#thought someone else might find it helpful

[ozzgin]

content: gender neutral reader, NSFW (public lewding, praise kink)

Monster!Butler is an exceptional employee, displaying all virtues one would expect from his job and status. If he is to confess one flaw, however, he would agree his jealousy can become a tremendous weight, especially when it comes to you - his favorite little human.

He first discovered his shameful vice when you brought someone over, your smile a little too wide, your cheeks one shade too red. Oh, what an embarrassing affair, yet he couldn't help it: he paced back and forth outside your door, biting his claws, praying your sanctity wouldn't be defiled by some pathetic creature. He had to take matters in his own hands. He could not stand the thought of someone else having their way with you.

Consequently, the very next day, he proposed to you a peculiar arrangement: if you are to fool around, why not do it with someone you can trust, someone who can guide you along properly? Please, he nearly begged, use him for whatever needs or curiosities you might have.

How he relishes in this cheeky secret of yours! To be the one to know all of your desires and preferences, to be the only one to hear your sweet whimpers. As a matter of fact, he will sometimes afford a little self-indulgence and do something otherwise outrageous; he'll teasingly play with you around other people, almost erratic from the delight of claiming you so shamelessly, so publicly.

Your fingers tremble above the piano keys as the other guests chatter in the neighboring room.

"Just like I taught you, (Y/N)," your loyal butler will encourage you, whispering in your ear. "You're doing so good. I'm proud of you."

You squirm in his lap, feverish and stuffed to the brim. With every movement, you can feel his erection throb inside you, edging you closer.

"I really don't think I can p-play", you mumble, too worried that opening your mouth fully might result in a moan slipping out.

As if to mock you further, he readjusts his seating, pushing himself even deeper. You bite your lip.

"It's only polite we entertain the guests, my dear. Background music is an important element, and it blocks out any other distracting sounds."

His large hands hover underneath your wrists, nudging you to continue.

"You can let go whenever you want," he coos, breaking his usual conduct. "I'm here to take care of it."

Truth be told, the monstrous servant is finding it equally difficult to maintain his composure, especially once you begin jerking in his hold, reaching your peak. He has to bury his snout against your back, releasing a deep, quiet grunt.

God, he adores you so much.

[Monster Butler Intro]

[belovedbright]

She found the shrine when she was seven… partially collapsed stone in what had once been a field.

Thea ran her hands gently over the collapsed stones.

“If I rebuilt it, it might be large enough to hide in,” she thought. “Maybe I would be safe from…” but her mind snapped closed before that line of thought could go any further.

Thea began shifting stones, grunting as she cleared the fallen. She worked for hours until, the capstone fell, heavier than she could manage, scattering half a wall, and leaning heavily on another. Thea flopped heavily to the ground, blinking back tears. It was growing late, her hands were scraped, and hunger was making her crabby and easily frustrated.

“I can’t do it,” she said, her voice whining even to her own ears, which left her feeling angry & spiteful.

She pulled a honey cake from her pouch, and broke it in half. She was a clever though lonely child, and knew intent matter as much as anything else. As she ate her half, she considered the stone pile. The capstone lay forming a lean-to with one wall.

She rose and prodded it gently. It seemed solidly wedged, the wall stable. There was a little space beneath it. She knelt & swept away dead leaves. “This is all I have,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry it’s only half. I was really hungry.”

She rose up, wiping dirty hands on her dirty skirts. The shadows were growing longer, too long for a young girl to still be in the woods. “I need to go now. I hope you’re still here.”

Then she ran, fleeing through the woods towards civilization. Behind her two voices sighed. *

At age ten, she was finally strong enough to rebuild the tiny temple using pilfered rope, and tree limbs for levers & ramps. She’d been coming for years at that point, always with the offerings of the kinds of treasures children find. Honeycakes; ripe, stolen grapes; the remains of a bird’s egg, bright blue and smaller than her thumb. Once she smuggled a small chipped cup with a mouthful of beer still inside. (They'll never notice it's gone, she'd said as she slid it into the crevasse of the shrine. She'd been wrong, but wasn't sorry all the same.) Even though no god spoke to her, she talked enough for both of them. Moreover, she felt a contentment and warmth in the shrine's little grove that she felt nowhere else.

"Even if you don't speak, I know you're there," she said as she worked at repairing the shrine. She packed the lower walls between posts and packed earth to help hold them in place. Whenever she found herself wishing she had someone to help, to be an extra pair of hands, she found the wind changed, or the materials finally cooperated. She dug, heaved, lashed, and lifted, until finally the shrine was a real structure once more.

Once again, much like that first day, she was tired and hungry. But today she was undefeated. "We did it," she whispered, as she put the cup back with her offering of ripe raspberries.

"You did it," the god said with a voice like honey and feathers, gentle and sweet. Thea's eyes widened as she fell backwards, sprawling.

"You're here," she said finally, feeling her youth suddenly a disadvantage. "What can a child say to a god?" she thought. She scrambled around, kneeling in the dirt before the shrine.

The god chuckled softly, like the sound of wind through a wheat field. "You have knelt plenty today as you worked child, you do not need to do so again. You know that we are small gods here. Forgotten gods. I have little power to help you."

Another god spoke with a voice like crisp apples, like deep earth, like the first hint of frost, "We have lain here for centuries, with only each other's company. You should go, child, find a greater god to guide you."

Thea said nothing at first, for the shadows were long, and the night coming on too soon. "I see that I have two gods, and perhaps two small gods are better than any mighty one." And then she was off in a flash, racing the sun home once more.

"She didn't even ask our names," the God of Arepo grumbled.

"Hush," Arepo, the god of everlasting friendship replied.

She came back again the next day, of course, with a handkerchief of berries and one tiny copper coin. *

Thea came as often as she could as a child, with her wild offerings and gentle devotion. Once when she was eleven, she brought a candle stub, though she had no way to light it. She sat, leaning lightly against the shrine that day, her cheek covered in a rapidly darkening bruise. "I wish I had a way to light it for you," she said brightly. "I wish I could bring you some of the incense from the bigger shrines, but then I couldn't light that either. Maybe perfume? Do gods like perfume? Or maybe flowers? Flowers smell nice…"

The gods listened to her chatter for some time, answering her questions with amused fondness. Then Arepo said, "Do you need to talk about what happened?"

Her smile vanished as she reached a hand towards her face and pulled her knees to her chest. "Could you do anything if I did?"

"No," the God of Arepo said sadly.

"No then," Thea said quietly. "This is enough." And the three of them sat a while longer on that cool, Autumn day, enjoying the light through the changing leaves, the crispness in the air, the humble, fragile beauties in the world. *

When she was thirteen, she fled to the shrine by night for the first time, under a high gibbous moon. She curled up against the shrine, sobbing and bruised, years of stories pouring out of her. Her gods listened and fretted until the small candle stub lit inside the shrine. Just enough for a little light and warmth in the darkness -- a fragile beauty certainly -- but unexpected. They talked as she slept.

"I thought you could do nothing, old friend," said Arepo to his god.

"So did I," said the god of Arepo, who was beginning to become something more. *

Thea was fourteen when her father died. She did not weep. She stole three cups of beer from the funeral, and fled to the woods. She drank one, leaving the others for her gods. "We didn't do anything," they protested. "We could do nothing."

"Of course you did," Thea said, not realizing she was weeping. "You were here. When I needed a friend, I found you both. You were here." And the god of everlasting friendship felt something changing in himself as well. *

The seasons and years came and went. Thea's mother remarried a kinder, better man. Thea herself married a good man, if not a passionate one. They had six children who lived, a kindness so rarely afforded to anyone. And though Thea did not take them to the shrine, she taught them of her gods in her own way. To pay attention to the fleeting, humble beauty of the world. To be a friend to the friendless. To be kind, even when a situation feels beyond hope. And every year, she returned to her shrine to sweep away the leaves. To bring her candles and berries and even incense. To talk with her oldest, truest friends. *

The last time Thea came to the shrine, her hands were aching, her gait slow, her heart thrumming unsteady in her chest. She struggled to sit down, placing her offering just at the mouth of the shrine, for she could bend no further. "I have another granddaughter," she said softly, her voice coarsened with age. Her gods gathered close to her, warming her with their presence.

"You're dying, Thea," the god of humble, fleeting beauty said, his voice like the the fall of cut wheat. It pained him to realize that, she too was one of those fleeting, beautiful things.

"I know," said the priestess of Arepo and his God. "I am so sorry. I should have done more for you. It was selfish to keep you to myself." And the gods wept together.

"If…" said the god of Arepo. "If we could do some great thing for you, Thea. If we could, what would you want it to be?"

She smiled quietly, her breathing coming shorter. "I think… the world would be a kinder place… if everyone treasured the small, humble, beauty in the world. If everyone felt the surety of unconditional love and friendship. I would want that, for everyone."

"Yes," said Arepo quietly.

"Yes," said the god of humble beauty.

As Thea's soul left her body with her breath, the gods felt something new pass through them, a change in the earth and heavens, powerful as lightning, but gentle as waking. They each kissed her forehead, then looked at each other anew.

"We are still small gods," said the God of Opening Your Heart to Small Beauty.

"Perhaps two small gods can be better than one mighty one. Or perhaps we will need to work harder " said the God of Unconditional Love. Arepo extended his hand, "One soul at a time?"

And the gods walked, hand-in-hand, out into the world.

CODA [I thought I was done, then took a shower & found the rest.]

Years later, the gods found themselves in a prisoner of war camp. The men lay, head to foot, shivering and dying in the mud, open air above them, and walls around. "What use are small beauties here, in this place? We are still too small, too weak to do anything," cried the God of Opening Your Heart to Small Beauty. And Arepo wept, for he too felt powerless in the face of such cruelty. Even love and friendship could only do so much. They heard, before they saw it, one voice, then another, as the soldiers began to sing. As they looked around, they saw someone crossing the camp, the soldiers voices growing behind her. Until Thea stood, holding a single candle, radiant beyond measure.

"I am the goddess of a candle against infinite darkness, of the whispered voice against despair, of the thinnest slivers of hope." The three small gods embraced, as the voices around them grew steadier, clearer, and brighter.

While other god's shrines are magnificent, yours is a bit too humbling. And yet a little girl visits you every year after stumbling upon it, never missing a year even as she grows old. Deeply moved, you decide to give her a parting gift greater than what any other God would dare to give.

[andhumanslovedstories]

you think often of how nurses should speak and relate to patients, and i highly appreciate knowing you put this kind of thought in and share it with other nurses. but as someone who often occupies the patient position, i'm curious if you have any thoughts on ways for patients to interact with nurses, when we are in decent enough control of our faculties to make choices about that. i would like this knowledge from both an altruistic perspective in recognizing nursing is difficult and not wanting to voluntarily make it difficulter, and a wholly self interested position of knowing nurses who like interacting with me give better care. what helps as a professional and as a person?

I'm surprised how much I had to think about this question. What do I want patients to do? I don't know. A lot of it is basic human decency, some of it is specific to my nursing workflow, but overall I find it complicated saying what patients "should" do. I cut out about 500 words of navel gazing from this post explaining why. Here are answers I've come up, in no order and not of equal importance.

--a lot of it is basic "polite interaction with another person in a professional setting." If you're asking this question, you probably care about treating people well in general. If you wouldn't say it to a barista, would you say it to your nursing tech?

--don't do joke answers to basic orientation questions like "what's your name" and "where are you right now", because it's annoying to have to clarify if you're actually confused or if you're fucking with me. I know they're annoying. Just answer correctly so we can move on.

--have some flexibility and patience. Hospitals have a lot of moving parts, and each person interacting with you has other patients that also need care. My hospital and state has mandated nursing ratios. The maximum amount of patients I've had in one assignment is five. Other hospitals have far less protection, and nurses may have six, eight, twelve other patients. Our respiratory therapists each cover multiple units. One CNA might cover the entire floor. I know if melatonin is the difference between you sleeping or not sleeping, it is very frustrating for someone to bring it late. I just ask you keep in mind that there's dozens of reasons that might happen besides someone ignoring you.

--help us help you. If you can lift your arm up for me to put a blood pressure cuff on, why are you holding your arm completely limp so it's like putting pants on a toddler than doesn't want to get dressed? If you can help roll yourself in bed, help us roll you. If your IV is beeping, hit the call light so someone can come turn it off. If you don't have urgency issues and you can tell you're going to need to go to the bathroom soon, call before it's an emergency. If your IV hurts when I give you medication at 8 pm, tell me then, not when I'm trying to give you your midnight antibiotic and all the evening staff have already gone home.

--if you don't understand how something works in the hospital (what happens when you hit the call light, how often are people going to take your vital signs, why can't I get up and walk around the room), just ask. It's really easy for people who work in a hospital every day to forget other people aren't familiar with it.

--don't treat doctors noticeably better than you treat everyone else.

--pet peeve number one: if I give you pills in a med cup, you can just use the med cup to get the pills to your mouth. You don't need to pour the pills into the palm of your hand and then pop them into your mouth. You're gonna drop the pills, and I'm gonna end up on the floor looking for a tiny tablet of dilaudid.

--bundle requests, especially low-importance ones. If you ask for crackers and you know crackers make you thirsty, just request your drink at the same time. Don't make me walk to your room, the nutrition room, and your room again ten minutes later.

--I don't expect people in the hospital to be pleasant all the time, and I don't take snappiness personally, but I always really appreciate the patients who apologize or even just acknowledge their behavior.

--I love patients who acknowledge my work. I don't need effusive praise or a thousand thank yous. It means a lot for someone to just be like "hey, thanks for your help tonight."

--have patience with repeating yourself. If you've got something important and complicated to convey, practice a quick understandable blurb that takes no brain power from you. There may be something that you've told the staff a dozen times, and it may be documented in your chart, but in the hospital you see many people who have never worked with you before and for whatever reason didn't read that info in your chart. For example, I'm a float pool nurse which means I almost never see the same patients twice. I can get sent to a different unit and a different patient load at literally any time. I can't familiarize myself with complicated documentation or read every nursing note. Especially not for patients I know I will only have for four hours. I know repeating yourself is annoying, I know it sucks to have to explain your bathroom routine or your preferred pain med or when you like to get pills or whatever every shift. And it's great when people make that information very easy to find! But if you just accept the reality you'll be repeating yourself a lot anyway, it makes doing so less frustrating.

--pet peeve number two: don't exaggerate to make a point. This is such a human thing to do, and god knows I catch myself doing it all the time, but you can raise objections in a way that's factually true. I've got a lot of concrete data that people are very often wrong when they say they're been "waiting for hours" after hitting a call light. The computer has a time stamp of the last time I was in your room. I know it was 45 minutes ago. There's a timer by the call light. I know you called twenty minutes ago. And I know it feels much longer when you are waiting for basic cares or pain control or anything pressing. Things can be unacceptable without needing to be exaggerated. When the exaggeration is the base of your complaint, it undercuts your credibility. Honestly I find it really irritating when I spend a disproportionate amount of my shift with one patient only for that patient to tell another staff member that I've been neglecting them. Just say I did a bad job, don't pretend I wasn't there at all.

--don't ask me to pull my mask down so you can see my face. like cmon dude.

--I'm not saying you have to send all your visitors out of the room when I'm there, I'm just saying have some sympathy for how nerve-wracking it can be to do your job while being intensely watched by five other deeply invested people with limited context for your actions.

--this is a nebulous and difficult one. You might have a lot of emotion that you don't know what to do with. What you shouldn't do with it is channel it into every interaction you have with a healthcare worker. If you feel guilty about how you haven't visited your mother in a while and now she's in the hospital, you gotta find ways to deal that don't involve getting extremely passive aggressive at your mother's night nurse.

[redeemingvillains]

of magic & mayhem - mattheo riddle

summary: the strongest wizard of your age also happens to be hogwarts' playboy, and when he sets his sights on you, you realize neither of you have a choice in the matter.

word count: 3k

a/n: this is like nine of my concepts all mashed into one! heavily influenced by my re-read of fourth wing in preparation for onyx storm coming out, anyone who wants to scream about that in my inbox, please do <3

The Great Hall echoed with the excited chatter of friends and classmates and the general cacophony of breakfast; the sounds of scraping cutlery and the clink of dishes and goblets. You and Pansy sat in genial silence as you read your book and she eyed the gossip column of the Daily Prophet.

You were so totally transfixed on your book that you didn't see the looming figure in front of you until he placed his hands on the oak table and leaned casually across it into your airspace.

"Good morning" he drawled smoothly in a deep voice that caused you to glace up only to see Mattheo Riddle's large amber eyes twinkling at you, matched with a smirk that made you feel like you had pixies in your stomach.

You could smell his cologne from this distance, an undeniable mix of woodsmoke, evergreen and cinnamon that made you feel heady.

"Pansy" he acknowledged, nodding at her as she glanced up at him with a surprise that matched your own.

"Mrs. Riddle" he said, acknowledging you as his electric gaze found yours. You felt a deep blush on your cheeks, even as your face scrunched in confusion and your eyes searched his face for a hint of a joke, finding none.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, cocking your head. As much as you tried to supress it, a small smile graced your lips, which didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" he said in mock surprise. "You don't like it? I think it's perfect."

A pause.

"It suits you" he said confidently. He winked at you as your eyebrows shot up and he turned and walked away without another word.

You turned to look at Pansy who was open-mouthed gaping after him before turning to look at you.

"What was that!?" she exclaimed, excited, like you knew something she didn't.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes despite the hammering of your heart in your chest.

"He's a complete flirt, Pans, I'm not putting a lot of weight in whatever he's woken up and decided to say today."

But even as the words came out of your mouth, you couldn't help but feel excited that you'd caught his attention, even if you knew how delicately dangerous it could be.

"But Mrs. Riddle?! Please. I am dying oh my gods!" she said.

"No, we're not even thinking about this. Not unless you want to listen to me cry myself to sleep in three weeks when I've completely fallen for him and he's moved on to someone else. We all know how this goes and I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."

Pansy pursed her lips as she bounced in her seat with excitement, like she was going to explode.

"Okay, but maybe, just hear me out—" she started.

"—No" you said emphatically, as much to her as to yourself.

She stuck her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture.

