when you catch Gaz and Soap looking at you with concerned eyes. Two circuits later, the room is too small, so you open the door again and shuffle out to sit in the armchair again, one leg pulled up for you to wrap your arms around.

Throwing your mind into action shots of specialty machinery, you try to force yourself to settle. Your whole body feels like it will shake apart if you pay too much attention to it, so you don’t pay it any attention at all. The episode ends and rolls into the next one, so you learn about bird cages and automated pharmacy drones. You hear Gaz say something soft, and Soap answers, the burr of his voice just as quiet, mixing pleasantly with the murmur of the narrator.

You must lose time, again, because the next thing you know, Simon is crouching in front of you again. Big hands smooth over your arms, and he shushes you as you jump.

“Got y’r stuff,” he says. “Where’s your head at?”

You open your mouth, close it. Hold up four fingers.

“Mm, day’s catchin’ up, again. Go into the bedroom, get changed. No zippers or clasps. Buttons okay. Acknowledge.”

“Bedroom, change clothes,” you confirm, heaving a big sigh. “Comfy. Acknowledged.”

He helps you stand, and you can’t help but tip forward to put your face into his chest. He smells a little. Like stale sweat and gunpowder. His arms stop yours when they come up for an automatic hug.

“Go change,” he whispers into the top of your head, “An’ I’ll get rid of the rest of ‘em, eh?”

The haze around you pops. That’s the only way to describe it. One minute, everything is distantly fuzzy, and the next thing you know you can feel the circulation of the air in the room and his heartbeat against your forehead. The TV is quieter, and you can hear Price and Gaz and Soap talking between themselves.

“Acknowledged,” you say into his sternum. “Gotta go change.”

He has to gently guide you around his bulk. But eventually you shuffle back into the bedroom. Your suitcase is waiting for you in the far corner, and it doesn’t take you long to dig out your lounge wear. Soft, thin pants with cartoon dogs on them and an oversized tee you got from a fundraiser. And then you take both off because that’s not sexy.

Why didn’t I pack nicer stuff? Can I play off these lacy panties as sleep wear? He saw it all and packed it, he probably clocked those as the only sexy thing I have. You shake your head at yourself. He said to wear something comfortable. He knows what you have. This is fine.

Your friend’s son’s basketball mascot grins up at you. You decide to compromise and switch the shirt for a black cami you usually wear under a nice blouse.

When you peek out of the room, Simon’s in the middle of the couch, and he’s blocked one end by dragging the table closer to where he’s sitting. His jeans have been traded for black sweats, but you can’t tell if his black shirt is new or not. Somehow, he looks bigger, but in a nice way. Softer. If a brick shit-house could look soft. A brick book nook.

“’Ey, pretty girl,” he says, leaning enough to put an arm across the back of the couch. “Come sit, we’re gonna eat and then we’re gonna talk.”

When you get close, you realize that there’s not enough room for both of you to sit unless you’re half on top of him.

You want to throw yourself entirely into his lap. But you can smell the food now, and you’re so hungry. So you perch as much of your ass on the couch as you can and swing your legs over one of his. You meet his eyes just as his arm comes down across your thighs. His hand cups the outside of your leg in a way that makes you remember what he said.

He’s not letting you go, now.

[doc-art]

This has been a while coming, but I wanted to thank you for introducing me to Assignment Risk. I saw your name on the kudos list for my story, 'In The Wings', and got hyped. Felt like things came full circle, or something.

You're welcome!! I read some of it (like, 3 or 4 chapters in right now?), I really need to get back to it! I enjoyed what I read tho!

Been busy reading a bunch of other stories, along with a lotta art stuff (plus my own lil story based off AR) thats been taking my time.

been doodling bits and pieces as I've been writing it, hoping to have the whole thing done relatively soonish

[worlds-okayest-person]

It’s all uphill from here

[aroaceleovaldez]

Hi i've read some posts of you about Tsats and it seems like you didn't like the book.

