#when i have a rough draft i will maybe send it out to a few mutuals 👀 if anyone wants to advise....

[tadpal]

hows ur terror amv going? if you feel like sharing ofc :)

it's going okay! ive only started it today bc of the fatigue but im having the classic amv thing of like. oh no am i using the most obvious parallels... my symbolism is weak and thesis is obvious..... 😔🤟but we rock on! thank you for asking!!! this was great moment of OH YEAH I WAS DOING SOMETHING

[1d1195]

Invitation

~3.5k words

From me: I mentioned I had a kinda rough weekend. This just sort of wrote itself. Def a stand alone. Second chance at love. I wrote it mostly in the drafts page and didn't do a whole lot of editing for continuity so it's probs not very realistic nor will it make a ton of sense. But anyway.

Warnings: MC parent death; funeral, angst, angst angst. But I'm hoping if you read it you'll see some cathartic, comforting fluff.

Summary: She and Harry broke up years ago and it was completely fine. But seeing her again, even under sad circumstances has his heart pulling him closer to her.

It had been eight years since he had last laid eyes on her. But when he read the piece on her mum off a mutual friend’s Facebook page he was transported back to one of those moments he spent so totally in love with her.

The idea that her best friend was gone made him terrified for her well being. It was the reason he was in a hotel room, straightening his tie in the mirror. Double checking he didn't miss any spots while shaving. He looked simultaneously presentable yet solemn. Her mum was special, beautiful. She made Harry feel at home the entire time they dated. Bought him thoughtful gifts for his birthday and Christmas. Made sure she bought his favorite snacks and always inquired about school, work, or his favorite show. She joked with her that Harry was too good for her and she didn’t treat him well enough (which was inherently false). She was the perfect girlfriend and had the perfect mum.

He couldn’t imagine how she was feeling.

Harry didn’t want to make his appearance about his arrival at the funeral home at all. He stepped in line silently, tried not to make eye contact with anyone and slowly made his way through toward the front, pretending he was invisible. He looked at the picture boards as he walked along his favorite girl and her mother in so many of them. Both were beautiful and Harry thought she was going to look just like her mother when she was older and so he was really lucky that he would know she was beautiful for the rest of his life. But he would have predicted that anyway.

Their relationship ended amicably enough. They were changing, time moving on, and quite frankly it felt like they couldn't spend enough time together so it didn't seem fair. "Shouldn't we want t'spend time with each other, beautiful? Shouldn't we feel feel bad we're not spending time together? It shouldn't be forced. You're m'favorite person in the world, kitten. S'not fair."

He was right of course. She agreed. So they went their separate ways. Since they were still in university at the time, they saw each other frequently. Their friend groups overlapped a bit so they weren't rid of each other all that much until after graduation. There was even a picture of the pair of them together on that day--her mum's suggestion. It was apparent more so then, that they were changing and moving on but Harry was grateful for that picture. When he saw the notice of her mum's passing, he looked at it fondly and felt something in the pit of his stomach. Wanting and wishing he had made more time for her. That she wasn't so busy and their time apart hadn't lasted as long.

But that was eight years ago. Harry was thirty now. He had a few girlfriends during that time and maybe it wasn't a surprise they didn't work out. When he inquired of his friends if he should go to support her, they said it was up to him. Louis and Eleanor were out of the country so they would send flowers. Mitch and Sarah were waiting for Sarah to give birth at any moment so they too, would send flowers.

"I'll be at the funeral," Niall assured him. "I can't make the visiting hours, sorry, Harry," Harry could hear his frown as they spoke on the phone.

"S'okay, s'nice y'can make it t'any of it. She'll appreciate it."

"I hope," a frown in his voice, a sigh in his tone.

"No, she will," Harry was confident. She would never make Niall feel bad--anyone feel bad. It was just the way she was.

Harry was in front of the urn containing the ashes of her mother and he knelt and said a short prayer for her and her sweet daughter. He tried not to think about his own mother at such a sad time and how he would feel if this was her. He shook his head, blessed himself automatically, and stood to greet the receiving line. It was filled with aunts and uncles who were surprised to see him. He didn't fully understand their surprise (of course he would be there for her--even if things were different now) but moved to each one, quietly apologizing for the loss of their sister and only answering how work, life, and everything was with as few words as possible. It was just her and her mom. Dad was out of the picture before she was even born. It wasn't a bad thing because she was her mum's whole life and she never made her want for anything. "Where is she?" Harry asked quietly. Usually the children were first in the line but she wasn't there.

"Another spat with the boyfriend," her aunt rolled her eyes. "You are by far our favorite," she smiled at him encouragingly. "Don't leave till she gets back, if you can. She deserves to see someone who will make her happy right now," she winked.

Harry felt his eyebrows crawl up his forehead in surprise. He nodded. Pride bloomed inside him for being the favorite. It wasn't the time but he couldn't help it. His heart felt heavy, worried she was with someone horrible. "Yeah, sure. Of course."

So Harry stayed in the little seating area, watching people walk through the receiving line, looking at the slideshow of pictures that somehow managed to boil down to one person's life. There was even a picture or two of him. It made sense, he was in her life for nearly four years and they were inseparable until they weren't.

Harry smiled fondly at the memories within the pictures and wondered where she could be right now. He had seen the full slideshow twice.

"Harry, you're still here?"

He cleared his throat, stood, and shook one of her uncle's hands again. "Yeah... um... haven't seen her yet."

"She went outside with the boyfriend ages ago. I'm assuming they're still arguing or she's trying to calm herself down enough to come in and fake that everything's fine."

Harry frowned. "Maybe I'll go check then," he suggested and headed for the door.

Why was she dating someone if it was clear no one in her family liked him?

The men at the door, let Harry through and he quietly walked to the side of the building wondering where she could be having a private conversation at a funeral home. The side was dark except for a flood light that perfectly illuminated the couple. Harry stepped out of sight but strained to listen.

"What do you mean, 'you have to go'? You're seriously joking right?"

Harry didn't know her voice could take on a tone that sounded so angry like that. They never fought that way. No more than who's pizza topping was better or if they had to pick which dinner place to go to on a busy Saturday night.

"Babe, you know with my work--"

"This is my mother," she croaked. It felt like a bullet through Harry's chest to hear her choked up like that. All that grief wrapping in her throat and pulling on her vocal cords.

"I know, but don't you think she would want me to continue living my life and doing what I need to do so--"

"She's my best friend," her voice cracked because she was crying so hard. Harry wanted to run over, unceremoniously knock him to the ground, and comfort her. "You're supposed to be here to support me!"

"Well you know death kind of freaks me out, babe. I'm trying to support our future. I've been here all day."

Her tone was so biting, he truly couldn't believe it. "You've been here for an hour."

Harry winced and shook his head. No one liked death. Everyone was freaked out by it to some degree. But he was supposed to love her; be there for her.

"If you leave, we're done," Harry felt intrusive for listening in but he couldn't move.

"You don't mean that."

"I do, mean that. I really, really, really, really mean that," she sniffed. Good girl. Harry thought. "I have put up with your bullshit like this for way too long and you're unsupportive and if you leave this is it," she assured him. "Work cannot be more important than me."

"It's important for us, babe. So when we get married--"

"And when will that be?" She shouted.

"For the love of God, we're going to do this now?"

"It's been three years. I'm thirty and wanted kids and you are just..." she trailed off. "Fine. Go. We're done anyway."

"Babe, you don't mean that--"

"I will pack my stuff up when I get home."

"And where are you going to go? You don't have a job right now--"

"BECAUSE I WAS TAKING CARE OF MY DYING MOTHER."

Why was she even with this guy? Harry couldn't fathom it. It was so unlike her to date someone so crass and careless. Or maybe Harry was just filled with rage and envy of a man that couldn't help her the way she deserved.

"Well..." he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I have a plane to catch. Maybe after you've calmed down and aren't grieving we can have a more pleasant conversation."

A silent moment passed between them. Surely he heard it as he said it. It couldn't have been just her and Harry that heard what he implied. "Do... do you... do you think I'm supposed to be done grieving?" She hissed.

He sighed, mumbled something about calling her when he landed, and walked away. He didn't even notice Harry pressed to the building.

Harry watched him get in his car and pull away as if this wasn't the worst day of her life. Harry took several deep breaths to calm himself. This wasn't about him or how he wanted to strangle him. This was about her, her grief.

She was leaning against the wall. She was heaving, sobbing into one hand. For what, at that point, Harry didn't know. He could only see her from behind, the same figure he could have picked out in a lineup and if he was blind. But she seemed smaller. Withdrawn of course. Her free arm wrapped around her stomach like she was trying to hold herself together.

"Hey beautiful," he murmured softly. She sniveled, spun around. Harry was met with her face grief stricken, heartbroken, and tear soaked. But yeah, she was still as beautiful as he remembered. "Aw, kitten," he cooed gently. "C'mon s'cold outside. Let's get you--"

She threw herself against him as he approached. Her arms around his neck and she continued her sobbing against his shoulder. Sighing, he wrapped his arms wrapped around her waist and back, she fit effortlessly into his embrace even after eight or so years since he last saw her. It felt natural to hold her like this. "I know," he murmured comfortingly. "I know, kitten," he kissed the side of her head, soothingly rubbing his hand up and down her spine.

"Please don't let go of me," she cried. "I can't--"

"Shh," he hushed. "M'here. M'not letting go until you do," he promised softly. He hoped she wouldn't pull away because he wanted to take care of her the way that asshole couldn't. It didn't matter what the past was it only mattered that her sweet self could find some sort of contentment.

"Please don't leave me," she begged. "I can't do this alone."

It felt like a switch changed in him. Or maybe it was the anger he felt for her ex-boyfriend. Or perhaps a combination of missing her when he didn't really know he had been missing her and all the frustration he felt for the reasons she was so distraught. He would do anything for her. "No way, beautiful. M'not going anywhere," he assured her pressing his lips instinctively to the top of her hair. Patiently he listened to her cries, held her tightly, and lightly brought a hand to the side of her neck. He carefully pressed his fingertips against her skin, hoping that if she was aching (which he assumed every part of her was) it relieved the smallest bit of tension.

"How much did you hear?" She sniveled pulling away enough to glance into his eyes. Her face was blotchy and red, she was sure. Harry looked like he just left his modeling job for ties and cologne. She wanted to look more beautiful--so it would have at least made sense that Harry had ever decided to date her--even if it was years ago. But she was so overwhelmed with sadness, she couldn't feel anything but that and not even her horrendous look could deter her long enough to utter more than a quick apology for snotting all over him. "M'sorry. I look--"

"Shh," he hushed immediately. Harry pulled a handkerchief from his pocket--Mum was always insistent he have one when he wore a suit. Someone is always crying when you need to wear a suit and it's not to work. Carefully, he dabbed under her eyes, and swiped the fabric across her delicate cheeks. "You look beautiful," he assured her a kind, small smile made his lips curl up just enough to get the dimple in his cheek to appear. The one she had told him she was going to stick her tongue in back when they laid on a mattress that was too small for two people and resulted in a giggling tickle fight between two people who were much too old for tickle fights.

What he would have given to make her laugh now.

Harry kept one arm around her waist taking over her own job to hold herself together. "How much did you hear?" She repeated.

He shrugged, nonchalantly. "Too much, probably."

She frowned; if she could muster an emotion other than sadness and grief, she probably would have been embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry. I was waiting inside, but then your uncle said y'were out here and I wanted t'see you and--"

"Do you need to leave?" She asked quickly. "I'm sorry I'm holding--"

"Kitten," he said gently pinching her chin between his fingers so she had no choice but to look in his eyes and process what he was saying. "M'staying here until y'tell me t'leave."

She sighed. For the first time in what felt like months she felt relief. "Okay."

*

She dragged him alongside her to the front of the receiving line. Harry felt slightly embarrassed and out of place but the rest of her family paid no attention to it. Like he was supposed to be there. She hugged and cried a lot over the next two hours. Harry handed her tissues and water.

“What if I don’t tell you to leave?” She whispered. Harry was standing so close to her that no one else could hear. Like it was just the two of them. She was sipping from a water bottle and Harry was stroking her hair back with his fingers while wiping below her eyes with a tissue.

“Then I’ll never go," his voice was quiet, like hers. He kissed her forehead softly.

"You don't have to obviously, you have no obligation... but is there any chance you were planning to be here tomorrow?" She asked.

He nodded hurriedly. "Course, kitten," he smiled gently, almost sad that she thought he wouldn't. "Niall's going t'come too. He's really sorry he couldn't make it tonight," he explained. "I have a hotel room right nearby so I can stay s'long as y'need me. Do anything y'need, too. And Niall m'sure would be happy t'help if y'need anything requiring two people, as well."

"Really?" A fresh well of tears filled her eyes and Harry's grin grew even if it was sad she was so surprised.

"Of course, beautiful. We... we want t'be here for you," he assured her.

She pressed her face against his shoulder again and sniveled against him. "I owe you a new suit," she mumbled into the fabric.

"Shh..." he hushed. "M'here," he promised. "Don't worry 'bout anything else."

*

His hotel room was dark when they entered. Harry didn’t want anything to happen that could be misconstrued due to her grief but she seemed adamant and sure that she wanted to spend the night. Harry was planning to sleep on the floor but instead they chatted way too much. Much later than a girl who had her mum’s funeral the following morning should have chatted. She giggled the way Harry loved and smiled despite how sad she was. Harry told her all about the last eight years, his job, his mum, their old friends and everything in between.

When he looked at the clock, his phone said it was well past one in the morning and she needed to be up early. “Think y’need t’sleep, kitten,” he was lying beside her, fully clothed except he lost the tie. He was brushing her hair away from her face watching her eyes droop.

“Mom didn’t like him,” she whispered. “She didn’t like anyone that wasn’t you,” she told him.

Harry swallowed nervously. Not because he was worried about her sentiment but because her grief was fresh and the tire tracks of where her stupid ex peeled out of the parking lot were still warm. Her mind had to be jumbled and as much as he wanted to kiss her and make promises, it wasn’t the time. Harry was older and more mature now. The way he wasn’t but wished he had been when they broke up. “After that performance, beautiful,” he sighed with a shake of his head. “M’surprised she didn’t poison him.”

“He didn’t even like her oatmeal raisin and white chocolate chip cookies,” she grumbled bitterly.

“Kitten,” he tutted. “How could you let that continue?” He joked, nudging her playfully.

She turned on her side, their faces inches apart on the same pillow. “Thank you for being here for me,” she whispered.

“There’s no where else I want t’be, beautiful,” he promised.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed you. It’s sad this is what it took.”

He leaned forward, pressed his lips to her forehead and let the kiss linger there. “Do y’want me t’sleep on the floor?”

“No,” she shook her head. “This is the first night I’ve felt tired in months. You have to stay here if you want me to sleep through the night.”

“If you’re sure,” he reached for the bedside lamp and turned it off. He didn’t want to change into different clothes or anything. He just wanted to be there for her.

“This is also your hotel room that I invited myself into," she reminded him.

He grinned at her in the dark. “You’ve always had an open invitation, t’me, kitten,” he brought her closer toward him, kissing the top of her head.

There would be about a thousand and one things to discuss after the funeral. But right then it was late, and they needed to sleep because the day was going to bring more exhaustion and sadness that was inevitable. “Did you mean it?” She whispered quietly after Harry thought she had fallen asleep.

“Mean what, beautiful?” He murmured.

“You’ll never go?”

He nodded. “Mmm,” he hummed inhaling the scent of her shampoo. “I meant it,” his words were slurred with sleep and she knew it because she had heard it in his voice hundreds of times in their time together. He was on the brink of dreaming and her mind was reeling.