It was no secret you were sought after; you had your fair share of dates and suitors. And it was no secret that Mattheo Riddle took the concept of incredibly hot fuckboy to another level, which is why, despite his comment and increasingly insistent stares you kept your distance.

Try as you might to forget what he said, or the way his dark eyes had twinkled mischievously as they drank you in, you found your thoughts drifting to him more times than you'd care to admit, and he had no intention of making it any easier for you, because now every time he saw you, he made a point of using your new nickname.

"Good morning, Mrs. Riddle" he said as he passed you in the Great Hall the next day.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Riddle!" he shouted from the opposite side of the common room, which garnered a significant amount of attention and whispers.

"Let me get the door for you, Mrs. Riddle" he said, pushing your classmates out of the way to do so.

"Mmm, gorgeous as ever, Mrs. Riddle" he whispered walking by you in the library in a way that felt like the words themselves danced over every inch of your body.

Pansy was nearly inconsolable over the situation, egging it on eagerly and even picking it up herself.

"Good night, Mrs. Riddle" she said to you as you crawled into bed in your shared dormitory.

"Lay off it, Pansy! Gods" you replied, even as you grinned like an idiot to yourself.

But then she wasn't the only one.

After less than a week of it, the rumor spread like fiendfyre and now Mattheo's friends were smirking at you in the corridor, waving teasingly to you in the common room and offering you every ounce of preferential treatment befitting of the name: knocking Potter off his chair when he took your seat in Potions, forcing a first-year to stand outside your dormitory holding your favorite latte every morning, and ensuring you had a coveted first row seat at their quidditch matches, including the House Cup, which you were excitedly getting ready for when Pansy burst into your room.

"You will never guess what I just heard" she said, grabbing you by the shoulders.

"What's that?" you asked, humoring her frenetic energy.

"Astoria Greengrass having a sob in the girls lav. You know how she and Mattheo have hooked up a few times?—"

You didn't, in fact, know that and couldn't help the pang of jealousy that gripped your chest.

"—Well I heard her telling Penelope Clearwater that he says he doesn't want to anymore and he told Harmony Norman and Maria Warner the same thing!"

Your face tangled in disgust.

"How many girls is he hooking up with? And why do you look so happy about it? What a mess…" you said, sighing as you turned to resume your makeup.

"Why, all of a sudden is he breaking all of them off, hmm?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at you in your mirror.

"I don't know" you said shiftily. "Maybe he's trying to be a better person?!—"

"—Or maybe he has his eyes set on someone else?!" she said insistently. "You know, someone he's given a special nickname to, his name to?"

You opened your mouth to argue with her but you couldn't deny the logic of her statement.

The boys pulled it off, sweeping Gryffindor in the House Cup for the first time in years and the ensuing celebration was electric.

The music in the common room was loud enough to sway the chandeliers in the ceiling, to feel the bass vibrating in your body.

Every Slytherin you knew and quite a few friends from other houses were there, the normally cavernous room filled in a way that made it feel like some sort of night club, bodies covering every inch of space, melding and weaving between each other and raising the temperature of the normally dank dungeon air.

You couldn't help but search the flashing lights and otherwise utter chaos for Mattheo and you didn't have to look for long the way he stood a head taller than almost everyone in the room, even surrounded by his large teammates; not to mention the way they were walking around like kings, taking turns chugging champagne out of their trophy, raucous, rowdy and loud as people cheered around them.

Mattheo himself was in rare form, his handsome curls were slightly askew and his cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and general liveliness of the night. He was dressed in a fitted black tshirt and dark pants and was exuding an energy that was magnetic, even from where you were standing; undeniably, your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of him.

Had you gotten a little dressed up? Of course. It was a celebration, an occasion, why wouldn't you? But as you wound through the sea of bodies, fingers twined in Pansy's, you garnered enough stares and double-takes that had you thinking you may have slightly overdone it.

"Oh, okay queen!" Pansy had said the minute she'd seen your outfit, the way you'd done your makeup and styled your hair, knowing, perhaps, exactly what or who had been on your mind.

You stopped to grab a drink and your cup had barely touched your lips before two guys came up to you that you recognized vaguely from the year below you. They were admittedly cute and you smiled as they compliment you and chatted with you. You leaned in closer to hear them over the music and the crowd and the one closest to you ducked his head toward you when you felt a tingle run from the base of your neck down your spine and a large, warm hand wound its way around your waist, pulling you firmly backwards into what felt like a pliable brick wall. You were startled for only a moment until you caught the undeniable scent of evergreen, of cinnamon.

"Brian is it? Blake? Blaire? Why don't you go get a drink, buddy?" his voice rumbled near your ear, more of a command than a suggestion as Bradley's eyes shot up over your shoulder to the shadow looming there and nodded quickly, retreating.

"Aww" you pouted sarcastically as you turned around. "He was nice, we were having fun!"

You met Mattheo's eyes which were so dark they looked nearly jet black as they glared at you. Had he been jealous?

And like he could read your mind his lip twitched and he rolled his eyes.

"Even if he had a chance with you, which, let's be very clear, he doesn't, he wouldn't know what to do with it."

"And, let me guess, you would?" you asked teasingly.

"Care to find out?" he asked matter-of-factly.

You felt a wave wash over you from your head to your toes, your body tingling with his proximity, with the way his eyes met yours directly, unfaltering despite the myriad distractions around him.

Gods yes you thought, even as you bit your bottom lip, teetering on the edge of a decision you knew you couldn't come back from.

His eyes shamelessly fell to your lips and you suddenly realized that his hands had never left you as they flexed at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was holding onto you for purchase.

"C'mon" he said, not waiting for a coherent reply from you, which you may never have been able to form had he kept looking at you that way.

His hands left your body only long enough to tangle his fingers in yours and hold them tightly, pulling you behind him as he headed into the sea of bodies on the dance floor, weaving between some as others offered him a wide berth and a congratulations when they realized who he was.

Then, like he was moving in slow motion, he turned to face you, twining your fingers further in his as he pulled you into him, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you were flush to his chest, and his other hand found your waist again, his grip firm and unyielding as he held you to him as if you would argue or try to be anywhere but right here.

You could feel every dip and curve of his body against yours as you moved against each other in a way that felt perfect and also not nearly enough, even though you couldn't get any closer.

You let the hand on his shoulder wander to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into the curls there and even though the music was loud enough that you could barely hear yourself think, you could feel as much as hear the growl that released in his chest as his hands tightened on you in a way you were certain would leave a bruise.

The lights flickered for just a second, and a few people stopped dancing and shouted but his eyes never left yours, the only acknowledgement he offered, a small grimace on his face, which made you want to kiss his lips back into his irritatingly perfect smirk.

He leaned in, pressing his cheek to yours as his lips hovered to your ear.

"You look stunning, Mrs. Riddle."

He leaned back and you could see his signature smirk gracing his lips again. You opened your mouth to reply as your eyes met his, but your head was swimming at this point. Everything was him all at once, his body against yours, taught and warm to your touch, his breath on you that smelled like cinnamon gum, his cologne, you felt yourself melting into him at his words, closing the only remaining inches between your hips as your hands came to his face and your noses brushed — and then the lights went out in earnest, drowning you in complete darkness.

"Fuck" you heard him mutter strongly before grasping your hand in his as he started to pull you through the imperceptible forms of people who were yelling and shouting, blazing a path through them, pushing people aside brusquely where necessary. He was on a war path and your feet moved quicky to follow him as he cleared most of the crowd and headed directly for the boys dormitory.

He pulled you into a maze of adjoining corridors before swiping his hand causing an approaching door to fly open as he pulled you in behind him. You were barely through it before he swiped his hand again and it slammed closed behind you, forcefully, the energy pouring off of him in a way that reminded you just how strong of a wizard he was, and exactly why absolutely nobody fucked with him.

He turned to you finally, his chest rising and falling as he gripped your waist and pushed you gently against the closed door with a thud. He let his other hand rest beside your head, caging you in. The look of lust on his face was still there, tangled with the same grimace from before, like he was angry, like he was holding something in.

"Mattheo...?" you whispered and he ducked his head away from you, his eyes squeezing shut as the hand at your waist squeezed again, the touch sending an electric tingle up your side that made you gasp.

His gaze came back to you and then he was leaning in, his nose brushing yours again and your hands came to wind around his neck. You caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips as they hovered over yours, barely grazing them, and you could feel static electricity there between you, the air itself alight with energy, vibrating. The temptation was driving you mad, your chest visibly rising and falling against his own and then his lips fell to yours, warm, soft and urgent.

He took your face in his hands and pressed you into the door and you hummed against him. The lights in the room flickered once, then twice, and then rapidly like you were in a horror film before they went out completely, drenching you both in a velvet darkness that was somehow welcoming, like you could feel the shadows themselves dancing over your body, caressing you, enveloping you.

You felt his tongue against your bottom lip and you opened up to him. Your tongued flicked against his and a freezing gust of wind blew papers, books and quills off his desk, hurling them to the ground with a clatter and bang. Mattheo never stopped, his tongue continued to glide over yours and he kissed you like it was the last godsdamn thing he'd ever do.

He hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you back into the door before releasing your lips just long enough to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck that he lavished in a way you were certain there would be a violet bruise in the morning.

Your eyes fluttered in pleasure, lost in him for a moment until you caught sight of the room around you and you froze.

It was midnight black but for the moonlight coming through the window which cast everything in a ghostly shade of white, but what caught your eye was that every object in the room was floating, adrift in the air, the bed, the desk, the bookshelf, all hovering feet off the ground. Lightweight objects like clothing, quills and his books floated higher and higher and then you realized that it was cold enough to see your breath in front of you.

"Mattheo" you breathed, trying to get his attention. Your hand carded through his curls and the chair in the corner took flight.

Wait. Was this him?

"Mrs. Riddle?" he murmured in your neck.

"Mattheo" you said again, a stronger urgency in your voice causing him to relent and look up at you with a puff of air of his own.

"Fuck" he said. "It's – yeah. That's me. Well, that's you actually."

"What?"

"S'no secret that my magic is ... strong. And I'm well practiced at controlling it. With... one exception."

He took your hand and placed it over his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.

You searched his eyes and his eyebrow quirked until he gestured to his room. As if to say 'see?'

This boy had quite literally lost his control at your touch.

"Wait, the lights? The music?" you asked, a small smile on your lips at the realization.

"When you touched me, I just—" he shook his head, exhaling another puff of cold air. "—See what you do to me, Mrs. Riddle?" he said.

"Gods, when are you going to stop calling me that?" you laughed, even as you looked at him and traced a finger over his lips.

"When it's true" he said simply.

You looked confused for a moment until he leaned into you again, his magic radiating off of him.

"What?" you breathed.

"When you're mine, and it's official and I won't have to spend all of my free time reminding everyone you're mine, they'll know. Until then, I'll hedge my bets."

He kissed you.

"Mmpf, but what if I didn't want you to stop?" you murmured against him.

He pulled back to look at you, scanning your face for any sign of a joke, and finding none as your eyes connected with his and his lip quirked in a smile.

"Well, princess,” he whispered against your lips, ghosting them with his, teasing you before biting your bottom lip gently in a way that sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

“Whatever Mrs. Riddle wants—” he murmured, kissing you fully, luxuriously, “—Mrs. Riddle gets.”

ˋ°•*⁀➷ I have the tiniest little epilogue that I'll post soon, let me know if you want to be tagged!

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner

[allthewhumpygoodness]

Other Stuff that can happen in "stagnant" whump fics

So I've been thinking about something and wanted to share it as an open conversation. A lot of the time my writing block when writing whump or sickfic comes from like...what can actually happen in the course of the story. Especially since my stuff tends towards the longer side (I'm a chronic overwriter), it's hard to keep things...interesting I guess? And I find my writing suffers when my Tales Of Woe don't have much structure to them.

(I say this as someone who writes primarily sickfic, or recovery-based stories that are caretaker/whumpee focused, with little or no whumper involvement, so that's what I'll be focused on here. Certainly if you're writing something like a character being held in captivity and tortured/attempting escape/encountering other prisoners/being searched for, you've already got plenty going on and probably don't have this issue at all.)

So I've made a list of Stuff That Can Happen during your whump/sick fic. If you would like. Of course, there will always be a market for stories that are mostly the same level of suffering and nothing else is really the focus, but if you do find you struggle with this like I do, this list might be for you.

Character arcs/Internal/social shifts:

1 caretaker, their relationship to the whumpee strengthens

1 caretaker, they find themselves growing apart from the whumpee

2 or more caretakers, there are complicated dynamics between all of them + the whumpee that shift around

Eg; there's a whumpee and 3 others, Caretaker A forms a closer relationship with Whumpee throughout the story, Caretaker B *was* close with them before but finds their place now "usurped" by A, Caretaker C tries to keep the peace between them while also helping out Whumpee

A caretaker realizes they're better at Caretaking than they'd thought

A caretaker realizes they're not as good at Caretaking as they'd thought

Whumpee realizes they have romantic feelings for Caretaker (or vice versa)

Whumpee discovers they only like Caretaker as a friend (or vice versa)

Whumpee learns to trust Caretaker (s)

Caretaker (s) learn to trust Whumpee

There was a previous misunderstanding (about their feelings for one another, their loyalties, an action taken from one of them etc.) between Whumpee and Caretaker (or between more than one caretaker) that gradually gets resolved

A misunderstanding occurs within the story that builds and is then resolved

One caretaker has to convince another to be honest with Whumpee about this misunderstanding (or has to convince Whumpee to be honest with Caretaker)

Someone unexpected arrives at the scene; whether that be a rival, a friend or family member of the whumpee, a potential other caretaker, or Whumper

Perhaps this is a relief for the caretaker, who needs a break

Or it's a stranger who causes tension in the situation

Maybe the caretaker knows this person is coming and is stressed out waiting for them

Physical/symptomatic shifts:

Whumpee is found injured and unconscious, and wakes up being cared for - their wounds later become infected, leading to a much longer recovery

Whumpee's condition quickly worsens

Whumpee steadily becomes delirious

Whumpee is feverish and goes from feeling freezing cold to boiling

Whumpee feverishly tries to stumble out of bed and into a different room (searching for Caretaker? trying to find a warmer spot?), and are found before, as, or after they collapse

Adding illness to injury: Whumpee is dealing with an injury, only to get sick, or sick only to also become hypothermic, they have heatstroke and then get hurt etc. Compounding whump.

Environmental shifts:

A caretaker could leave temporarily out of necessity, leaving whumpee and/or other caretaker(s) worried about them until they return

The weather changes (worsens? gets better? worsens and then gets better? gets better and then worsens?)

The characters have to shift locations for some reason

An important resource is run out of

Something necessary is destroyed or partially destroyed

A doctor/medic needs to be called

Somebody else becomes sick, injured, or lands in some other danger

Whumpee's newest symptom requires a different type of medicine than what they've been taking up until now, possibly one the caretaker doesn't have

The characters are in an intense situation (in hiding, in a warzone, on the run, trying to escape a natural disaster etc.) and the stakes suddenly become much higher due to something related to this

Maybe there's a flood and the waters have reached their safe spot

Maybe whumpee is some enemy they're sheltering in secret and members of their team/army/etc. come searching for them

There's lots more I could add and I'm not sure if this is explained in the best way, but there you have it.

[aventurineswife]

helos fre :3 random but any thoughts on self aware hsr 🙏🙏 ngl it's absolute peak to me cuz the fics I've read about it is so good I wanna digest it into my blood cells 😍🥰🥰/hj /lh

AHHHH I HAVE FEW BUT ITS PROBABLY NOT GOOD 😭🙏 (I might need to write a series about it in the future lmaoo)

The Express itself, and the crew aboard it, start referencing an "observer" that influences their journey. They might leave cryptic remarks like, "We wouldn’t have made it here without a guiding force…" or, "Are you out there, watching us?"

Himeko and Welt have deep discussions about the metaphysical implications of being part of a "game." Welt's past in other dimensions makes him particularly reflective.

Occasionally, your Trailblazer might break the fourth wall and stare directly "out" of the screen. They’d ask questions like, "Why are you helping us? What’s in it for you?" Or even, "Do you think you’re doing the right thing?"

Their dialogue changes subtly depending on your in-game decisions, showing that they’re paying attention.

Kafka is one of the few who seems fully aware that you’re pulling the strings. She might tease, "How long will you keep playing this game? Or is it playing you?" It’s unclear if she means it literally or as a metaphor.

Pela starts digging into the concept of "higher dimensions" where powerful entities (like the players) influence their world. You might find hidden journal entries speculating about the possibility of unseen forces guiding their lives.

Characters start commenting on how often you farm the same materials or run the same domains (?). For instance, Dan Heng might say, "You’ve had me fight this exact enemy over fifty times… What are you preparing for?"

When summoning characters, some of them might react to being "chosen." For example: Silver Wolf might say, "Took you long enough. Were you saving for someone else?" While Seele could mutter, "You really wanted me, didn’t you?"

As beings tied to the metaphysical order of the universe, the Aeons might perceive your existence. Xianzhou scholars hypothesize that you are an entity akin to an Aeon of "Control" or "Fate."

The Stellaron within the Trailblazer seems to have an awareness of you, treating you like an ally—or a potential threat. It might whisper cryptic messages about your choices or consequences.

Herta becomes suspicious of the odd behaviors in the universe and starts referring to you as a "prime variable." She might even try to communicate directly through simulated events, asking for your cooperation.

Some characters, like March 7th or Natasha, might express gratitude for your care and attention. "You always bring me along… Do you think I’m special?" they might ask, breaking the fourth wall.

Certain antagonists, like Cocolia or Jade, might break from their usual dialogue to challenge your decisions. "You think you’re the hero? You’re just another player, aren’t you?"

A secret cutscene or dialogue could play if you act in unexpected ways, revealing that the characters have fully realized their reality. It could be bittersweet, with them either embracing or lamenting their lack of agency.

Aventurine might acknowledge your influence subtly. After completing a mission for the IPC, he sends a message: "Noticed your knack for efficiency. You deserve a little bonus for all the extra effort you 'inspire.' Don’t let it go to your head." He attaches an unusually large amount of credits, as though recognizing you directly for optimizing his profits.

