#weird trait past me!!

[elliewiltarwyn]

FFXIV Write 2023 | Prompt #14: Clear

TIL i use clear as an adjective and adverb way too much

-1164 words

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“But do not think I reserve all of my scorn for Cid nan Garlond… adventurers.”

Nero tol Scaeva curls his gauntlet in front of his masked face. “Certainly, that Lord van Baelsar desires him at his side stings. Indeed, the thought that he would desire any such fool, one who has also made clear their lack of interest in ruling this blighted land, rankles.” And then his masked visage turned slightly to Elilgeim’s right. Towards Mia. “And you, traitor, are no exception.”

What? Elilgeim blinks rapidly, curling her fingers tighter around the haft of her cane. Traitor?

And then Nero moves, faster than any of them expects—it may be because of jets or boosters on his armor, but Elilgeim can’t see—and slams to a stop right in front of Mia, his gauntlet crackling with levin and glowing with energies, and he curls his fingers and delivers a fierce punch to the direct center of Mia’s brow; she cries out and staggers backwards onto her knees, clutching at the struck spot with her left hand. “Mia!” Lilyana shouts, and Elilgeim focuses her energies and slams a small blast of wind forward; Nero’s still too quick though, and he jets backwards, the blast flying by harmlessly. Lily capitalizes, lunging forward with knives bared, but he raises his hand and an electronic signal emanates from it, just before a massive jet-propelled iron hammer slams into the floor between them. Lily yelps and skids to a stop, and Elilgeim focuses again, drawing upon her curative spells this time—then stops herself, confused.

Mia’s not actually injured—from a solid punch to the face. How in the…

“When were you going to tell them?” Nero demands, grasping his hammer and hefting it over his shoulder. “When were you going to let your Eorzean allies know you hail from the very nation attempting to stomp them out… Maia jen Asina?”

Time itself seems to stop as Elilgeim—and Lilyana too, judging by the way her ears flatten against her head—processes what he means. Then she snaps her gaze over to Mia, who remains on her knees panting through clenched teeth and glaring at Nero with eyes blazing with fury. Underneath her hand, still resting over the spot where he struck her, is a strange shimmering wave that bends the light and warps the air. It takes her a second to narrow down that it’s the sort of phenomenon that appears over entities or clothes when a glamouring spell is cast upon them… or removed. But as far as she can tell, Mia looks the same…

“If you think… that means anything… about my allegiances… about what I fight for…” Mia exhales one more breath and curls the hand on her head into a fist. “Then you’re even more ignorant than I thought, Nero tol Scaeva.” And as she rises to her feet, she finally lets her hand drop, to two-hand her blade and level it in Nero’s direction. There’s a small black pyramidal object upon the spot, emanating the waves, but it finally fades away to reveal a small, pale, pearlescent orb, directly where Nero had struck—embedded directly in the middle of her forehead. Elilgeim’s heart stops. The Garlean third eye.

She’s pureblood Garlean.

And then she thinks about it for one split-second further and turns to slam a spell of Stone upon Nero’s head. He shouts in pain and swings his hammer wide, but Lily ducks underneath and strikes at his side, and it’s clear the battle has engaged. But even after everything Nero had already laid bare, he still isn’t finished somehow—

“What is it that draws his attention!?” he demands as Mia charges forth, slamming her shield against his hammer’s head before stabbing from behind her guard with her sword. “What is it about expatriates, heirs to the legacies of the most brilliant engineers in Garlemald’s history who deliberately spurn those legacies and turn their back on him—why does he give a whit about their loyalties, and not mine!?”

“Do I look like I care an onze?” Mia growls gutturally, just as she forces the hammer aside and lays into him with a hard slash. Elilgeim catches up to her right side at that moment, Lily on her left; and Elilgeim’s shocked by the look of consternation and contrition on her face. Her eyes flick to Elilgeim’s, then to Lily’s on the other side, and she freezes, paralyzed by uncertainty and doubt all of a sudden.

“Do we?” Elilgeim mutters with a bemused smirk.

Mia blinks at her, then back to Lily, who’s side-grinning fiercely at her. She takes in a deep breath, looks at Nero with clear resolve swelling within her, and charges forward once more to meet his attack.

The battle is short and furious—and so is Elilgeim when the power is cut, and he vanishes into the darkness, cackling. That they had been forced to slay Rhitahtyn and Livia, but let this one escape… She regulates her breath and clamps down on her rage as Cid breaks back in over the linkpearl, and she quickly updates him on their situation. In turn, he updates them on the other moving parts of Operation Archon. It’s all coming to a head—their final duty is set before them. As she lowers her hand from her ear, she glances back up at Mia; the other woman gulps, nerves settling in and wrinkling her brow around the little grey stone.