“Mom wanted us to get back together,” she whispered. “For ages. She had our graduation picture on the fridge,” she explained. “When I was taking care of her these last few months and he was useless, she kept mentioning you. Told me it wasn’t too late to start over. I guess... I guess this was one way she thought she could bring us back together.”

There was no response because Harry had fallen asleep, and she was close behind. She brought the hand that held his to her lips and kissed his fingers inhaling the comforting smell of him as she finally felt like sleep.

“Your mum was the best,” he mumbled. “She brought you into this world, just for me t’find you.”

The words were lost in her mind, her throat, and her aching heart. But she liked to believe that Harry knew already because he was there, and he wasn’t planning on leaving again.

“We can start over, beautiful. M’not going anywhere,” he whispered one more time as sleep overtook her tired mind.

--

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[elderwisp]

The Creative Process ‧₊˚✩彡 

Because I love to be distracted

Hi! Ok, I wanted to share wif everyone my process in which I create a story post from conception to the final post. I would say I'm a very structured person when it comes to projects like these however, I've learned a lot and maybe someone could find something useful! We'll be referencing this scene. Oke, let's start!

✩ Rough Drafts

So, of course everything starts off with a vision. While I always say, write what feels authentic to you, I also know it makes things much more difficult if you don't have a solid ground to build from. I think I've scrapped this particular story about twice already and even reshot the first chunk of Tessellate so there was a better foundation. I like to start off with understanding a character before moving onto creating a plot, otherwise people start bleed into another. Greta Gerwig makes a really awesome statement about how characters come first to her before plot. OKE with that in mind, this particular scene, I wrote it well over a year ago, however there wasn't much flow in the initial draft. In fact, the two look nothing alike. This conversation was supposed to occur during France's concert, but I moved it to to this particular scene and I'm so glad. I felt like their current relationship was strong enough to have this conversation but also it allowed me to really focus in on the two. I am a huge advocate for jotting down dialogue even if things change because you can always expand on an idea. And if things don't work, scrapping is okay, but at least you gave it a shot! After that change, I didn't revisit that scene up until about a month and a half ago. I like to let things sit for a good while. In the initial draft, Taryn was reserved throughout a majority of the conversation. There was limitations in which how I wanted her to express things but things change in a year. When I looked at her as a character and how she's progressed throughout the story, the draft no longer aligned with her lack of response. And then that created the question of what the heck does one say? Because people aren't typically very graceful or eloquent when it comes to confrontation but also we're telling a story so how do I balance the two out? Since, I've followed these little blorbos for a while, knowing their characters and motives allowed me to flesh everything out. Atlas is much more cunning than he lets on and is excellent at painting a pretty picture for those around him if it means getting what he wants. Taryn on the other hand is perceptive and unwavering so being around someone like him, someone that she finds herself slowly falling for, is a complete, well, mind fuck. We can also see from this interaction that there's a hint of feeling inadequate and the lack of confidence to know that maybe he does like her. We also see that Atlas maybe isn't the most mature when it comes to developing something real so the two have plenty to work on just from this scene alone. Like Greta Gerwig says, writing is listening.

I also wanted to mention LocalScriptMan and this video all the time because it just about changed how I viewed dialogue in general. I think it's such a great tool! I've probably shared it a billion times.

✩ Blender & Posemaking

So I would like to preface this by saying, you do not need to use blender to achieve a vision. There are still scenes that I still use poses/animations from other creators! I wanted to list a few references! Rebouks, Rascgal and Simmireen have an amazing variety of poses to use! I literally use Becca's bumper packs RELIGOUSLY! However, if you need any suggestions, SurelySim's has an excellent breakdown on getting started with posemaking from tiny details, to SimRipper and using accessories! She also talks about Vyxated's Pose Helper which is a god send! For this scene I wanted to fully pose it. In my script, I italicize anything I want to pose, I'm such a sucker for the mannerisms that people have. When words fail, body language speaks. Are they fidget-y, or do I imagine them to be more composed? Taryn's stance is grounded, she doesn't move at all in the scene except for when she leaves and I think it's a great representation of her stubbornness. Whereas Atlas is watching every single move, up until he makes his incredibly bold (ridiculous!) statement. As for emotion when he made that statement, I wanted to go with shame but then I felt like his expression radiated ruthlessness. I personally enjoyed that 10x more because it represented two things for me, his character and that he felt comfortable enough to show that part of himself. When posing a scene from start to finish, it takes me about 1-3 days depending on how complex it is. I'm a huge advocate for using references! I love referencing hands, posture, how to grab a book ANYTHING! Because this was a conversation and not much action happened, it took me about a day.

✩ Taking Screenshots and Composition

I began taking photos for this scene on March 6th. I use to use this reshade preset by growfruit however, after tinkering with some settings I use like a mish-mash blorbo of a preset. Amobae and Sforz have some cool LUT's for download (I think of it like a filter? That's probably not what it is but MEH) and I love the qUINT's lightroom shader as well. Huge advocate of relight, I was today years old when I learn that you should load it at the top of your shaders order so you don't get like a weird whitecast. These spotlights though are super fun too if you don't use reshade! There are some photographers on instagram that even go over how to use lightroom and it can translate to game as well! For the most part, I try to keep screenshots pretty simple, editing-wise but there are moments when I doodle in little hairs, add in some texture and include shadows for, uh, DRAMAAA. Lately, I've been incorporating intricate fonts because idk sometimes my brain enjoys a little graphic design moment. Sometimes shooting conversation heavy scenes can get so repetitive so I like to look at film stills on pinterest or pay close attention to a film and how they present the camera work in a conversation. Rule of thirds is a great reference tool to use, I believe GShade has a shader for that. However it's okay to experiment, it's not an end all be all. I love looking at animators and how each frame is incredibly intentional, whether it's a shot from above or a really close frame. The beginning of this scene, I honestly didn't have a clue as to how I wanted to open it up since they were walking down a hall. Then I noticed the detail in the fencing and how the tiles were opposite. Using the TOOL mod, I was able to get them both in the center and it created a strong opening shot of how different these two are.

✩ Editing

My god, I love editing but also this is usually the moment where I get so freaking distracted. This process takes me a day if I am focused.... But realistically it takes three days.... That's why I try to keep things to a minimum. I do use Photoshop. I like to use this sharpening action (the other actions are awesome too!) for story posts, I crop each photo (I use a 9:5 ratio and a 16:6 ratio if I need to focus on something specific idk why i picked those numbers yo), and add in text. Dafont has a lot of different free fonts. I like to use these little guidelines if sentences needs to be centered.

For adding umph to text, I like to use two things: The warped text option when using the type tool or just going to the distort panel and using the wave option!

Also bottom right of your layers channel is an fx layer. I like to use stroke and drop shadow on all text so it doesn't get lost within a photo!

✩ Finalization and My Schedule

That story post was uploaded on March 29th. As of right now, I like to stay three weeks ahead so I have three weeks worth of story posts marinating in my queue LMAO. I always reread things like a bajillion times, sometimes I'll go back and tweak conversations if they feel a bit stiff. Having that three week buffer also gives me time to really dedicate myself to details and focus on being present with a future scene. Another perk is, it allows me to work on cleaning up the script, plotting for future arcs, and having fun with edits. When I used to upload story videos on youtube, I didn't really plan ahead and it was so chaotic for me. Sometimes I didn't have enough time to actually create a solid episode so things felt rushed because on top of that I had a schedule I committed to. This isn't necessary but structure and patterns is something my little brain needs.

I hope this maybe provided some tips for people wanting to start out or it was just a fun little thing to read! One final OP tip is to write about something that you enjoy, something that matters to you. I'm one mf that loves a fleshed out character arc, that doesn't like linear plots and for fucks sake I love a good slow burn and I think all of that reflects a lot which helps me be engaged.

[dutifullylazybread]

just found you, i see a lot of pre and post family with the teefs. what about during? and directly after? how do they care for their partner during pregnancy? especially if its a diffcult one? and afterward when their partners body has changed and maybe they're less confident about the extra weight, softer body, the extra rolls and teh stretch marks that wont go away? how does each bachelor help or make it better ir suddenly realize that is even wrong to begin with? what if they accidentally something bring out that newly found weakness in their partners confidence? ( sorry if youre busy i know you got stuff to do- i just figured youre the person who could slam dunk these thoughts i had)

Have I... GOTTEN TO THE POINT WHERE I CAN JOIN THE TIEFLING HEAD CANON SQUAD???????

ADDED 4/26/24: This might be a rough list, but I hope you all enjoy!! ❤️

OKAY. I GOTTA ADD CAL. I'M ADDING CAL. THIS SWEET MAN IS A TIEFLING BACHELOR AND DOES NOT HAVE ENOUGH FAN CONTENT... YET.

And thank you for bearing with me--I know that this ask was sent in a hot minute ago! I'm hoping I answered all of your questions; I got to a point of this sitting in my drafts where I just felt bad about how long it had been there, so I tried to be thorough but I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later. I mostly worked on this when I had a few spare moments between chapters, and then I said "screw it. This is getting done. TODAY."

So, for Cal, Rolan, Zevlor, and Dammon--let's go!

DISCLAIMER - I do not have children myself, nor have I ever been pregnant. So I shall do my best!

JUST IN CASE - A CONTENT WARNING: While writing these head canons, I did refer to the tiefling's partner as "you." If reading about being pregnant makes you uncomfortable for any reason, please be aware and be kind to yourself. I have zero doubt in my mind that I will be creating another head canon list, so if you need to pass or wait on this one, that's absolutely okay. Your mental health is important.

Cal

While Cal's partner is pregnant, he will do absolutely anything and everything to make sure they are comfortable. To say that he is doting is putting things very mildly.

He will make your favorite meals, will go out and get whatever you are craving (late night runs--not a problem), will rub your swollen ankles.

Too hot? He's asking Rolan for a cantrip scroll to fix it. Too cold? He's already piling you with blankets.

Are you feeling sick and nauseous? He's already prepping something for you to eat/drink that doesn't have an offensive smell.

And if it's a hard pregnancy? I don't see him leaving your side. If he does, he has Rolan create a sending stone set for the two of you so that you can reach out to him for anything and everything.

Honestly, he doesn't get far enough for him to even use the sending stones. He is looking for anything and everything to make the pregnancy easier on you. If he wasn't a light sleeper before, he is now because he doesn't want you to lay there in pain.

There may be points where he feels helpless because while he can do things to try and alleviate any physical discomfort, there are just times when he might just grasp at straws.

And, in situations where he can't alleviate your physical discomfort, he will do what he can to distract you.

He keeps his stress managed well enough, but that doesn't mean he won't snap at Lia or Rolan if he is too anxious. If he does get openly frustrated with them, it takes both off guard.

I also think he just holds you. A lot. Part of that is to comfort you, and the other part is to assure himself that everything will be okay.

If his partner is dealing with body image issues after giving birth, I see him being confused. You? The most enchanting person he has ever known?

Cut to him kissing you and holding you whenever possible. He'll ask Lia and Rolan to watch the baby whilst the two of you go on outings when your health permits. If it helps you to hear it, he'll remind you how lovely you are. Frequently. Hourly. Every five minutes? Not quite, but close enough.

Personally, I don't think his doting goes away after the pregnancy. And, if it is too much, it might make you feel like he views you as helpless.

If you give voice to this, he goes into immediate mediation mode. He will be extremely apologetic. He loves you and never wants you to think he perceives you as anything other than the phenomenal person you are.

Rolan

Ugh. My beloved.

He might be more stressed about having a child than you are.

He never anticipated being a father, and that might be for 15+ reasons, but he feels drastically unprepared (even if the pregnancy was planned).

He reads every. Single. Book. On pregnancy. He is the parent who gives himself nightmares when he reads about birthing complications.

Every sign of discomfort that you show is a catastrophe on the horizon.

And if it's a difficult pregnancy? Yeah. Dial that up by five notches.

He is preparing for all worst-case scenarios.

If it weren't for Cal and Lia keeping him in check, he would be safety-proofing everything in the tower.

He crafts sending stones so you can call for him if you need anything. ANYTHING.

But also, he starts shadowing midwives and asking lots of questions. If the worst were to happen and you couldn't reach a professional, he wants to be there to help you.

After giving birth, I see him splitting his anxiety between your health/recovery and the baby's overall well-being.

"The baby sneezed. That might indicate five different lethal illnesses. I'm fetching the cleric."

This is another situation where you, Cal, and Lia might have to remind him that, yes, babies do sometimes sneeze, and not everything that lands in the diaper spells doom.

Rolan might not initially understand why you're feeling self-conscious about any weight gain. Of course you're lovely. Also, isn't that what happens with pregnancies? (His words--not mine).

He assures you that you're lovely, but words might not be enough here. He might shove his foot in his mouth while trying to make the situation better.

But the best thing for him to do is remind you, repeatedly, that you are lovely. And that might not have been something he was accustomed to even saying to you prior to you conceiving. He would assume you knew that he was attracted to you.

It honestly might be the strangest (and most endearing) thing to have him say "You look very lovely today. Yes, even with the baby's spit up on your shirt."

Zevlor

*nervously staring at the tiefling I am the most unsure about writing.*

*cracks my knuckles and cries because it hurt like hell*

Zevlor has been through some of the most heinous things that can be thrown at someone. He is a seasoned soldier. A Hellrider. Surely he can help his partner through pregnancy. After all, there were plenty of soldiers in the barracks who has pregnant spouses. He's heard enough stories that he feels prepared.

He survived the Elturel's Descent. It's possible that he helped safeguard someone who was in the middle of giving birth or guided expecting parents to safety. Maybe he had to fight off the devil's skulking the streets if they caught wind/heard that person enduring birthing pains?

So maybe, he thinks, he has already seen some of the worst births ever. Maybe, he thinks, in this time of relative peace, in this home that he and his love have created, it'll be easier?

My personal headcanon for Zevlor is that he put EVERYTHING into being a Hellrider/paladin. It was his life. It was his every breathing moment. And when he became an oathbreaker, it destroyed him. His life was devoted to protecting others, and he feels that he failed in the worst of ways possible.

He certainly had friends and very possibly family that he would see on occasion, but I think that, if you didn't fight alongside him/live in the barracks too, you very likely didn't see much of him.

So maybe he has heard a great deal about pregnancies. And maybe he knows about the complicated ones--just a bit. But he himself is at a loss for when his partner tells him that they are pregnant.

Is he excited? Absolutely. Is he terrified. Oh yeah.

Regardless of how complicated the pregnancy is, he is nervous. He is worried that he will slip up in all the ways that matter, and he is terrified of letting you down.

He's a soldier though, and he prepares for everything.

He has additional blankets and pillows next to the bed.

Hot and cold compresses are ready to go.

He makes sure that he accounts for your cravings whenever shopping.

He has medicine for when the pain is severe. And when the medicine doesn't cut it, he tries his best to distract you--his mileage varies.

And this man adores you. So after the pregnancy, if you are feeling self-conscious, he will worship your body.

Dammon

I could see Cal and Dammon both being very doting, but Dammon would be juggling the forge and helping you.

If you spent a lot of time in the forge with him prior to pregnancy but find that being in there now makes you feel ill, he will absolutely feel lonelier. He is definitely the sort of person who gets very absorbed in his work, and I think this makes him feel guilty. Especially if he feels like him being there could have made things easier for you.

He becomes a meal prep king. Will cook several comfort meals for you to eat while he is working.

Massages swollen ankles and feet and anything else.

While he might have worked later hours in the forge before, he makes a point to wrap things up sooner to spend evenings with you.

That doesn't mean he isn't nervous--you're about to have a child, and he does worry if there will be enough money.

He worries that if he does slow down, commissions will dry up, and then where will that leave the three of you?

If the pregnancy is difficult, he feels guilty for leaving you alone and looks for hundreds of ways to make things easier.