Argenti might kneel before the screen during a heartfelt moment (or after a battle): "O noble guide, it is your divine hand that shapes my path! I dedicate my blade not just to the people, but to you. May your will continue to shine upon us!" He also gifts you rare items or sends messages of gratitude, as though you're a divine figure he serves.

AHHH I wanna write fics for certain characters or something (this could also lead to yandere themes depending if the person/anon reqs for it).

[mellowmusings]

coffee for your head | part 3

part 2

Azriel x reader A/N- highkey dead rn, wanna kms :) let me know if you wanna be tagged. my dumbass confused it with blessed mistakes first lmao Summary-After loosing his mate Azriel falls into severe depression barely living and eating at all, his entire life had fallen apart and even after a century of grieving he still couldn't pull himself up to the surface, but in his hole of self pity a ladder reaches down to him.

part 3- The healing The nights were still hard. Shadows curled restlessly around Azriel, whispering fragments of his past and pulling him toward the memories he couldn’t escape. He didn’t sleep much, haunted by dreams that left him cold and aching. But lately, there was something—someone—that offered a reprieve from the endless cycle of guilt and grief.

You.

It wasn’t as though you had come into his life and magically made everything better. The ache of losing his mate didn’t vanish overnight, nor did the guilt of allowing himself to feel something new. But your presence was steady, warm, and—most importantly—patient.

That patience was what terrified him the most.

Azriel noticed the little things first. The way you brewed his tea just how he liked it, even though he’d never told you. The way you left space for him at the dinner table but didn’t press when he chose to sit alone. The way you laughed—soft and sincere, as if the world hadn’t left its scars on you the way it had on him.

He didn’t know how to handle it.

The first time you sat beside him in the garden, saying nothing but letting your presence fill the silence, he found himself gripping his hands tightly in his lap. The urge to speak warred with the urge to push you away, to tell you that you deserved someone less broken.

But you didn’t ask him to speak. You just stayed. And something inside him cracked.

The journey wasn’t smooth. Healing rarely was.

There were moments when Azriel felt like he was suffocating, the weight of the past pressing down on his chest. He’d wake in a cold sweat, his shadows coiled tightly around him, and he’d remember her—his mate. Her laughter, her voice, the way she’d looked at him like he was the only thing that mattered in the world.

And then he’d think of you. The way you smiled at him, the way your eyes softened when you looked his way. It was different, softer.

It wasn’t wrong, was it? To find comfort in someone else?

But comfort didn’t always come easily.

One evening, you had invited him to join you for a walk along the Sidra. It wasn’t unusual—walking had become one of the few ways Azriel could clear his mind. But that day, he was restless, his shadows unusually loud, their whispers biting at the edges of his thoughts.

“Come with me,” you said, your tone light, though he could see the concern in your eyes.

“I’m fine,” he replied curtly, his voice sharper than he intended.

You blinked, clearly taken aback, but you didn’t back down. “Azriel, you’ve been sitting in this room all day. A walk might help—”

“I said I’m fine,” he snapped, the words cold and biting.

The silence that followed was unbearable. You stood there, your expression carefully blank, though he could see the hurt flicker across your features before you masked it.

“Alright,” you said quietly, turning to leave.

The door closed softly behind you, and Azriel sank into his chair, his head in his hands. The guilt was immediate, suffocating. He hadn’t meant to lash out, hadn’t meant to hurt you.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He didn’t know how to let someone in without fear of losing them.

He found you later that night, sitting by the fire in the House of Wind. You didn’t look up when he approached, your focus on the flames, but you didn’t tell him to leave, either.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low.

You turned to him then, your eyes searching his face. “I’m not upset because you snapped at me, Azriel. I’m upset because you keep shutting me out.”

“I don’t mean to,” he admitted, his shadows curling around his shoulders like a shield. “I just—this isn’t easy for me. Letting someone in. Letting myself feel…” He trailed off, the words stuck in his throat.

You softened, your gaze steady. “I know it’s not easy. But I’m not asking you to do this alone. I’m here, Azriel. For as long as you’ll let me be.”

Something about the way you said it, so quietly but with such conviction, unraveled him. He sat beside you, his shoulders brushing yours, and for the first time in a long while, he let himself lean into someone else’s strength.

The fights were never explosive, but they were frequent enough to be a reminder of how much he still had to learn.

There was the time he forgot to meet you for lunch, lost in his own thoughts, and you had spent the afternoon pacing in worry.

“I thought something had happened to you,” you’d said when he finally returned, your voice tight with frustration.

“I didn’t ask you to worry,” he’d replied, defensive.

“No, you didn’t,” you said, your tone sharp. “But I do. Because I care about you, Azriel. And if that’s going to be a problem, maybe I shouldn’t—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his voice soft but firm. “Don’t say that.”

The tension hung between you like a fragile thread, but eventually, you both stepped back, your anger cooling. He apologized, and so did you, and the rift between you mended just a little.

There were also moments of quiet understanding, of small victories that felt monumental.

The first time he reached for your hand without overthinking it, you’d smiled so brightly he felt like the sun had come out just for him.

The first time he let you into his room, the space he had once considered sacred and untouchable, you had treated it with the reverence it deserved.

The first time he laughed—truly laughed—at something you said, the sound was so foreign to him that it startled both of you.

And through it all, you stayed.

It wasn’t until months later, as you sat together in the same garden where this journey had begun, that Azriel truly let himself acknowledge what he felt for you.

You were reading, your legs tucked beneath you, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow across your face. His shadows were unusually quiet, as if even they recognized the peace of the moment.

He didn’t realize he was staring until you looked up, your lips quirking in a soft smile. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, though his voice betrayed him.

You tilted your head, studying him. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Maybe.”

You reached for his hand, your touch grounding him. “You don’t have to say it, Azriel. Not until you’re ready.”

But he was ready.

“I love you,” he said, the words slipping out before he could second-guess them.

Your eyes widened, surprise flickering across your face before it softened into something warm and radiant. “I love you, too.”

And for the first time in over a century, Azriel felt something he hadn’t thought possible.

Hope. Beautiful radiant hope.

@anarchiii @darkbloodsly @sunnyspycat @er1023 @clementine111002 @buubblles @onebadassunicorn @donnadiddadog @ren-ni @lilah-asteria @rcarbo1 @tele86 @sillyfreakfanparty @sopheeg @secretlyhers @isa1b2h3 @inkedinshadows

[quarterlifekitty]

Sliding into your dms because your pretending to be a man idea got into my brain and won't leave me alone. We'll have to suffer together okay.

Imagine you're a daughter of some lowly destitute baron, he died and now all you have is a house and your brother, Alex. You have to sell the house because your father had debt that hasn't been settled. Luckily, you'll still have money left from the sale. Unluckily, the money is not much. You can either use it to send Alex to the royal academy or you can use it as your marriage dowry, of which your prospect isn't great anyway since you're poor and barely even a noble. Alex wants you to use the money, he's long been disillusioned with the king (Shepherd) and he wants to go help the neighbouring kingdom fight off their invader. He'll sleep easier knowing you have a roof over your head. Still, the thought of being married to some strange old men makes you want to throw up. You think you'd rather die. But you also don't want to stop Alex from pursuing his dream. So you and Alex came up with the idea that will satisfy you both: you will take his place in the royal academy and he can leave in peace, knowing you'll be safer in the academy than alone without a house in the countryside. He'll tell people that he's sent you to live with some distant relatives somewhere.

Years pass and you thrive in the academy. You graduate and despite having no connections or wealth, your capability lands you a job inside the palace. It's nothing fancy, and likely you won't go very far working under a neglected concubine, but she's very nice and funny. The salary is also good enough that you think if you keep working for a few years you can buy a small house and retire back to the countryside. Maybe you'll even stay longer just to accompany your mistress.

All in all, life is nice and uneventful. The great nobles and the king might be fighting, but you and your mistress are so far down the political ladder it barely affects you. Or so you thought and so it should have been, if not for your mistress starting a genuine love affair with Marchioness Laswell.

Your mistress' affection for you causes Laswell to pay attention to you. And unfortunately for you, she's seen the real Alex before. She knows you're a fraud. You think you're done for, but Laswell says she understands why you do it. She says she won't let the public learn your secret.

And she doesn't, because Duke Price isn't the public. He's just a Duke in desperate need of a wife. Someone to help him escape the disadvantageous match that will only put him under Shepherd's control once more. What a good luck he has to meet you, a noble who is unaffiliated with king, at this exact time. Surely you'll be willing to help him out? Being a duchess is certainly better than pretending to be a guy. It's definitely less risky, he says. Do you know that using someone else's identity can get you to jail? What if the king finds out and thinks you're plotting treason? Off with your pretty little head then. Surely being his duchess would be safer. He'll protect you. Take care of you. Spoil you, even. You and your good birthing hips and however many kids you two will have.

TLDR, you pretend to be a guy to escape marrying strange old men only to marry another (worse) strange old man

So first of all. I LOVE THIS. And now for my paltry additions….

I think that once Price found out about you, he became extremely fixated for a number of reasons. One? He’d met you before. He visited the academy as an alumni, occasionally donated to the institute, and would visit to check on the allocation of those funds.

And he remembers seeing you, swimming in your too-large uniform. Absolutely decimating your studies. In his observation of the academy, he’d unwittingly found himself following you around to your different lessons and seeing you sweep the floor with every other student. It was clear you were extremely bright, and he heard the whisperings about you.

A shame about your lowly birth. You might’ve made a fine tactician.

Price, as a rather meritocratic man, wanted to have you in his service as soon as you graduated. But as with many of the finest things in the kingdom, you were plucked up and handed off as something of a present to one of the king’s newer, shinier consorts.

So when Laswell starts her dalliance with that very consort, it sparks a memory in Price. And he asks after you. Which gets Laswell to commit you more to memory when she meets with you. And suddenly it’s quite obvious. She tells Price all about it, with amusement on her face, at one of their weekly meetings.

Suddenly there’s a little click in his brain. Like everything’s slotting into place. He was denied you once, in one way, and it won’t happen again. Now he can have you in all ways. With the forces at his disposal, and your brilliance in tactics and writing, he may well have the makings of some serious political sabotage. With him as your husband, you could soar in a way your class and gender never would’ve allowed. And at the end of it all? You’re quite pretty. A new dress and a circlet for that boyish cut of hair and you’d be bewitching. He was eager to see what those loose tunics had been hiding.

You can’t refuse his offer. Suddenly, Alex is called by letter to care for an ailing relative who has no other means of support. The same relative that had supposedly taken you in. And John quite selflessly takes you in following, and from a public perspective, it all went so naturally after that. What could be more heartwarming and dreamy? A generous noble taking in a common born girl in an act of charity, and the two falling in love, enough to defy the gaps in their stations and marry. It’s the kind of thing that only happens in fairy tales.

But despite all of John’s political aspirations, he knows it must appear as if nothing is amiss. That means doing what any noble would do with a young, pretty bride. It means spoiling you with all the finery he can… and it means making sure that you’re with child within the year.

[deeplyshalllow]

I’m sorry but this is bullshit.

Let’s break this down

On Fiyero being Captain of the Guard

He is a double agent. He does not believe what he stands for and is using his position to do what he can to find and help Elphaba. I don’t know what to say to you if you missed the obvious statements about this in Thank Goodness, because I have always thought they were so obvious they really should be rewritten because I don’t know how he wasn’t found out and arrested when he said all that.

Morrible: Now you've been at the forefront of the hunt for the Wicked Witch, haven't you? Fiyero: I don't like to think of her as a Wicked Witch.

Glinda: Fiyero, I miss her too, but we can't just stop living. No one has searched harder for her than you.

I guess he doesn’t literally say “shhh I’m secretly using my position to undermine the regime” but I think the writers thought people watching the show had some basic media literacy.

Does this mean he didn’t commit atrocities? No probably not. But bear in mind if he hadn’t been doing it, someone else would have. Fiyero knows this, by placing himself here he is in the best position both to protect Elphaba but also protect the Animals in the regime. I know we don’t see him helping the Animals, but nor do we really see Elphaba doing so? Given he used the first opportunity, when they wouldn’t get in trouble, to help the Lion Cub it seems a pretty good inference that he was trying to send out warnings to Animals when he could (especially now the movieverse has made him the only character aside from Elphaba who is friends with an Animal – he probably even has a network he can tap into!).

“Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time.”

IDK about you, but I think if I were to search for someone wanted and was given the opportunity to both have the best resources and information to find her and hamper people who might find her and hurt her, I would totally do it this way too.

“He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way”

Um, yes he did? He literally succeeded in the exact goal he was planning by joining the Gale Force: to protect Elphaba. If he hadn’t been Captain of the Guard in the throne room when the Wizard called his guards she would have been captured and killed, instead she escaped which eventually allowed the Wizard to be overthrown and Elphaba’s values to be acted on in the form of Glinda ruling.

Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful.

There is a difference between keeping quiet, not protesting a regime and actively endorsing it. Glinda was doing the latter and she was not forced into that. (She also was not helping undermine it the same way Fiyero was).

Fiyero: I can't just stand here grinning pretending to go along with all of this! Glinda: Do you think I like to hear them say those awful things about her? I hate it! Fiyero: Then what are we doing here? Let's go, let's get out of here! Glinda: We can't leave now, not when people are looking to us to raise their spirits. Fiyero: You can't leave, because you can't resist this. And that is the truth. Glinda: Maybe I can't. Is that so wrong? Who could?

Elphaba: No, of course you never! You're too busy telling everyone how wonderful everything is! Glinda: I'm a public figure, now. People expect me to... Elphaba: Lie? Glinda: Be encouraging!

I promise I do not hate Glinda, I find her character fascinating, and she is starting to make up for the awful stuff she does in act two by the end of the musical. But do not pretend for one moment that she is not actively complicit in this regime, with no real desire to stop it until it starts actively hurting her.

“He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person.”

He gave up his wealth, privilege and safety to ensure Elphaba escaped from the throne room and continued her cause (this isn’t about running away with Elphaba btw, he lost everything from the moment he pointed the gun at the Wizard). He was ready to die for her in the Corn Field scene. I don’t know what more you want him to do to prove that he was not shallow and he wouldn’t die for his cause in the exact same way Elphaba was prepared to?

“He doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits.”

I don’t think there’s anything to say here except you are just actively wrong.

Fiyero is the only character of the trio to put thoughts into his actions. He is the only one who doesn’t immediately act on his impulses.

Elphaba reacts immediately to what she thinks is right without thinking of the consequences to herself or, frankly, if it will even work. This is shown metaphorically in her outbursts of magic in early act 1 but also more literally in Defying Gravity, confronting the Wizard after Wonderful and, even in some twisted sense, in capturing Dorothy.

Glinda reacts immediately to her first instinct of what she wants and feels emotionally and regrets later (often when it’s too late to backtrack) – the hat, telling Morrible and the Wizard how to capture Elphaba, even saying she’ll join Elphaba in Defying Gravity can be seen as examples of this.

Fiyero, however, (ironically) is the only one of the group who thinks. In throne room he goes in, plays the part of a loyal guard until he’s got rid of the witnesses and neutralised the threat of the Wizard, in the Cornfield scene he realises that the only way he can get Elphaba away safely is by threatening Glinda, at the end of the show he is the one who plays along as a scarecrow for days while coming up with the plan for Elphaba to escape (and make no mistake, this is Fiyero’s plan, he’s the one who knows the water melting rumour, he’s the one who knows the secret passages in Kiamo Ko).

“But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her”

He saves her life three times in act two. What the fuck are you talking about?

Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes,

I will give you that. But it’s not by any foreplaning. Glinda does become a good person, but it takes the whole musical and some very horrible consequences for her actions, ones that she quite rightly will forever regret and have to spend her whole life making up for.

And none of this would have been possible without Fiyero anyway, if it had not been for him Elphaba would have been captured, executed and Glinda would have never had the courage – or possibly even the motivation to fight back.

[Wicked Act II spoilers]

[edited for tone and clarity of purpose, apologies for initial crudeness and frustration]

Okay, obviously I'm biased, but I'm gonna need the Fiyeraba shippers to please set a lot of your people straight about some things. I've seen way too many people trying to say that Glinda is just a selfish bimbo and that Fiyero is a virtuous and selfless figure more worthy of Elphaba's love. I'll set aside for now the idea of "worthiness" in this context. But let's start off with Fiyero joining the Wizard. Hoo boy...

Yes, he was initially somewhat less tolerant of the propaganda against Elphaba than Glinda was; yes, he was secretly trying to find her so he could run away with her or whatever. But honey: those facts DO NOT fully absolve his actions as the Wizard's top officer, or selfish recklessness throughout Act II. I see so many popular threads and posts romanticizing and whitewashing with "oh but he didn't REALLY join the Wizard, he just pretended so he could try to get to Elphie! It's all for love, and he sacrificed everything for her!" As if the literal captain of the literally fascist forces responsible for the oppression of Animals wasn't equally responsible for said oppression?? Hello? Fiyero really didn't think of seeking out Elphaba in ANY other way that DIDN'T involve becoming *checks notes*... the trusted leader of the troops committing all the abuses she's fighting against in the first place???? Like it's cool and all that he helped with Brrr, and it's all well and good that he planned on betraying the Wizard as soon as he found Elphaba (which took literal years, so I guess we're left to assume he was prepared to just keep doing fascism indefinitely if she didn't show up????), but uh... it's kind of concerning to how eager some of you are to make excuses for this dude volunteering as the head of the Ozian Gestapo??? smdh

He didn't accomplish anything from it either, by the way — like yeah, we get it, he did everything he did whilst silently fantasizing about running away with the Witch he was being paid to hunt. Fine. But I can't be the only one who doesn't buy that as an actual excuse???? Like, guys: nobody forced him to join the fascist army — even with crazy ulterior motives. He wasn't coerced into it; it wasn't his only choice or anything. Searching for Elphaba did not somehow compel him to go and volunteer to follow (or to give!) orders in the name of the dictator who was trying to have her assassinated the entire time. He could have just not done all that. (Genuinely so curious how the second film plans on covering that material tbh)

Glinda made several questionable decisions that can be (and have been) debated, but she is still very unambiguously a victim. Her position in the Wizard's regime was foisted upon her. There are things we can discuss, but I find that many folks need reminding that Glinda would undoubtedly have been disposed of (or worse) if she failed to make herself useful. I mean hell: she wasn't even supposed to meet the Wizard in the first place — she was only there because of Elphie. If she'd tried to resist, it would have immediately gotten her labeled the Witch's accomplice. As soon as she'd chosen not to get on the broom, her fate was out of her hands, and all available options were varying degrees of horrible.