“I… I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to— I mean, I was hiding it, but… I was afraid that—”

Elilgeim claps a hand on her shoulder as she walks by. “Seriously: it does not matter even a little bit.”

“Huh?”

“We’re working with Cid Garlond, in case you haven’t noticed,” Lilyana says slyly, and as Elilgeim casts her gaze back she watches Lilyana gently nudge Mia’s other shoulder with her fist, that cheerful grin ever-present. “You’re literally not the first defector from Garlemald. You’ve also led the charge on fighting the primals and investigating for the Scions and a thousand other little things.”

“But—those things Nero said—”

“Does not matter,” Elilgeim repeats, rolling her eyes and shaking her head in bemusement; she crosses her arms and taps her foot, and jerks her head over her shoulder towards the giant funicular elevator behind them. “Do you seriously think we’re the sort of people to judge based on homeland? Nero’s amorality, Gaius’s madness—they’re not remotely because they were born in the same country as you. You’re annoying and you’re preachy and stupidly purehearted—”

“Elilgeim!” Lilyana snaps, her eyebrow arching sharply in indignation.

“—but it’s been clear from the beginning: you hold no love for the Empire and its ways and ideals.”

Mia blinks, meeting Elilgeim’s gaze. “Now are we getting on this lift or not?” Elilgeim says impatiently, a little quirk at the corner of her lips.

Lilyana rolls her eyes, squeezes Mia’s shoulder, and sprints past Elilgeim towards the console in the corner, and a small smirk of disbelief slowly grows on Mia’s face.

[graythefae]

Kaebedo fic idea:

Albedo decides he wants to stop hiding the truth from Kaeya and tells him he’s a homunculus. Kaeya’s like “k cool anyways I’m in love with you” and Albedo’s like “no you don’t understand” and lists off a bunch of “inhuman” traits that he thinks distance him from other people and Kaeya just stares at him and very seriously says “I think you’re just autistic and homeschooled”

And then they kiss

[auphelia]

-

[creaturefeaster]

Are any of the CQ characters neurodivergent or have mental illnesses???

Buddy you have no idea...............

[blueish-bird]

sorry if I don’t remember your name or conversations/experiences or basic things about myself, every few weeks my brain gets factory reset and I have to relearn how to be alive

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I love fics where Peter is actually a little shit cause most writers write him as a sweet cinnamon roll. And sure he is that when it comes to morals, but have you guys met a 14 year old? I am the oldest sibling and i promise you I have met every version of a shithead teenager under the fucking sun. And yes ALL of them are shitheads who WILL lie if they think it's funny or just for the kicks of it to any and all authority figures (i still do it and I'm 16)

In response to the Bernie's fic

he really gets the sweet summer child treatment in fandom and it really shows that a lot of fic writers have never spent extended time with a teenager in their life. like, i was a math tutor for a while, and like. a teenager myself for a FEW years, and you will NOT find a demographic more down to commit felonies for shits and giggles. i can't even say that he reads like a much younger kid, because honestly, fandom peter doesn't really read like a real person at all to me. like, he's insane. he's a good person. but he is insane. this is fundamental to him.

[rubberbandballqueen]

hgnnghh... college friend has been asking me questions abt adhd n how to get diagnosed n stuff recently, which i'm more than happy to help him with, but just now he sent a tik tok that was like "maybe i should ask abt this too?" n it was like "why do adhd people seem to crush so hard" n it was like.

now listen i haven't had a serious romantic feeling since i was in middle school, but the description in that tik tok literally dragged the memory of all that out of my chest n i just said to him "haha yep... that's accurate my dude" as though it hadn't just described what was easily one of my top ten "do not ever repeat this again" experiences of my life

[idk-my-aesthetic]

Currently hyperfixating hardcore on the devil is a part timer, and Hanzo Urushihara aka Fallen Demon General Lucifer is very much my emo pathetic failgirl blorbo so I’ve had a bit of a crush on him since I was like 13

Factors in my favor:

- +2 for basic “he’s socially awkward like me and I think we could vibe” and “we have similar interests”

- +1 bc he’s a shut in (in part bc that’s what he prefers in part bc he’s a little bit wanted by the law) and I’m okay with internet dating

- +? he’s so ADHD and he’s been reverse isakied so he doesn’t even know ADHD is a thing, I’m hoping I can get a relationship buff just by informing him and providing resources

Factors against me:

- -1 I’m fat and in cannon there’s some. Hurtful subtext. So I suppose it depends on the writer lmao?