Honestly i'm with you in this 'cause i find it problematic on so many levels (characterizations, inconsistencies, ableism) but apparently there's gonna be a sequel???? What do you think about it?

i think i can pretty concisely summarize my thoughts about the sequel with:

Longer version: It just feels wholly unnecessary. There's no continuation to use for a sequel, really. The first TSATS was unnecessary to begin with but it was so focused on leaving no stone unturned that it functionally left no loose ends to tie up. There's just nowhere to go with it unless they do even MORE retconning and warping characters OOC to string some kind of plot out of, but even that wouldn't reasonably give them enough to make a full novel's worth of plot out of anyways, which means if this sequel is novel-length like the last then it will drag on SO. MUCH. TSATS1 already had horrible pacing problems. There's no way this won't be worse.

[deiaiko]

#22.8 Badge

Viole sat by the window, watching Mr. Shibisu rummage through the medbay cabinets. Mr. Rak and Khun went to the cafeteria to get food, so there were only the three of them in the room.

Mr. Isu had been doing that the moment Mr. Agni left. And Viole grew curious. "What are you looking for, Mr. Isu? Maybe I can help."

"Oh, nothing. I'm just checking what they’ve got here. A good scout should use every opportunity well." Mr. Isu gave him a thumbs up. "Also, there's no need to be so formal to me, man. Just call me Isu."

Viole felt sheepish. Maybe he should grow out of this habit soon. "Okay, Isu."

Isu flicked his fingers. It seemed like he just remembered something. "Oh, right. Bam. I have something for you." Then proceeded to dig through his pocket. His face lit up when he found the thing.

Isu walked up to him, and handed him a badge. It looked like a feather, but shaped like an odd tree branch. "What is this?"

"That's a wing tree badge, a symbol of the organization called Wolhaiksong. Princess Yuri asked me to give it to you, back on the second floor."

"Miss Yuri…" He hadn't heard about her in a long time. He missed her. He hoped she was doing well. Did she know that he was still alive? Oh. He should apologize for losing the Black March, too. And retrieve it, so he could return it to her. Anaak should have it, right? He'd talk to her later.

"If I recall…she said, 'Urek Mazino is waiting for you on the seventy-seventh floor' when she handed that badge over."

"Seventy-seventh floor?" That'd be a high climb, maybe some years at best. Could he meet Miss Yuri there? "Who's Urek Mazino?"

"He's the co-founder of Wolhaiksong, an irregular, and also one of the top five strongest people in this tower! No joke."

Viole examined the badge. It was white and glossy, small enough that he could hide it between his hands. To think that this small item could hold so much value…It was pressuring. Just like when he was lended the Black March. But still, he was happy to be acknowledged and remembered by such important people. "Thank you, Isu."

"You're welcome." Isu replied cheerfully and sat back next to him, shoulders slouched like an invisible weight had just been lifted off him. "Man… it’s good to finally be able to give it to you."

Masterlist

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Let me know your thoughts in the reblogs <3

☕ Buy me coffee ☕

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Who Heals the Healer? Febuwhump Day 7--Suffering In Silence

Four passed out at last. That gaping wound in his stomach, scraped out and still lined at the edges with singed, blackened flesh, was finally cleared enough that Hyrule could lay his hands over it and touch living flesh. He worked his magic, knitting muscle and skin back together by feel alone, until his magic began to sputter and peter out and Legend pulled him away, already scolding him for overextending himself. Hyrule stumbled after him, his mind numb, as Legend pushed him down onto a log by the fire and ran a rag over his sweaty forehead, yelling for Wind to fetch him a drink and some sugary snack from Wild’s Slate. 

“Rulie, how many times have I told you not to exhaust your magic reserves like that?” Despite the harsh words, Legend’s voice was fond. It took Hyrule’s eyes a while to adjust to find his scowling face. “You’re going to hurt yourself like that one day, I should know.”

“...sorry…” Hyrule got out vaguely. He leaned into the cool palm pressing into his forehead. “Is he…?”