That's not the case with Fiyero. He went to the Wizard all on his own; no one ever cornered or forced him into it. Thinking Animals are people, and having a crush on Elphaba, simply did not stop him from carrying out the regime's orders — for years. It's not clear exactly how long he's been captain at the start of Act II, but the clear implication is that he's been a soldier for most of the time skip. I've seen Fiyeraba accounts with headcanons about him acting as a double agent, secretly doing stuff to help Animals — and that's a great idea, it would indeed serve to make a lot of his actions way more palatable — but until we actually get to SEE some of that (maybe they'll add it for the movie version of Act II; we'll have to see), there is nothing in the story to suggest that. He certainly didn't do a damn thing for all those Animals who were enslaved and caged in the Wizard's palace — and we don't see a single other Animal outside of there in Act II, so as far as we know Fiyero has participated over those years in the near-total removal of Animals from Ozian society. In the name of "finding Elphaba". Not fighting for her cause. Just finding HER. For HIMSELF.

It's fine to have a ship you like, obviously — and there is genuinely a lot to like about Fiyeraba, I don't dislike the idea of them as a couple or as friends — but come on guys: please stop those out there idealizing Fiyero as somehow a clear "morally-superior" alternative to Glinda, lol. The dude had power, access, and opportunities, for years, that he could have wielded in any number of really selfless, revolutionary ways. He didn't. And I propose (apparently controversially): he simply didn't want to. And that — at the end of the day — is (much as some would like to deny it) true to his character. He always WANTED to be self-absorbed and shallow, and all his actions are consistent with that. Elphaba saw depth and discontentment in him, yes: but (and I cannot stress this enough) when given the chance, he channeled that in the wrong direction. He didn't confront that and become a better person — for the most part he just displaced and projected it onto Elphaba as an object of obsession, and put on an even thicker pretense than before.

All his actions — regardless of the complexity he has deep down — are those of a man who never gives one fuck about anything or anyone, except (kinda sorta) Elphaba. But even then: at no time does the care he has for her seem to extend to caring about any of her wants or needs outside of sexual validation from him, or how she might feel about his actions, or indeed the impacts of those actions upon her, her cause, or anyone or anything else. I don't think it should be all that controversial to say: he doesn't think through the wider repercussions of anything he does — thoughtlessness is just one of his core character traits. He doesn't think ahead or see meaning in anything outside of what can temporarily excite him, in the moment. I think people place a little too much weight on Elphaba clocking him with regard to his internal pain, and seem to expect (understandably of course) that she is not only right, but moreover that he will grow from that in a positive direction, based on her influence.

But he doesn't. If anything, we get a surprising inverse: he pretty much proves her wrong. Not to say he didn't have hidden depth and all that, like she said: but his hypothetical heart of gold proves not to really amount to much in practice. He doesn't grow out of his shallowness and his self-centeredness: he grows into it in a way that he hadn't quite yet in school. Where once he was only masking an internal listlessness, after he's been cracked open by Elphaba he decides to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow, not just coasting by. He performs in new ways — as a soldier, eventually as a "fiancé", etc. — but by Act II we meet a Fiyero who has staked the last remaining shred of humanity in him on the vain pursuit of the only object of his desire that has ever been unavailable to him, and firmly chosen to say to hell with everyone and everything else.

When put to the test, Fiyero sacrifices Glinda, the Animals, and all else that Elphaba actually cared about, to pursue his own unresolved crush from college. Mostly to get in her pants, really — as harsh as I'm sure that sounds. But let me be frank: that is literally all he ever accomplishes in the show. He gives her dick one time, and one of his castles, and that's it. That's the culmination of his years trying to find her — years in which he actively worked as one of the stormtroopers (or even the one commanding them) committing untold crimes against Animalkind (who, again, it seems have been all but erased from Oz by Act II): y'know, the very crimes Elphaba sacrificed her life to try and stop????? He spent the most important time of his life — of his own free will — being a fascist soldier, but he "did it for her" somehow, so according to some, it's perfectly fine. Heroic, even. Yikes??

But let's make something very clear (since my original version of this post caught a lot of flak, including slurs and other rudeness):

I like Fiyero. I find his role extremely interesting (I could do a whole dissertation on him, but I'm especially a fan of the way his proving Elphaba's assessment of him wrong presents a fascinating parallel and contrast with Glinda, which I think is lost on a lot of people). But PLEASE stop with all the misguided Glinda slander and idealization of Fiyero. By all means, thirst! But don't give me all this bullshit about him deserving Elphaba more, or being super deep, or being really principled or noble or whatever else. He does have layers, and quite intriguing ones, but his insides are straw — he isn't meant to have some deep, overwrought emotional core or motivations; he has passions that he acts upon when given the chance. That's it. And that's fine. Actually kind of refreshing in a story rooted in simple children's fantasy but rife with intensely complicated personalities. Fiyero makes it his mission to represent denial of depth and embrace of raw, spontaneous desire — and I for one love that, and wish others appreciated it.

And in all seriousness, shipping wars aside: by the end of the story, it's Glinda who is ultimately vindicated, and has — for all her faults — made the necessary choices to fulfill Elphaba's wishes, bring down the regime, etc. And all that despite herself. She's miserable: not just because of the mistakes she made, but because of her correct moves as well. Fiyero is simply not — and could never be — that person. And that's okay! Like I said: I am not anti-Fiyero. Fiyero's willingness to throw it all away for the sake of sheer, overriding passion is a huge part of what people like about him, of course — and it's an obvious factor in the attraction between him and Elphaba, because she has her own flavor of that impulse as well — but I'd actually argue that it's not romantic, it's his fatal flaw. And thematically that's fantastic! But I just don't believe that it somehow means he "deserves Elphaba more" because he "gave up his life for her" or whatever. In part because NOBODY truly "deserves" Elphie tbh, not 100% (and I question anybody who claims otherwise), but ultimately because I don't accept the idea that his fleeting acts of passion make up for all the shit leading up to them (or even proceeding after them tbh). At least Glinda managed to do what Elphaba always wanted in the end — but I would die on this hill even if Gelphie didn't exist.

You don't have to agree with my analysis of Fiyero and his choices, relationships, etc. — that's fine. What isn't fine is trying to portray Glinda as some kind of spineless traitor whore for the Wizard and Fiyero as a conscientious hero who earned Elphie through self-sacrifice. That's just not the story that was written. It's WAY messier and more interesting than that.

[aspenmissing]

Could you do arcane characters reacting to finding abandoned baby!reader? Pls?

ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴏɴᴇ?

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ

7274 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʙᴀʙʏ ᴀʙᴀɴᴅᴏɴᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ꜰɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴏɴ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴛᴀɴᴅᴀʀᴅ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

Piltover was quiet on this particular night, with only the soft sounds of the wind and distant footsteps breaking the silence. The streets were blanketed in a fresh layer of snow, casting an ethereal glow over the city. Jayce had just left the workshop, his mind buzzing with thoughts of new inventions and blueprints. The weight of the day hung on his shoulders, and all he longed for was the warmth of home and the solace of a cup of tea by the fire.

His path took him through an alleyway he’d often passed by without a second thought, the path worn but familiar. Yet tonight, something was different. A faint sound cut through the quiet—a weak, heart-wrenching cry that made Jayce’s heart skip a beat.

“Is someone there?” he called, his voice breaking the stillness, but the only response was the soft, pitiful cry that seemed to echo against the stone walls of the alley.

His brow furrowed in concern. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something in the sound caught his attention. Without another thought, Jayce stepped forward, moving deeper into the alley, his boots crunching against the snow beneath him. The distant streetlights barely illuminated the narrow passage, casting long, flickering shadows that seemed to twist and shift in the dark.

Then, he saw it.

In the far corner of the alley, huddled against the cold stone of a building, was a small, fragile form—a bundle of ragged cloth, shaking violently. The faint cry came again, though softer now, almost as though the child had no strength left to keep wailing.

Jayce’s breath caught in his throat. He quickly crossed the distance between them, his pulse quickening. Kneeling beside you, he saw the tiny figure wrapped in a torn cloth that looked as though it hadn’t seen a wash in months. Your face, little more than a faint outline against the dark fabric, was flushed red from the cold, your lips trembling as another shiver wracked your tiny body.

He reached for you, instinct overriding everything else. “Hey, it’s okay,” Jayce murmured, his voice soft but firm. “I’ve got you.”

He gently scooped you into his arms, feeling the cold that had seeped deep into your skin. You whimpered in his arms, your tiny fists shaking in the air as if reaching for something. Jayce’s heart broke. Who would leave a child out here, alone and freezing? The thought sent a sharp pang of anger through him, but it was quickly drowned out by the overwhelming need to get you warm and safe.

“Don’t worry, little one,” he whispered, cradling you against his chest. His coat was thick and warm, and he wrapped it around you as best he could, pulling you close as though to shield you from the bitter wind.

Your tiny form shivered in his embrace, and Jayce’s mind raced, his heart pounding as he thought about how he could help you. He’d been cold before— he knew the sharp, biting chill that crept into your bones and the exhaustion that followed. But he’d never imagined something like this—finding a baby, alone and vulnerable in the freezing cold of night.

Without another moment’s hesitation, Jayce stood, holding you tightly against him. He moved quickly, almost running, his boots pounding against the cobblestones as he rushed towards his home. The thought of what might have happened if he hadn’t found you gnawed at him.

==

His home wasn’t far, a simple place with modest furnishings but enough to offer comfort and warmth. The fire in the hearth crackled as he rushed through the door, slamming it shut behind him to block out the cold. The familiar warmth of the room wrapped around him, and Jayce immediately moved to the nearby sofa, laying you down gently on the soft cushions. The contrast between the warmth of the room and the chill that still clung to your skin made Jayce’s heart ache.

He grabbed a thick wool blanket from a chair nearby and draped it carefully over you, but the sight of your small, trembling form still pulled at his heart. There was no time to waste—he needed to get you warm, to make sure you were going to be okay.

Jayce’s hands worked quickly, though with a careful gentleness. He pulled off his own coat, draping it over you before going to the fireplace to stoke the fire higher. He didn’t want to leave you alone for too long, so his movements were quick and purposeful.

As the fire crackled, Jayce grabbed a fresh cloth, dipping it in warm water, and began gently wiping your cheeks and brow. Your breathing had slowed, but your skin was still cold to the touch. He murmured reassurances to you as he worked, soft words meant to calm both you and himself.

“Stay with me, little one,” he whispered. “You’re safe now.”

Once he was certain you were warm enough, he turned his attention to your hunger. There was milk in his fridge, and though Jayce was inexperienced with children, he figured it would have to do. He grabbed a sippy cup bottle he had been using for an experiment, relieved he’d decided to clean it earlier. He warmed it on the stove, his mind racing with thoughts of how to care for you. His heart felt full with something he hadn’t expected—a deep, protective instinct that surged as he prepared to feed you.

When he returned to your side, you were still awake, your little eyes blinking up at him. The sight made his heart swell. Carefully, Jayce cradled you in his arms again, gently guiding the bottle to your lips. You took it eagerly, your small hands grasping at the bottle, as if you instinctively trusted him.

“Good girl,” Jayce murmured, smiling down at you. “You’re so strong.”

Once you finished, he wiped your chin with his thumb, chuckling softly at the little mess you’d made. The warmth of the fire, the milk, and Jayce’s steady presence seemed to lull you into a peaceful sleep.

As Jayce sat back, holding you close in his arms, he couldn’t help but reflect on how his life had changed in a single moment. He had been alone—focused on his work, consumed by the demands of his inventions and the weight of his ambitions. But now, with you in his arms, he realised that there was something far more important than any invention. There was this—this fragile, helpless life that needed him.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Jayce whispered, his voice full of conviction. “I’ll take care of you, no matter what. You’re family now.”

And with that promise, he held you close, the warmth of the fire and the safety of his home wrapping around you both as the snow continued to fall outside, a new chapter beginning for the two of you.

VIKTOR

The streets of Zaun were darker than usual that night, the usual hum of machines and the faint clatter of industry buzzing in the distance. Viktor, as always, found himself traversing the lower city, his mind consumed by thoughts of his latest invention, a device that could bring the promise of progress to both Piltover and Zaun. The cold air bit at his skin, but Viktor paid it no mind—he was used to the chill, as he was used to the struggle of progress in Zaun.

His cane clicked softly against the cobblestones with every step, the sound blending with the constant hum of the city. Viktor’s body bore the marks of his years of work—the brace on his leg creaked with each movement, and the support of his back brace was a necessary burden. He had built so much, but his body, strained and fragile, bore the weight of it all.

Lost in thought, he barely noticed the bundle at first. It was tucked against the wall of an old, dilapidated building, the kind that seemed to be a part of Zaun’s very bones. At first, he thought it might be just another stray animal, some forgotten debris, but then came the sound that pierced through his concentration—the faint cry of a child. Soft. Fragile.

Viktor’s steps faltered, and his gaze snapped toward the source of the noise.

A child? Here, in the heart of Zaun?

He paused, his breath catching in his chest as he scanned the alley. The darkness seemed to stretch around him, the shadows deep and unyielding. There was no sign of anyone else—no frantic parent, no guardian, no one to claim the child as their own. Just you, wrapped in ragged cloth, your tiny body trembling in the cold.

The world around Viktor seemed to slow. His sharp eyes took in every detail: your small, vulnerable form, the way your hands clenched instinctively at the cloth, the faint red tint of your chilled cheeks. You were so small, so helpless. His heart, usually so guarded and focused solely on the pursuit of progress, tightened in his chest. The cruelty of Zaun had claimed many lives, but a baby? This was a different kind of tragedy.

Viktor took a step back, his cane tapping against the ground as he moved, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. His life had been dedicated to progress, to building a future where suffering like this would not exist, yet here it was—raw, unrelenting, right in front of him. He had never been one to nurture or care for others, but in this moment, something stirred within him. He knew he couldn’t just walk away. Not now.

The cry of your tiny voice grew louder, more desperate, and with each sob, Viktor felt something he hadn’t expected—a deep, unexplainable sense of responsibility. A need to protect. He hesitated for a long moment, his thoughts racing. It was a risk, taking you. He had no experience with children—hell, he barely had experience caring for himself at times—but the weight of your cries, the weight of your life in his hands, made it impossible to turn away.

With a quiet sigh, Viktor muttered to himself, “It appears I have no choice.”

He approached you cautiously, his movements deliberate. As he knelt down, the sharp whir of his cane echoed in the silence of the alley, a contrast to the softness of the moment. With great care, he extended his arm, gently lifting you from the cold ground. Your eyes fluttered open at the sudden movement, wide and full of confusion. When you looked at him, your gaze seemed to hold something innocent, something trusting, and in that moment, Viktor felt a strange connection.

“You are safe now,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure—himself or you.

You whimpered softly, but you didn’t struggle. Your tiny body, bundled in the tattered cloth, was still cold to the touch, and Viktor couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. He could feel the chill in his bones, but to see you, so small and frail, exposed to it—it was almost too much to bear. His legs, encumbered by the brace that supported his weakened joints, felt heavy, but he powered through the pain, moving with the kind of resolve he only ever seemed to have when faced with an impossible decision.

He straightened, using his cane to support his weight as he carefully cradled you in his arms. The brace on his leg creaked with every step, and the pressure on his back made him wince, but he ignored the discomfort. He had no choice but to keep moving forward. His thoughts were focused solely on getting you somewhere safe.

As Viktor walked, his mind wandered briefly to the name he would give you. He didn’t even know if you had one—who would leave a child here, alone, in the cold? But as he watched the steady rise and fall of your chest, the way your little hands curled slightly around his coat, he decided.

“Y/N,” he murmured softly, as though testing the name. “I think that suits you.”

He wasn’t sure why he had chosen it, or why it felt so right. Perhaps it was because he had always believed that names carried meaning, that they defined people in ways that no other word could. And for you, this name felt like a promise—one of protection, one of care. A promise Viktor wasn’t sure he could keep, but one he would try to fulfill nonetheless.

“I’ll take you somewhere safe” he whispered again, more to himself than to you, as he began walking toward Piltover. The journey was long, and the weight of your small body in his arms was a reminder of just how fragile life was. It wasn’t just the streets of Zaun that made him feel the cold; it was the knowledge that so many others had been left behind, forgotten. But not you. Not now.

JAYVIK

It was a typical afternoon for Jayce—well, as typical as life in Piltover could be. He’d just wrapped up a marathon of meetings and was on his way to the lab, eager to discuss some new ideas with Viktor. His steps were brisk, confident, his mind racing with plans for the next big breakthrough. But then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

Out of nowhere, a woman appeared, breathless and panicked. Before Jayce could say a word, she practically shoved a small bundle into his arms. “Take care of her!” she gasped, turning and bolting off into the crowd like a phantom, disappearing without a trace.

Jayce stood there, frozen, holding a tiny baby in his arms. His eyes widened as the baby blinked up at him, her face utterly serene, as if she hadn’t just been handed over to the most bewildered person in all of Piltover. Jayce glanced back at the crowd, but the woman was long gone.

“Uh… excuse me?” Jayce muttered, his voice more to himself than to anyone else. He then looked down at the baby, looking into her eyes. “Uhm... Hello?"

Still unsure of what to do, Jayce adjusted the baby in his arms, attempting to look somewhat comfortable, even though his internal panic was through the roof. The weight of her in his arms was oddly reassuring, like a grounding force. It wasn’t until he started walking toward the lab that it hit him: He had no idea how to care for a baby. Wasn’t he supposed to have training for this? Or at least some sort of basic manual?

Jayce reached the lab, pushing the door open with his elbow. Viktor was hunched over his workbench, entirely absorbed in his latest project, his cane leaning against the table nearby. Jayce walked in, trying to look nonchalant, but the baby shifted in his arms, making soft cooing noises. Viktor didn’t look up.

“Well, Viktor,” Jayce began, tone a bit more strained than he intended. “I’ve acquired a baby. Not sure if it’s permanent, but... here she is.” He shifted the bundle, clearly still getting used to the tiny form in his arms.

