#ill get around to writing all the ones i have listed here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

flowersandbigteeth · 2 months

Note

Looking for a saucy medieval tradition to weave into your historical romances? Have no fear, foot-of-the-gallows marriage is here! Basically, if a man was about to be hanged and a woman stepped forward and said “I will marry this man!” he was spared because it was was seen as like “oh, she’ll rehabilitate him so we don’t have to kill him.” Now, I heard this from tiktok, so I could be wrong, and it could just be a folk tale or something that rarely happened in actuality. Either way, it’s a cool troupe I think more people should use (and I myself will be using). I think it would work really well with Orcs and Elves!

This is such an intriguing idea! I had to try it. If you end up writing it, tag me, if you are comfortable! I'd love to see what you do with it ^_^

I keep getting Orc ideas, and I can't resist them *feral invasive Orc thoughts* （￣ｗ￣）Ψ

Orc (Saber) x GN elf reader

Word Count: 6K

TW: discussion of hanging, bad mother, sfw Orc fluff, a bit of melancholy with a happy ending, nonsexual mention of private body parts in the context of bathing

“Goodness, what’s this all about?” you grumbled, clutching your basket closer to you as you made your way through the crowd.

The stench of rotten vegetables and too many people lingered in the air.

“It’s a hanging,” a helpful imp beamed, hopping on his tiptoes to see over the crowd. Why people gathered all around to watch someone die, you had no idea, but more importantly, the crowd was blocking your path home. Industrious vendors selling ale and popcorn wove through the throng to collect what coins they could from the event. In the capital, everyone had a hustle, and few left the chance to make some money at the table.

“Out of the way!” You shouted, shouldering whoever was unlucky enough to be in your way.

The voice of the city guardsman who was reading off a list of offenses to the crowd drowned yours out, but with a few well-placed shoves, you managed to make it to the front. You were looking around, trying to figure out how to get across the plaza, when you glanced up to see a familiar face.

“It’s you!” you blurted as your eyes locked with the brilliant chartreuse irises of the Orc standing on the gallows.

He gave you a wan smile, lifting his tied hands to wave at you. His straight nose was up in the air as if all the rabble around him should be fortunate to have the privilege of watching him die. The thick olive locs you remembered being long had been roughly chopped short around his ears. Still, even dressed in an ill-fitting prison jumpsuit, he had a regal air about him. His barrel chest was puffed, strong muscles peaking between the frayed fabric.

“Fifty counts of robbery…25 counts of counterfeiting gold coins…seven counts of horse theft…”

The Orc you’d met before’s name was Saber. He’d helped you get your broken cart into town one rainy afternoon…, and then he’d also stolen your necklace, which you’d realized after he’d disappeared.

“As per the King’s edict, If any citizen pledges to save this soul from the gallows by way of marriage, please step forth.”

Though he was handsome, no one raised their hands to save him. Instead, they all booed. Judging by the rotten vegetables hurled at him, he seemed to have robbed almost everyone in the capital.

“Aye!” you shouted, hiking up your pants to pull yourself onto the stage.

The guardsmen’s eyebrows shot up when you’d straightened yourself.

“I’ll marry the sorry bastard.”

“Are you sure? He’ll most likely rob you and run off. He’s better off dead.”

“I have business with this one,” you informed him, snapping your fingers. “Come on then. Let’s get this over with.”

The guardsman shrugged and jerked the noose off of his neck, a little disappointed. The crowd wasn’t happy either, hurling insults along with their vegetables.

“Quiet! Quiet!” the guardsman shouted after shoving Saber forward for the “ceremony.”

He took a deep breath, jerking a notebook out of his pocket.

“Alright,” he began, snorting. “State your name for the record.”

“(Y/N).”

“Lovely elven name,” he murmured as he jotted it down. “Now then, do you (Y/N) take this here, criminal, Saber Wintermaple to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

You gave him a sharp nod.

“I do.”

He swung a lazy eye at Saber.

“Do you Saber Wintermaple, take this kind elf to be your betrothed?”

He gave you a bright smile.

“I do.”

The guardsman snapped the book closed, shoving Saber towards you.

“I hereby declare you two duly betrothed under the King’s law. This Orc is your problem now, citizen. You’d better keep him out of trouble, or you’ll be up here next to him!”