Eventually, he creates a small sitting space for you near the doorway to the shop itself. It's not so close to the forge that you'll be uncomfortably hot or so close that the smell will make you sick, and he sets up a small tarp to create some shade.

If you helped Dammon in the forge before the pregnancy, he is likely hesitant to have you come back and immediately help. Especially if the birth was difficult.

But what you need, more than anything from him, is time

And Dammon wants to be a parent who is present in your life and the baby's, so he does everything to be there.

But money is still a stressor. And he might worry about you being in the forge again. So he's stressed on all fronts.

And while I don't see him commenting or changing how he treats his partner because of weight change, I do see him being VERY reluctant to have you work in the forge with him.

And this may lead to an argument. You know he is stressed about commissions and being there for you and the baby, but you still want to help.

So Dammon dials it back several notches and agrees that you know your body best. So long as you feel comfortable working in the forge, and so long as you listen to your body, the two of you can start it from there.

And it gets easier to balance the forge and child rearing. While the baby isn't allowed close to the open heat/flame until they fully understand why they must be careful (and until their lungs are developed), you and Dammon create a small swing/play area nearby.

[sicknessbysalem]

more niko and zak because i love them so much…

if you have any more requests, questions, comments, etc., send them my way!

tw emeto, panic, fear of being sick, fever

The hotel room was unnaturally quiet, the soft hum of the heater the only noise filling the space. Outside, the snow was falling in thick, lazy flakes, clinging to the window in a pattern of frosty tendrils.

Niko leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom after his shower, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed with concern as he watched Zak.

Zak had been pacing for the past few minutes, his movements sluggish and far too deliberate for someone who usually had so much energy to burn. His skin had that pale, waxy look to it—the kind that came with being unwell. And the way he kept wrapping his arms around himself, rubbing at his shoulders as though trying to shake off a persistent chill, told Niko that something was definitely wrong.

“You sure you’re good?” Niko asked, though he already knew the answer.

Zak paused mid-pace, his back to Niko. His shoulders tensed for a moment before he shrugged, but the gesture was half-hearted, weak.

“Yeah, just... I don’t know. Maybe something I ate,” he muttered, his voice a little too thin, a little too rough around the edges. When he turned to face Niko, there was a ghost of his usual smile on his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll walk it off. No big deal.”

Niko wasn’t buying it. The second Zak had started complaining about feeling off earlier, Niko had taken note, but Zak being Zak had tried to brush it off, acting like a headache or an unsettled stomach was nothing to worry about. Except now, hours later, Zak was visibly worse, his complexion more drained, his posture less confident.

Niko and Zak played for the Portland Ravens hockey team for nearly four and a half years. They’d been best friends before the draft. Which meant that Zak knew more about Niko than Niko wanted to admit, and in the same vein Niko knew more about Zak and his stuff more than Zak himself wanted to acknowledge. Namely, the panic that always came with sickness.

Niko was used to sickness. His own, sure. But sickness nonetheless. He could continue, act like nothing was up even if he was puking between ice shifts which had indeed happened multiple times. But Zak was different. Zak got scared.

“I don’t think walking it off is gonna do the trick, bud,” Niko said, his voice tinged with amusement, but the concern was still there, lingering beneath the surface.

He took a step closer, watching as Zak swayed slightly, his hand going to his stomach as if to steady himself.

Zak huffed a breath, his attempt at a laugh falling flat. “Well, sitting here sure as hell isn’t helping either.”

Niko rolled his eyes and crossed the distance between them, his hand resting lightly on Zak’s shoulder, guiding him toward the bed. “How about this: you sit your ass down before you fall over, and I’ll make sure you don’t die of stubbornness.” His tone was playful, but the touch of worry in his eyes betrayed him.

Zak let out a groan but didn’t resist as Niko led him to the edge of the bed. “I’m not gonna die, you drama queen.”

“Maybe not, but you’re sure as hell looking like it.” Niko’s hand slid from Zak’s shoulder to the back of his neck, his thumb brushing along the base of Zak’s hairline, feeling the damp heat that radiated from his skin.

The gesture was casual, but it gave Niko all the information he needed. Zak had a fever, and not just a low-grade one either. The heat practically pulsed from him in waves, despite the way Zak was shivering like he’d just stepped out into the snowstorm outside.

Zak slouched forward, resting his elbows on his knees as another shiver rippled through him. His eyes slipped shut for a moment, his expression tight, as though he were trying to keep his nausea at bay.

“Okay, maybe I’m not at my best right now,” he admitted, his voice a little more strained than before.

Niko crouched in front of him, his dark eyes searching Zak’s face with a mixture of amusement and concern. “No kidding. You’ve got chills, and I’m betting you’re rocking a pretty nasty fever.”

Zak cracked an eye open, his lips twitching up into a faint smile. “You gonna take my temperature, Nurse Niko?”

Niko smirked, leaning in just a little closer, his voice low and teasing. “Only if you ask nicely.”

Zak chuckled, but the sound quickly dissolved into a cough, his hand flying up to cover his mouth as his body trembled with the effort. He hunched over slightly, wincing as the cough subsided, and Niko’s expression shifted, the teasing slipping away as he rested a hand on Zak’s knee.

“You’re really not doing great, huh?” Niko said, quieter this time. His fingers tapped lightly against Zak’s knee, a subtle gesture that seemed more like instinct than anything else.

Zak let out a soft sigh, wiping a hand across his face as if trying to rub away the exhaustion. “Yeah... guess I’m not. Feel like shit, actually.”

“Yeah, you look it too,” Niko said, though his tone was far gentler than his words. He stood up, pressing a palm to Zak’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating from him. Zak didn’t even flinch, too tired to protest the touch, which told Niko everything he needed to know.

“Alright,” Niko said, making a quick decision, “we’re gonna warm you up and settle you down.” He nudged Zak gently, making him scoot back on the bed. “Lie down. You’ve got chills ‘cause you’re feverish, and if I let you keep shivering like this, you’re gonna make it worse.”

Zak opened his mouth, probably to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he gave a slight nod, shifting slowly until he was lying on his back, his body sinking into the hotel mattress with a groan of discomfort. His arms wrapped around his stomach as another wave of nausea rolled through him, but he didn’t say anything, just closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose.

Niko moved swiftly, grabbing an extra blanket from the foot of the bed and pulling it up over Zak, tucking it around him with surprising gentleness. Then, with a casual shrug, Niko slid onto the bed next to Zak, making sure to slip under the covers too, his body heat instantly noticeable in the small space between them.

“What’re you doing?” Zak asked, though there wasn’t much resistance in his voice. He was too tired, too feverish to do more than turn his head slightly to glance at Niko.

“Warming you up,” Niko said simply, lying on his side, one arm propped up so he could watch Zak more closely. “You’re freezing, and I’m hot as hell, so... you’re welcome.” He grinned, though there was an edge of something softer behind it—like he was taking this whole situation more seriously than his teasing let on.

Zak groaned, pulling the blankets up a little higher around his shoulders. “You’re just using this as an excuse to get in bed with me.”

Niko’s grin widened. “Yeah, well, I figured it’s what any good teammate would do.”

Zak chuckled, though it quickly turned into a wince as his stomach protested again. He closed his eyes, his breath coming slower, more measured, as if he was trying to calm his body down. “You’re not gonna let me hear the end of this, are you?”

“Nope,” Niko replied, his voice soft now. He watched as Zak’s face twisted slightly in discomfort, his brow furrowing. “But seriously... just relax. I’ve got you.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of blankets as Zak shifted uncomfortably, his face pinched with discomfort. Niko kept his gaze on him, watching closely, his hand hovering near Zak’s arm but not quite touching—like he was ready to help if Zak needed him but was giving him space to ride it out.

Zak’s breath hitched slightly, his hand pressing against his stomach, and Niko shifted closer, his brow furrowing with concern. “You okay?”

Zak swallowed hard, his eyes still closed, and gave a faint nod. “Yeah... just feel kinda gross.”

Niko sighed, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “I know, man. Just try to rest.”

Zak opened one eye, glancing at Niko. “You staying there all night?”

“Hell yeah,” Niko replied, his grin returning. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t drown in your dinner.”

Zak snorted softly, but it was clear his energy was fading fast. His eyes fluttered shut again, and for the first time that evening, his body seemed to relax, even if just a little.

Niko watched him for a moment longer, his smile softening as he settled in beside Zak, his hand resting lightly on Zak’s shoulder. Something grounding and consistent.

Zak didn’t seem to mind, for once. So, Niko stayed.

-

The room was still cloaked in that heavy, warm silence when Zak stirred. At first, it was just a slight shift, his body protesting as he rolled over in the bed, the weight of the blankets pressing down on him. His stomach clenched, sending a ripple of nausea through him that made his muscles tighten involuntarily. It took a few more moments before the sensation fully settled in, hitting him like a freight train.

Zak’s eyes snapped open, his heart racing in his chest as the nausea surged—violent and sudden, making his breath hitch. He lay there for a second, staring up at the ceiling, trying to breathe through it, trying to will it away. But the tight knot in his stomach only twisted harder, and his skin felt clammy, sticky with sweat.

The nausea didn’t just sit in his gut—it spread through him, making his limbs feel weak and heavy. His throat constricted, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin, and he knew there was no waiting this one out. He had to get up.

Moving carefully, Zak pushed the blankets off and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up slowly. His head spun with the motion, a wave of dizziness crashing over him as he sat hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

For a few seconds, he just sat there, breathing through his nose, trying to keep his stomach in check. But it was no use—the nausea was relentless, churning inside him like a storm.

He stood shakily, every movement slow and deliberate as he made his way to the bathroom, careful not to wake Niko. His chest felt tight, his breath coming in shallow gasps, as if he couldn’t quite get enough air. Panic flickered at the edges of his mind, making his hands tremble as he closed the bathroom door behind him.

Zak leaned over the sink, his reflection blurred in the mirror above. His face was pale, the fever still evident in the flush of his cheeks, and beads of sweat clung to his forehead. His stomach twisted painfully, the nausea rising in his throat, but it wasn’t enough. It never was. He felt the pressure, the horrible anticipation, but nothing would come up. His body was locked in a cruel limbo, and he could already feel the anxiety creeping in.

A sharp gag tore through him, his body doubling over the sink as he clutched the edge for support. But even then, nothing came—just the harsh, empty retching that left him breathless and shaking. He tried again, gagging harder this time, but it was like his body was working against him, the nausea refusing to give him any relief.

His breathing hitched, growing more rapid as the panic started to build.

Not now. Not like this. Zak could feel the onset of anxiety.

Zak clenched his jaw, trying to calm himself, but the anxiety was already making his chest tight, his hands trembling as he gripped the counter harder. He gagged again, this time more violently, but still, nothing came up—just the awful, dry heaving that made his throat burn and his eyes water.

It was too much—too overwhelming. His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind raced, fear mixing with the nausea, making it impossible for him to focus on anything other than the sick feeling coiling in his gut. He felt trapped in his own body, his breath coming in shallow, panicked bursts.

Out in the bedroom, Niko stirred. The absence of warmth beside him registered slowly, but it was the faint, strained sound of Zak retching that pulled him fully from sleep.

He blinked, groggy, confusion settling in as he reached out and found the space next to him empty. Then he heard it again—the unmistakable, awful sound of someone trying to be sick and failing.

“Zak?” Niko’s voice was thick with sleep, but concern was already blooming in his chest as he sat up. The room was dim, the only light coming from the bathroom, its door left ajar.

Niko rubbed a hand over his face, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

He listened for a moment, hearing another weak retch, followed by a soft, shaky breath.

“Zak,” Niko called again, softer this time, worry creeping into his tone. He padded across the room and pushed the bathroom door open fully, and the sight of Zak leaning over the sink, pale and trembling, made his heart clench.

Zak didn’t look up, too focused on trying to keep himself steady as another painful gag ripped through him. Niko’s eyes softened, and without a word, he crossed the small space, his hand coming to rest gently on Zak’s back.

“Hey,” Niko murmured, his voice low and calm. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Zak’s breath hitched again, and he squeezed his eyes shut, another dry heave wracking his body. He shook his head slightly, his hands gripping the sink harder as his body fought against the nausea.

“Can’t—can’t get it up,” Zak muttered between shaky breaths. His voice was hoarse, edged with panic, the frustration clear in every word.

Niko knew this all too well. Zak’s body had a way of locking up when he got sick, the anxiety making it even harder for him to get any relief. Niko had seen it before, seen how Zak would get trapped in that horrible cycle of nausea and panic, making it harder for his body to let go.

“Shh,” Niko soothed, his hand rubbing slow, steady circles on Zak’s back. “Just breathe for me, okay? Don’t force it. You’re working yourself up.”

Zak nodded, but it was clear he was still struggling, his breath shallow and fast, his body trembling under the weight of both the nausea and the anxiety. His fingers tightened on the sink, his knuckles white.

Niko stepped in closer, his hand sliding from Zak’s back to his arm, giving him something solid to hold onto. “I’ve got you, alright? Just breathe. You’re gonna be okay.”

Zak swallowed hard, his throat burning from the dry heaves. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering open as he leaned a little heavier against Niko. “I—” Another gag cut him off, his body lurching forward, but still, nothing came.

Niko could feel the tension in Zak’s muscles, the way his body was wound so tightly from the panic and nausea that it was making everything worse. He kept his voice soft, steady, as he guided Zak toward the toilet, knowing that the sink wasn’t going to cut it. “Come on, sit down. It’s easier if you’re not standing.”

Zak didn’t resist, too focused on the sick feeling in his gut. He dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, his forehead resting on the cool porcelain as he sucked in another shaky breath. Niko crouched down beside him, his hand still on Zak’s back, grounding him, steadying him.

“It’s okay,” Niko murmured again, his voice calm and reassuring. “You’re okay. Just take it slow.”

Zak’s breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, but Niko’s presence was starting to cut through the haze of panic, just enough to let him focus on something other than the nausea. He leaned into Niko’s touch, his body relaxing slightly under the soothing pressure of Niko’s hand.

“Breathe with me,” Niko said, keeping his voice low and steady. He inhaled slowly, exaggerated, hoping Zak would follow suit. “In through your nose. Come on, you got this.”

Zak’s chest hitched, his breath shaky, but he followed Niko’s lead, inhaling slowly through his nose. His stomach still churned violently, the nausea making his head swim, but the panic was starting to ebb, just enough for his body to stop fighting itself.

“That’s it,” Niko said softly, still rubbing circles on Zak’s back. “Let your body do its thing. Don’t force it.”

Zak gagged again, his body lurching forward over the toilet, but this time, it wasn’t just dry heaves. His stomach finally gave in, the nausea breaking free as he retched, his whole body trembling with the effort. The sound was awful, wet and raw, but there was a sense of relief in it, like his body was finally letting go.

Niko stayed close, his hand never leaving Zak’s back, steadying him through the retching. “That’s it. You’re doing good,” he murmured, his voice soft and comforting.

Zak gagged again, harder this time, and a thin stream of bile spilled from his mouth, his body shuddering with the effort. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and Niko could see the tension starting to ease from Zak’s shoulders, the panic slowly fading as his body began to cooperate.

“There you go,” Niko said, his tone soothing. “Just let it out. Don’t hold back.”

Zak heaved again, this time more forcefully, and more bile followed, his breath hitching between gags. The relief was slow, but it was there, each retch bringing a little more comfort, a little more ease to the tightness in his chest.

Niko stayed with him through it all, his presence steady and calm, his hand warm and reassuring against Zak’s back. And as Zak’s body finally began to settle, the nausea easing just enough for him to catch his breath, Niko leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper.

“See?” Niko said, his lips quirking

into a soft smile. “Told you I’ve got you.”