Viktor didn’t flinch. His mind was already too deep into his calculations, completely ignoring Jayce’s dramatic entrance. He continued working, lost in his world of gears and wires. Jayce sighed, glancing down at the baby, who was now staring up at him, as if wondering the same thing he was: What the hell just happened?

“Viktor!” Jayce raised his voice a little, just enough to get his attention. “What exactly am I supposed to do with her?”

Viktor’s hands froze. He didn’t turn around immediately, just processing the words. Then, slowly, he twisted in his chair, finally noticing the small bundle in Jayce’s arms. His brow furrowed as he took in the scene. Jayce, looking utterly unprepared, was holding a baby. Viktor blinked, his gaze widening.

“You… have a child.” Viktor’s accented voice was flat, but there was a flicker of amusement beneath it. “I didn’t realise you were that committed to your... new projects.”

Jayce, still adjusting to the reality of the situation, gave Viktor a sheepish grin. “Well, she’s not exactly my ‘project,’ but a woman just thrust her into my arms and ran away. I didn’t get much of a choice"

Viktor eyed him with mild disbelief. “And you thought to bring her here? To the lab?”

Jayce, now feeling the full weight of the absurdity of it all, chuckled awkwardly. “Well, where else was I supposed to take her? Besides, she looks like she might be your responsibility too now, right?”

Viktor stared at him for a moment, the smirk on the edge of his lips barely visible. “You’re the one who’s going to have to deal with the shrieking and dirty diapers, Jayce, not me.”

Jayce shot him a look. “Yeah, I definitely didn’t sign up for this. But now I’m here, and she’s here…” He glanced down at the baby, who was now staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “So... what do we do with her, Vik”

Viktor paused, running a hand through his hair, his cane resting against the bench. “I suppose we could look into some kind of care routine. For now, though, I’m not sure what kind of expertise I can offer. I’m not exactly a nanny.”

Jayce let out a deep sigh, shifting the baby yet again. “I didn’t even know I was capable of holding a baby. I feel like I might drop her at any second.”

Viktor walked over, eyes scanning the situation with a hint of concern hiding behind his sarcastic tone. “Well, she does seem to have latched on to you. Maybe you do have some hidden paternal instincts.”

Jayce rolled his eyes. “Please, Vik. This is a disaster.”

The baby made a soft noise, like a little giggle. Jayce glanced down, and to his surprise, the baby was actually smiling up at him. A tiny hand reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugging slightly.

Jayce looked at Viktor, wide-eyed. “Did she just—?”

Viktor, trying to hold back a chuckle, said, “It seems she has chosen you, Jayce. You’re her new father now.”

Jayce sighed, defeated. “Well, looks like I’m not getting out of this one. Great.”

Viktor’s lips twitched into a rare smile. “Perhaps I should offer a little guidance, then. We could make a few adjustments to her care routine... Maybe even design a more efficient formula dispenser.”

Jayce shot Viktor an incredulous look. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Viktor, now fully enjoying the moment, shrugged nonchalantly. “What can I say? I’m always looking for improvements.”

Jayce chuckled in spite of himself. The lab, with its machinery and gadgets, suddenly felt warmer, more alive. As the baby cooed softly in his arms, he couldn’t help but think that, maybe, this wasn’t so bad. And perhaps, just perhaps, Viktor’s teasing wasn’t so unwelcome after all.

“Guess we’ll figure it out together,” Jayce muttered, glancing down at the tiny bundle in his arms with a soft smile.

Viktor’s expression softened as he leans against the workbench, his cane resting against the table. He looked at Jayce, who was now leaning against the workbench besides him, still holding the tiny baby in his arms. There was a quiet tension between them, the weight of the situation still settling in.

“I suppose so,” Viktor said with a sigh, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Just don’t expect me to change any diapers, Jayce. You’re on your own with that.”

Jayce smirked back, the corners of his mouth twitching into a rare grin. “Well, I didn’t exactly sign up for this, either. But I think I can manage.”

For a moment, the two of them stood in a comfortable silence, both adjusting to the strange reality of their new situation. Jayce glanced down at the baby, her small form so fragile in his arms, her calm presence oddly comforting. She was looking up at him, her eyes wide with curiosity, as if trying to make sense of her surroundings.

“What should we name her?” Jayce asked quietly, glancing over at Viktor for some input.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by the question. “You’re asking me to name a child?”

Jayce shrugged, still holding the baby gently. “Well, she didn’t exactly come with instructions.”

Viktor let out a small sigh, his lips curling into a slight, amused smirk. “I suppose… Y/N. It’s simple, but it suits her. Strong, gentle.”

Jayce looked down at the baby once more, his eyes softening as he tested the name. “Y/N…” he murmured, almost to himself. It felt right—simple but meaningful, a name that carried both strength and tenderness.

“Y/N,” Jayce repeated, his voice taking on a rare warmth. He looked down at the tiny bundle in his arms again, feeling a sense of responsibility settle in. “Alright, Y/N. I guess we’re in this together.”

Viktor stood beside him, his gaze lingering on the baby. He gently reached out with a finger, brushing it lightly against Y/N’s cheek. The touch was soft, almost tender, as if he, too, was coming to terms with the new reality.

As Viktor’s finger lingered against Y/N’s skin, Jayce’s expression softened. For the first time in a long while, the lab felt less like a place of intense work and more like a home—a place where something new was beginning.

And in that quiet moment, with both men standing side by side, the strange chaos of the day seemed to settle into a surprising sense of calm. Jayce, Viktor, and little Y/N—a new chapter in their lives had just begun.

VANDER

The streets of Zaun had always been unpredictable. One moment they were alive with the energy of its people, and the next, they were smothered in the oppressive silence after a failed rebellion. Vander, a man who had seen it all in this crumbling city, was no stranger to the aftermath of violence, but this time, something was different.

The sounds of chaos had barely faded when Vander stumbled upon the wreckage of a collapsed building. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and blood, but there, amongst the rubble, something caught his eye. A soft cry, faint but unmistakable, echoed from the twisted remains. His heart skipped a beat as he pushed through the debris, his hands trembling as they reached for the small figure beneath the rubble.

It was a baby. A tiny girl, barely old enough to be away from her mother’s care, and yet here she was, alone. Her mother lay lifeless beside her, a victim of the violence that had taken so many lives. Vander’s stomach turned, but he didn’t hesitate. Carefully, he scooped the baby up in his arms, her small form looking so fragile against his broad chest.

He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t a father. He had his own responsibilities, his own battles to fight, but this child... she didn’t deserve to be alone. The weight of the decision pressed heavily on him. What kind of life would she have in Zaun, with the city falling apart around them?

As he made his way back to the house, cradling the baby in his arms, his thoughts were a storm of confusion and concern. Felicia had always been the one to take the reins when it came to caring for children. Vi, barely a year old, was still young and needed constant care. Vander couldn't help but wonder how they would adjust to the new addition. How could he care for this girl when his own life felt so uncertain?

Felicia was busy at the stove when he walked in, her eyes immediately narrowing as she saw the bundle in his arms.

“Vander?” she asked softly, her voice laced with surprise. “What’s this?”

He hesitated, looking down at the baby, whose eyes were wide with innocence, unaware of the violence that had just claimed her mother’s life. He sighed heavily, rubbing his brow. “I found her, Felicia. After the fight. Her mother didn’t make it.” He paused for a moment, unsure of how to explain. “I... I don’t know what to do with her.”

Felicia, ever the practical one, took in the situation with a quiet assessment. Her gaze softened as she approached, her hands instinctively reaching out to take the baby from Vander’s arms.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, her voice calm and reassuring. “You’ve got a good heart, Vander. She’s lucky you found her.”

Vander watched as Felicia adjusted the baby in her arms with practiced ease, the same gentle movements she had used when handling Vi when she was a baby. He felt a pang in his chest. He wasn’t sure he was cut out for this. He wasn’t a father, not really. He was a protector, a fighter, but this was a new challenge. How could he take care of a child who had already lost so much?

Felicia glanced up at him, noticing his uncertainty. “You’re going to be fine. Don’t worry about it too much.” She began to rock the baby gently in her arms, offering Vander a reassuring smile. “The first thing you need to know is that she’ll need feeding. Don’t forget that, or you’ll be in for a rough night.”

Vander nodded, his brow furrowing in concentration as he listened. Felicia was always the voice of reason, the calm to his storm. “I’ll figure it out,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely convinced.

As Felicia spoke more about feeding and settling the baby, Vander couldn’t help but steal glances at her. There was something so delicate, so helpless about the tiny girl in Felicia’s arms. The idea that he was now responsible for another life, one so vulnerable in this cruel world, unsettled him. But the more he watched Felicia, the more confident he became in his ability to do this.

He could protect her. He could provide a safe place for her, just as he had always done for the people in his life.

Vi’s tiny voice echoed from the other room, the sound of her giggling as she tried to walk, still unsteady on her feet. Vander turned to look at her through the open door, his heart swelling with love for the little girl who had been a part of his life since her birth. She was still so young, her wide eyes full of wonder as she explored the world around her. He had always been her protector, but now, this new child needed him too.

Felicia handed the baby back to him, and this time, he took her with a bit more confidence. The little one squirmed in his arms, making small cooing noises, and Vander’s heart melted. He hadn’t realised it before, but the connection he felt for this child was already beginning to form, even if it was just the beginning.

“What’s her name?” Felicia asked, breaking his thoughts.

Vander hesitated again, looking down at the tiny face in his arms. He hadn’t even thought about that yet. “I... don’t know. She doesn’t have anyone left, Felicia. It doesn’t feel right naming her after someone who’s gone.”

Felicia smiled softly, her eyes warm. “Then you name her, Vander. She’s yours now, too. Give her a name that means something to you.”

Vander looked down at the baby once more, feeling the weight of the moment. He could hear the sounds of Vi’s laughter in the next room, her tiny feet pattering against the floor, and the occasional soft squeal of a toy being thrown to the side. This little girl would grow up alongside her and he would do everything in his power to give her a life filled with love and safety.

His mind drifted for a moment, and then he spoke softly, the name feeling right as it left his lips. “Y/N. She’s Y/N.”

Felicia’s eyes softened with approval. “Y/N it is. A good name.”

Vander gently rocked the baby, her soft breaths filling the silence of the room. As the first rays of light filtered through the windows, he felt something shift inside him. He wasn’t just Vander the enforcer, the protector of the Undercity. Now, he was a father, and this child—this little girl—his little girl—would be his to care for, his to protect.

And with that, Vander silently vowed to give Y/N the life she deserved, to raise her as one of his own, with love and protection in a world that had taken so much from so many.

SILCO

In the heart of Zaun, the air was thick with tension as Silco and his men faced off against a rival faction in the dimly lit alleyways of the undercity. The deal, once promising, had rapidly spiralled into chaos, with gunfire ricocheting off the grimy walls and explosions shaking the very foundation of the city. Silco’s gaze never wavered from the task at hand. His mind was a steel trap, calculating, assessing. He barked orders to his henchmen, directing them to hold their ground.

"We can't afford to lose this," he snarled, voice edged with irritation as his men worked tirelessly to push back the ambush. His hands clenched at his sides, not from fear or panic, but from the growing frustration that this wasn’t going according to plan. Explosions rattled the nearby buildings, sending bits of debris raining down, but Silco stayed focused, a storm of calculations swirling behind his steely eyes.

Then, as the violence unfolded, Silco’s sharp ears caught something unexpected—a faint sound, so soft at first, it seemed like an illusion. The high-pitched cry of an infant.

For a heartbeat, Silco thought he had misheard. But the cry rang out again, unmistakable. A baby.

His eyes snapped toward the source of the sound, his usual cold expression betraying an emotion that was far more vulnerable—surprise, maybe even something softer. He had no time for innocence. No time for the helpless. He had a city to control, power to grasp. And yet, this sound, this fragile call for help, resonated somewhere deep within him.

Without thinking, he ordered his closest men to continue fighting.

"Hold them off. I'll be back. Keep them distracted, do whatever you must," Silco commanded, his tone firm but sharp, leaving no room for questioning. His men hesitated for a moment, confusion flickering in their eyes.

"Boss, what about—?"

"No questions," Silco interrupted, his voice steady, commanding. "Get to work."

His body was a blur of movement as he darted through the crumbling building, dodging debris and stepping carefully over shattered glass. The sounds of distant gunfire and shouting barely registered as his mind zeroed in on the cries, growing louder with each step. The building around him was unstable, shaking with every explosion. Yet Silco pressed on, his every movement deliberate and purposeful.

At the far end of the room, amidst the wreckage, he saw it—a small crib, overturned in the chaos. A bundle of old, frayed fabric sat next to it, the sound of the child’s cries filling the room. He knelt carefully, his heart inexplicably stilling at the sight of the tiny, trembling infant. The baby’s face was scrunched with distress, its small body shaking as it cried for someone to help.

For a moment, Silco stood frozen. He had no use for softness, no room for care when it came to the world of Zaun. Yet, in this moment, he couldn’t look away. There was something about this fragile life, so delicate, that made his usual ruthless exterior crack, just slightly.

His heart, an organ he thought he had long since abandoned, stirred with an unfamiliar sensation. He couldn’t explain it, nor did he want to. Silco was a man of control, but this was something that defied control.

He moved quickly, scooping the baby up in his arms, holding her close as if he could protect her from the crumbling world around them. The cries lessened as his presence seemed to calm her. It was unsettling, the way she responded to him, but he didn’t dwell on it. The building was collapsing, and he needed to get out.

With the infant cradled securely in his arms, Silco made his way back into the fray. The sound of gunfire rang out once more, but he paid no mind. His men moved to form a protective barrier around him as they made their way towards the alley, ensuring no harm would come to their boss or the child in his arms.

As they moved swiftly through the maze of ruined streets, Silco glanced down at the baby. Her tiny hand gripped his finger tightly, her soft skin warm against his cold, calloused hand. His expression softened for a split second—his gaze lingering on her face, something akin to protectiveness flickering in his eyes before he quickly masked it. The weight of the child, so small, seemed to add a new layer of responsibility he wasn’t used to.

==

They arrived at the Last Drop, and Silco’s men ushered him inside, and as he walked through the door, his eyes caught sight of Powder sitting on the far side of the room, her eyes wide and curious. She had been waiting for his return, the explosion of the earlier chaos still reverberating in the air.

Powder’s gaze flicked immediately to the baby in Silco’s arms, her brow furrowing as she watched them carefully, questioning, uncertain.

"Who’s this?" Powder’s voice was small but filled with confusion, her eyes darting between Silco and the baby.

Silco paused for a moment, his hand tightening around the baby, almost protectively. “She’s… someone I need to look after,” he said, his voice softer than usual, more reluctant than he intended.

The room was silent for a long moment, Powder staring at the baby with wide, curious eyes, her brow furrowed in confusion. She tilted her head, taking in the small bundle Silco was cradling with an intensity that seemed to grow with every passing second. The silence stretched, and then Powder’s voice broke through.

She frowned slightly, her expression thoughtful. “She doesn’t have a name, does she?”

Silco’s gaze flicked briefly to the baby, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if the thought had never crossed his mind. Names weren’t important to him—not in the way Powder seemed to imply. People were tools, pawns in his game for control, not individuals deserving of such personal things.

But the way Powder spoke, the way her eyes held a softness he hadn’t seen before, made him pause. Something tugged at him, a fleeting emotion that was hard to pinpoint, but it lingered in the air between them.

“She’s just a baby," Silco muttered, as if it should be obvious, yet the doubt in his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

Powder’s frown deepened. “She needs a name," she said, the quiet certainty in her voice almost like a gentle reprimand. She took a few steps closer, her tiny hands reaching out towards the baby, and her gaze softened. “She can’t just be… nobody.”

For a long moment, Silco watched her. He didn’t quite understand it, but he couldn’t ignore the weight of her words. After a long silence, he exhaled, the sharp edges of his usual coldness dulling just a little.

“Fine," Silco said with a slight shrug, trying to brush off the moment as if it were unimportant. “What would you name her, then?”

Powder considered the baby for a moment, her eyes thoughtful, then she glanced up at Silco, a small, tentative smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“Y/N,” Powder said softly, her voice warm, as though the name itself was a declaration. "Y/N sounds like she’s... meant to be."

Silco didn’t respond at first. He just stood there, staring at the baby in his arms, the weight of her smallness grounding him in a way he didn’t expect. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

“Y/N,” he echoed, the name settling in his mind. It was strange. Foreign. But it felt... right, in a way he couldn’t explain. Something about it felt final, like it belonged to the fragile life in his arms. Something he hadn’t known he needed.

“Y/N,” he repeated again, this time with the faintest trace of a promise lingering in his voice.

POWDER/JINX

Jinx was skipping through the streets of Zaun, her wild hair bouncing with every step as she hummed a tune only she seemed to know. The city was her playground, and today, just like every other day, she had a dozen schemes brewing in her mind, each one more chaotic than the last. Explosions, pranks, and a little bit of mayhem were the order of the day, and she was loving every minute of it.

She darted between alleyways, giggling to herself, and tossed a few explosive doodads behind her as she skipped away, watching with delight as they detonated in showers of sparks. It was perfect. Zaun was perfect.

But then, something caught her attention. At first, it was so small and insignificant that she almost walked right past it. A bundle of cloth, tucked into a corner near some rubble, barely visible behind a pile of discarded crates. But then—there it was again—a faint sound, a little whimper.

Jinx stopped mid-prance, her head snapping to the side, eyes narrowing in curiosity. She took a few steps closer, her heart thumping in her chest. She peered down at the small bundle.

A baby.

Jinx tilted her head, eyeing the infant with a mix of curiosity and confusion. She’d never been one for babies, but something about this one seemed… off. It was alone. Why is it all alone?

She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Maybe someone had left it here? Maybe it was a trap—one of those strange Zaun things she never quite understood. But before she could give it another thought, the sounds of barking and growling interrupted her musings.

She turned sharply, her bright blue eyes locking onto a group of stray dogs coming around the corner. The mangy pack was heading straight for the baby, their teeth bared, growling low in their throats. The hairs on the back of Jinx’s neck stood on end.