He handed you the thick rope looped around the binding, keeping Saber’s hands tied, and waved you two off. The audience, bored without bloodshed, had already started dispersing, making it easy for you to tug Saber towards the road leading to the forest.

“I didn’t know I made such a pleasant impression,” Saber said cheerfully, following you out of town.

You whirled around and jammed a finger in his face.

“I wouldn’t describe it as pleasant. You owe me a gold necklace! Give it back, or you can work off the coin you owe me!”

He chuckled.

“I’m fresh out of coins, little elf.”

He scratched his chin and looked up, thinking.

“I’m pretty sure I lost that necklace in a game of dice.”

He shrugged.

“You lost my only possession of any value in a game of dice?”

You scrubbed your hand over your face, counting back from ten so you didn’t explode.

“Maybe I should have let you die.”

Frowning, you looked over him from toe to head.

“At least you look strong enough. I’m sure I can find something useful for you to do!”

You stopped where the two of you stood in the middle of the trail and pulled a small charm from your basket.

“I was going to use this on my coin purse since there was a thief on the loose, but it’s probably better applied to you!”

You looped the charm around his neck, closing your eyes to whisper the spell. A gust of spirit wind, fluffed your hair as the magic twirled around Saber. When you opened your eyes again, there was a blue thread linking the two of you that only you could see.

“What was that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes on you.

“It’s a binding spell, so you can’t run off with my stuff again,” you explained.

His eyebrows jumped, and he tugged at the little talisman around his neck.

“It won’t come off.”

You nodded proudly.

“Exactly.”

He took a moment to examine you carefully, tapping his chin again.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

“What? What does that mean?”

He smiled and shrugged.

“Lead the way, spouse.”

You sighed, turning and pulling him through the bumpy trail in the woods to your little home. When you’d fled your homeland to the Capital, you’d been lucky to find an abandoned cottage outside the city walls. It wasn’t massive, with only the basic living quarters, but it must have at some point belonged to someone’s Saber’s size, as the door and counters were much too high. You’d spent much of the money you earned selling charms and ointments, buying stools and ladders to reach things.

“You poor thing,” Saber sighed as you passed through the magic barrier you’d cast to keep your home hidden from bandits.

“You don’t need to patronize me,” you huffed. “You’re the one almost hanged and run out of town.”

He ignored you, looking around.

“I feel kind of bad for stealing your necklace now that I’ve seen where you live. This place is a mess.”

You examined your home, trying to see it through his eyes. Every available surface was covered in books, alchemy equipment, or ingredients. Even the chairs were covered in cast-off scrolls, books, or charms.

“It’d be nice to have a workshop,” you admitted. “But that’s much too expensive.”

You straightened your slumping shoulders and lifted your chin.

“No matter, you won’t be spending much time sitting down. I’ve got loads of things that need doing.”

He gave you a sharp nod and held out his hands.

“You’ll have to untie me if you want me to work.”

Pulling a small blade from your basket, you sawed through the thick binding. Free to move as he pleased, he wrung his stiff wrists as he perused your living room. Occasionally he would pick something up, then put it down again, finally crouching to examine a bucket filled with water.

“What are you doing?”

He peered up at the leak in the roof that was letting rainwater drip through.

“This needs fixing, or the roof will rot out.”

Pushing off of his knees, he turned to you.

“How long have you been living alone?”

You blushed, embarrassed.

“I dunno, my whole life, I guess. The elven town where I came from didn’t have an orphanage or anything, so when I was old enough, I took off toward the capital. It took a while to get here…but here I am. I thought there would be more…I don’t know…opportunity here.”

“How has that worked out for you? Living in a house clearly not meant for you and marrying a man on the gallows.”

You gave him an indignant snuff.

“At least I’m not a thief!”

He chuckled, leaning against a bookshelf, rolling a gold coin on his knuckles. Your eyes narrowed on it, and you reached in your pocket to find you’d been relieved of your day’s earnings.

“Hey! You stole that!”

He laughed, revealing straight white teeth, and jingled the other coins in his pocket.

“Don’t worry, I can’t get away with it, right?”

You sucked in a deep annoyed breath.

“I have things to do. Make yourself useful and chop some wood. It’s going to be cold when the sun sets.”

“Whatever you say, spouse,” he replied, giving you a sarcastic salute as you dropped your basket and hurried to the kitchen to get started on dinner.