- -??? I might have a bit too much faggotry swag for him ngl

Okay, dearest followers, be honest.

Which one of your fictional crushes do you truly believe that you could pull irl? Realistically. Taking all factors into account. Whether you were in their universe or not, up to you. But be HONEST.

[luridparty]

I AM SO FAILING THE CHARCOAL UNIT.. not my faulttt that shit is HELL TO ALL MY SENSES OKAYY..

[merkerlerspeaks]

Zodi/Celeste/Raine is somehow both my baby and also the girl my inner little weird girl looks up to so much she adopts parts of her as her personality

[hershelwidget]

working on so many projects

tag yourself i'm "swap auuu"

[vadlings]

Represention of Autistic Frustration in Laios Dungeon Meshi

Like many other autistic people, I related strongly to Laios Touden while reading Dungeon Meshi. This post isn't going to spend time disputing whether he displays autistic traits or not—while I could do that, I want to focus on why specifically his portrayal struck a chord with me in a way the writing of most other autistic-coded characters has not.

Disclaimer: as the above suggests, this post is strongly informed by my own experiences as an autistic person, as well as the experiences of my neurodivergent friends with whom I have spoken about this subject. I want to clarify that in no way am I asserting my personal experience to be some Universal Autistic Experience. This post is about why Laios' character feels distinct and significant to me in regard to autistic representation, and while I'm at it, I do feel that I have interesting things to say about autistic representation in media generally. This also got a bit long, so I'm sticking it under a read more. Spoilers for up to the end of chapter 88 below.

The thing that stands out most to me in regard to Laios' characterisation is the open anger he displays when someone points out his inability to read other people. This comes up prominently in his interactions with "Shuro" (Toshiro Nakamoto):

The frustration pictured above (Laios continuing to physically tussle with Toshiro, using crude language toward him) becomes even more notable when you remember that this is Laios, who, outside of these interactions, is not easily fazed and often exists as a lighthearted contrast to the rest of the cast. Then we get to Laios' nightmare.

In Falin's words: "Nightmares love emotional wounds. Wounds you hold in your heart. Things that give you stress, or things that were traumatic for you. They aggravate memories like that and cause the dreamer to have terrible dreams." (chapter 42, page 10.) (damn. i'm properly citing for this post and everything.)

Thus, Laios' nightmare establishes an important fact: even if he is unable to recognise social blunders while he's making them, he's at least subconsciously aware that other people operate on a different wavelength to him, and that he's an outsider in many of his social circles (both past and present). His dream-father's disparaging words stress the impact this has had upon his ability to live up to the expectations set out for him, and we also get a panel of kids who smirk at him (presumably former bullies to some degree). Toshiro's appearance only hammers home how much Laios is still both humiliated and angered by his misunderstanding of their relationship.

I've thought a lot about anger as concomitant to the autistic experience. When autistic representation portrays ostracization, it's generally from an angle of the autistic character being upset at how conforming to neurotypical norms doesn't come easily to them; as a result, they express a desire to 'get better' at meeting neurotypical standards, a desire to become more 'normal' (whether the writing implies this is a good thing or not). In contrast, not once does Laios go, "I need to perform better in my social interactions, and try to care less about monsters, because that's what other people find weird." His frustration is directed outward rather than inward, and as a result, it's the people around him who are framed as nonsensical.

The Winged Lion starts delineating Laios' anger, and Laios' reaction is to think to himself, "It can sense all my thoughts, huh?" (chapter 88, page 16.) This is the scene that really resonated with me. I'm not saying I have never felt the desire to conform to neurotypical norms that is borne from insecurity, but primarily, I know that I don't want to work toward becoming 'normal'—I don't want to change myself for people who follow rules I find nonsensical. It's the difference between, "Oh god, why can't I get it," and, "WHY CAN'T YOU GET IT?" (phrasing here courtesy of my friend Miles @dogwoodbite). And for me personally, Dungeon Meshi is the first time I've seen this frustration and the resultant voluntary isolation from other people portrayed in media so candidly. Laios' anger is not downplayed or written to be easily palatable, either.

The culmination of Laios' frustrations in this scene wherein we learn that Laios has fantasised about "a pack of monsters attacking a village" drives home just how alienated he really feels. I need not go into his wish to become a monster himself, redolent of how many autistic people identify/have identified with non-humans to some degree as a result of a percieved disconnect from society (when I was younger, I wanted to be a robot. I still kind of do.)