“Uh-oh,” Jinx muttered under her breath, her mischievous grin fading for the first time that day. Without missing a beat, she sprinted forward, her boots thudding against the cobblestones.

With a wild scream and a manic twinkle in her eye, Jinx flung herself into the pack of dogs, arms flailing as she let out a battle cry. “Shoo! Go away, you ugly mutts!”

The dogs yelped in confusion and fear, scattering in all directions as Jinx jumped up and down, flailing her arms like a lunatic. The moment they were gone, she turned her attention back to the baby, who, of course, had started crying.

“Great. Now look what you’ve done, you little screamer,” Jinx said, crouching down with her arms outstretched dramatically. “Couldn’t just stay quiet, could you?”

Jinx scooped the baby up effortlessly, holding her as though she were a prized possession, though her wild, erratic movements made it seem like the baby was more of an afterthought. Y/N’s tiny fists were clenched, and her crying only seemed to get louder as she was cradled in Jinx’s arms.

“Shhh! Quiet down!” Jinx cooed, her voice far too loud for a baby’s sensitive ears. She bounced on her heels, rocking Y/N back and forth. “Come on, no need to be all cry-y-y about it! Everything’s fine! I saved your butt from those gnarly dogs! You owe me, little one!"

The baby’s crying only escalated, and Jinx sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes.

“Alright, alright!” Jinx grumbled. She lifted the baby higher, her grin returning with a hint of sweetness. “I get it. You're scared, you're hungry, you're probably thinking 'What the heck is going on?' and honestly, same. But I’m Jinx! The one and only Jinx! And I’m gonna make sure you’re safe... for now. So quit crying already, it’s makin' my head hurt!”

Y/N’s cries didn’t stop, but they slowed, her tiny body pressing against Jinx as she tried to calm down. Jinx huffed, crossing her arms with a pout, clearly frustrated but secretly amused.

“Well, that’s as good as I’m gonna get,” she grinned, tapping the baby’s tiny nose. “You’re gonna be alright. And I guess... I guess you’re kind of cute.”

Jinx squinted down at the baby, her lips curling into a lopsided grin as she rocked back and forth. “But, you’re totally my sidekick now. You can’t just scream like that all the time. You’ve got to be a cool sidekick. Shhhh,” she whispered again, this time softer than before, as if the very concept of calming the baby had caught her off guard.

The baby’s hiccup was so quiet, so small, but Jinx caught it. Her lips curled into a crooked smile, and she gave a little satisfied nod, clearly pleased with herself for at least calming the little screamer down, even if just a little.

"See? Not so bad when you stop yelling, huh?" she grinned, bouncing the baby a bit as she continued to march down the alley. "I guess you’re not totally hopeless."

Y/N’s tiny hands gripped at one of Jinx's braids and for a moment, the chaos of the city around them seemed to fade. There was still the hum of machinery in the background, the occasional shout from passing Zaunites, and the distant whir of a hovercraft zooming by. But in this moment, it was just Jinx and her new... well, sidekick.

Jinx thought for a second, her eyes flicking from Y/N’s scrunched-up face to the crooked streets of Zaun ahead of her.

"Alright, alright, kid," Jinx said, her voice softening but still with that unmistakable quirk of madness. "We can’t just keep calling you baby all the time. You need a real name... Something cool, like me!"

She paused for dramatic effect, glancing down at Y/N with a grin that could only belong to Jinx. "I mean, you’re gonna be famous one day, right? Everyone’s gonna know you. You gotta have a name that makes people go wow."

Jinx tapped her chin thoughtfully, her wild eyes darting around as she searched for inspiration. "Maybe… Boom-Boom?" she suggested with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. But then she quickly waved it off. "Nah, too obvious."

Another moment passed, and then she snapped her fingers with an exaggerated gasp. "I got it! Y/N! Yeah, yeah, that works. Y/N. It's... mysterious. It's cool. It's got that punch to it. Like—BAM!" she added, making an explosive gesture with her hands as if the name itself was a firecracker.

She beamed down at the baby, who was now squirming gently in her arms, eyes blinking up at her in confusion. "You’re Y/N, kid. And you’re gonna be the best sidekick this place has ever seen. That’s a promise!" she added with a dramatic wink.

With a newfound sense of pride, Jinx lifted her arms high, holding Y/N like some strange, glittering trophy. "Alright, Y/N, time for some fun!" she said, spinning around again and nearly tripping over a loose piece of scrap. "Let’s go make some noise!"

And with that, Jinx—her new sidekick in tow—took off through the streets of Zaun, the two of them ready to cause more chaos. But this time, with a little bit of unexpected sweetness in the mix.

[fanatic564]

Abandon Weakness (Am I a Weakness?) (DPxDC) Chapter 1

Learning Weakness 1 2 AO3 Link Here

Summary

Danny can't help but feel as if he's been in this position before. A bag hastily thrown into his arms. Someone leading him away from a threat. The sweet, acidic taste of Lazarus water ectoplasm at the back of his throat. It's all so familiar it's almost nostalgic.

A Prequel to Learning Weakness, showing Danny escaping Amity Park and making his way to Gotham. Notes:

I promise I'm working on the next chapter of Learning Weakness. But I've had this outlined since chapter one, so I knew how Danny made it to Gotham. I got inspired to actually write it out. (I might be procrastinating, its fiiiiine).

"What do you think Father is like?"

The question broke the comfortable silence that surrounded the two small boys laying next to each other on the bed.

"Strong."

"That's it?"

"What else could he be? There's a reason Mother and Grandfather chose him to bear the heir of the family name."

"Hm."

"Why do you ask?"

"Well. It's just… you are everything that Mother and Grandfather are. Strong. Skilled. Unstoppable. But what about me? I'm nothing like any of you. I'm weaker and I can't bring myself to be as ruthless as you all. So surely I must take after Father?"

Another beat of silence, before one of the boys shuffled closer, closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around the other.

"If that is true, then Father must be kind. He must be compassionate, and too good for the League. Because that is what you are, Ahki. And I swear, I will do everything in my power to make sure you can stay that way. So that when we meet him, he will know in an instant that you are his son."

"I love you, Dami."

"I love you too, Danyal."

~ ~ ~

Danny can't help but feel as if he's been in this position before. A bag hastily thrown into his arms. Someone leading him away from a threat. The sweet, acidic taste of Lazarus water ectoplasm at the back of his throat. It's all so familiar it's almost nostalgic.

"Come on, Danny. Now is not the time to be spacing out." Danny shakes his head. Sam is right. He can think about the past when he's not actively being hunted.

"Yeah man. We're almost there." Come now Habibi, the first safehouse is just up ahead.

Danny pushes the thought aside. He runs faster, using his ghost abilities to drag Sam and Tucker down the street and through the wall of a building.

Said building is an old abandoned house at the edge of Amity Park. The place is boarded up with no visible entrance for a normal person, but that can't stop someone who can phase through walls like they aren't there. Inside, most of the furniture is covered with dust and grime. All except for the dining room table, which has been cleared by the teens for their own use.

On top of the table, there is a lidded box next to a pile of papers. Danny pulls his bag up onto the table next to them.

"You sure you'll be okay, dude? I can still get you set up somewhere. Make you a bank account and a fake ID and everything. I only need a little bit of time-"

"If you couldn't tell, we're out of time already. He can't wait any longer"

"You guys have done a lot for me. I can't thank you enough. But, you can't get any more involved in this. The Guys in White already have you on their radar and once Mom and Dad get them to join the search, plausible deniability is your best shot at safety."

His friends look at each other before turning back at him. "If you're really sure."

"I am. You guys should go. Your houses will likely be one of the first places they look and you need to be there when they do."

The three teens stand there for a moment staring at each other. The moment ends when Sam flings her arms around Danny to cling to him.

"I'm gonna miss you. You better contact us as soon as you find a place to settle down. You hear me Daniel Fenton‽"

Danny laughs lightly in response before looking over to Tucker. "What, not gonna join the goodbye hug? You wound me Tuck."

Tucker rolls his eyes before moving to join the hug. Once he is within reach, Danny wraps his own arms around both of them. His core hums as he holds two of the people closest to him. Eventually though, he has to let them go. They say their final goodbyes before Danny turns them intangible and herds them out of the building.

And then he is alone.

Alone to finally think about everything that has happened. And just how similar it is to what happened to him before, all those years ago.

Family members wanting him dead. A sibling being left behind (and Danny feels a pang in his chest at that. At least with Jazz, he has a way to contact her again, when all is said and done.) Danny escaping with the help of someone he loves. Not knowing what is in store for him past this point. Danny running from a throne he doesn't think he is qualified to take.

~ ~ ~

Before Danny lived at Amity Park, before he was killed by the portal, before he became a ghost fighting vigilante, Danyal Al Ghul had been killed by his own brother. Well, before even that he had been a part of a cult of literal assassins. One of the heirs to said cult, in fact, the son of Talia Al Ghul and a man named Bruce Wayne. But, since a cult of assassins didn't need more than one heir, Danyal's grandfather had ordered a duel between the twin. And thus, Danyal's death.

Of course, as seemed to be a recurring theme in his life, Danny did not stay dead.

Instead, with the sound of clocks in his ears and the burning taste of the pit he was thrown into in his mouth, Danny awoke from his death.

(Clockwork would later explain his role in the event to him. How it hadn't been his time yet, and so he influenced Mother into putting Danny in the pits. How he watched the ensuing journey to assure he made it to his destination in one piece as opposed to alive, where the beginning of his journey was death, and the end result would always be death even if years down the line . )

He made it to Amity Park, and was eventually found and adopted by the Fenton Family. It was like comparing night and day, comparing life with the Fentons to life with the League of Assassins. While the league was strict, with rules being strictly enforced and discipline served ruthlessly, the Fentons had a more… hands-off approach. Hands-off meaning barely there, always in the basement working on their 'research'. At first, Danny had been ecstatic for the distance. Less rules barely any, no discipline having to fend for himself , no having to learn how to murder and hurt and….it had been everything Danny had wanted.

Of course Danny missed his brother, and Mother, and even Grandfather on occasion. But Danny could never return, never see them again, in order to keep all of them safe. And so he enjoyed the freedom that living with the Fentons provided.

With that freedom, Danny did research. He learned more about his father, how he was a billionaire living in the city of Gotham who had a habit of adoption that was frankly concerning. He learned that Gotham itself had to be chock full of ectoplasm, with how full of crime and fear the city was. The city had heroes and vigilantes and crime lords and-

And his brother.

Those next few years were a blur. Danny gained close friends in the form of Sam and Tucker. Danny slowly learned to push aside his assassin past and live a normal life. Then he died again. And then he became a vigilante. And then he gained another sister in the form of Ellie. And then he defeated Pariah Dark. And the Jazz went to college left him alone with them.

And then his parents discovered it all.

(Well, maybe not all of it, but enough to know he was no longer safe in Amity Park.)

~ ~ ~

Danny and his friends had a plan for if his parents ever discovered that he was Phantom and they didn't react well. They put together a to-go box for him to grab before fleeing, with an ecto-infused burner phone, some snacks and water bottles, a decent supply of ecto shots, spare clothes, and a few other miscellaneous items. The last part of their plan was supposed to be finding a place for him to flee to. But, they thought they had more time, didn't think this would happen so soon. And so all Danny has to go off of is the pile of papers next to his box, with lists of pros and cons for several different locations that he can go to.

His friends don't know this, but Danny has long since made his decision on where to go. He can't go to where Jazz is going to college, there isn't enough ambient ectoplasm to sustain him. In fact, most places they discussed didn't. However, there is one option, all the way at the bottom of the pile, that Danny knows will be perfect. To Sam and Tucker, it is a last resort spot, somewhere to go if there is absolutely no other option. Despite the abundance of apparent ectoplasm in the air, the risks are not worth it in their eyes. The ectoplasm seems like the only pro in a sea of cons for them. But for Danny? There is a second pro that outweighs every con tenfold.

Danny can finally reunite with his brother. With Dami. End Notes: Feel free to point out any mistakes.

[allwaswell16]

A One Direction fic rec of friends to lovers fics where one (or both) character(s) is dating someone else as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

- Louis / Harry -

⊹ Remember Me Before You by @kingsofeverything

(E, 293k, New Girl au) Desperate to find a new place to live after he comes home to find his boyfriend cheating, Harry moves into a loft with three strangers.

⊹ Inevitable by Etoilenoire

(E, 185k, ex fwb) AU where Louis and Harry used to be more than friends, but everything had to change the day Harry introduces Louis to his new girlfriend.

⊹  Own the Scars by @crinkle-eyed-boo

(E, 144k, addiction) After an accident that nearly costs him his life, Louis' parents send him to rehab where he’s forced to face his demons. On the long and difficult road to recovery, Louis must confront the truths he’s been avoiding about his future, his relationships, and his sense of self-worth.

⊹ Hold You Now by solvetheminourdreams / @cursethedaylight

(M, 131k, ex-fwb) When he accompanies his best friend to a family wedding across the Atlantic, he'll be forced to reopen old wounds and face his past—one that no one wants to hash out, but may just have to.

⊹ if it kills me by you_explode / @nobodymoves

(M, 110k, The Office au) Harry and Louis have worked together in a difficult office environment for three years. They're best friends; Louis is the bright spot of all of Harry's days. But Louis is in love with Harry, and Harry's engaged to someone else.

⊹ It started with a whisper by jaded25

(M, 92k, uni) Louis isn't someone who Harry thought he could ever be with, and Louis never thought he'd break his rules for anyone.

⊹ Far Away. by dimpled_halo / @comebackassholes

(M, 57k, exes) Harry returns to London after five years. Stuck in the past with "what ifs" and "what might have beens", he sees that his friends and ex (and possible love of his life) Louis have all moved on with their lives while he finds himself questioning his own life choices, past and present.

⊹ keep me warm and nothing else by Halos_Boat / @halohamilton

(G, 50k, exes) On New Years Eve, Louis contemplates revealing how he feels to Harry, only to find out that Harry is now engaged.

⊹ Love Isn't Always on Time by @softfonds

(E, 45k, Made of Honor au) Falling in love with your best friend sounds like a good idea, until he comes back from a work trip engaged to another man.

⊹ Big, Bright World by RealName

(M, 35k, office) The only problem? Harry was engaged to someone else and had been from the moment Louis started working at Visionary.

⊹ Tightrope by @sadaveniren

(E, 33k, mpreg) Louis gets pregnant from "one last time" sex and he and Harry somehow think they'll be able co-parent without it being weird for anyone (most especially their new boyfriends).

⊹ speak now or forever hold your peace by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze

(E, 23k, Love Rosie au) the one where Harry crashes Louis’ wedding

⊹ Meet Me At The Rat Hole by Niallinjapan2013

(E, 16k, roommates) Harry and Louis are best friends. Harry is in love with Louis. But Louis has a boyfriend named Shane.

⊹ Saw It In Your Eyes by @taggiecb

(E, 15k, roommates) When Louis starts bringing a new guy home with him, Harry is surprised by how much it bothers him. Is he not as okay as he thought he was with Louis’ sexuality?

⊹ Waiting for Wonderful by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(M, 13k, pining) Harry is willing to wait as long as he needs to for his best friend to realise that they're supposed to be together, but it kills him to watch Louis struggle in his relationship with Mackenzie.

⊹ Treat You Like A Gentleman by @justanothershadeofblue

(E, 12k, neighbors) 5 times that Harry Styles was unsatisfied by his dates, and one time Louis Tomlinson helped him find what he had been missing.

⊹ Something To Live For by orphan_account

(M, 5k, vampires) After over a century of waiting for Harry to realize they're mates, Louis gets his heart broken when his friend announces he's found his 'one' in a human girl named Teresa.

- Rare Pairs -

⊹ Eight Days by LadyAJ_13 / @ladyaj-13

(T, 22k, Liam/Louis) Louis and Liam got hitched in Vegas, completely forgot about it for more than a decade, and it comes back to bite them. Sort of.

[farthest-harbor]

What’s your favorite and most off the wall Nick theories?

Okay, I shall give you some of the most unhinged things I have thought about Nick Valentine, and you will see how weird it is in this head of mine. Most will be NSFW, so if that ain't your jam, don't read 'em!

Nick has a network of teeny tiny wires embedded in his skin that function as nerves. I think that when he gets injured and a section of his skin is torn away, the nerve wires are left exposed. When the injury is new, anything that touches these exposed nerve endings is painfully overstimulating. As the injury gets older, it gets less sensitive and eventually can be touched in a pleasurable way. Try stroking, licking, sucking... See what happens.

Also, I think Nick's skin isn't totally hard plastic. I think it's somewhere in between hard plastic and silicone in texture, and is a bit pliable, more flexible around his face, hands, and joints where more range of motion is necessary. Therefore, when you kiss Nick, I think his lips aren't as squishy as human lips, but still kissably soft.

I think Nick overheats like a computer. When he's flustered, stressed out, or ~stimulated~, I think a bunch of internal fans kick on in his chest, the way they do on a hot laptop. I imagine his main processors are in his chest, so his chest probably gets the hottest. So during sex, his chest is almost scorchingly hot. Instead of an orgasm, he overheats till he crashes and shuts off for a few seconds, then slowly reboots. Be patient with him when it happens, if he hasn't taken care of you already, he will when he's back online.

Also I totally buy into wireplay. I bet that shit sends him to the moon.

I think synth Nick hasn't had any sort of romantic relationship, or else he wouldn't still be hung up on Jenny. I think after Sole helps him avenge her, he's more able to move on, but never entirely let go. It helps that Sole lost a spouse too and understands the pain of losing them, and that a part of Sole's soul will always be with their spouse.

Nick also never put himself out there because he's always deep down felt that his body is inadequate, especially since he once had a human body to compare it to. He's deeply self-conscious about not having a dick, and if Sole shows an interest in a physical relationship with him, he will feel the need to have a talk with Sole about it first. The way he sees it, it's better to tell Sole before they get him undressed than to watch Sole be judgemental/disappointed when they find out. That's an indignity he just couldn't bear. He struggles with vulnerability, particularly about his body, so treat him with care and be patient with him. Let him open up at his own pace.