“He’s okay,” Legend answered. He pulled away with a frown, then took one of Hyrule’s hands in his own, rubbing it briskly between his own. Then he paused. “You’re… warm. You’re usually cold after you use too much magic.” He looked up at Hyrule, his eyebrows raising. “Have you been sick recently, Rulie?”

The words took a while to make their way through Hyrule’s exhausted mind. “No…? I don’t think so…” Suddenly, there were two Legend’s looking up at him. He blinked hard, and they solidified back into one. “I’m just tired… I think I might need to lie down for a bit.”

“Okay…” Legend said dubiously. “C’mon, give me your arm, I’ll help you over there.”

Hyrule found himself nearly slung over Legend’s shoulder. The walk to his bedroll seemed to be miles long. He stumbled, and Legend cursed, distantly calling out for Warrior to help him. He was there in an instant, supporting Hyrule’s other arm. Somewhere in the back of Hyrule’s mind, he realized that the outside of his right leg was burning, but he was much too tired to pay it any attention. He took one step towards his bedroll, then another.

“Rulie, this is more than magic exhaustion.” Legend’s voice warbled in from afar. “Are you sure that you’re okay?”

 “I mean, it… it could also be… be where that monster got me.” Hyrule panted out. All he had to do was get to his bedroll. One step. Another. “Didn’t really have time to… to deal with it, before Four was all hurt."

“Hyrule,” Legend said somewhere, his voice growing high. “What do you mean, where that monster got me?”

Hyrule, very helpfully, passed out in answer.

[v7lgar]

had a vampire sirius hogwarts au fic in my docs and gonna start posting it in a few hours bcuz why not

[deeranon]

Aquaphobia ~ A Furina Story

Chapter: Special

Warning: badly written angst and identity issues, that’s really it

@idkfitememate hope you’re ready because I think I flopped halfway through—don’t know how proud I am of it but at least it’s out? I’m proud about getting it out at least!

Hope you like it, at least :)

___

Furina loved the people of Fontaine deeper than any ocean on Teyvat. But she could not say the same for herself. Five hundred years of acting was bound to corrode the girl that Furina once was into little pieces eventually.

And so, Furina sat in her dull bed like a doll left to its thoughts while the owner was away.

Because that was truly what she was when you looked at it, wasn’t it? A doll in a body that was never supposed to be her own. Sure, people said she was human. But they didn’t know what Furina knew.

Her body wasn’t her own.

It never was. And probably never will be.

A trail of shattered mirror shards led from the bathroom and onto the stone tiled floor, but Furina didn’t bother to pick up the pieces. White hair with natural blue streaks that faded to an ever-present dim glow was scattered on the cold bathroom floor.

Furina bled from hands that did not feel like her own. Furina never had a reason to take the gloves off for the first few years of her act, but ever since the day curiosity overtook her, she wished the gloves could have been glued to them like there was nothing underneath.

The hands were like the hair that Furina had cut off.

Fading to two different hues of blue, the left one a blue so dark it was reminiscent of the midnight zone in the ocean, while the right faded to a soft icy blue like the sky and clouds had blended together. Thick and thin streaks a shade lighter than the blue of each hand reminded Furina of rock patterns swirled around the fingers,giving the hands an already unnatural glow that seemed to hide just under the skin where the patterns lay.

Furina wished she could cut off the hands just as she did the hair. As if in retaliation for Furina not being the true owner of the body, the wounds on the hands stung like millions of small needles set on fire. But Furina did not bother bandaging the injuries obtained from breaking the mirror. She simply sat on the bed in the new apartment and stared at the waning moon.

Because what else was there to do? Go outside when the sun rises and act as if everything is okay and totally normal? Ha. What a joke. She was sure to be a living embarrassment. If Furina could even call this life. There would be pointed fingers and eyes and she would become a laughingstock. And absolutely no one would or will take her seriously again after what happened at her trial. So what was the point?