Obviously, wishing death upon other people is a weighty thing, but the unfiltered nature of this page is what deeply resonated with me. The Winged Lion is laying Laios' deepest and most transgressive desires bare, and they are desires that are a product of lifelong ostracization by others (whether intentional or unintentional). This is the brand of anger I'm familiar with, and that my neurodivergent friends express being familiar with, but that I haven't seen portrayed in writing so explicitly before—in fact, it surprised me because most well-meaning autistic representation I've experienced veers toward infantilisation in trying make the autistic character's struggles easy for neurotypicals to sympathise with.

Let's also not neglect the symbolism inherent to Laios' daydream. "A pack of monsters attacking a village". Functionally, monsters are Laios' special interest—he percieves everything first and foremost through his passion for monsters. His daydream of monsters attacking—killing—humans, is fundamentally a daydream of the world he understands (monsters) overthrowing the world that is so illogical to him, that has repeatedly shunned him (other people). I joked to my friends that it's an autistic power fantasy, and it actually sort of is. And in it, his identity is aligned with that of the monsters, while his anger manifests in a palpable dissociation from the rest of humanity. This is one manga page. It's brief. It's also very, very raw to me. I think about it often.

To conclude, I love Laios Dungeon Meshi. This portrayal of open frustration in an autistic character meant a lot to me, and I hope I've sufficiently outlined why. Also, feel free to recommend media with autistic representation in the notes if you've read this far—I would really like to see if there is more of this nature. Thank you for reading. I'm very tired and should probably sleep now.

[mymycorrhizae]

Daniel's memories of Alice being memories of Armand

Daniel first mentions Alice in episode 2 of season 1. He's served a dessert that he mentions he ate after asking his first wife Alice to marry him in Paris (a city significant to Armand). Why are Louis and Armand serving him something that would remind him of Alice? Hmm. He goes on to describe a unique physical trait she had:

I remember finding this a weird detail when I first watched this scene. But after the scene of Armand taking off his contacts to reveal his vamp eyes, I feel like it could be a reference to that. This still felt like a stretch but the proposal scene from today's episode convinced me.

Louis asks Daniel what Alice said when he proposed to her and Daniel suddenly has a memory of Armand from the past.

The timing of this memory as he's being asked about Alice can't be a coincidence. He looks at Armand in confusion. And when he finally admits that she said no. It's ARMAND who replies that she wanted to say yes.

Why would Armand know this? Why would he feel the need to tell Daniel this after seeing him looking wrecked by the memory?

And then there's Louis' remark about Daniel feeling more comfortable holding Alice's hand in Paris than in America:

Earlier in the episode, Louis talks about Paris being less racist than America. I think this line is about him thinking Paris is also less homophobic than America.

It's not the first time Louis hinted at Daniel being bi or gay.

I don't think this memory is about Daniel literally asking Armand to marry him. But pretty much the equivalent when you are a human in love with a vampire. He probably asked Armand to turn him so they could spend eternity together and Armand said no.

[gayjunebug]

my evening is remarkably shitty

[mrfoox]

Wtf is my fascination with this little freak.... Hes just a dude but I'm so intrigued, I'm tired

[kikiiswashere]

Four to Tango

As promised, part two of Waltzing for Three!!!

Thank you for helping me reach 200 followers for this little ol' blog of mine 🥰 And welcome to all the newcomers!

The idea for this ficlet was born of watching my bestie @sand-sea-and-fable help out a pregnant friend by lifting her belly off her hips, and it just sort of spiraled from there.

It's also worth noting that I myself am not a mother, nor have I given birth, nor do I wish to be a mom (husband got the ol' snip-snip). So why this fic? Good question 😅

That being said, I did my best to write about the labor process relatively accurately without getting into the super nitty-gritty of it 😂 So, please enjoy this weird little fever-dream of a fic, and please comment and reblog 💗

Tags for the interested parties: @luhmoon, @legendaryflowercheesecake, @thebeserkvernid, @miffysoo

Pairing: Established Silco x AFAB!Reader

Rating: Teen/Mature (brief reference to oral sex)

CW: Non-graphic descriptions of pregnancy and labor

Insistent cramping had woken you up in the wee-hours one morning, swelling and ebbing in a slow rhythm that sent your heart tapping, a loop of nerves coiling around your gut – little room that there was for it.

Silco had been a terribly light sleeper ever since Vander’s betrayal, ever since those early years on an under-tested Shimmer variant that left his brain unable to fully settle. So, the moment you shifted into a sitting position, he shot up as well.

“What’s wrong?”

Words got gummed up on fear and excitement in your mouth. There was a slight tremor in your fingers as they grazed over your belly. You had noticed it sitting even lower on your hips these past several days. While you were very done with being pregnant, you were still nervous and surprised to say –

“I think it’s time.”