I think body worship would be a very good way to begin intimacy with Nick. To slowly make your way down his body, kissing and gently touching all the way, letting him know that each inch of him is beautiful and worthy of affection and attention. He gets accustomed to intimacy one tiny bit of himself at a time, with the constant affirmation that he is worthy and he is enough.

I think Nick is a very different person with Sole than he is in public. He walks around wearing wit and sarcasm as armor against the volleys of prejudiced remarks thrown at him. When he's alone with someone he knows loves and accepts him, he doesn't need to make his usual witty comebacks and snarky remarks. He can take off the armor and show how badly he needs to be loved and cared for. He will thrive off tenderness and care.

In a similar vein, I think Nick is kinda submissive in bed, at least for the first few times. He likes having Sole take the lead, as he's not terribly experienced. He would probably do well with a soft dom partner. As he gains in confidence, he might start taking the lead more, and getting more creative. At an advanced stage in the relationship, you might use a few props, especially his tie, hat, and a set of handcuffs. But at any stage, I think he doesn't want violent/aggressive sex, but rather passionate, affectionate, and explorative.

And finally: I don't think he needs to wear underwear, since he doesn't have any genitals, but he wears underwear anyways because it feels proper to do so. It's just such an ingrained rule from his prewar life that he feels weird not wearing underwear. He wears plain white boxers and an undershirt. They are horribly ragged and stained, but he will not leave home without them on.

There you go, enjoy my utterly unhinged thoughts. I'm sure I can muster up more if someone asks very nicely :)

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: As Lucy continues to pull further away, Tommy tries to bridge the growing schism between them.

Word Count: 6,398

Warnings: Angst, insecurity, suicidal thoughts, chronic pain, sexual harassment, and references to infidelity and sexual content.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 11: Kiss Me Where I Break

Tommy was beginning to worry that he might have broken her.

She said next to nothing the entire train ride from Birmingham to London, all his attempts at initiating conversation met with one word answers or just quiet hums in acknowledgement while she stared out the window. Eventually, he just gave up and decided to leave her alone.  

The past few days had been utterly hellish. He kept forgetting that Lucy wasn’t at the house anymore. He’d be in the throes of work, and call out for her, only to realize a second later that no one was coming. She wasn’t a simple holler away anymore.

He missed her almost more than he could bear. He had gotten so used to her always being there. Right by his side. To help him, to talk to him. To just…be there when he needed her. It was like someone had amputated one of his limbs.

But being around her during the workday did little to soothe the ache of her absence. Both because of the guilt that chewed away at him at every glance into her sad eyes, but also because something had undeniably changed between them. There was a schism between them now, ever since he had told her about Lizzie’s deal. Lucy was more distant, more subdued. Like the bright spark that she always carried with her had been suddenly snuffed out. He missed her, even when she was standing right in front of him. 

He wanted his Lucy back. 

For a while, he had thought that perhaps she was immune to him and the darkness that he carried. And yet in the end he had sapped out her light; broken her like he did everyone else close to him. 

He rolled his unlit cigarette between his fingers as he strode down the hallways of Westminster. Frustration crackled beneath his skin. His meeting earlier that day with Aberama had gone well. Aberama had agreed to postpone his planned killing of McCavern. And he was planning to propose to Polly. But despite the recent string of accomplishments, Tommy felt no joy or relief. If anything, he felt even worse.    

He couldn’t help the prickle of jealousy he felt towards Polly and Aberama. How fucking lucky they were, to actually be marrying someone that they truly loved. 

He eyed the golden band on his left hand disdainfully. It felt more like a shackle than a wedding ring.

Pushing open the door to his office, he chanced a glance at where Lucy was sitting, bent over a few documents with her fists pressed to her temples, elbows on the desk in front of her. Her lips were tilted downwards. Next to her, the fresh bouquet of sunflowers he’d sent was perched on the edge of her desk. He opened his mouth, considering asking her if she wanted to go out to dinner, then closed it. Why bother? He already knew that she was going to say no. 

Still, worry festered at the edges of his already frayed mind, longing to fix what he had so stupidly broken. He needed her. Everything was ten times harder without her there to lighten the load. He hadn’t even fully realized just how much he’d come to rely on her emotional support until it had been ripped away.  

He didn’t know what to do to make any of this better. They had never had problems before. Sure, they’d had their squabbles and arguments from time to time, but they never lasted long. When it came to Lucy, this was entirely new territory for him.     

Wandering into his own office, he tossed the folder of papers he was holding down, reaching for the decanter usually filled with whiskey only to find it empty. Scowling, suddenly deeply irritable, he opened a drawer and snatched the large bottle inside, taking a slow swig. A soft sigh left his lips, eyes briefly slipping closed as the cool liquid slid down his throat.

With the meetings with McCavern, Chang, and Aberama, he had barely had time to stop to catch his breath.

Without even so much as a knock, the door to his office opened, and, of all people, Mosley came slithering in. Tommy quickly stashed the bottle back into the drawer and wiped at his mouth, turning to face him. Those dark eyes of Mosley’s narrowed, voice doing little more than to set Tommy’s teeth on edge as he discussed the invitation Tommy had extended to him to the ballet performance at Arrow House for Lizzie’s birthday. As the conversation continued, Tommy moved to sit in his chair behind his desk, suddenly eager to have some sort of barrier between them. 

Mosley eyed him up like an animal waiting to pounce when he started speaking of his past acquaintance with Lizzie. No doubt hoping for some sort of reaction from his words. Tommy kept his hands laced tightly in his lap, hoping that the other man didn’t see the way his fingers tightened against each other.  

“Well, if you recognize her, maybe you can talk about old times, eh?”

“Maybe, if we have met before, your wife and I could even renew our acquaintance. I am invited to stay the night, yes?”

It was becoming increasingly hard for him to remember why he continued to tolerate Mosley’s presence. With each passing moment the temptation was growing stronger to grab the gun in his drawer or use the blades in his cap to slice the man to pieces. Or to perhaps call Lucy in and have her deal with the fascist piece of shit. That could be fun.

Speaking of Lucy, perhaps now would be a good time to let Mosley know about the research he’d asked her to do on the MP.

“I too have done some research, Sir Oswald,” he allowed his eyes to narrow a fraction. “Yeah. I researched your wife. And your wife’s younger sister. And your wife’s stepmother, Lady Curzon. All of whom you are fucking. If such things were to take place on a narrowboat, the church would get involved.”

“But…” Mosley’s voice was but a whisper, “it’s not happening on a narrowboat.”

“No. It’s taking place in your apartment, in your country house, sometimes even in your office here in the House of Commons.” He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “So no secrets. And yes. Yes, you are invited to stay the night with whichever member of your family finds favor. Now, if you don’t mind, I was about to leave. I need to lock up my office.”

Mosley looked at him for a long moment, smoking casually. “Funny,” he said finally, “how disapprovingly you speak of my liaisons. Considering that lovely redhead that you always keep so close to you. Pretty thing. A bit plain, for my taste, to tell you the truth, but still. Lovely.” Tommy’s stomach churned. “Tragic past too, poor thing. She’s been working for you for many years now, hasn’t she?” Mosley cocked his head. “And I hear that she has quite the array of talents. Tell me, was it her that you had do your research on me?” He didn't wait for a response. “Wonderous job, if it was. Very few people know about my particular relationship with the Lady Curzon. Perhaps I should borrow her, at some point. I’m sure that she could be of the utmost use to me.” 

Tommy felt like he was going to throw up. Mosley took another long, slow drag from his cigarette, eyes not once leaving Tommy’s.

“Actually, I will come alone,” he said, finally, in response to Tommy’s invitation. “In society, you are judged by your hospitality. I will expect adventure.” He leaned across Tommy’s desk to put his cigarette out in the ashtray. Tommy was certain that if he had to hear that man lecture him one more time about the ‘rules of society,’ he was going to scream. Mosley straightened. “Such rogues we are, aren’t we? Sing like songbirds in the House. And then afterwards, relieve ourselves in the bodies of whomever we choose. Two men for whom forbidding is forbidden,” he raised the little paper that was his invitation, “should be quite the party.”

Tommy managed a smile that was more of a grimace, and Mosley finally, finally slunk his way out of the office. He pressed a hand to his face once the door closed, mind whirling. The idea of letting Mosley near Lucy or Lizzie made his skin crawl and stomach heave. And yet he was going to do it. To let the man waltz right into his home on an invitation. His hand trembled. Neither of them deserved him. Lucy’s sad eyes and Lizzie’s resentful gaze danced in his mind. He should have left them both alone. They would be better off now, if he had. Rather than latching onto them and dragging them down with him into the depths of hell. He’d only wanted to help them, and yet all he had accomplished was ruining their lives. And that wasn’t even counting this current mess he had made. A mess that he had no idea how to fix without hurting at least one of them.              

His eyes flickered down to the topmost right drawer of his desk, hand pulling it open almost of its own accord. The gun sat atop the papers stacked inside. Tommy let his hand fall from the handle, eyes still fixed on the gun. He leaned forward with an exhale against his desk, head bowed and eyes squeezed shut. There was a breath echoing in his mind. Slow and steady with its inhales and exhales. He rested both hands on the back of his head, rubbing at the skin in an attempt to quell the swirl of self hatred that he was drowning in. The room was suddenly very dark and cold.

“You have to listen to the voices that you hear.”

His head snapped upwards, eyes wide open. No.

“Do what they tell you to do.”

The breaths were continuing. Her breaths. Her last breath as she died in his arms. Yet another one of the women in his life that he failed despite the amount in which he cared for her.

“You don’t even have to rub the lamp anymore to summon the genie,” Grace continued to speak from where she was standing in the corner. A shiver ran down Tommy’s spine. Grace raised a hand, and dangling from her fingers on a chain was the massive blue sapphire, the one he had locked around her throat. His greed having sealed her fate. “It wasn’t the blue stone, Tommy. It was you,” she pressed the necklace to her chest. He could hear her heartbeats now, a rapid thumping in his head. The drip of blood running from her chest to the floor. Tommy’s hand tightened into a fist. He couldn’t look at her. At those accusatory eyes. “It was you.”

There was a soft knock on the door. “Tommy?” Lucy’s voice called.

The breaths and heartbeats faded away. Grace vanished from sight. Tommy leaned backwards, squeezing his eyes shut tight and exhaling. “Just a minute, Luce,” he choked out. He forced deep breaths to pass through his lips, pushing the panic attack down with each one. Eyes finally opening, he pushed the open drawer with the gun in it closed, sitting up and straightening himself out. “Yeah?”

The door cracked open and Lucy poked her head in, a folder tucked under her arm. She stepped into the room, walking to his desk and holding the folder out to him. “I need you to sign these.”

He took the folder from her, scribbling his signature on the dotted line of the documents inside. Lucy passed a hand over her hair. 

“I sent Adam home. What did Mosley want?”

“To talk about ballet.”

She snorted. “He’s really coming then?”

“Yep,” he handed her back the folder.

“Goody for us,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. Tommy grunted in response. Lucy tucked the folder back under her arm. Her brown eyes swept over him, carefully. “Are you alright?”

Tommy rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just been a long day.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but nodded, heading back towards the door. “I’ll go get these filed.”

He watched her disappear out the door. “Thank you.” 

He remained reclined back in his chair for a few more minutes, until his breathing had fully evened out and he felt a little less like if someone touched him he might collapse. He glanced back towards the door that led to Lucy and Adam’s office area. When this business was done and the mess between them straightened out, he needed to do something nice for her. He tried to think back to the last time they had done something, just the two of them, that didn’t have anything to do with work in the past several weeks. His brow furrowed at the conclusion that he couldn’t think of anything outside of stolen kisses and touches in dark corners or in her room at Arrow House. Tommy frowned, lips pursing together, another wave of guilt slicing through his being at the way he had been unintentionally neglecting his lover. He realized, with a shuddering of utter horror, that he could not remember the last time he had even simply held her.     

Shaking his head, Tommy reached into his pocket to check the time on his watch. It was getting late. He stood from his chair, locking up the drawers in his desk that housed sensitive documents, stuffing a few files into his briefcase, and heading out the door, locking that too behind him. Lucy was sitting at her desk, riffling through some papers. He gently touched her shoulder.           

“It’s getting late,” he said softly. “We should lock up.”

She looked up at him, nodding wordlessly and beginning to stack the papers she had been working on, slipping them into a folder and locking them away in the filing cabinet kept in the corner. Tommy watched her cautiously. He reached out a hand to wrap around her wrist, brow furrowing at how cold her skin felt. 

“We could go to the apartment tonight,” he offered. He knew it wasn’t much. Certainly not enough considering what he was putting her through. But it was the best he could think to offer at the moment. 

Lucy looked down at the floor for a moment, and when she looked up at him those dark brown eyes were shiny. 

“Lizzie’s bringing Charlie and Ruby up to visit the office tomorrow,” she reminded him gently. Tommy blinked. He had forgotten. He’d promised to show them around Westminster and then take them all out to lunch.

“So?” he asked, fingers remaining wrapped around her wrist. Lucy gave him a look.

“I’m assuming that you’d like to be able to hold your daughter’s hand while you show her around?” 

Alright, he definitely deserved that one. 

“And you have an appointment this evening with Dr. Brooke.”

“I remember,” he sighed, letting go of her wrist and shoving his hands deep into his pockets, eyes glancing out the window while he frowned. “It’ll be too late after I'm done to go back to Birmingham.”

“I was thinking that while you’re at your appointment I’d follow up on some research on Mosley’s associates,” Lucy added. “And I need to pick up Lizzie’s birthday presents.”  

“And what did I get her this year?”

“A diamond necklace she’s been eyeing in the magazines. Part of the same collection as those earrings you got her in Paris that she likes so much.” 

He touched her face lightly. “Whatever would I do without you?”  

Her lips twitched upwards into a small smile, though her eyes still looked sad. Tommy let his thumb stroke over her bottom lip. He just wanted to see her smile again. A real smile. The kind that she would often shoot at him from across the room at family meetings or during the workday. Mischievous and bright and warm enough to thaw even his ice cold heart.

“Alright, I’ll go to my appointment and run some errands in town. You go pick up the gifts, do your work. We’ll meet back at the apartment.” At her raised eyebrow he held up his hands. “We just won’t fuck. I promise that I won’t try to maul you.”

That earned him a small, amused snort. “You think Lizzie will believe that?”

He sighed deeply. “Let me worry about Lizzie.”

Lucy nodded. “Okay,” she went to grab her coat from its hook. Tommy wetted his lips as he watched her, reaching out again to touch her arm lightly.

“Maybe…maybe after Lizzie and the kids have gone back home…”

“A day on either side, remember?”

“Yes, but we could still plan on the day after…”

“Why does it matter so much?” she asked, voice suddenly sharpening. “It’s not like you’re not still getting any.”

Tommy had to suppress a flinch. “It’s not the same…” he tried to argue softly. Lucy sighed and looked away, fiddling with her rings. He cocked his head, taking a cautious step towards her. “And what about you, eh?”

Her breath came out in a shaky exhale. “I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not…”

“Can we talk about this later, please?” she looked around the office, shifting uncomfortably. “Not here.”

Tommy wanted to argue, because not speaking of it was driving him mad. But he held his tongue. He was worried that if he pushed her too hard on it, she’d just retreat even further away inside herself. Besides, it would give him the opportunity to keep working on Lizzie and coming up with his own solutions to the problem. Any conversation that they had about it was surely to go better if he came to her with a potential fix already in hand. 

“Okay.”

She gave him a grateful look, shoulders relaxing at the reprieve. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he cocked his head. 

“What time do you think you’ll be back?” 

“Late. Probably around midnight. Maybe one.” That wasn’t uncommon when she was doing her spy work for him. 

“Be careful.”

She smiled another smile that still did not quite meet her eyes. “Always.”

He watched her leave with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, worried frown set like stone onto his face.

∗ ∗ ∗

Lizzie sighed, flopping down onto the couch in one of the large sitting rooms in Arrow House, the children playing in front of her on the rug near the fireplace. She smiled softly as she watched them, appreciating the way Charlie played so gently with his half-sister. Such a sweet kid. She wondered, sometimes, if that was what Tommy was like. Before the war.

Long fingers adjusting on her cigarette, Lizzie’s eyes caught on the chessboard sitting on the table, the little pieces all arranged into their starting positions. A memory of Lucy sitting down unceremoniously in front of her one evening, chessboard clutched in her hands, played within her mind.

“Play with me, Lizzie?” she had asked, widening those big brown eyes at her. Lizzie had shifted uncomfortably, suddenly embarrassed.

“I don’t know how to play,” she admitted. Lucy shrugged.

“That’s alright. I’ll teach you,” she spoke without missing a beat. At Lizzie’s apprehensive look she groaned dramatically. “C’mon Lizzie, please? I’m bored. Tommy’s busy. No one else will play with me,” she had flashed her that teasing, mischievous smile. “I’ll be your best friend.” 

It had been hard not to relent, when Lucy was looking at her so hopefully, eyes dancing and playful. One game turned into several, and soon it had become a sort of tradition between the two of them.

Lizzie frowned at the sharp ache of missing the little redhead that throbbed in her chest. 

Her absence felt like a gaping hole had been ripped open in the middle of the house. Everyone’s moods–even the staffs’--had taken a turn towards melancholy. The children weren’t as joyful when they played. Cyril was depressed and barely eating. Trouble paced the halls while crying, but hissed and scratched at anyone who so much as tried to come near her. The horses in the stables were gloomy.

A chill seemed to have swept over the entire house. Even the fires lit in the hearths at night didn’t seem as warm. Tommy spent most of his time holed up in his office, his mood somehow even darker than it had been before. He yelled at everyone more often. And one evening, when she couldn’t sleep and had wandered down to the library for a book, she was pretty sure that she heard him weeping. 

What the fuck have I done?

Head falling back against the couch, Lizzie breathed out an exhale of smoke tiredly. Her glazed over eyes watched Ruby play with one of her dolls, raising her cigarette to her lips for another drag. 

Ever since Lucy had moved out, she had been considering what she wanted to do. 

When she had put the phone down after calling the solicitor in London, she had made the decision to stay. But not for Tommy. Not really. It had been for the children. For the house. For the luxury and money and status that Tommy had gifted her when he signed their marriage license. All he’d asked for in exchange was that she care for his home and children, and allow him to be with his lover. 