What had you been thinking marrying a criminal? You paused for a moment, eyes growing misty. You didn’t really think he still had your necklace, did you? You let out a sigh just short of a sob. Were you really that lonely? Maybe it hurt that he’d been so kind to you, just to trick you. You should have been happy to see him hanged, yet the lingering magic that followed all elves had whispered that you ought to save him.

But why? You weren’t in any position to support a husband. Though you’d instructed yourself on the knowledge of various potions and charms, you weren’t the only one. The city was teaming with Academy-bred alchemists who far surpassed your skill. They had access to rare ingredients and an army of assistants. You had to scrape out a living selling your wares far cheaper than the competition even to get noticed at the market. Hustling day to day, you certainly didn’t have the time or money to pretty yourself up to find a partner.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you grumbled, returning to chopping tubers for soup.

A thick THWACK, drew your eyes out the kitchen window to Saber splitting logs across the lawn. He’d divested himself of his ratty shirt, and every thick muscle was on display as he lifted the ax over his head and dropped it down again. The logs felt apart like they were nothing more than twigs under his might.

Your eye focused on the dark, wet slashes across his shoulder blades where his jailors had beaten him. He must have felt your eyes on him because he glanced up and waved. Blushing, you hurriedly pulled the curtains, returning to your task.

Unable to get his injuries out of your mind, you felt bad for making him chop wood while he was hurt. When you’d plopped the tubers into your cooking pot, you gathered up some healing and numbing salves, making your way out the door.

“Need something?” he asked, looking up from his task.

“Sit down,” you barked.

A thick eyebrow rose, and he tipped his head.

“Why? Planning on lobbing my head off?”

You wrinkled your nose at him.

“No, of course not! You’re massive. How would I even go about burying your body? I can’t have a rotting corpse stinking up the place. Just sit!”

He leaned his axe against the stump he was using to brace the wood and sat down on it. You dug in your basket, pulling out some cleanser to clean the wounds. Beside the big ugly gashes, Saber’s skin was a smooth, pretty green, the planes of his muscles sharp and defined. The first brush of your hand on his back made him jump.

“S-sorry,” you muttered.

“‘Ts fine. Just not used to people touching me. Go on.”

You spread the thick gel you used carefully over each angry line.

“What do you mean? You’ve never had a partner before me?”

He paused for a moment before he jerked his head.

“I had a girlfriend once, but she left me.”

“Why?”

“Some noble offered her his hand and well…I couldn’t compete.”

He sighed.

“She was happy to keep me on as her side piece, but I’ve got too much of an ego to be someone’s toy.”

Your eyebrows jumped at his candor, but you just hummed, plastering clean wraps to his skin so the wounds could heal. His skin was warm under your fingers, making the tips tingle. When you were done, you found yourself tipping forward on your toes to peck the back of his neck. When you’d realized what you’d done, your ears burned, and you coughed loudly.

“Sorry, ah…sorry,” you muttered, unsure what to say. “You’re…ah…going to have to sleep on your stomach, so you don’t make these worse.”

He swiveled around to look at you, smiling.

“Thanks, doc!”

“I’m not a doctor.”

He shrugged.

“What’s the difference?”

“Ten years of special-”

You shook your head, realizing he was teasing you.

“I think that’s enough wood for tonight. Come inside. Dinner’s almost ready.”

He grinned at you, his stomach grumbling, as he scooped up some of the wood he’d cut and tucked it under one arm. You wondered how much they let him eat in prison, worried he was starving.

“What’d my sweet little spouse cook for me?” he asked.

“Just some sweet potato soup. It’s not gourmet.”

He frowned.

“No meat?”

You blinked at him.

“You have all the money I made today in your pocket. How can I afford meat with those few coins?”

He nodded, appearing to be thinking through the problem thoroughly.

When you returned inside, you dipped the two of you bowls of soup, filling his twice as much as yours. You assured yourself it was because he couldn’t work without proper nutrition, not because you liked him.

“So how far does this magic thingie let me go?” he asked as you sat down at the table.

“Why, trying to run off?”

He smirked.

“No, why would I want to run away from you?”

He chewed on a big spoonful of sweet potatoes before he continued.

“I’ve got a cute little spouse who makes me dinner and kisses my cuts.”

Your cheeks blew up in flames, and you choked on a mouthful of soup. You tried to retain your composure by quickly wiping your mouth with a napkin.

“A couple of miles in any direction.”