Zak let out a weak chuckle, his body trembling with exhaustion. “You’re... way too good at this.”

Niko grinned, giving Zak’s back a gentle pat. “What can I say? You’re lucky to have someone with a shitload of practice in the art of puking your guts up.”

For a few precious moments, it seemed like Zak had finally found some relief. His breathing had evened out, his body no longer shaking as violently as it had in the bathroom. Niko helped him back to his feet, one arm steady around Zak’s waist as they slowly made their way back to the bed. Zak leaned heavily on Niko, still drained from the effort of being sick, but the tightness in his chest had eased, if only slightly.

“You doing alright now?” Niko asked as they sank back onto the bed, his voice softer, laced with the kind of calm assurance that Zak had come to rely on.

Niko pulled the blanket up over Zak, tucking it around him with a kind of ease that belied the worry in his eyes.

Zak nodded, though he didn’t fully trust his stomach yet. “Yeah... I think so,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from all the retching.

His head still felt heavy, his limbs weak, but the nausea had settled for the time being, leaving behind a strange, uneasy calm.

Niko sat down beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed, and watched Zak carefully.

“Just take it easy,” Niko said, leaning back against the headboard. “If you start feeling off again, let me know, alright?”

Zak gave a weak smile. “What, so you can lecture me about how you told me so?”

Niko grinned, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. “I would never. I’m too mature for that.”

Zak chuckled softly, though the sound was thin, tired. “Right.”

They settled back into the bed, the room once again falling into that heavy quiet. For a little while, it seemed like the worst had passed.

Zak’s eyelids fluttered shut, his body sinking into the mattress as the exhaustion started to take over. Niko stayed close, his gaze still flicking back to Zak every few minutes, watching for any signs of discomfort, though it seemed—for now—that Zak was in the clear.

But the reprieve was short-lived.

Not long after they had settled, Zak stirred again, his brow furrowing as a familiar unease crept back into his stomach. He shifted under the blankets, a soft groan slipping from his lips as the nausea began to resurface—this time, more intense, more insistent. His chest tightened, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he instinctively curled in on himself, one hand pressing against his stomach.

Niko noticed the change immediately. “Zak?” he asked, his voice low, cautious. “You good?”

Zak didn’t answer right away. His throat felt tight, and a cold sweat was already starting to bead on his forehead. His stomach twisted violently, the nausea crashing over him like a tidal wave, and this time, it was relentless. It felt different from earlier—more urgent, more overwhelming. His breath hitched, panic sparking at the edges of his mind as he pressed a hand to his mouth, trying to will it away.

But it was too late.

Zak’s stomach lurched hard, and he knew there was no holding it back this time. A wave of nausea surged up his throat, and without thinking, he covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes widening in panic.

“Niko—” Zak barely managed to choke out before his body betrayed him.

Niko was already moving, but it wasn’t fast enough.

Zak doubled over, his hand still clamped over his mouth, but it was no use. The nausea tore through him with a ferocity he hadn’t felt earlier, and before he could make it off the bed, his body gave in completely.

He gagged hard, and then the contents of his stomach came pouring out with no hesitation, soaking the sheets beneath him in a hot, wet mess. His whole body shook with the force of it, his breath hitching in between each violent retch.

Niko barely flinched. He reacted with the calm precision of someone who had seen this too many times before. His hand shot out to steady Zak, pulling the blanket out of the way as much as he could while he helped Zak lean forward, keeping him from slipping further into panic.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Niko said, his voice steady, though he moved quickly, already grabbing a towel from the side of the bed. He wasn’t phased by the mess—he’d dealt with worse himself on plenty of occasions—but Zak was already spiraling, the embarrassment and discomfort clear in the way his body stiffened, his chest heaving with each shaky breath.

Zak tried to speak, but another gag ripped through him, his whole body curling in on itself as his stomach heaved again. This time, there was no resistance—his body had decided it was done holding anything back.

The sheets were already soaked, and Zak’s face was twisted in both discomfort and horror as more of the contents of his stomach spilled out in a sickening rush.

“Shit—sorry,” Zak choked out between breaths, his voice trembling. His face was flushed, his eyes watery, and he looked completely defeated. “I—Niko, I can’t—”

“Don’t,” Niko interrupted, his voice firm but still gentle. He scooted closer, rubbing slow circles on Zak’s back with one hand while using the other to guide him slightly forward, trying to keep him from choking. “Don’t apologize. Just breathe.”

Zak gagged again, the sound raw and harsh, but this time, the nausea didn’t hold back. His stomach finally seemed willing to give everything up, each retch bringing a surge of relief, even as it left him weak and shaking. His breath hitched between each heave, his body trembling as it continued to purge itself, as if everything he had eaten in the past month was trying to force its way out at once.

Niko didn’t move from his spot beside Zak, his hand steady on Zak’s back, his voice low and calm as he murmured reassurances. “It’s okay. Just let it out. You’re alright, Zak. I’ve got you.”

Zak’s body jerked forward again, another wet gag tearing through him, and this time, it felt like his stomach had completely given in. There was no stopping it now—his body was done fighting, done holding anything back.

The sheets were ruined, but Zak barely registered it. All he could feel was the overwhelming nausea, the relentless churn in his gut as everything poured out in an unstoppable rush.

His breath came in short, desperate gasps between retches, and he felt his chest tighten again, panic creeping in as the mess spread beneath him. But Niko was there, steady and calm, his voice cutting through the haze of panic like a lifeline. “You’re okay. Breathe, Zak. I’m right here.”

Zak tried to catch his breath, but another wave of nausea hit him hard, and he gagged violently, his body shuddering with the effort. The mess beneath him grew worse, but Niko didn’t even blink. He just kept his hand on Zak’s back, his touch grounding, calming.

“It’s alright,” Niko said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Zak’s body began to settle. The retching slowed, his breath coming in shaky gasps as his stomach finally started to calm. He slumped back, exhausted, his body trembling from the effort. His skin was pale, slick with sweat, and his chest rose and fell with labored breaths.

Niko could see the panic, the aftermath of vomiting through a panic attack. He saw it, but kept his mouth shut as he gently pulled the ruined blanket off the bed, balling it up in a way to contain the mess a little more. His focus was entirely on Zak, who was now leaning over the side of the bed, his head hanging low, his breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

“You okay?” Niko asked quietly, his hand still resting on Zak’s back, the soothing circles never stopping.

Zak nodded weakly, though he didn’t lift his head. “Yeah... I think so,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. His body still trembled, but the worst had passed, leaving him drained and spent. “I’m sorry—”

“Stop,” Niko cut in gently, his tone firm but caring. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. You’re sick. That’s it.”

Zak let out a shaky breath, his hand rubbing at his face, still embarrassed by the mess. “I didn’t mean to...”

“I know you didn’t,” Niko said, his voice soft. He stood up, grabbing another towel from the bathroom and gently wiping Zak’s face with it. “Don’t worry about the sheets. I’ll call housekeeping. Do you want a shower? Clean up a bit?”

Zak leaned into the touch, his body still weak, but the panic had started to ebb, replaced by a weary relief. His stomach had finally given in, and though it had left him exhausted, there was a strange sense of comfort in knowing he didn’t have to fight it anymore.

Zak nodded, “Yeah.. no, I’m disgusting and I would rather not face housekeeping like this… I’m still sorry this is my fault I don’t-“

Niko smiled softly, his hand brushing through Zak’s damp hair. “Uh, no. Montreal was my fault, this,” Niko said, pausing to gesture at the mess, “is not your fault.”

“Not your fault you have… whatever that is that makes you puke so damn much,” Zak said, slowly getting out of bed and going toward his suitcase to grab a change of clothes.

“Then even more reason why you shouldn’t say this is your fault,” Niko said, already working on gathering up what he could for the poor housekeepers, “Go shower. You’ll be alright.”

Zak nodded, “Thank you. I owe you.”

“You’re probably contagious,” Niko shrugged, chuckling softly, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

[zayne-li]

Fic Masterlist

Zanye and Siming

This is basically a thesis post I wrote about where I think Zayne's lore is going

Heat Signal (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 15k

“You’re…” My instincts know exactly what it is, but my brain has a hard time reconciling the evidence in front of me, and assaulting my nose. “But you’re a beta.”

Zayne winces. He’s quiet for a long time before saying anything. “As I’m sure you can tell… I am not.”

“Who else knows?”

“Dr. Noah.”

“No one else?”

“Aside from my parents? No.”

Dessert Spread (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 3.7k

This one is some Zayne/Sylus.

The only light in Zayne’s large living room comes from the moon shining through the large backdoor window, bathing the space in a soft cool tone, and the bright glow from his phone in his hand, held up by his face as he types away at an email for Akso’s administration board regarding his departments budget for the quarter. But even as he swipes between excel sheets and copies and pastes various numbers, his eyes are drooping a bit, and his fingers move slowly as he struggles to recall the way he wants to word things. It’s not something he intends on sending off tonight, but having a rough draft waiting for him when he returns to work will make things easier on him. 

Zayne yawns, and blinks as a text message pops through, distracting him enough to have his eyes opening a bit wider. 

It’s from Sylus.

Frozen Blood (Tumblr link)

Rating: Mature (for violence and blood)

Length: 3.3k

Thus far his eyes have been unable to meet yours, fixed on the ground like he’s afraid to look at you. But at your insistence, they flicker up towards you, dark and almost lifeless, with none of the spark you’re used to seeing. He says nothing, and instead tries to pull his hand from yours. You don’t allow it, tightening your grip, trying to have enough faith and determination for the both of you, because this Zayne… since you found him just a few days ago, seems like he’s given up far before he ever met you.

“I’m going to resonate with you–”

“No.” He is firm as he says it, and tries once again to pull his hand from yours.

Bloom

Rating: Teen

Length: 1.2k

“Clearly you needed it. It’s okay. You’re cute when you’re sleeping.” You respond, and he looks like he’s about to retort, but instead he yawns and rubs at his face again. 

“It’s been a long week. Month.” Zayne manages once the yawn subsides, and grunts, turning over so he can grab around your middle and press his face into your stomach. His voice becomes muffled now, rumbling against you in a way that’s almost ticklish. “I missed you.”

Heartbreaker Attacks! (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 2.8k

What I expect to see is maybe a bit of frost on his fingertips or creeping up his neck, but instead, when I place my hand tentatively on the small of his back, I realize he’s burning up. Also… The moment my fingers make contact with his body, he moans. I jerk back almost on instinct, my brow furrowing in confusion. Is he injured there? Zayne rolls his head to the side, and I can see better how he looks, red and panting. “I’m,” cough, “fine… You certainly acted quickly.”

He doesn’t look fine. His pupils are blown, and he has a hazy look in his eyes. My concern grows. I blink at him. “Did you just…”

He looks away, blushing brighter, “… Yes, I believe so.”

Eye of the Blizzard (Tumblr link to chapter 1. Check AO3 for the rest!)

Rating: Teen (so far)

Length: 7 Chapters, 10k words

That girl, from his childhood. The one who stood out in his memories like a warm pastry, like a bright, inescapable light. The one who smiled and laughed, even when he didn’t, who saw the emotions he felt before he knew himself.

“Why are you crying?” She asked one day, finding him on the steps of her grandmother’s house, arms wrapped around his boney knees, head buried in his elbow, his cheeks red. She was bent sideways, almost falling over, balanced on one foot, just to try and catch his eye.

5 Fun Facts about the Prostate! (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 3.8k

"... I don't know. I do know it's a pleasure point in the male body." 

"Zayne, you are not about to give me an anatomy lesson right now."

Exclusive Tutorial (Tumblr link)

Rating: Explicit

Length: 2k words

I grin at him and lean in for a soft kiss. “Did you know that you whimper when you come?” I ask against his lips, pulling him closer by his hips. His softening cock droops between us, and I admire for a moment the lewd image of him exposed, messy, his tie undone and his face red. 

“I do not.” Zayne scoffs, and I allow him to finally stand, backing off enough to let him tuck himself into his pants, though I mourn the sight. 

“You do. You just did.” I fold my arms, and he gives me a withering look. 

Battle Lust (Tumblr link)

Rating: Mature (No actual smut, but he’s thinking about it)

Length: 1.9k

“I know it hurts, Zayne, but I really, really need you to get up right now.” That’s her voice again, and then he can see her. Right in front of him, holding him halfway off the ground. There’s blood smeared across her lips, cheek, and eye, and her hair is ashy with dust, no hint of the real color underneath it all. 

In and out of dreams 

Rating: Teen (TW for brief thoughts of suicide)

Length: 1k

The Foreseer is unknowable, he is wise to the secrets of the universe, to the futures and fates of the people in this world around him. Except for his own. Every bit of his life, his future and past are a jumbled mess of moments that he is unable to make sense of. 

Drabbles

This is just Zayne getting another handjob. 

Rating: Explicit

Length: About 400?

"Y-you're going to kill me." Zayne gasps, his lax mouth turning up into a small smile as he huffs and puffs. "I'm suing for medical malpractice." 

Kitten Zayne!! (Someone please write this for real for me, I'll love you forever)

Rating: Teen

Length: 200-ish words

"Ah... Right. So that's why everyone's been looking at me funny all afternoon. I forgot."

(also if you’re interested in this type of thing, I have made two different Zayne bots on janitor.ai, feel free to have fun messing around with them)

[berberriescorner]

Sneak Peek:

AYL? Pt. 4

Currently, I'm working on a few different fics, including part four of "Are You Listening?"

I'm finally at a point where I no longer hate everything I write and start over. Here is a little snippet to hold y'all over for a bit.

Note: This is a rough draft I'm working on, so any snippets you read are subject to change. I doubt I would take anything out altogether. I would only do tweaking and editing. Hope you enjoy it!

Snippet:

(Just Cause It’s So Nice To Look At😉💜💚)

Like most things current in your life, the quiet only lasted for a small fraction of time. Constant vibration sent your phone rumbling across the luxurious dark oak coffee table. As if that weren’t already enough of a distraction, a loud pounding at the suite’s entrance sounded. Rapid knocks and phone buzzing pulled you and Miguel from a restful sleep. He shot up from a slumped form, saving the phone and Macbook from tumbling to the floor from his right leg. The sigh that slipped from your parted lips wreaked of sadness and depression. Miguel’s eyes stole a glance at your phone resting on the table. His cell and the rude knocking went ignored as his lips connected with the top of your head as he brushed the curls from your eyes.

“He’ll only continue to call, amor.”

“I’ll turn it off. Wouldn’t be the first time,” you murmured in response.

Miguel smirked, playfully shaking his head. With a nod, he signaled toward the knocking.

“Excuse me while I go and shoot whoever’s knocking like a madman.”

“Could be important. Try not to be too hard on whoever it is,” you finished with a skeptical shrug.

The buzzing continued, causing a lump to form in your throat. Avoiding a repetitive conversation, you opted to send Rio a quick text.

Maybe: Husband🥰♥️💍: For the love of all that is holy, please give me a minute of peace, Rio! If it’s urgent. Text me! I do not want to talk about us. Nor do I want to get sucked into another whirlpool of emotions. Just please. Quiet–I need quiet. Running on fumes, anger, and sadness is exhausting. I’ll hit you back whenever I’m not an emotional wreck. Don’t count on that being anytime soon.

You could have easily placed him on the block list, but at the end of the day, you were his only dependable family. Given that and the business he was in, you’d never forgive yourself if anything happened and he reached out to find you weren’t there.

Harsh whispers pulled you from your thoughts. They grew near and more distinct. Miguel's voice came out gruff. The recipient of his impatience received a seething response. Impatient footsteps bounded into the room, and an all too familiar voice caused your blood to run cold.

“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise?”