Furina slumped into cushy pillows and blankets that made her sick as she remembered the knave’s words. Standing idle. Doing nothing. Failed.

Furina had been furious at the younger woman for her behavior, and had almost completely lost her mask in front of the Traveler and Paimon, who Furina wished to never see again.

Now, Furina just felt blank thinking back on it.

What was the use of getting angry? That wasn’t even her Arlecchino was talking to. It was her masked act, focalors.

If Furina was so insistent about being free from her act, how come she couldn’t seem to let it go?

Was this what other humans called a hypocrite?

Maybe it was because she didn’t truly feel like…whoever she was supposed to be if she wasn’t acting as focalors.

The little girl living her first day of life, innocent and kind, had been oblivious of the pain to come. Maybe that was the true Furina. Who she was. Not “focalors” or the god of justice. Her.

But deep in Furina’s unowned heart, she knew that little girl had been killed by her own hands just to sell the part of god of justice. The girl, wide eyed and curious about life, now laid dead. Torn to shreds by the demands of humanity and the expectations of the true Focalors.

But Furina knew she had been the one to choke the girl to her end.

It was all for Fontaine. Furina thought as she stood over the girl’s body. Yet she did not realize how the body that held her lacking human mind cried without her knowing once again.

But the act is over now, and there is nothing left of you. You are unneeded. You have completed what you were solely made for. Now what? Furina’s mind echoed in the silence. Her brain could not give her an answer. It was simply too tired to think straight.

Five hundred years of meticulously planning every step, every smile, every reaction, every answer, wore her mind down until it turned numb to the needs of true emotion. The only emotions that remained above the tides were fear and exhaustion.

All Furina wanted to do was rest, yet she had always been terrified of the thought of letting her mind sink beneath the waves for so long. At some point in her act, Furina had dubbed sleep overrated and used the cold nights to plan the months and years ahead as she struggled to stop the ever-present prophecy. A prophecy she was told to prevent by the reflection in the mirror, when the reflection knew it couldn’t be prevented at all. The reflection that had lied.

Now, Furina wanted to sleep without fear on the second day of her life. But her mind still raced with unwanted thoughts of terror. And probably from the pain of wounded hands.

Furina knew she was going to have to get rid of the now bloody sheets in the morning, so Furina might as well get it over with now, right?

She stood on shaky ombré blue feet and yanked the thin bedsheets stained with blood off of the mattress, scattering pillows and crumpled piles of blankets everywhere. The wounds screamed in protest as she carried the sheets without even a single wince as the cloth rubbed against open skin.

Furina walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, feet already numb from the chilly tiled floor. She headed straight for the sink and dropped the crumbled ball of bedsheets into the basin before reaching for one of the faucet handles, only to pause the moment before skin touched metal.

The sound of rushing water filled her mind, and she stepped away from the sink with a sharp intake of breath.

Furina gagged as bile rose in her borrowed throat and rushed to the bathroom, uncaring for the glass shards digging into the soles of dark and light blue feet but fully aware of the sound of cracking glass. The sound echoed in her mind, reminding her of that day like a movie film stuck on repeat.

Whatever little food Furina had consumed the day before emptied itself into the toilet as Furina hunched over with tear blurred vision. Soft white hair brushed against a leg and only made Furina gag harder as she tried to control the sobbing. She wretched into the toilet once more. The sound of crunching glass only made her cry harder.

No.

No.

No.

Not again.

Furina’s mind screamed as its thoughts looped over and over again. Stuck in a never ending cycle.

Water.

Flood.

Prophecy.

Fake.

Water.

Flood.

Prophecy.

Fake.

Fake.

Fake.

Furina closed off her sense of vision in a desperate attempt to calm down while she quaked. Body trembling like a flower in the middle of a windstorm. Furina knew she was supposed to do something to calm down somehow. But what was she supposed to do again? Furina couldn’t remember. Just like she couldn’t remember anything from before her single magical meeting in this world. Why was she so forgetful? Why can’t she remember?