With comical amounts of speed, but awe-inspiring grace, Silco flung himself from the bed, divesting himself of his eyepatch and pajamas. After changing into a simple set of trousers and an old button-up shirt, he fetched the stopwatch Jinx had invented to easily time your contractions, and wrote a tube prompting your midwife that she was needed. It had been decided early on that the babe’s delivery – barring any complications – would happen at The Last Drop. You, nor Silco, were willing to venture outside to a clinic when your family would be at its most vulnerable.

Too nervous to lay down, much less fall back asleep, you began pacing the large bedroom in your large sleep shirt. Every time a contraction locked up and spasmed through your lower belly and back, your fingers pressed the stopwatch’s clicker. And you breathed as the midwife had instructed. Silco kept you company, walking with you up and down the length of the bedroom, holding your hand and becoming an anchor to squeeze when contractions rolled through. Together, you both noted and kept track of their intervals. Their spacing  and length suggested that the little one’s arrival was not imminent, but the consistency indicated that this was indeed labor.

The midwife arrived, ushered in by a half-asleep Sevika. You’d bribed her with an absurd bonus and several pre-paid sessions at Babette’s for her to crash in one of the Drop’s private guest rooms during these last days of your pregnancy. She was needed for security, and to stand-in for Silco when his attention and priorities would be elsewhere.

“Good luck,” she’d grumbled, barely glancing at you before shutting the bedroom door, and trudging back down the hall.

The midwife was a petite, wizened Vastaya who’d been selected for her services not only because of her field prowess, but because she was staunch loyalist to you and Silco. Shimmer had helped save more than one of her clients when the birthing process had begun to go sideways, and that was enough for her to hitch her wagon to your agenda.

She was also direct to the point of rudeness – a personality trait that was wholly welcome given the slippery, hidden, self-serving rhetoric you were used to having to deal with.

“Time?” she asked, setting her medical bag down on your dresser with a heavy thunk.

“Forty-five seconds to a minute, about every seven minutes,” you answered. Then gasped and doubled over as another contraction bent you.

The midwife hummed. “How long?”

“About an hour,” Silco said. He squeezed back at your hand as you rode out the current wave rolling through.

Clucking her tongue, the midwife shook her head, long ears slapping lightly against her horns.

“Early.”

Silco frowned. “You are being more than thoroughly compensated to show up whenever we ask.”

“Indeed. To the bed, miss. Let’s have a look.”

Once your legs were freed from the lock of the contraction, you shuffled to the bed. Silco helped you into position, and the midwife closed in. Her fingers were warm, but the tools were cold. The combination, along with your nerves, caused your lungs to shudder.

“Five,” she declared, drawing her head from between your thighs.

“That’s halfway,” you chuckled weakly. Silco brushed his thumb over your knuckles

The midwife hummed in agreement. “True. But as discussed, this process is not linear. And being your first delivery, it is very likely this will take a while. How is the pain?”

“Fine. Manageable.” It came out as a grit, but she didn’t seem to doubt you.

“You should eat and drink while you can. Is there anything else you want or need right now?”

Together, you and Silco walked to the small kitchen in your private quarters. You rested your forearms on the counter as the length of your spine hammocked behind you, hips gently swishing side-to-side. Silco kept the breakfast blissfully simple: toast with a light slather of butter, and a mug of warmed water with lemon.

Eating was slow going. Between the jitters and contractions, your appetite was seriously curbed. When you finally made it to the second piece of toast, Jinx shuffled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and bed-headed. Her bedraggled demeanor did not last long though, as her whip-quick senses tuned into the energy of the space. Big, blue eyes tracked between Silco – unusually underdressed – and your strange posture. One could nearly hear the cogs in her head clicking and whirring.

“Is it time?!”

In a flash, she clambered onto the stool next to you, bright and tittering. Her exuberance washed over you in a relieving breeze. Reaching over, you ran a hand through her unkempt hair.

“Sure is, kiddo.”

“When will he be here?”

“Could be a while yet, Jinx,” Silco answered. He set a glass of juice in front of her. “What would you like? Toad-in-the-hole? Porridge? Pancakes?”

“Make ‘em have a face!” she crowed.

A hook of a smile pulled at Silco’s mouth as he turned back toward the stove.

Jinx settled onto the stool; legs kicking merrily beneath her as she sipped her juice.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like intense menstrual cramps.”

Her small face squished in a ponder. While you had had that conversation with her, Jinx had yet to broach into that aspect of puberty. Thus, she had no point of reference.

“Kinda like when you roof-run after eating, and your abs cramp up,” you offered. “Kind of.”