Be sure to let me know what you lovelies think 👀😆😁! Thank you to sweet lovelies who have been so kind, patient, and understanding when it comes to waiting for me to drop new content. It's been a struggle to find the energy to stay focused and write. I appreciate everyone's encouragement and for checking up on me. Y'all my sweet wittle love bugs!

Tagging a few of my loves💜💚:

@darqchilddaydreamz @starrynite7114 @4everbrookemarie @nightlywords7 @fineanddandy @rio-reid-whoreee

@novaniskye @that-one-anxious-mango @1andonlytashae @blkbutterfly816 @lovedlover @vanityinvenus @librarian1002 @banana123pudding @fezcosonlylove @sunshine-flower @invisiblegiurl @astoldbychae @percosim @amorestevens @alertyoulikeitsamber

[hyperfixationsporfavor]

Gojo x Reader wip (The Marriage)

Author's Note: Hey guys. I recently read the interview about Gojo that was translated. It made me think about this wip I've had in my drafts forever. It's from the last chapter of my Gojo x Reader fic (The Marriage). It's hasn't been edited but I want to share it with you beauties. If you haven't already you can check out the series. The interview has got me in my feels. I had an upcoming fic planned with Naoya but I'm thinking about switching it to our blue eyed king. Anyway, here is the wip. Enjoy!

Warnings: mentions of illness, super rough draft so read at your own risk!!!

The was a bounty on Satoru Gojo’s head.

He was just a child and already curse users across the country were plotting their strategies to obtain him dead or alive. A child in possession of the six eyes? The reward money for even one of his eyes would be enough to live five lifetimes in luxury. 

The Gojo clan knew this and took preventative measures to ensure Satoru’s safety. However, all their efforts were put in jeopardy one afternoon when it was discovered by a maid that Satoru was not in his room, after an extensive sweep is was determined he had left the estate. 

“Satoru Gojo,” his uncle hissed.

~

An eleven year old Satoru walked the streets of Tokyo by himself, he had occasionally snuck out of the estate before, but this time was different, people were actively looking for him, his family, and two curse users. Satoru had noticed them following him for awhile now, an old woman and a man with thick eyebrows had been observing him from a rooftop cafe while he played in the arcade in the building across the street. At first he hadn’t done anything, knowing they weren’t stupid enough to make a move in front of so many non sorcerers. So he just focused on Pac-Man for the time being.

Other kids his age stood in small groups around the other machines. As much as he pretended he not to care a small part of him, buried by years of strict upberinging, wished to join them. Spend the day with people his own age and not worry about the fate of society. Normalcy would have been true freedom. 

~

When he had his fill he walked out of the arcade and glanced up at the curse users. Eyebrows, or Groucho as he had dubbed him, was still staring. 

Get a life.

He was fed up with them so he returned rhe gaze, knowing it wouldn’t be long until they sensed it, his cursed energy. And surely enough, after a few seconds Groucho and Granny began to recoil. They knew what he was, how easy it would be for him to take both of them out. He broke eye contact and started walking down the busy street.

~

Satoru bought a box of nerds and a can of Fanta from the nearby 7- Eleven. He decided on taking his goods into a Best Buy nestled into a shopping mall, there he decided to barricade himself in the home theater display room in front of the flat screen tvs. Finally left in peace he chugged his soda and shoved handfuls of purple and pink nerds into his mouth. He loved stuff like this but at home he was regulated to a strict diet. No process, high calorie, and not an ounce of flavor. He hated it, he didn’t want to go back, maybe he should just run away. His family would definitely have noticed his absence by now. They would send someone shortly, he’d just have to enjoy what time he had left. Satoru leaned back in the recliner and watched the repeating trailers and music videos that were played to display the effectiveness of the flat screen. A security guard tapped the back of the chair he was in. 

“Hey kid, this isn’t a lounge. You can’t take your crap in here.”

Satoru rolled his eyes and continued to watch the N’sync music videos. 

The guard stood in front of him. “Where are your parents.”

Why was everyone over the age of twenty giving him a hard time today. He didn’t have to deal with it not now. So he warped out of the chair and discreetly landed in front of the store. 

“Have a good day,” the cashier said as he walked out. 

The security guard stood flabbergasted in front of the now empty seat, littered with an empty soda can and stray pieces of candy. 

The music video ended and the trailer for Miss Congeniality started playing. 

~

Satoru wandered around the mall for awhile after that eventually stopping at a small movie theater next to Sears. 

The poster for X-Men caught his eye. He had wanted to see it for awhile know but had been denied by his uncle since it was dangerous. 

“One ticket for X- Men please.”

~

Satoru was lucky enough to have the whole theater to himself. He settled in the the middle of the aisle in the back. Finally some peace and quiet. The trailers dragged on and finally the fx logo appeared accompanied by an orchestra to signify the arrival of Hugh Jackman and his claws. He got through the first twenty minutes of the film before a familiar voice spoke beside him. 

“There you are,” his father softly spoke. 

Satoru sighed. He had felt his father’s presence before he could see him and sure enough a guard from the Gojo estate stood expecactantly at the end of the aisle. 

“How did you find me?” Satoru asked. 

“There were reports of two curse users retreating from a white haired threat. You don’t exactly blend in Satoru,” the old man chuckled. 

Satoru reluctantly stood up. “Are we going now?”

Much to his surprise his father sat down in the seat next to his. “What do you mean? The film just started.”

The security guard stepped forward. “Sir-”

He held up a hand to stop him. “Call my brother and tell him well be back at the estate later this evening. And have a few more guards on standby to patrol the mall. Can’t be too careful.”

The guard stepped out of the theater to make the call. Satoru’s father patted the seat next to him and Satoru hesitantly sat back down.”

“This is from that cartoon you used to like?” his father asked. 

“Yeah and the comics, you remember that?”

“Of course I do.”

The two of them settled in for the rest of the movie. 

~

“Well that was interesting. Did you enjoy the film?”

Satoru nodded as he walked alongside his father out of the theater. 

“And the white haired character? What was her name?”

“Storm.”

“She’s you’re favorite?”

Satoru nodded in excitement. He rarely got the opportunity to talk about things like this with others, his mind wandered back to the groups of kids in the arcade.

“Storm’s the strongest.”

His father smiled. “Then it’s fitting that she’s your favorite character.”

Satoru looked up to him and smiled back wishing he could stay there forever.

~

Instead of going straight home Satoru’s father takes him to the mall food court. “If you were just eating candy you’ll give yourself a belly ache.”

So his father buys him a cheeseburger with fries and a cherry coke along with a small salad for himself. 

Gojo notices how the security guard is eyeing the current head of the Gojo clan, it’s the same way everyone else has been looking at him, cautious of the possibility of him breaking. His father’s health hadn’t been doing so well, doctors and nurses were a frequent sighting around his room and it was clear how weak he really was. Over the last year he’d grown thin, his cheeks were so hollow. The salad in front of him was just for show, he’d only be able to get a few bites down before heaving it back up. At night he’d hear his Uncle and the rest of the men talking about how preparations needed to be made, how Satoru’s training needed to be accelerated so he’d be ready to assume the role of clan head. But he dind’t want to be the head, he wanted his father. His mother had passed when he was a baby, leaving her husband and son in the snake pit. And if his father left…

“Satoru? You’re crying.”

He hadn’t noticed. But sure enough salty tears ran down his face, staining his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“Son,” he murmured, extending his arms out.

It was rare, growing up in such a tradition family, to show emotions and be vulnerable. But Satoru rushed to his arms and let his father hold him. He knew if he didn’t he’d regret it. 

“Dad,” he muttered in his chest, cherishing the sound of his beating heart. 

“I know you’re sorry. And I’m sorry to. You’re so young but the weight of the world is on your shoulders.”

He pulled away and looked at his son in the eyes, those infinite blue eyes that connected the sea and the sky in harmony. 

“I know it seems lonely now. But someday you’ll be surrounded by people who love you. No one should be alone. Don’t worry. Let’s just go home.”

[techav]

Revisiting Wrap030 Disk Access

I have more ideas for projects than time or budget to work on them. Already this year I've gone completely through the design process for two new large homebrew projects that are currently too large for my project budget, plus a few small ones I never got around to ordering. So rather than spend more than I should taking on a new project, I decided to revisit an existing one.

It's been over a year since I last worked on the original Wrap030 project — my old stack-of-boards MC68030 system. Its current configuration includes the main board with CPU, ROM, RAM, UART, & glue logic; a hand-wired breakout board to add a second UART; a custom video output board; and a mezzanine board with FPU and provision for an IDE disk that is not yet working. It has been functional in this configuration since last February.

My goal for this project from the beginning was to build something capable of running a proper operating system, like Unix System V or Linux. To do that though, I'm going to need to get disk access working.

I had started on disk access, but didn't quite have it functional when I turned my focus to integrating all of boards into the single Wrap030-ATX motherboard. I had added IDE cycles to the CPLD on the mezzanine board, and had added a few rough drafts of disk functions to my ROM. I set the project aside when I realized my function for checking dish presence was reporting a disk was present when there wasn't one.

I have worked with IDE before — my original 68000 project had an IDE port on it. I had gotten that project to the point where I could read a sector of data from the disk, but never could wrap my head around how to actually navigate even a simple file system like FAT16. It was this code that I had adapted for Wrap030, so when it didn't work, I assumed it was a problem with my logic.

Turns out I had just inadvertently clobbered a register in the disk check function. The logic worked just fine. I was able to write a couple quick BASIC programs to read a sector of data and even run code from the boot sector.

My assembly function for reading data from disk however was still not working.

I tried rewriting it.

I tried rewriting it in C instead of assembly.

I tried again, and again, and again. I added delays and loops and print statements and everything I could think of. I scoured datasheets, read though all the different release versions of the ATA specification, ported code from other projects, looked at every example of reading from an IDE disk I could find.

No matter what I did, I always got the same result.

This did not make any sense. Reading from an IDE disk involves setting up the sector address, the number of sectors to transfer, sending a read command, and then reading the IDE data port 256 times per sector. Each time the data port is read, the disk will give another 16-bit word of data. But for some reason, all I was getting was the first word of data returned 256 times.

There is nothing in the specification to explain this.

I knew there was nothing wrong with my logic, because I could read the data just fine with my BASIC program or by manually poking the right addresses using the monitor. Maybe there was some edge case affecting timing when running in assembly, but even adding delay loops and print statements didn't have any effect.

I reached out for help. I got great feedback on my read functions and my timing and how IDE and CompactFlash cards worked, but still could not solve this problem.

But then @ZephyrZ80 noticed something —

I had shared my code and was explaining that I had added some extra NOP instructions to enforce minimum time between IDE access cycles in PIO-0 mode. At 25MHz with cache enabled, the 68030 can complete an instruction in as little as 80ns, so a few NOPs would ensure enough time elapsed between cycles.

With cache enabled.

… cache enabled.

… cache.

The 68030 has 256 bytes of data cache. My disk read function is running in a tight loop that only really hits a few addresses; not nearly enough to invalidate and flush the entire 256 bytes of cache. The CPU does have a cache inhibit signal to use with peripherals that return new data on subsequent access to the same address, but it turns out I was only asserting it when accessing the UART on the main board.

It's a simple enough hypothesis to test. When I initially added support in my ROM for enabling cache at startup, I included user functions for enabling and disabling cache.

… It was cache all along.

Now I need to add some way to inhibit cache while accessing the IDE port, and then I can move on to trying to use the disk for loading programs.

[chvoswxtch]

Hey have a Matt X reader request.

Matt smells the reader is sick, at the doctor comes out that she has cancer Matt takes care of her and when the first hair falls out he shaves off his beautiful hair to stand by her.

Got the diagnosis 3 years ago and now the cancer is back.

Would be happy if you accept the request.

hi my darling,

thank you so much for trusting me with this request. I really hope I did you justice, and that this is what you were looking for. I also sincerely hope you're doing well and feeling good day. sending you so much love & light. 💘

warning: mentions of sickness, a lil angst, light swearing, mainly fluff & comfort word count: 2.6k

in sickness & in health.

Even though he knew it wasn’t actually his fault, Matt couldn’t stop the guilt that flooded through his veins when you got the diagnosis. He had been the one to tell you that you should go to the doctor. There was something off inside your body, and he could smell the scent of sickness that started to linger in your blood. That, and you also hadn’t been feeling well lately. Matt wouldn’t let it go, and you couldn’t compete with his stubbornness, but as that one word was uttered in the doctor’s office, his entire world came crashing down. 

Cancer.

The blood immediately drained from Matt’s face as that one simple word cut through the silence of the office, and the terrified rhythm of your heartbeat thrashed loudly in his ears. He clenched his jaw to keep his bottom lip from trembling, steadying his own emotions as he reached for your quivering hand, gripping onto it tightly as a silent affirmation of ‘I’m here’. The doctor assured both of you that since it had been caught so early, treatment would be effective to send it into remission, and her steady heartbeat allowed Matt to breathe a little easier that she was telling the truth, not granting false hope with a sympathetic tone. 

Still, he felt guilty.

And that guilt only spread when you started chemotherapy. The scent of the chemicals that were being pumped into your body made Matt’s stomach churn, and the scent was almost unbearable, but he refused to leave you alone. He held your hand the entire time, making sure to bring your favorite blanket and a pair of fuzzy slippers to keep you warm and comfortable. He brought books to read to you, but oftentimes you requested to hear him work on his opening and closing arguments, helping him tweak them to perfection. It helped you both take your mind off of why you were at the hospital, and actually helped Matt improve his delivery in the courtroom. 

Foggy and Karen even joined the two of you most days. Karen read you the rough drafts of her latest articles, turning you into her personal editor as she took your feedback and crafted some of her best work. Foggy just liked to bring you new snacks and drinks to try together. The chemo made you sensitive to a lot of scents and tastes, unable to enjoy things that used to be your favorites, but Foggy had turned it into a fun game trying to discover the strangest and most intriguing flavors to try. Lately, he had been on a Korean kick, finding a bodega that exclusively sold popular Korean snacks and drinks.

Even though your body ached and you were constantly sick from the chemo, the three of them kept your spirits high.

But still, Matt felt guilty.

The day your hair had started to fall out was the worst. At first it was just a few strands here and there, nothing too noticeable, but then one day when you were in the shower, it started to come out in clumps, and you broke down on the floor. Matt panicked when he heard your sobs, bursting into the bathroom and stepping into the shower with you, completely unphased by the fact that he was fully dressed and now completely soaking wet. He pulled you into his arms as you clung to his body, rocking you back and forth slowly as he tried to gently coax you to tell him what was wrong. He thought maybe you had fallen. He didn’t like you taking showers without him or when he wasn’t home, since you had been weaker than usual lately from the chemo, and he didn’t want to risk you hurting yourself. As he began to run his fingers through your wet hair and noticed how much staying wrapped around his fingers, his heart broke at the realization of why you were so upset.

“Hey…shh, it’s alright. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re okay. I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay, baby. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

After about a week of feeling distraught about losing your hair, you decided you were going to shave it all off. There was a pained look on Matt’s face as you looked at him in the mirror, reaching behind you to give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Hey, it’s just hair. I’d rather be alive and healthy than have it. Besides, I’ve kinda always wanted to see if I could pull off the G.I. Jane, look.”

Matt tried to offer you a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It didn’t even reach the edges of his mouth. Letting out a soft sigh, you turned around to face him, placing your hands on his cheeks to cup his jaw.

“Matty, none of this is your fault.”

“I told you to go to the doctor.”

“Which saved my life. Without you…I don’t know if I would’ve gone to the doctor at all. I might have never caught it until it was too late. But you caught it. You saved me. Do not feel guilty about that.”

Matt let out a shaky breath as he closed his eyes for a moment, settling his hands on your waist to pull you close into his chest.