Shaky hands released the rim of the bile filled toilet to clamp around arms that were trembling just as much as the hands. Like all those years ago.

Everything was so cold.

Where was the warmth? It’s so cold here…

So cold…Furina was cold. The body she inhabited gave no warmth, it was like the iciest depths of the ocean personified. Furina hated it. Furina hated this body. It was so cold, why did it have to be cold? Why?

Why couldn’t it feel warm? Like a normal human that everyone claimed she was? Even when Furina knew she was anything but.

All Furina wished for now was for something in this world to protect her from the eternal cold, even for a single minute. Was that so wrong?

Yes, a shard of her mask whispered. Because you are the one who gives up your warmth for others no matter the cost.

Furina wished for something to share its warmth with her, for something to ward off the empty feeling where a heart was supposed to be. But in the end she knew this was all wishful thinking.

Limp hands brushed against jagged shards, but Furina did not wince. For she could not feel. Her borrowed body was wholly and completely cold. Fingers subconsciously reached out and gripped a shard of mirror, testing if she could feel as already open wounds deepened enough to scar. But there was no reaction.

Furina felt numb.

The glass started to crack as the grip on it tightened.

Furina felt cold.

New trails of blood seeped from a dark blue hand littered with wounds.

Furina felt willing to accept that she had no protector to shield her from the cold, from her fears, and from herself.

The shard dug into a midnight stained hand slicked with blood. But the longer the mind ignored the pain the harsher the grip on the dagger-like piece of mirror became.

The hand held on tighter.

And tighter.

And tighter.

And then, there was nothing.

Furina felt something wrap around the left wrist that was now covered in blood and reopened her vision to find out what it was. Because it felt warm.

Furina almost didn’t know what she was staring at. It looked like a boy, but at the same time it wasn’t a boy at all.

It looked like a boy made of some kind of water; soft pink and gentle purple and blue liquids sloshed together with glitter floating in the water in clusters like stars at night, making it nearly opaque but not quite.

The thing cradled the shard-embedded hand like it was made of glass, tilting its faceless head down to somehow stare sadly at the wounded appendage. It rubbed gentle circles into the dark blue skin before looking up at Furina and staring into heterochromatic eyes.

Furina stared back, noticing how its uneven bluish-pink water hair fell over its face while the rest was pulled into a long shoulder ponytail that shimmered with a dark blue bow also made from glittery water.

But none of that really mattered to Furina, because she wanted to know who it was and why it was here. Did it want something from her?

“Who are you?” Furina whispered hoarsely. There was no verbal reply.

The thing simply leaned forward and wrapped its arms around shaky shoulders in a hug filled with such tenderness Furina completely froze. She did not pull away and scream, nor did she push the water-creature back and run for the front door to escape from the supposed intruder. She just sat there, frozen as the thing carded its watery but somehow firm fingers through short white hair.

Because this was the first time Furina had ever been given a hug. And she didn’t know how to react or what to do.

Furina felt safe in the entity’s embrace, she felt warm. Like sunlight was streaming through a window and straight into Furina’s soul.

Furina felt protected, for the very first time in her life.

And so, Furina unknowingly started to cry. Not from sadness, but for joy.

Bloodied hands moved on their own and gripped at the entity’s shoulders as tears streamed down to the even bloodier ground. The thing didn’t seem to mind and only held Furina tighter, rubbing circles into shaking shoulders with one hand while the other continued to card through messily cut white hair. The thing couldn’t speak verbally in common tongue, or really it couldn’t speak verbally at all, but Furina could feel as it shushed and consoled her in a language all its own.

And in that moment, Furina thought of a name:

Jamarie.

The prince that protects others with the soul of a warrior.

Yes, that name fits it well. Furina thought as the world grew blurry and she welcomed sleep with ease while being cradled in Jamarie’s warm arms.

And for the first time in more than five hundred years, Furina dreamed peacefully.