She had made a promise, when she married Tommy. She had swore to him that his relationship with Lucy would be allowed to stand. That she wouldn’t interfere, or make things difficult for them to be together. She had promised the same thing to Lucy.

Poor Lucy, who had only ever tried to be her friend.

Christ, she hadn’t even realized how big of a presence Lucy had in the house, in all their lives–in her life–until she was gone. 

She fucking missed her. Missed the way she always seemed to sense when Lizzie needed a break from the kids and was happy to take them off her hands for a few hours. Missed the way she’d always make her an extra cup of tea whenever she fixed one for herself. And how she would help her during her horse riding lessons when she was able. Or when she would fold over the pages in the catalogs that they got of the things that she thought Lizzie might like. 

She missed how she’d cover her over with a blanket every time that she fell asleep on the couch because she worried about her getting cold. And the way that she urged for Tommy to do things with her on their own every once in a while, be it just them or with the kids, even though Lizzie knew that it hurt her to see them all together like that. 

Yes, they had clashed a lot. Even more so than usual, as of late. But they did have some good times mixed in there. 

She passed a hand over her eyes, swallowing down tears. Tommy had said that he probably wouldn’t be home tonight. She hadn’t been able to muster any disappointment at the news. Only deep relief. He had become unbearable to be around. But in a different way than he had been before. Prior, they had always been fighting. But now, he just seemed so…sad. With Lucy around he was still Tommy, with his closed off expressions and gruff words, but his eyes were a bit softer. And he smiled more, even if they were just subtle little quirking upwards of his lips. 

“Mommy?” Ruby asked, glancing up at Lizzie from where she was seated on the floor. Lizzie looked down at her.

“Yes, my darling?”

“Where’s Lucy?”

Her throat went dry. The children had asked her several times where Lucy was, and she had never been able to give them a straight answer, unable to bring herself to tell them that she likely was never coming back.

“She’s away at work, sweetheart, remember?”

“Is she coming back?”

Lizzie hesitated. “I don’t know, honey.”

Ruby returned her gaze to her doll. “I hope she comes back.”

Lizzie cocked her head. “Why’s that?”

When Ruby looked up at her, her wide dark eyes were filled with wisdom far beyond her age.

“Because Daddy’s happy when she’s here.”

∗ ∗ ∗

“Hey, do me a favor?” he asked Ada. “When that kid of yours arrives, keep it away from me,” he turned before he could really see Ada’s reaction from her place seated on the steps, heading for the door.

“Tommy,” Ada called out. He turned back. She was worrying at her bottom lip nervously, eyes darting about a moment before focusing back up at him. “I heard that Lucy left you.”

“She didn’t…leave me,” Tommy said, hoping that he was successfully able to hide his wince at the word. “She’s just not living at Arrow House anymore.” He narrowed his eyes. “Who told you?”

“Arthur mentioned it.”

He shook his head. Looked down at his feet. Arthur and his big fucking mouth. “You can say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say that you’re surprised that it took me this long to fuck things up with her.”

“That wasn't what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, well, then you’d be the only one,” it came out bitter, the taste unpleasant on his tongue.

“Tommy…” his sister started and then just sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry.”

“Mm. Good-night, Ada.” 

He walked back to the apartment miserably, opening the door to be greeted with a dark entryway and an equally dimmed sitting room. He pulled off his cap and stuffed it into his pocket, taking off his coat and hanging it up on the hook next to Lucy’s. 

He found her curled up on her side in bed, already asleep. He changed out of his clothes in a daze, sliding into the open space beside her. For a moment he just stared at her. Taking in the soft material of her silk maroon negligee, red hair spread out on the white pillow. 

He wanted very badly to wrap his arms around her. To hold her against his chest like he had almost every other night they had shared a bed. But he didn’t know if she wanted that. Any attempt he had made over the last few days to bridge the growing gap between them had only seemed to succeed in her pushing him even further away. He didn’t know what to do.

He wasn’t sure what it was Lucy really wanted anymore. It had been her idea to leave. Perhaps she had finally realized what he was: a monster that corrupted and ruined everything he’d ever touched. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

When he woke up, it was to find that Lucy was no longer beside him. 

He reached out, half asleep, only to find her side of the bed cool to the touch. Frowning, he raised his head, blinking open his heavy eyelids and squinting in the dark of the room. No light was sneaking in through the curtains. It was still night outside.  

“Luce?” he mumbled. The ensuite washroom door was open, the light off. No Lucy there. 

Pushing himself up, he felt a frown twist his lips downwards. Did she so badly want to get away from him that she’d gone and slept in the other room?

His eyes finally landed on the sliver of golden light sneaking in through the crack under the door. Head cocking, he climbed out of bed, snatching up one of his white henley’s and pulling it on over his naked torso. The fuck was she doing out in the sitting room in the middle of the night?

He found her sitting on the couch, the lamp on the end table flicked on. For a moment, he didn’t entirely understand what she was doing. Her back was curved forward, both arms bent so that her hands were reaching backwards towards her shoulder blades. As he watched, her hands flexed, scratching and pressing at her skin, as if trying to massage it. A little whimper emitted from her throat. 

Then he understood. 

He should have guessed that this would happen. It had been raining pretty hard when he visited Ada’s, and the cold and wet always seemed to make Lucy’s shoulders act up. Plus he had to figure that the mattress she was sleeping on at Charlie’s wasn’t all that good for her back, either.

He wished she would let him at least get her a suite at the Midland to stay at. Even if just for herself. 

Hurrying around the couch, he sat down beside her, hands reaching for her shoulders to try to help. 

But at the first brush of his palms across her back, she jumped and jerked away. 

“N-no…” Her face whipped around to stare at him, and he was met with distraught, teary dark eyes. The very sight was enough to hurt him to his core. 

“I can help,” he said, half begging. 

She sniffled and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “I can handle it–”

“I know you can,” he told her gently. “But you don’t have to.” He saw something waver across her face, his hands reaching tentatively out for her again. “Please, let me help you.” Don’t make me sit by and watch you suffer through this on your own too.

Her bottom lip trembled a little, eyes searching his, and then her shoulders slumped, face angling towards the ground while she nodded in consent. Moving slowly, half afraid she would spook again, Tommy rested both hands on her back. He started up rubbing at her skin slowly, searching out the spots that he knew always gave her the most trouble. 

Lucy let out a deep breath, and he felt her relax a little under his hands. 

At least I can do this for her.

“There you go,” he said quietly. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

She let out another little hiccupping sob. He wasn’t sure if it was in relief over the pain being lessened, or from his words. Either way, he shifted a little closer to her. 

“Did you take your pain killers?” The doctor had given her a prescription to use in the event that the pains ever got especially bad. 

She nodded. “Haven’t kicked in yet.”

He sat there rubbing her shoulders for a good thirty minutes, until her spasmed muscles had relaxed and the pain medications started to do their job.

“Let’s go back to bed, eh?”

Lucy wiped at her eyes. “Okay.” 

She let him shepherd her back into the bedroom, curling up on top of the mattress, watching him flick off the lights and get in next to her, pulling the blanket up to tuck around her. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, after they’d both been still for a moment. Tommy stared at the outline of her next to him in the dark. Tentatively, he reached out, stroking his hand through her hair.

“It’s alright.”

∗ ∗ ∗ 

“Lucy!” 

She turned, smiling and scrunching her nose at the two little figures running towards her. She stooped, bending down to press a kiss to Charlie and Ruby’s foreheads.

“Hey kiddos,” she squatted down to their level. “How’ve you been? Have you been good?”

Ruby nodded her head as her voice chirped out a sweet little, “yes.” 

At the same time, Charlie cast her a mischievous look. “No.”

“No!? What do you mean, no!?” Lucy cried playfully, reaching around to tickle the boy's sides while he squealed. He looked so much like Tommy when he laughed, it was almost frightening. She pulled the two children in for a hug. “I gotta get back to work, okay? But you two have fun with your mum and dad, alright?”

The children whined but relented, Ruby shuffling back to grab onto Tommy’s hand while he smiled softly down at her. Lizzie ruffled Charlie’s hair affectionately, expression loving as she looked at her step-son. Lucy smiled at her awkwardly.

“Good to see you.”

Lizzie nodded, eyes not quite meeting hers. “You too.”

“Right,” she looked at Tommy. “I gotta go help Adam with paperwork.”

He nodded, expression difficult to read, though she thought that she could see a regretful glimmer enter his eyes when he looked at her. “Alright.”

She nodded in return, waving and flashing a smile at Charlie and Ruby before ducking away. Watching from her desk, she looked on as Tommy ushered his children and Lizzie out of the office. He and Lizzie were both sporting wide smiles. Lucy huffed out a breath, nodding to herself. Good. That was good. They were happier now. Finally at peace with their little family.

Now if only her heart would stop hurting. 

∗ ∗ ∗   

They met with McCavern that evening along with Uncle Charlie to confirm the plan for distribution of the opium.

“Now who’s this fine lady?” McCavern asked when he spotted her, eyes shining in the lights of the lanterns as he looked her over. 

Lucy smiled thinly, taking his hand and shaking it when Tommy introduced them. What the fuck was it with these fascists and their constant leering?

She took a seat next to Charlie, listening to Tommy deal with McCavern. He was bad, that much was obvious to her, even without taking into account what he’d done to Bonnie. But he didn’t make her skin crawl as much as Mosley did. So that was something. Unlike Mosley he was just loud and obnoxious.

Tommy and McCavern shook on their deal, and Tommy poured them all a drink.

“In the firelight, your hair looks like the color of blood, love,” McCavern whispered in her ear, breath tickling her neck as he leaned down to pick up his cup. Lucy tensed, fingers tightening around her own mug. McCavern chuckled and pulled away. From across the table, Tommy’s jaw tightened, clearly having taken notice of the encounter.

But he said nothing. 

She understood why. McCavern was volatile; their peace pact fragile. He couldn’t be risking upending that all just over a half flirtatious remark.  

But still, it stung. 

Maybe he didn’t really see her as someone worth expending the effort to protect anymore. 

“You’ll use the cheque guarantee from Mosley to officially connect him to McCavern,” she guessed after McCavern and his men had left. 

“Yeah.”

She nodded, raising her drink to her lips.

“I’m going inside,” Charlie announced, standing. He gave Lucy a pat on the shoulder as he passed her and they said their goodnights. And then it was just her and Tommy again. 

Tommy cleared his throat. “Are you still coming to the ballet tomorrow evening?”

She swiped a hand across her face. It was Lizzie’s birthday tomorrow, and in celebration, he was having a private ballet company come to his house to put on a production of Swan Lake. A ballet about love, apparently.

A particularly paranoid part of her brain wondered if they’d chosen a romantic ballet specifically to rub her nose in it. 

Jealousy pulsed through her. Lizzie always got the big, grand public displays of love and affection. She got to go to fancy theater productions with him, and expensive restaurants. When he won awards and made speeches, she often got mentioned by name in his thanks towards those who had helped him get where he had in life. And at every lavish function, she got to be on his arm.

Even before she’d moved out, Lucy had always been relegated to the shadows. Their relationship could never be known publicly. Their dinner dates were at home, where no one could see them. Or maybe the rare picnic out in the wilderness. Assuming they had the time for dates at all. He’d never be able to throw an extravagant party in her honor.

Looking down at her hands, she frowned. “Wasn’t sure if I was still invited.”

Tommy looked at her sharply. “Of course you're invited.”

“I’d hate to ruin Lizzie’s birthday with my presence.”

“You won’t. She knows you’re invited.” His brows pinched. “She made sure that an invitation got sent to you herself.”

The furrow in Lucy’s brow only deepened. Why the fuck would she do that? Maybe she was trying to remind her of her place. To make sure that she saw the massive effort that Tommy had gone to for her.  

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to come if you really don’t want to, but…” Tommy wetted his lips, looking uncomfortable. 

“Mosley’s coming,” she finished for him. 

“Yes.”

“And you want me to come babysit him.”

“Not…babysit. But I might need you for any business we may conduct while he’s there.”

Of course. He didn’t want her there to enjoy herself. He wanted her there to work. Silly her. 

God, when did you get so bitter? she asked herself, cringing at her thoughts.

“I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”

Tommy exhaled. “Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“I might not be able to come pick you up with all the preparations that need to happen, but I’ll send a driver.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll ask Polly if she can drive me.”

His brows shot up nearly to his hairline. “You want to ride to Warwickshire with Polly?”

“Want is a strong word. But it’ll free up one of your drivers to go pick up some of the other guests. Besides, she’s been a little nicer to me lately. I think Aberama’s been putting in a good word for me.”

He examined her for a long time. “If that’s what you're comfortable with.”

She nodded. 

They stayed there for a while, both looking out towards the darkness of the canal. 

“I need to be getting back,” Tommy sighed. His hands had slipped into his pockets at some point. 

“Okay.” 

He made a move as if to approach her, then stopped. The soft glow of the lanterns cast sharp shadows across his face. She could just barely make out the reflection in his eyes. 

“Good night, then.”

Before she could reply, he started to walk away, the darkness that surrounded them seeming to swallow him up once he passed the touch of the lanterns. 

She stared out into the dark. 

No kiss. No I love you. No touch.

“Good night,” she whispered. Even though he was already gone.

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[beans-core]

Random thought:

I think Tyson would make gifts for Percy that are usually armor and weapons or other life-saving things because he cares the most about keeping Percy safe and alive. Tyson knows that Percy cares the most about surviving to keep his loved ones safe. So it’s swords and shields and daggers. But then Percy explains the notion of a gag gift, and Tyson loves it, so gifts from Tyson now have a 50% chance if being gag gifts. And of course, Tyson can’t make anything less than breathtaking, so the joke is never shoddy work.

Percy’s personal favorite is when a small handheld water gun that’s a perfect rendition of poseidons trident but itty bitty, and it shoots water out of all three prongs. Percy treasures it, and nicknames it Fork. When Estelle is old enough to appreciate it, he passes Fork down to her with Tyson’s blessing.

Tyson doesn’t make gifts for people outside his family as often, but when he does it’s always based on something he knows they like, and it needs to be useful above all else. Gifts are harder to be upset about when it’s tailored specifically to your interests and needs. It’s the best path to gift-giving success, and Tyson wants nothing but to make them happy.

When Tyson is hired to work as one of Poseidons blacksmiths, he grows closer to his dad, and would make gifts for him too. Statues and crowns and the like, because Poseidon doesn’t really need help to be strong, not that Tyson’s current skill level would be able to make a functional weapon for a god (one day, probably). Not only that, but because Poseidon is divinity, gifts don’t have to necessarily be useful. There’s more freedom to play around with the art of it considering it’s basically an offering.

Gifts for Sally Jackson are things like art and jewelry, because she’s a mixture of both. he knows that she’s divine too in her own unique way, but sometimes she doubts that she deserves to be decorated. Which is something he just can’t imagine, Sally Jackson being anything less than amazing? Not possible. He also knows that she doesn’t need to fight to be safe, because Percy will, but defensive items aren’t a bad idea at all. (Her favorite gift from Tyson is a beautiful locket that she has her family’s pictures in.)

When Percy goes missing, it’s the first time he gifts Sally something for offense rather than defense. It’s also when he decides that he needs to do some protecting of everyone else too: he makes Estelle an armored crib when she’s born (which is promptly baby proofed by her parents but still effectively protects her). He makes Paul a pocketknife that works in both humans and monsters, so if he’s being attacked he can fight back first and wonder if the assailant was monster or human later. Sally’s protective item is an improved version of Percy’s watch-to-shield thing but with an added detachable dagger that is, once again, effective for both humans and monsters.

For his lovely harpy girlfriend, he’ll make her anything and everything he can. She likes to hoard more than just words in her head once she has a permanent, structured living place. Not to mention tyson would build her the world if she wanted, so trinkets are fun and no trouble at all. Ella also likes to give him little gifts in the form of scavenged findings— pretty flowers, quirky metal parts, shiny rocks— so he’ll find a way to incorporate them into his crafts. A nice shell might become a pendant for necklace, a scrap of wood with a nice design might be shaped into a small sculpture, a uniquely shaped peice of metal could be put in the hilt of a sword. Ella doesn’t mind if these little bits she collected become gifts for her, but being a part of the process of someone else’s gift and knowing a part of her plus a part of Tyson made something so special makes her want to burst with joy. (Ella also recites him love poems/stories/etc as gifts. Rarely, she will go out of her comfort zone and purposefully mix up the words of stuff she remembers to make personalized romantic writings for him. It’s a high honor and Tyson absolutely melts every time she does it.)

[microphone-connoisseur]

Microphone Post: #6

There's been a thought that has been bothering me for a while.

There was a comic I saw a while back with Knife and Taco talking to each other about Mic and Taco being acquaintances. And it looks like the creator- *ahem* I mean, Knife doesn't think Microphone likes being around Taco.

Usually, I wouldn't really care about stuff like that but I don't like how the comic made Mic out to be "vulnerable" or a push over. (The comic did make Knife describe Mic as vulnerable in a pretty vague manner.)

In my own interpretation of the comic, it feels like Knife is saying Mic is forcing herself to "put up" or care for Taco even if she might be uncomfy and that Taco should go and find someone else out there to have some sort of bond with; even though Taco is probably in a pretty bad mental state ATM, losing Mepad, seeing someone she cares deeply for die in front of her, and dying herself before coming back to life again.

Taco is not doing well and needs some support and I'm not sure if she is in the state to go and seek out for someone to help her, especially since she still loathes herself (she isn't going to be a-okay just because she got some support from Mepad).

Microphone is there because she's compassionate. She isn't there because she's forcing herself or because she feels like she "owes it" to Taco or even that she pities Taco; at least that's how I interpret Mic after her arc. Mic sees someone that she on some level cares for and she recognizes that that person needs help because others may not help them. It that esp something that Mic recognizes because of Taco's reputation.

I could go on and on about how Mic forgiving Taco and offering to be a shoulder to lean on isn't bad writing or "fan-service" but I don't have enough followers for that /j

If the author of that comic finds this (somehow), no hard feelings at all! I'm not gonna judge someone based off of their own interpretations of a fictional character! I'd even be up to talking about it :]

Thank you @cafekitsune for the page decorations! X]

thats it! whew that was long. this was in my drafts for multiple weeks.