“I…I hate that you’re in pain. I hate that you’re sick. I hate that I can’t do anything about it.”

Matt wasn’t used to feeling so helpless. He had always sworn to protect you. He’d give his life for you. But right now he felt like he was failing you, because he couldn’t protect you from your own body. He couldn’t save you from the threat within you. All of his training, all of his heightened senses, none of it mattered. Being the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was useless against a threat that wasn’t tangible. 

The day you had gotten your diagnosis, Matt had run to his church, falling to his knees at the altar to pray over and over and over. He begged God not to take you like He had taken everyone else. He swore he would never forgive Him if he did. You were the one loss Matt could never make peace with. He pleaded with God to take your place. He could take it. His body had suffered far worse. He’d do anything…anything if God would just save you. You were the embodiment of an angel that deserved mercy, and Matt struggled with rage that it was granted to the Devil within him instead.

He deserved the sickness. He deserved to be punished. He deserved to face the Angel of Death, not you. 

But God wouldn’t let him take your place. 

He pondered if this was his punishment for all his sins; to endure the person he loved most in the world suffering for his own wrongdoings. Father Lantom argued that not everything that had ever gone wrong in Matt’s life was a punishment, but perhaps a lesson. Maybe to finally teach him the importance of balance, and figuring out what was most important in his life. That life was precious and fleeting, and it wasn’t to be taken for granted, but to be cherished. That God was not a merciless being hellbent on singling out Matthew Murdock, even if it sometimes felt that way. 

“Matty, you are at every single appointment with me, even though I know it makes you feel as sick as it does me. You have been right by my side, every step of the way. You and Karen and Foggy have made me feel so…hopeful. I’m not scared because I have you. You have sacrificed so much for me lately, just to be here with me and make sure I’m okay.”

“In sickness and in health, right?”

A tender smile graced your lips as you brushed your thumb along Matt’s cheek bone, staring up into his blank hazel eyes that shone with contrition. 

“We’re not married, Matty.”

“Not yet.”

Matt took pleasure in the way a soft gasp slipped past your lips and your heart rate sped up, using the opportunity to pull you in closer to his chest and press a tender kiss to your lips. The doctors had warned you both that it would get worse before it got better, and even though you were constantly in pain and getting sick, the chemotherapy was working. Matt had been thinking a lot about your future lately, and he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. He had decided that as soon as the cancer was gone and you were feeling healthy again, he was going to ask you to marry him. He wasn’t going to waste even a second of your lives together any longer.

“Don’t make me a promise you can’t keep, Murdock.”

“Have I ever?”

The smile that graced Matt’s lips was more genuine this time, and you melted into his chest with one of your own. You knew as hard as all of this had been on you lately, it had been just as hard on him, and sometimes you felt just as guilty as he did for it. 

“Not that I know of. Now, are you going to give me the best haircut I’ve ever gotten, or should I call Foggy? He said he’s been watching a lot of hair cutting tutorials lately and he’s very confident in his abilities.”

“He’s full of shit. He watches one tutorial and thinks he can do anything.”

A giggle slipped past your lips at Matt’s words, turning around to face the mirror as Matt picked up the scissors that were on the counter. As you captured your bottom lip between your teeth, Matt placed his hand on your shoulder to squeeze it gently, giving you a lopsided smile in the mirror.

“You must really love me, and trust me, to let your blind boyfriend give you a haircut.”

“Well, if you mess it up, it’s just gonna get shaved off anyway. And besides, if you draw any blood, I have a good lawyer.”

Matt’s lips split into a wide grin, and he couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head at your words. Taking a deep breath, he nodded his head in your direction as he rubbed his hand soothingly over your shoulder.

“You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

Matt was extremely cautious as he cut your hair, checking in with you every few minutes, occasionally stopping to gently squeeze your shoulder or kiss your cheek. Once it was short enough, he picked up the clippers and turned them on, the loud buzzing noise causing you to jump slightly. Matt halted his movements, cocking his head to the side slightly as he studied you.

“Do you need a minute?”

“No…no it just…startled me, that’s all. I’m okay.”

Pausing for a moment, he waited to hear the falter in your rhythm, but it never came. He gave a slight nod of his head, carefully turning you around to face him and delicately holding onto the back of your neck as he shaved off the rest. You closed your eyes as you held onto the cross necklace around his neck, feeling the tickle of your hair coating your shoulders and neck. You tried your hardest to will away the overwhelming emotions you felt, reminding yourself that it was just hair, and it would grow back eventually. Once he was finished, Matt wiped you off with a towel and darted his tongue out quickly to wet his lips as he smiled timidly. 

“All done. How’d I do?”

Taking a deep breath, you turned around to face yourself in the mirror, a sharp gasp falling past your lips. Matt instantly froze, listening to the way your heart rate spiked, and tasting the familiar tang of salt in the air as tears welled in your eyes. 

“That bad, huh? Should I stick to law?”

A soft giggle slipped past your lips as you shook your head, quickly wiping at your eyes and sniffling as you looked at Matt in the mirror.

“No…no no you…you did great. You did really great, actually.”

Matt nibbled at his bottom lip anxiously, wrapping his arms around you from behind as he flashed you a somber smile.

“Then why are you upset, baby?”

“I just…wasn’t expecting…I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel right now.”

Matt nodded slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder as he held you close.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. It’s gonna be an adjustment, right? Do you wanna put on the beanie Karen made you?”

Karen had recently gotten into knitting, and had made you several things while she sat with you during your appointments. She had recently made you a soft beanie in your favorite color that had a cute flower pattern on it and a cute fluffy pom on the top. She’d even made Matt a red one that had little horns, much to your amusement.

“No, not right now. I think I need to um…get…let it…just sit with it, maybe?”

“Whatever you need, angel. Take your time.”

“I should probably take a shower. I already feel itchy.”

“I’ll join you. But first-”

Matt unwrapped his arms from around your waist, picking up the clippers to hand to you as he moved to sit down on the toilet seat. You stared over at him in confusion, glancing between him and the clippers he had placed in your hand.

“What are you giving me these for?”

“Because it’s my turn.”

Your eyes immediately widened at his words, shaking your head quickly as you started to protest.

“What? No…Matt, you can’t-”

“It’s just hair, honey. It’ll grow back, right?”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked over at Matt, noting the sincere and warm smile on his face. He held one of his hands out for you which you instantly took, sniffling as he laced your fingers together.

“I told you that I wouldn’t let you go through this alone.”

“I know…but you haven’t, not at all. You don’t have to do this-”

“I want to. Besides, we can add with or without hair to our vows.”

“What if I mess it up?”

“We can call Foggy, see if he’s as good as he says.”

Matt lightly shrugged his shoulders as he looked up in your direction with a warm smile, giving your hand another tight squeeze. You couldn’t help but look down at him in complete adoration and awe, leaning in to kiss his lips softly.

“I love you so much, Matty.”

“I love you so much, angel.”

“You should probably take your shirt off. If the hair on my skin is driving me crazy, it’s going to drive you insane.”

The edge of Matt’s mouth curled up into a smirk as he quirked one of his eyebrows, reaching for the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head.

“If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask.”

“Don’t distract me, Matthew. You have to be in court tomorrow.”

“Good thing I have hats and a beanie from Karen.”

Turns out, you weren’t as skilled of a barber as Matt was, and Foggy was thrilled to come over and prove himself to his best friend.

“Doubt me again, and I’ll shave your eyebrows off in your sleep.”

“You’d shave off a blind man’s eyebrows?”

“I’m a heathen, Murdock. You know that. God, it is absolutely annoying how good you still look without hair.”

“Isn’t it? He’s so unfair.”

The tips of Matt’s ears turned bright red as you and Foggy took turns showering him in compliments while Foggy worked, loving the way a flustered shade of pink coated his cheeks.

“Maybe we should shave his eyebrows, Fog.”

“I think you’re right, Y/N/N. I think we should.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

[i-rove-rock-n-roll]

How to write a book

Writing a good story is like building a house from scratch

So structure is the core of the house, the way your story is organized, it’s rise and fall in plot beats and stuff. To build a sturdy house you need good bones, something strong to stick in the foundation (initial idea). It’s not enough to have a good idea, but you need to chart a way to implement it. Even if it’s just in your own head, you need to know the rough arc of your story (if you’re an architect writer that is, gardener writers work differently) to be able to lift the frame into something resembling a house that can stand on its own. Up next is insulation. That would be word usage, description, the fluffy stuff that you should never actually touch inside your wall that does not taste like cotton candy, don’t let it lie to you. This is where you go from the bare essentials, like bullet points, to slightly more descriptive scenes linking the scenario together. The story isn’t complete by any means, don’t let it fool you. Hell, the first draft isn’t even done, this is just the beginning.

The next thing to install is the drywall. That would be the filler scenes you hate writing that make the book more palatable. Without it, it’s just a few random scenes stapled together with nothing connecting them. Random time jumps? Where did that sword come from? Wait, I thought Eric was dating Audrey not Antony—stuff like that.

Next up is the fun stuff. Plumbing.

Now, plumbing isn’t as messy as it appears. This is where you go from your first draft that’s maybe a little too long to too short, and either adding or subtracting as much bullshit as possible. (Said lovingly, of course)

Plumbing you need to get your hands dirty, if only for a brief time, by killing your darlings. It’s not enough to simply erase, but to rewrite so that their corpse is invisible to the naked eye. That or you’re stuff as many darlings into the house as you can. They’re spilling out of the closets, the oven, the shoe rack. Send help—

After plumbing, your first draft is done and your house is complete. Sure, you don’t have electricity or a nice paint job or even a place to sleep, but you’re kept nice and dry when it rains.

Part two of building a house/story involves decorating! The fun shit!

And by that I mean editing.

(Brb while I scream into the void)

Part two coming up

[wipbigbang]

2024 Reverse WIP Big Bang Schedule & FAQ!

Schedule

All times are by 11:59pm PST. Convert time zones.

Sign-ups Begin- June 3rd Sign-ups Close- June 30th Check In #1 - July 1st Thumbnails Due - July 22nd Fic Claims Begin – July 29th Fic Claims End – August 7th Rough Drafts Due- August 15th Posting Claims Begin- August 23rd Posting Claims Ends- September 1st Final Drafts/Fic Due- September 7th Posting Starts- September 8th

FAQ

What is the Reverse WIP Big Bang? Good question! This is a Big Bang with one goal in mind: to clean out your fanart/original art drafts folder. Any art that is of a digital or traditional means as well as fanvideos are eligible. If you’ve started word on an art/fanvid project and want an impetus to finish, maybe with a fic written in honor of it, now is your chance!

Do I need a Livejournal/Dreamwidth/AO3/etc. account to participate? No! You don’t have to have an account on anything to participate, though you will need to have somewhere to post your finished work. Having one or more accounts will help for you to follow what is going on with the bang (we crosspost to Dreamwidth and Tumblr and heavily use our Discord server at the moment), but they are not required to participate. You can always leave comments anonymously or with an opensource ID.

How many art pieces can we sign up for? We absolutely don’t mind multiple sign-ups. As this is a trial, run, however, we ask that you limit yourself to three unfinished projects that are at least 10% complete upon sign-up. We just ask that when you sign up with more than one art piece/fanvid you give each project a unique user ID (please do not use the same ID for all your art...it’s important to have different IDs for the check-ins).

Will I get emails about the bang? We do send out some emails, mostly for thumbnails and fic claims and to ensure communication between authors and artists, but please do NOT rely on getting an email to remind you of due dates. We currently do not keep an updated email list of participants, so we only send individual emails as needed rather than mass emails.

However, email is the fastest way to communicate with the mods. If you have any questions or are having trouble communicating with your artist/author, please do email us! We will do our best to respond quickly.

What do you mean by 10% done to enter? This is a WIP Big Bang, therefore we ask you to have at least 10% of your art started/drafted when you enter. It’s up to you to determine what 10% is to your project; unlike the regular WIPBB we have no hard and fast guidelines for this part.

What about art that is already posted somewhere in part? Do those qualify for the bang? It's okay if you have posted a WIP sketch or an outline of a fanvideo, we just require you to refrain from posting more until posting begins here. All we ask is that you not post any public updates to the project(s) you’re entering until September 1st. We don’t want you to lose kudos and comments and likes so don’t worry about pulling the art down, just hold off on updates for now.

Is there a minimum that needs to be met as an artist? Nope! When the art is done, that’s it! You’ve finished it and that’s the important part. If you’re a writer, however, your writing needs to be at least 750 words.

Is there anything not allowed? We ask that if you have nudity you post a link to the art on Tumblr/post it behind a cut on Dreamwidth. Other than that, anything is included, including original art.

I have a project I did a few years ago, but it needs a major revision. Is that something I could use for WIP Big Bang? The entire project has been posted, but only on one platform, and it would be redone for the Reverse WIPBB. That’s perfectly fine, as long as it’s a mostly/completely revised project when you finish it for the Reverse WIPBB.

What's the etiquette around OC-centric art? Ones that are set in a well known fandom and use several characters, but still lean a lot on original characters? Are they discouraged, or fine? Those are absolutely fine! You just need to be aware that an author may need more than just the art to incorporate the OC into the fic, if you opt to have fiction written for your art (as with WIPBB, opting in for the fic is an optional thing; if you don’t want fic for your project, skip turning in a thumbnail)

What are 'check-ins’? These are a way for us to see what you've been up to and for you to make sure you're still on track. It will give you a little nudge/reminder if you need it, but they are not compulsory. Basically a form is posted that you fill out with your user ID (unique for each art project) and a checkbox to let us know you’re still participating, plus a section for any notes for the mods.

How are the check in IDs used? They are solely for the mods organizational purposes. Each ID being for a separate art project allows us to keep all the information you submit during check-ins and for snippets in one line on our spreadsheet. You don’t have to share your check in IDs with anyone else if you don’t want to.

How much progress should authors be making between each checkpoint? (Percentage-wise from our estimated completion, I guess?) As this first round is a shortened trial run, you should try and have at least 33% - 50% done by check in #2, depending on when you signed up

What are the thumbnail requirements? Basically it should be a rough outline of the completed piece or at least enough to show the intent of your art project so a writer can decide if they want to write something for it. It can be a video clip for fanvideos or an actual piece of art for digital/traditional art/ Along with the snippets, we will send your writer the basic art info (fandom, characters involved, warnings, etc.) and your email, so the two of you can collaborate more if you would both like.

What are the rough drafts requirements? For the rough drafts, the project should be at least 75% complete. You will not have to turn them in to us, just assure us that you are at that point. Anything less is at the discretion of the mods and those authors should speak to one of the mods asap.

What is, and do I need, a beta if I’m a writer making fic for art? A beta is basically a person who goes over your work to make sure that there are no spelling/grammatical errors and they can even be of assistance in helping you with story lines, etc. It is highly recommended that a beta looks over your work before posting. If you are having trouble finding a beta, try this post.

Where can I post my fic/art? Stories and art can be posted to your own personal journal, Tumblr, ff-net, AO3, or wherever you like. For those of you with AO3 accounts, we will set up a collection that will go live on the day of the posting specifically for the Reverse WIPBB fic/art. If you don’t currently have an AO3 account but would like one, you can contact the mods for an invitation code to see if they have any available. You can also add yourself to the AO3 Invites Request queue.

What does posting look like? Do we have to post the whole thing on the day, or can we stretch it out between when posting starts and our date? For most projects, posting to AO3/FF.net/other places will be allowed to start in September (on the 1st) and you can stretch it out as many posts as you want as long as the complete art project/fic is up by your posting date (and posting dates go from September 8th to November 15th with two weeks for emergency posting). We’re only asking for a 750 word minimum work from any author who chooses art this round, as there’s only about a one month turnaround from fic claims ending to final drafts being due, but we want to work with writers to give them ample time to post the story up to their posting date if they write something longer.