A contraction swelled upon you, and you grit your teeth, face pinching, head dropping. Silco stepped away from the stovetop, and placed a grounding hand between your shoulder blades. Jinx watched, eyes wide and worried. Timidly, she shifted toward you, pressing her forehead to your shoulder.

The pain continued, but was temporarily numbed by the overwhelming love and gratitude for the two people on either side of you.

Your family.

It was never part of the plan when it came to your Silco’s ideas to lift Zaun up, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. And in a few hours, three would be four. Your heart beat big, tapping against your throat as the contraction passed. You clicked the stopwatch.

“That seems worse than roof-run cramps,” Jinx said suspiciously.

You chuffed. “Like I said: Kind of.”

Silco rubbed his hand up and down your spine a few times, before kissing your temple and returning to the stove.

“You remember what we talked about?” you asked Jinx.

She fiddled with her hair, nodding. “I can come and go as I please.”

“Right. If you want to be with us, I want you to be there. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. You get to decide, and it doesn’t have to be right now.”

Jinx nodded again, eyes staring into the middle-distance. Reaching over, you brushed your fingers through her hair again. Her eyes snapped back to yours.

“Are you scared?”

You gave her a reassuring smile.

“No. I’m happy.”

It wasn’t a lie. But a few hours later, your happiness was thoroughly overshadowed by the pain of labor. It was staggering how it had intensified. How it was becoming near non-stop as the space between contractions shortened and shortened. Gravity felt impossible to contend with on top of everything else, so you sank onto your bedroom floor with a low, guttural growl.

Silco had been attentive throughout, anticipating your needs before you even voiced them. Ever your anchor, your source for steadiness. Even now, on your hands and knees, his own wide palms settled onto your hips and pressed in. It pulled an appreciative groan from your throat.

“You’re doing so well, my love.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Your eyes flicked to the bathroom door where Jinx was helping the midwife prepare a warm bath. You were proud of your girl. Admittedly, part of you doubted she would choose to stick around once labor became loud and more intense. When you could no longer keep yourself from crying out, hesitancy had flickered in her eyes, and her brows pitched in concern. But instead of dashing away, she’d reached for your hand and held tight.

“Is there anything you can give her?” she’d asked the midwife incredulously.

The female had smirked, impressed and moved by the girl’s protectiveness of you.

“I have mild pain relievers, but nothing that will fully numb – “

“Shimmer?”

The midwife’s black lips thinned. “That is only to be used in emergencies,” she explained. “It is too potent and powerful to be used for anything other than the most extreme circumstances. Which – “her eyes looked up at your haggard form on the bed – “does not seem probable. Her labor is progressing as it should. There is nothing to worry about.”

Jinx frowned, doubtful, and hunkered closer to your side.

“Seems like a dumb design that it hurts so much.”

“Agreed,” you wheezed.

“Come,” the midwife said, “let’s check you.”

She declared you’d progressed to eight centimeters. That had been three hours ago. And the pain just continued to climb and build.

A small sob burst through your teeth. Silco knelt at your side, quietly saying your name.

“I’m scared, Sil,” you admitted in a whisper. You were thankful Jinx wasn’t near to hear you back-pedal. Your breath hitched and words tumbled out: “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He took your warm and tear-streaked face between his hands, and repeated your name.

“Look at me.”

Reluctantly, your tired and wet eyes focused on his face. He looked at you with fierce earnestness, thumbs sweeping across the apples of your flushed cheeks. Suddenly, part of you grieved that the baby would never know Silco without his scars. Or yours. Outside and in.

Silco called your name again.

“Look at me,” he repeated. Your eyes slid back to his. Blue and red pinned you in place. “You can do this. I’ve not met anyone more tenacious, nor strong, nor as spirited as you. Those are but a few of the reasons I fell in love with you so long ago.” His eyes softened now; his adoration made plain. “You’ve absolutely no reason to doubt yourself.”

A small hiccup bubbled from your mouth, and you pressed your face into the warmth of his palm, breathing him in deeply. Not having properly dressed for the day, he hadn’t put any cologne on. The natural terra-sweet scent of his skin filled your nose. You were grateful for his support, respect, and belief in your abilities. A sudden, silly thought flitted across your mind.

“Not my dance moves?”

A single amused breath huffed from his throat. That infinitesimal smirk – one of the reasons you’d fallen in love with him – appeared on his lips. His blue eye flashed; as it often did when an idea struck him. Silco lifted to his feet, and used a strong grip to pull you to yours. He guided your arms to loop around his shoulders and neck, while his went to your low back. A weary chuckle left you as you understood. Your cheek was a relieved, heavy weight against his shoulder. It had to be a strange sight, this dance configuration: with your body slouched against his, massive belly hanging between you two. Slowly, your feet began gently shifting side-to-side.