[c0zyrainfall]

I don't have an ao3, so I guess I'll post this here 😂 Enjoy? I've never written fanfic before but this idea had to get out of my mind ~

"Bossman, are you okay? You've been rather... spacey recently."

Damian halts mid step, causing Emile and Ewan to swivel back to him with confusion.

"What? I have not! I was just... thinking about the history assignment." His friends nod, appeased.

Can't even think in peace these days, apparently. Damian quickens his pace. He is NOT going to be late again. Now that he has had a taste of detention, he would not like a repeat thank you very much. Detention is for TROUBLEMAKERS, like the Forger girl. No, he would not repeat his tardiness. Never again. (He's thirty minutes early).

The history lesson drags on. The duke was assassinated. Yep. Old news. Damian already knows this entire lesson because he read ahead in the textbook. Can't be too prepared, right?

Apparently you can. This class is a total snoozefest. He wishes he could just faceplant onto his desk and sleep, like Anya is currently doing. But that would ruin his perfect student reputation. Instead, he props his elbow on his desk and rests his chin in his palm. Speaking of Anya.

Damian needs to figure out exactly what her deal is. She's so confusing. He was NOT happy when she hugged him yesterday. He was NOT happy when she wanted him to stay with her. He was NOT happy when she said she wanted to be his friend. He was not.

Even if he wanted to be happy about it, he couldn't be. Because even though he went through all the effort to give her the cakes in person instead of putting them in her locker, she still thought he was a creep.

After they had served their time in detention, Henderson bailed them out and allowed them to eat the teacakes. Then she beamed at him and said they could be good friends. He was confused, because didn't she JUST want to fight him two minutes ago? Then, a fleeting, unwanted thought had crossed his mind-

-and Anya looked at him like he'd just burnt her peanut butter toast. What the heck?! He hadn't even said anything!

...He hadn't even said anything.

Hold. The phone.

[whoblewboobear]

When Jace calls Porter over for a bit of reprieve from his cramps, he gets a lot more than he could've imagined.

Or the Jace period fic with a few twists 😬✌️

[anonymous-dentist]

Breaking Dawn Eleven- '-'

Chapter Summary:

Three things that are in this chapter:

1. Brunch 2. The sun 3. A ghost

[thatneoncrisis]

oh captain my captain i didn't know what league of legends game was when i watched arcane. so i thought the plot was alright since i didn't (still don't) know the game lore. if it wasn't basically a prequel story, trying to aim the characters at the way they are in canon, do u think the plot and character arcs would have held up alright? or does that actually make the arcane canon story worse since it wouldn't at least have the existing canon as something it needed to land at eventually as an excuse for any "out of character" decisions? thank u

i wouldnt even call it a prequel story? its like a very elaborate au in a sense, one that feels comfortable changing things to a certain extent- clothes, personality adjustments, motivations, but they still have to hit certain beats. vi has to be an enforcer, jinx has to be a wild card harley quinn type, ekkos time powers ect ect. idk WHAT it is maybe the show needed more time or tighter focus or less characters but i just felt that like, some of the story decisions directly relating to LoL lore werent outright bad but didnt have a lot of time to breathe. the standout example being ekkos time thing, where when i watched that scene i assumed it was both a stylistic representation of a fight and establishing his and jinx's prior relationship (which is kind of too little too late considering they did not fucking speak once as kids pre time skip), and then i had to get a friend to explain to me for SEVERAL MINUTES that he literally died during that fight and it was supposed to be showing his rewind thing. it just wasnt clear at all and his character would not change in the slightest if he didnt have it. but you cant NOT include it so. *

really i have no clue the full extent of the story the writers wanted to tell and how much LoL is binding their hands on story beats. and i REALLY dont want to be inflexible considering i still have a full season coming up that might make me more receptive to certain decisions. but considering how much of the cast i REALLY like just straight up are not in the game, i think they are fully capable of making a solid story completely divorced from league

*someone in the comments told me apparently that Wasnt his time thing and my original read of the scene was correct so im not gonna hold it against the show.