Now, as for posting to the communities, you get to choose which day your link to the story and bragging rights are posted, and as I said, we have a range of dates from September 8th to November 15th with four stories posting a day for both WIPBB and Reverse WIPBB (both big bangs will use the same form to claim posting dates). If for some reason you miss your posting date, you have until November 30th to post to the community, during the two weeks of emergency posting, with a possible extension after that due to the amount of participants needing to post later. So hopefully there should be plenty of time to get a longfic up and posted to the website of your choice and our BB as well as the art project that inspired it.

How do I know when to post? Posting will be tiered; you'll each get your own posting date that you and your artist will decide on together. There will probably be four fics/art slots a day posting per day between September 8th and November 30th. The post with date claims will go up on August 23rd and you'll have to choose your date by September 1st. Posting will be for both big bangs at the same time, but posting can probably extend to December 31st if needed due to the amount of participants.

Posting has to be finished by your chosen posting date to the comm. One of the things we're hoping to do with the posted dates is to give everybody on the comm a little bragging time in the spotlight. You know, "this art project was incomplete for this long, but I finished this sucker." If you don't have time to post your bragging rights to the communities on your chosen posting date, you can queue up a post ahead of time and we can post it on the date you picked or you can email us your bragging rights and we can post by proxy for you. Either way works for us. Final versions of the fics will be due on the chosen posting date to the comm.

What am I posting to the Dreamwidth/Tumblr community if I’m posting the art elsewhere? You’ll be posting what we call bragging rights. It’s a small form you fill out and post to the community with a link to your fic (we’ll enable moderated posting to the Tumblr, Livejournal and Dreamwidth communities for members on August 8th). We will post a template for posting artwork and stories to the comm closer to the posting date.

Is there a minimum/maximum requirement for my fic? There is no strict maximum, but we do ask authors to remember that the artists are making a project that takes time to finalize and your writing should reflect that. You can do anything you like, including fanfic or original fic if it’s an original artwork, but it must be at least 750 words. We also ask that when you are in contact with the author, you work with them to see if there is anything specific they would like (i.e. if they have a certain plot idea in mind, if there are certain other characters not in the art they don’t mind being included, etc.). The fic is your work, but having ideas doesn't hurt!

What are 'fic claims'? The claims are when the thumbnails and the anonymous summaries of the art go up for writers to choose from. Writer sign-ups and fic claims are the same thing; we use one form for both things, specifically for the reverse bang, and that way the authors don’t have to sign up for an event they may not end up participating in. It is based on a 'first come, first served' basis and artists may choose up to three potential pieces of art (in case their first choice is unavailable). If there are more art pieces than writers, there will be a second round of claims wherein artists may choose a second story to work with.

As this is a trial run, we are not guaranteeing fic for all unclaimed stories, but I will try.

If an art project up for claiming is rated explicit (R, NC-17, etc.), please only claim the story if you are over 18 years of age. Some artists may be uncomfortable working with underage authors on explicit works. We do not verify ages in any way for the bang, so this is solely on the honor system.

What do I do if I have problems or concerns about my author/artist? Sometimes authors and artists do not get along and this may cause problems with working together. If this happens to b the case with you, please email the mods and we will try to do what we can so that everyone has a chance to have fun at Reverse WIP Big Bang!

If you have not heard from your author/artist in some time after trying to contact them, you can reach out to us via email and we will try to get in touch with them for you.

Can I get an extension? Community extensions may be given in the event that the majority of the authors/artists need one. They may also be given individually under certain circumstances, but this must be discussed with the mods and will only be a short extension for posting. If you are certain that you won’t be able to finish your art project in time, please let us know by July 13th.

Can I swap out an art project if my muse abandons it again? When you sign up, you give us the information on the potential art project(s) you want to create. If, say, one project isn’t working but one you didn’t sign up for is, you can switch them out while letting the mods know if you need to change a user ID you used. It is absolutely okay to switch art projects all the way up until thumbnails are due if you would like it to be considered for fic claims; otherwise, if you are not submitting the art project for a fic claim, you have until final drafts are due to swap out and finish a project. Just drop an email to the mods at wipbigbang@gmail.com with the new information (characters, fandom, etc) and if you want a new sign in ID or plan to use the same one for the art project you’re replacing it with.

Can I drop out? We have high hopes that everybody who signs up can actually finish the round and share in the joy of the reveal with us, but real life can unfortunately get in the way and we completely understand! If you feel like you just cannot finish in time and no amount of assistance from us can help you, just let us know by August 13th (if at all possible).

Is it possible to be banned? We do have a banned users list. We hope to use this to encourage participants who are having issues to communicate with the mods. We want to help you! The way the ban works is that participants, either authors and artists, will be banned for dropping out without notifying a mod. This means that anyone who has not posted or talked to a mod by the time the posting period ends will be banned. Dropping out is not in and of itself a banning offense, so please do not panic if you have to drop out! We understand that there are many reasons you may need to drop, and we want to work with you.

Bans will last one round or until the issue is resolved, whichever comes first. To resolve a ban, authors will have to finish and post the story they signed up with and artists will have to finish and post the art for the story they claimed. Three bans will result in a permanent ban from the bang.

Are we allowed to participate without joining the Discord? Absolutely! The Discord server is optional, as just another way to interact with your fellow writers and get updates on important dates. It’s not mandatory you join, however.

I was just wondering if there’s any way to enter the bang anonymously? Like would it be okay to put our work in an anonymous collection on ao3 or something? Unfortunately, I can’t think of a way for that to work. The collection that we use is moderated but it’s not anonymous, and there are the bragging posts that you post on your posting day, which you would have your username on whichever platform you use.

I was just wondering whether I'm sworn to secrecy on which art projects I'll be finishing up, or if I can shout it out to the world? No one is sworn to secrecy once they’ve signed up (aside from posting new updates to the art project that’s already up somewhere…we ask that you refrain from doing that until at least September 1st)! The Discord server is specifically for chatting with your fellow authors and artists, if you need to vent or need a boost of conficence or just want to brag, but you can also do that in other social media spaces like Tumblr or Facebook.

I have a question/concern that’s not mentioned here. If you need help, you can always contact a mod and we will do our best to make sure that you get your story/art finished. The best and fastest method of contact is through our email, wipbigbang@gmail.com.

[thesymphonytrue]

24. “It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.” for Neal and Peter

Okay this turned into a full FIC??? lol. I may clean it up later (this is a super rough draft I literally wrote in a half hour 😅) and post it to AO3 if you all think it's worth it?? (Maybe the other prompts too honestly? ) lol it's similar to another fic I've posted but........can't have enough, right?

Also, season 1 spoilers and finale spoilers!!

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

Peter woke to clanging resonating up his townhome stairs into his ears, shaking his brain sufficiently enough to warrant getting out of bed. Grumbling to himself, he shuffled downstairs to find Neal kneeling on the kitchen counter, arms stretched up and his hand elbow deep into their top cabinets.

Peter sighed and ran a hand down his face. Since Kate’s plane had blown up two days before, Neal had stayed with Peter and Elizabeth. The authorities (authorities with more control over Neal than Peter, unfortunately) deliberated as to when (not if) to send Neal back to prison and demanded Neal be under twenty-four hour surveillance until Neal's re-admittance date (which happened to be tomorrow).

Not that Peter would want Neal un-supervised right now, anyway. The kid had drunk himself into oblivion both nights, crashing onto the Burke’s couch in a heap of fitful laughter and mutterings of Van Gogh and Picasso. Peter longed to take Neal into his arms and try to heal his wounds, but the words got caught in his throat and his hands grew stiff if he tried to reach out to Neal. The past two evenings had ended with Peter tossing a blanket over Neal, watching him sleep for a few moments, and then collapsing into his own bed with Elizabeth with exhaustion.

“Neal,” Peter said, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms as he took a stance in the kitchen.

“Goodmorning, Peter!” Neal said chipperly, “I have coffee brewing!”

Peter sniffed, sure enough, Neal did have an excellent roast wafting through the air--along with the distinct scent of suppressing emotions, like grief.

“Whatcha need up there?” Peter asked suspiciously.

“Ahhh…got it!” Neal leapt off the counter and waltzed over to his already-steaming cup of coffee.

In his hand gleamed a clear bottle of…

“Vodka?” Peter sputtered, eyes widening as he reached to snatch the bottle from Neal.

Since when was Neal his teenage son with an underdeveloped prefrontal cortex?!

Neal’s eyes slid to Peter as he raised the bottle out of Peter’s grasp, plucked off the cap, and poured at least a half cup into his coffee.

Peter let out a growl as he managed to grab the vodka bottle and place his hand flat over the coffee mug to prevent Neal from picking it up.

“Peter!” Neal whined.

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

“In Paris, it’s noon.”

“Still not an appropriate time to have vodka.”

“But—”

Peter slid the mug to the sink and dumped its contents.

Silence.

The hum of the fridge.

Neal’s breathing, in and out.

Kate's plane exploding again and again and again. Ears ringing, heat suffocating, Neal's cries....

Neal turned to look out the window to the patio, the back of his head displaying a rather wild patch of bedhead. It dawned on Peter that he’d never seen Neal so disheveled. In a t-shirt and pajama pants, Neal’s normally perfect hair was untamed, his shoulders slouched.

Peter stepped forward quietly, taking a glance at Neal’s face: dark bags tainted his perfect skin, his blue eyes bloodshot.

“Neal?” Peter said softly.

The silence continued and Peter almost turned away to put the vodka in his high-security safe when Neal whispered:

“She’s gone, Peter.”

Peter’s heart clenched.

Oh Neal.

He set the vodka on the counter and placed a hand on Neal’s shoulder.

“I know,” Peter said, giving Neal’s shoulder a squeeze, “I’m so sorry.”

Neal’s face crumbled, tears tumbling down his cheeks, all of his suppressed emotions giving way to a raw, hurting human.

“Let it out, Neal,” Peter said, enveloping Neal into a hug, "It's alright."

“I wish she was still here,” Neal said, hot tears spilling onto Peter’s neck.

“I know,” Peter repeated, unsure what to say, but continued to hold Neal tightly as Neal's shoulders shook from crying.

“At least you’re still here.”

The words Neal spoke were so inaudible that Peter knew they were not meant for his ears, but his heart still shattered on to the kitchen floor. He kept his arms around Neal, hoping that his wordless communication would be enough.

I’ll always be here for you.

~~~~~~~~

Years later, Post-Finale

Peter tore out of his bed, his shirt was soaked with sweat, mind running in circles tight enough to choke his heart. El slept soundlessly next to him (cuddling with her pregnancy pillow, not Peter) so Peter tiptoed downstairs and began to brew a cup of coffee.

Everywhere Peter looked, Neal stared back at him. Neal sat on the couch, grinning wildly. Neal was throwing his rubber-band ball in the office. Neal flipped his hat at Peter’s front door. Neal laughed as he and Elizabeth ate dinner.

Those intelligent, bright eyes, his handsome smile, the way he made Peter crazy and so fulfilled all at the same time.

Peter’s eyes burned as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push Neal’s face from his mind.

Please, leave me alone. Peter pleaded, suddenly willing to do anything to just erase the memory of Neal, to dull the pain.

In a mad frenzy, Peter climbed onto the counter and reached into the highest cabinet, pulling out a bottle of vodka. He opened the bottle and proceeded to combine the vodka with his coffee, humming to himself as he murmured:

“Just to take the edge off…”

He was going to be a father in a few weeks, he couldn’t be still dealing with this greif—-

“It’s six o’clock in the morning, you’re not having vodka.”

Startled at the smooth male voice, Peter looked up.

There was Neal, alive, in his kitchen, dressed impeccably in a beautiful suit and Devore fedora. His eyes were glittering, his skin rosy, his chest rising and falling with life.

Peter shook his head, trying to shake the vision.

“You’re not real,” Peter said, blinking his eyes to try and banish Neal.

He opened his eyes and Neal was still there, pouring his vodka-filled coffee cup into the sink.

“Hey!” Peter exclaimed, “It's noon in Paris! You’re in my head, you can’t just—”

Neal's face flickered at the word Paris, a shadow passing as his smile faded.

“Peter,” Neal said softly, his eyes growing melancholy.

“I know,” Peter whispered, “I have to be strong. For El, for…our son.”

Neal nodded and reached a hand to Peter, then retracted it.

“You’re allowed to break down, Peter,” Neal said gently, “But you have to let me go.”

Peter’s eyes filled to the brim, overflowing with hot anger.

“I can’t just let you go! You–you–-were—are– a part of me!” Peter said, slamming a hand against his own chest over his heart, “I—I loved you!”

Sobs overtook Peter’s body as he braced himself against the kitchen counter, the months of holding back his sorrow over Neal’s death finally pouring out.

A slender hand found Peter’s shoulder. Peter turned and pulled Neal into him, Peter didn’t care if this was his grief-ridden mind hallucinating, he was going to hold on to Neal as long as he—

And in an instant, Neal was gone. Peter was on kitchen the floor, hugging himself.

Peter’s heart ached, his body throbbed with the absence of Neal…

But he had a job to do, a husband to be, and father to become.

He took the vodka and dumped it down the sink.

It was time to move on.

~~~~~~

Post-Canon

Peter and Neal stumbled into the kitchen, sides aching from laughter, eyes puffy from tears.

“Boys!” Elizabeth hissed from the living room, “Keep it down! Sleeping baby upstairs!”

They both quieted their giggles as they prowled the kitchen cabinets, searching for something to toast their recent reunion with. Peter had arrived in New York around 3 am, Neal in tow, and they spent the first half-hour at the Burke’s home just staring at Peter's baby son sleeping in his crib. The second half hour was dedicated to a lecture from Elizabeth on Neal’s foolishness. The last two hours were Peter and Neal, sitting on the couch, talking and talking and talking until their throats were dry and all the tears had turned into laughter.

Peter had found Neal, after that year of absolute hell. Neal was alive and here, living and breathing in his townhome once more.

“Let’s just make coffee,” Peter said, “It’s almost six am. God. I’m going to feel like shit today.”

Peter started the coffee. Neal balked.

“No! You cannot welcome me back to New York with coffee–as much as I adore it. Where’s that Bordeaux I sent you last week?”

“Oh, Elizabeth and I drank that immediately.”

“So much for delayed gratification,” Neal snorted.

Peter glared.

“You’ve been dead for a year, I think my skills in delayed gratification are—”

“Okay okay, fair enough,” Neal said quietly, guiltily, the mood dampening.

“I’m pouring us coffee,” Peter stated, grabbing two mugs from a lower shelf.

“How about this?” Neal chirped as he clambered up on the counter and found the vodka bottle (a new one) on the top shelf.

Peter rolled his eyes, but grinned nonetheless.

“It’s six o’clock in the morning—” Peter started.

“...You’re not having vodka,” Neal finished softly, as if he’d said the words before, too, as if Peter’s vision had been real after all.

Peter met Neal’s eyes. He was angry, so angry he could punch Neal for what he’d put him through. But he also was so grateful that Neal was alive, he felt he could vomit right there on the kitchen floor.

“Damn it, Neal,” Peter whispered wetly, unscrewing the cap and pouring a drop in two coffee cups, then filling them with steaming coffee.

“You’re alive,” Peter said, raising his mug to Neal.

Neal swallowed and looked away, unable to meet Peter’s stare.

“Neal,” Peter pressed gently, placing a firm hand on Neal’s shoulder, “I’m glad you’re home.”

A tiny smile cracked through Neal’s lips as those blue eyes grew misty. They clinked mugs and took a sip.

“Me too, Peter, me too.”