“Admittedly,” he murmured against your crown, “your dance moves leave something to be desired right now.”

You laughed, even as another contraction swelled within you. Silco’s hands firmed up on your body, holding you upright as it moved through your body.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you hissed as most of the pain subsided. It was such now that there was no longer any real relief.

“A dance and a suck job? Lucky me.”

Your fingers pinched Silco’s upper back, and you felt the tremor of silent laughter in his shoulders.

“Tub’s ready!” Jinx sang as she flounced out of the bathroom.

Managing to smile at her, despite another great, contracting swell that threatened to bring you to your knees, you took her hand. Silco kept a strong arm wrapped around your middle, and you followed Jinx into the humid warmth of the bathroom.

The water helped. Its heat soothed your pained muscles and aching bones. The irony was not lost on you that you found peace in it. After a few minutes of settling into the tub, you gave Silco a look that to anyone else may have seemed like nothing. But he caught the message in your eyes, and tucked himself close to the tub’s edge, taking your hand. Jinx huddled herself into his lap, nervously fingering the buttons on his shirt.

About an hour later, the midwife’s large ears flicked in your direction as the quality of your breath shifted, as the sounds leaving you turned deeper and more animal. Her deft hands slipped into the water and between your legs.

“Something changed,” you gasped, hunching slightly. “It feels like – “

“It’s time,” she said, pulling her hands from the water. Somehow, she’d also stripped your underwear off in the same movement without you noticing. “It’s time to push.”

Push. The word settled into your body with a deep, innate knowing.

Yes. That’s what you were feeling. The near uncontrollable need to bare down. An old, predetermined instinct washed over you. You could do this.

But you did not want to do it alone.

“Sil.”

The grit of his name and the way you shifted yourself forward spurred your partner into understanding. Swiftly, he stood, deposited Jinx onto the stool he’d vacated, and then stepped into the tub, sliding in behind you. Settling against his chest, your hand ferociously intertwined with his. His heart beat firmly against your back.

“You can do this,” he whispered into your ear.

“Give me your other hand, dear,” the midwife said. You did so and she guided it under the water, preparing you to feel and catch. “Push.”

“Push! Push!” Jinx cried, her little fists pumping and bopping in the air madly.

Gritting your teeth, you did just that. A sound you didn’t know you were capable of making burst from your lungs. When the air ran out, you slumped against Silco’s chest.

“Breath in,” the midwife demanded. You did so. “Push!”

You did again, a roar ripping from your chest. A roar that ended in a surprised yip as something into your hand.

“Again,” the midwife demanded.

And you complied, baring down with everything you had. With all the might and tenacity and power your body could exert. Another battle cry echoed off the bathroom tiles, and a solid weight slid into your hand. You ripped your other hand from Silco’s grip, and pulled a wriggling newborn from the water.

“It’s a boy!” Jinx yelled, bouncing up and down in her seat.

Her brother’s face squidged, and his pink mouth opened in an announcing wail. You joined in and pulled the babe to your chest. Silco went very still behind you, scarcely breathing. Then his hands appeared over yours, cradling the baby at your chest. Like on the night you’d taken in Jinx, he pulled his legs up around you both and held tight.

Later, once the placenta had passed (something Jinx was equally horrified and enthralled by) you were helped out of the tub, and cleaned. The midwife tied off the babe’s umbilical cord, and once some time passed, you watched with an incredibly full heart as Silco severed it.

You weren’t sure if you’d ever seen the expression on your partner’s face. A soft, careful, wonderous thing. Then it hit you all at once. You were watching Silco fall in love. The notion took your breath away and fresh tears welled in your eyes. Jinx clung to you, and you to her.

“Thank you for being with me, Jinx. It helped.”

The girl beamed up at you, holding on tighter.

“I think it is your turn for a shower, sir,” the midwife said, twisting off the umbilical nub.

Silco watched her hands like a hawk as she did. He slid in once she finished, and wrapped him in a blanket Jinx had decorated. It was a small thing, but you caught the tremor in his hands. Keeping Jinx tucked against your side, you came to stand next to him.

“He’ll be here when you get out of the shower,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“Yeah! Go get the baby juice off you!” Jinx ordered.

Silco’s expression of awe turned to one of bemusement as he glanced at your daughter.

“Yes. I suppose I should.”

Your own hands shook a bit as you gathered your son – your son! You wondered if the shock would wear off – and ushered Jinx to follow the midwife out of the bathroom.

With no small amount of effort, your body, beyond sore and exhausted, climbed into bed. The baby cooed and nuzzled and fussed against your chest as you settled into the pillows and duvet. Jinx climbed in on the opposite side, and snuggled close.

“He’s already sleeping!”

“It’s hard work being born. Don’t you remember?” you chuckled.

Jinx laughed, “No!”

A small smile curled the midwife’s mouth as she snapped her bag shut. She turned to you and bowed her head.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you said, eyes on your boy. Then you lifted them to hers, and said again, “And thank you.”

She nodded again, horns catching the light in the room.

“It was my honor.”

She gave you and the baby one last cursory check over, and took her leave.

A few moments after she left, there was a knock on the door, and Sevika stuck her head in.

“Ogre!” Jinx cried. “I gotta brother!”

Even Sevika’s presence couldn’t dampen Jinx’s mood.

Silco’s lieutenant grunted, and stepped over to the bed. She stayed at a distance though, craning her neck to peer down at you and the baby.

“Yep. That’s a baby. Congrats.”

“Thank you, Sevika.”

Behind her, Silco emerged from the foggy bathroom in a fresh pair of slacks and an unbuttoned shirt. Sevika tilted her strong chin in his direction and he nodded back.

“I’ll leave you all to it then,” she said.

Her poncho twirled as she spun back to leave. As she and Silco crossed paths, a metal finger tip whipped out from beneath the red fabric, and poked his bare belly. He jolted and shuddered. He sneered at her, but she just snickered and slipped out of the room.

Silco shook his head, damp hair beginning to curl at the ends. He rounded the bed, and climbed in, sandwiching Jinx between your bodies. He leaned over the girl’s head and kissed you.

“What’re we gonna name him?” Jinx pipped.

You and Silco exchanged a look.

“I’m not sure,” you admitted.

“I’m sure we’ll come up with something.” he added.

Immediately, Jinx began rattling off all her suggestions.

Before a name could be decided, you fell asleep. Jinx followed shortly after; her plump cheek pressed against your shoulder. Gingerly, Silco lifted the baby from your arms, and brought him to his bare chest. The boy tensed, and then melted, a small wispy sigh leaving him.

Silco melted, too; a foreign, near indescribable softness filling him up. He brought his hand to the boy’s back, its length and width nearly covering all of him. His son was so small.

His son. His son.

Emotions gripped him so intensely he nearly choked.

Elation, love, fear.

Grief.

There was grief that his child was born technically as a citizen of Piltover. But that anguish was small compared to the other one that had been tucked away in the scar tissue of Silco’s heart ever since you had told him of the pregnancy. A pain that he hated he harbored.

The secret grief was that Vander wasn’t here to see this. The grief that his Brother had ruined any chance of participating in this milestone. The grief of Vander’s death (justified though it was) was scratched open as Silco’s son lay on his heart. The grief that, had things gone differently, Silco would’ve named the boy after his Brother.

“Sil.”

Silco’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice. Your beautiful, exhausted, beautiful face shone up at him. There was a smile on your lips that he wished to taste, so he leaned over Jinx’s head again and pressed his mouth to yours. 

“I told you you could do it,” he whispered leaning back. You smiled and nodded wearily.

The baby grunted and shifted against Silco’s chest, and he pet the back of his head so, so softly. It broke your heart into a million pieces, and then they jumped right back together. Your eyes slid back up to your partner’s profile.

You felt his grief, because it was yours, too.

“I know, Silco,” you whispered. He looked over to you. Jinx snored softly between. “I wish it had been different, too.”

Silco’s eyebrow dropped, and his lips softened. He glanced down at the baby on his chest, and chuckled ruefully.

“I truly don’t know what to name him.”

You shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded. You sat in silence for a while, listening to your children breath. Jinx’s raspy breaths and the baby’s snuffling. It was music to your ears. You would never tire of hearing it.

Just as you were about to doze again, you felt Silco’s energy shift. Eyes sharpening onto him, you watched as he first gently ran his fingers over Jinx’s freckled cheek. Then, so carefully, he lifted the baby from his chest so he could look at his small face.

“You and your sister will have better than we did,” he promised. “Me and your mother will give you a nation.”

Your son’s eyes fluttered open and closed, the bud of his mouth stretching into what looked like a small smile. Your throat tightened horribly, and you tucked your nose into Jinx’s crown.

When you were sure you could speak without choking, you lifted your head and said, “We promise.”

I hope part two scratched the itch <3 If you enjoy my work and would like to support me (firstly, THANK YOU!) check out my Ko-Fi page!

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