Okay, I know it's rough and needs some nice language and descriptions to polish it off...but....I kinda see fic potential? maybe?

THANKS ANON FOR THE PROMPT!!!! :):):)

[a-libra-writes]

Lol I love your Lackadaisy reader insert 😩

I'm actually glad they animated it ..so can you write a romantic headcanon for Victor I love big beefy men ..👁️👄👁️

I kidda like if the reader is like a famous model and him a over protective male wife

I hope this make sense thou tell me what you think..

I love your works and have a good day/or night (⁠っ⁠˘⁠з⁠(⁠˘⁠⌣⁠˘⁠ ⁠)

lol so i really cant see viktor as like, a "malewife" as hes p traditional and rough around the edges but this made me think of some HCs with him and a married reader so here ya go!! It kinda got away from me.

Femme reader ahead!

--

Regardless of how you met Viktor -- perhaps you were both from the old country and came to America together, or you're a fellow immigrant he found common ground with once he arrived, or an American girl who actually bothered to talk to him -- eventually, you two married. You were a pretty girl and he actually had trouble talking to you the first few times. Viktor was quiet, but sweet, honest and reliable.

You and him only got a few years of married life before the draft came.

He wanted to do it, hoping it would bring some kind of opportunity for you both. At least the pay was better, as most employers felt a Slav was only good for dumb labor and low wages.

When he came back, he was Viktor, but not the one you married. Not quite.

The job at the docks was one he'd been able to stick to for some time, though you know he disliked it. He worked for your sake, so you wouldn't have to pull such long hours yourself. He did many things for your sake, silently and without complaint. He didn't used to be this quiet.

You didn't hear about the terrible riot, or his involvement. You just knew he never came home, and then some neighbor said he was arrested. Then - there was some lawyer? Some man named Atlas May? It happened so quickly. No one at the police station would help, as expected. But then that man, that Atlas May, drove up to your modest little apartment and explained in his polite, calm voice. There was no need to worry. He has a new job, and you'll be much provided for. He wouldn't tell you why Viktor was in jail or what this new job was.

Viktor had to move to a different part of St. Louis for this job. He didn't even tell you in person, he wrote about it, saying he'll send money and you shouldn't worry about him. If anything, you should move somewhere nicer and not think of him.

Obviously you crumpled that letter up and figured out where the hell he's gone off to. Once you find the Little Daisy, you look around and see your big husband in the garage. You immediately rattle off at him. WHAT does he mean by this and what happened to his eye and WHO is this man who paid for the lawyer and if Viktor thinks he can just upend your lives and not TALK to you--

Your language or his, he gets the point. The whole building probably heard you.

So, you find employment in the Little Daisy. The pay is generous; you wonder if Atlas is either placating you or feels bad for the whole mess. Maybe both, but it's much easier than the work you did before. And his wife Mitzi is friendly - you think she likes having female company for once. In spite of her fancy clothes and talk, she's quite down to earth.

Even if you don't mind working the cafe, Viktor feels a great deal of guilt for "involving" you in the business. Well, it is what it is. It's not so bad, on the quiet days. Sometimes he's home in the evening with you, sometimes he's out all night and gets in as you're getting ready for work. You'll share a kiss and give him a long, long hug before sending him to bed with no questions.

If he's wounded, Viktor doesn't like coming home. He'll stay at the speakeasy and get it fixed there, and recover there if need be, until you drag him back home. You are not above cornering Mordecai, dangling a rat by the tail and making him spill what Viktor got into.

"You wouldn't - I just cleaned this room, do you realize how quickly those vermin breed--" "Ohh, I would, and I'll get more until you tell me where he's laid up!"

Actually, you have kind of a weird friendship with Mordecai, like Viktor does. You know the surly cat keeps your husband safe and has saved his life before. When you tuck away some sandwiches and a thermos of coffee for your husband, you start adding some extra food and a thermos of tea for Mordecai, too. He doesn't say anything to you directly, but returns the clean thermoses and cups to Viktor. And comments it's nice to know someone around here can make a proper cup of tea.

If you know Slovak, that tends to be what you and Viktor speak to each other, even in front of others. Otherwise you two have a weird half-English half-Slovak and whatever else that most people only get every other word of. He finds your accent very charming, and kinda prefers that people don't know what you two are saying. It's more private that way.

If he's around, he likes to join you on your lunch break and yall get a nice moment alone. You snuggle up and lean on him and he quietly enjoys the affection. He growls at anyone who comes in and tries to interrupt Wife Time (tm). If he doesn't have something to do immediately, Viktor likes keeping you company while you cook up the food and work the register though he kinda scares the customers.

He REALLY doesn't like the idea of you working down in the Speakeasy, you're a pretty girl, and that's a rowdy crowd. Even with all their money, the men are the same. The few times you've had to go down for something or to help out, it only takes ten minutes before some Mister Whoever stops you and says you ought to be in magazines and the pictures. If Mordecai spots the altercation early, he beelines over to deal with it - because otherwise Viktor will come by, and his way of dealing with it is picking men up by their necks and all but full-body throwing them up the stairs. Atlas doesn't complain - it keeps the other patrons in line. Mordecai just doesn't want to deal with the mess.

(Sometimes it's just some harmless drunk whose clearly confused you for a different girl and you still have to pull Viktor away. "Dear, please, no one should get their teeth knocked out for a misunderstanding ...")

More than once Mitzi has taken you shopping and dressed you up. If it's a special occassion - New Year's is a big one for Lackdaisy - you should go all out! She makes sure your hair is done and lends you some jewelry, and floats the idea of you getting Viktor in a tuxedo. It would never happen, of course, but she'll try.

Yes, it isn't so bad to be here - the violence is frightening, but Viktor always makes it home back to you. Maybe just another year or two of saving and you both can find a nice house in the country.

[its-time-to-write]

ch. 5 - hustling for the good life

table of contents

your boots beneath my bed

You, on the other hand, had done your proper research. Watched his highlights on Lust Conquers All and everything. You want to know what exactly your stupid brain is doing, thinking someone like that is cute or (retch) boyfriend material but who gives a shit because you’re probably not going to see him again. 

You’re out of the hotel and in some tiny little cottage just outside of London. No paps, no PR agents or what-fucking-ever, just you, Natalie, and loads of fresh air. She finds you in the yard one morning, plucking a tune on a guitar and humming.

“That’s new,” she grins. “Gonna have a new single out soon?”

You raise a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe. Might just keep this one to myself.”

Natalie says hmm then turns on her heel to go back inside. 

“Oh,” she says after a few steps, “you should at least send it to him. He might like it.”

“It’s not about anyone!” you call after her rapidly retreating figure. 

“Sure!” she yells back. You flip her off and she says, “I saw that!”

—

Natalie’s booked some coffee shop concert for you, so you’re a little preoccupied with sound checks and meeting your temp band and promising to drink a latte as soon as you’re done singing because fuck sleeping.

It’s sold out which isn’t hard because the place is small, but it’s fun to sit on a stool and sing into a small microphone and be able to talk and joke like you’re the small-town artist you began as.

The crowd goes crazy when you strum the first few notes of Mango, as they sing along to the whole thing. You finish the set and begin thank everyone for coming when you see an oddly familiar face in the very back of the room. You’re not even sure how you caught it because again, it’s crowded, but there it is. He’s with some other people who you’re pretty sure are part of AFC Richmond, but you don’t care about that now.

You pause in the middle of your goodbye and say, “You know what, I’m actually going to play one more song. It’s a rough draft right now, so be nice to me. The working title is Poolside, and you guys are the first to hear it.”

You begin to pluck the repeating melody that’s been playing on repeat in your brain and start the first verse.

I know it’s a bad idea

And I can’t have you anyway

But you’re like a tiny bit of sunshine

I can’t seem to chase away

It’s terrifying and vulnerable in a way you’ve never been before. You’ve played songs for boys before, but never like this. 

You were in a hotel room with Austin one night after one of his movie premiers and just giggling about how stupid it all was. 

“I already have our breakup song,” you’d said, hopping down from the table. “Wanna hear it?”

Austin thought that was hilarious so he said, “Obviously,” so you grabbed your guitar from your room and strapped it on. 

“Alright,” you said while strumming a bouncy tune, “this one’s a little more line-dancey than my usuals. So.”

Austin had tapped his foot while you sang, “A long time ago/in a land not so far away/we met in a bar/and you fucking said ‘hey.’”

It was silly as you both bounced around the room singing about your impending split. Neither of you cared because it wasn’t real, and you had recorded him singing a harmony on your phone. 

You snuck it into the actual track months later, too faint for anyone to actually notice. 

But that was the closest you’d ever been to directly singing someone their song. It was different with Mango because it wasn’t romantic. 

And now it’s different with Jamie, because you’re singing about how dumb it is that you keep thinking about him asking if you were ok at that dumb fucking party. 

You end the song to thunderous applause, and you’re pretty sure bootlegs are going to end up on YouTube within the hour. You don’t care. All you can think of is slipping to the back of the café to claim that latte then sneaking out the back. 

“Nice one, girl,” Natalie remarks as she hands you a cup. “The label’s gonna love that.”

You smile. “They don’t care. I make them too much money for them to care.”

She rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to speak but just stops. 

“Hello? Earth to Nat?” you say, waving a hand in front of her face. 

“Hey,” says a voice from behind.

You spin around. It’s Jamie. 

And god, he looks fucking fit in trackies, Gucci slides, and a neon orange shirt. 

You can feel Natalie sneaking away behind you, and for once, you’re glad to be alone. 

“Hey,” you reply. “How’d you get in here?”

Jamie smiles. “Keeley. She can talk her way into anything.”

You nod, still holding your latte. “Well, usually we have a strict policy about fans who try to come talk to me unannounced, but I guess for you, I’ll let it slide.”

Oh god, are you fucking flirting?

Jamie smirks. “Babe, I ain’t any old fan. Probably number one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Uh huh. Right. And when did you decide you could call me babe?”

Jamie takes a step closer. “Right about the time Keeley convinced me to ask you out.”

You almost drop your coffee. 

All you can say is a weak, “Oh.”

“She would love to,” Natalie pipes up from behind a stack of coffee beans. “I’ll get you her number and you can set it up.”

Jamie’s looking at you expectantly, and you suppose he probably wants your consent, not just Natalie’s. 

You nod and say, “Sure,” with the same lack of conviction the oh held. Jamie’s expression ripples for a moment, but then he’s grinning and saying “Mint,” before saluting Natalie and exiting the way he came. 

“What the fuck, Natalie,” you say. Your bones feel like jelly. “I can’t go out with him.”

“Yes you can,” she tells you. “And you are. It’s settled.”

Oh fuck. 

—

He texts you the next morning.

hey it’s Jamie :)

I can’t be seen with you, you write back before you chicken out. The press would have a field day. I’m not looking for something public, so if you’re only in this to gain popularity, you’re out of luck. 

It’s a little harsh, but you’re going to be open about this.

no worries, he says. paps r fuckgn annoying. we can do smthg small. 

Turns out something small means sneaking into a restaurant where Jamie’s been going for ages. It has a small room in the back with windows you can see out of, but no one can see in.

“John’s been getting me back here for ages,” he says. “Haven’t had an issue with the press yet.”

It’s all so normal, the way he pulls out your chair and tells you what he likes to order. The way he’s making you laugh and asking you questions about your life, not the ones about your music, but the kind that are actually about you. 

The server comes around with a bottle, and asks, “Wine?”

Jamie looks to you and you shake your head, barely suppressing a grimace.

“All good here, mate,” he says.

“Not a drinker?” he asks once the man is gone. 

You hesitate. You’re about to cross into point-of-no-return territory. 

“I- I don’t know, I can’t really smell it without thinking of my family. They’re all…”

Jamie nods. “I get it. Like me dad. Prick’ll be sober when he’s dead.”

“Yeah,” you say slowly. “Yeah, never had a family event without someone fighting. My mom’s the first one to get out, because she’s the youngest. She saw all that shit and decided it wasn’t for her. She went away to college, met my dad, and never looked back. Course, my uncles started showing up once I got famous. And my aunt, too. She’s probably the worst of all of them. She actually broke into my first apartment asking for money. She smashed a bottle and cut up my face pretty bad… I was nineteen and still trying to figure out my music career and stuff. I still have a scar on eyebrow from it. But, I wasn’t so famous that it ended up on the internet, so…”

You trail off again. Jamie’s looking at you all thoughtful. You’re not sure when he started holding your hand across the table, but there it is. It’s warm and calloused, and he doesn’t seem to care that yours is sweaty.

“My dad’s the same way,” he says softly. “Showed up a month back at a match. Fucking prick. But… can’t seem to cut him off, y’know? He’s fuckin’… family or some shit.”

“Hah,” you say, “That’s what Margarita’s about.”

Jamie’s silent for a moment. “Thought it was about how you really fucking liked limes,” he says finally.

That gets a laugh from you. “I do actually really fucking like limes. But enough about me. How’d you get into football?”

By the end of the night, you’re properly smitten. This boy knows how to flirt, knows all the right compliments and ways to brush his hand against yours or brush a stray strand of hair out of your face. 

This is bad, you think as his lips touch yours. This is very, very bad.

table of contents

[whoblewboobear]

Alright back to starbreaker posting

Imagine Porter is a single father of a 12 year old girl whose powers just came in. Her surges have started happening and Porter is very out of his depths and starts searching around for a mentor to help her through it.

Jace is fresh out of college trying to find work teaching. In the mean time hes a sorcery tutor. It doesn’t pay well but it’s enough to pay his half of the rent. (He owes Zara so much for letting him move in.) So when he sees a post online from a dad offering $5k a week he spirals about it for a while but shoots off a message to Porter asking if the position is still open.

Porter is kinda shocked someone responded so quickly, so he starts scrolling through Jace’s profile. And okay wow this guy is very attractive.. and definitely qualified to mentor his daughter. That’s what matters. He totally won’t send a flirty message back asking when Jace can start.

Jace ADORES Porter’s daughter. She’s a fast learner and so witty, most of her surges are minor. Until one night Porter calls in the middle of the night, freaking out because his daughter is having a really bad very dangerous surge. Jace teleports over and is able to help her calm down and get her settled for the night. When he leaves her room Porter stops him in the hall and thanks him for coming. He offers to pay him but Jace turns down the money, saying that he’d prefer a date. He gets a little embarrassed and tries to laugh it off, but then Porter’s hands find his hips as he backs him against the wall.

“Repeat that?” He peers at Jace, minty breath ghosting over Jace’s face. He whines and kisses Porter. His grip on Jace’s hip tightens until he gasps out “fuck me.” Porter picks him up and takes him to his bedroom.

Jace is a little.. inexperienced but maybe if he can last longer than a few seconds he’ll be fine? He doesn’t. Porter works him open with his fingers before lubing him up and rolling on a condom. Jace is in ecstasy, he finishes immediately from his big Porter is. Porter who is currently fucking him through his orgasm.

The noises Jace is making are driving him crazy. He’s trying his best to stay quiet and failing. Porter’s thrusts are getting sloppy, his hips stutter and he leans down to press rough kisses along Jace’s jaw. They lay there panting for a moment before Porter pulls out, and wraps Jace up in his arms.

“Too much?” Porter asks. Jace shakes his head and admits that he hasn’t been with anyone in a while. (Porter doesn’t need to know he was his first, not that Jace was subtle about it) Porter definitely sees through his lie but doesn’t mind. He’d like to spend more time with him. He offers him a live in nanny position. He says he’ll have his lawyer draft up the paperwork first thing in the morning. Jace is torn.

“I don’t wanna just be the help you’re fucking.” Porter sighs and nods, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips he says they can end things right here. Jace sighs, cursing himself for a moment before climbing on top of Porter. He’s allowed to make bad choices every now and then, right?