“Wow, didn’t think you’d give me such a long leash.”

You shrugged.

“I can’t be right at your side every minute.”

He gave you the biggest puppy dog eyes you’d ever seen.

“You don’t want me by your side every minute of the day?”

Unsure if he was joking or not, you jerked your spoon at his soup.

“Let’s…stop talking for a while. Eat up. You’ll need your strength.”

While the two of you ate quietly, you did your best to keep your eyes on your bowl. Every time you happened to glance up, he was watching you with an odd smile on his face. Almost like satisfaction.

You were relieved when you finally finished and could turn your back on him to rinse the dishes.

“You can take the bed if you want,” you called over your shoulder as you stood on your tip toes to return the bowls to the cabinet. As your arm stretched, Saber appeared behind you, plucking the dishes out of your hand and easily placing them where they were supposed to go.

“Where are you going to sleep?” he asked, extending a hand to help you off of the little ladder you were perched on.

“There’s a couch in the living room.”

He wrinkled his nose.

“It’s covered in stuff.”

You shrugged, trying to hurry past him.

“I’ll clean it up.”

You found your feet swinging in the air as he picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“My spouse is not sleeping on the sofa. I never thought I’d have a spouse, so I’ve got to take proper care of you.”

He patted your butt for emphasis.

“Are you crazy?” you snapped, only not banging on his back with your fists because he was injured. “We can’t sleep together! We just met!”

Your body bounced on his shoulder as he chuckled.

“You weren’t concerned with that when you insisted on marrying me!”

“They were going to kill you!”

He flopped you down on your bed, caging you in with his big arms. His head dipped to drag the tip of his nose along the length of your neck.

“So you do like me!” he whispered into your skin.

“I do not,” you huffed, pushing his chest.

Though your muscles did nothing to move him, he rose so you could scoot out across the bed. You quickly scrambled into the bathroom to change into your pajamas.

When you came back out, Saber was slipping off his pants.

“What are you doing now?” You gasped, cheeks heating at the sight of the thick shaft hanging between his legs.

He glanced up, a slight smirk on his face as he folded his clothes.

“I can't sleep in these prison clothes. I'll get the sheets all dirty!”

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. He was right. He was filthy from sleeping on dirty straw in prison.

“Come on,” you said, flicking two fingers at him. “You need a bath. You’re probably covered in fleas!

Fortunately, your house came equipped with one large enough to fit Saber’s big body. With a flick of your fingers, the tub was filled, and with a few whispers of a spell, the water was hot.

“Get in,” you said.

Making himself comfortable, he looked back at you over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised.

“You tryin’ to watch? Naughty little elf!”

You let out a long sigh.

“No, I’m just going to ensure you don’t get your bandages wet, or it will all have been a waste. Supplies are expensive,” you huffed, picking up the sponge. “Now, sit still!”

Saber smirked but let you lift each of his arms as you scrubbed him.

“So how did your old girlfriend take it when you decided you wouldn’t be your affair partner?”

He glanced at you, eyes ever thoughtful. His long look brought heat to your cheeks.

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

He shrugged, his jaw tightening.

“She was rather smug. She spent her whole life wishing to elevate herself.”

A long sigh slipped past his lips.

“I could never make her happy. I lied, cheated, stole; whatever I could do…but she looked down her nose at all of it.”

Your mouth fell open.

“I’m…I’m sorry. You don’t have to…”

He waved a thick hand, his warm palm gently landing on your head and lightly ruffling your hair.

“Think nothing of it. It’s kind of nice to get it off my chest.”

“So that’s why you're a crook? To make her happy?”

He smirked.

“I was a crook. Now I’m a married man. I can’t get into trouble. I have a spouse who relies on me.”

He pinched your chin.

“Prison was difficult enough without knowing I was missing out on such a cute little face. Now, it would crush me.”

Your cheeks burned even hotter, and you jerked your head away, grabbing the nearest towel and tossing it to him.

“Careful, don’t jostle your bandages,” you wheezed before making your escape. “Whoever lived here before left some clothes in the chest by the door. They ought to fit.”

You were so busy slowing your beating heart that you blew out the lantern and slid into your bed without thinking Saber would soon follow. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to feign sleep, when you heard his heavy footsteps approach. He paused for a moment, doing Goddess knows what, before he carefully laid down next to you.

The mattress dipped under his weight, and your body slid into his. You heard him draw in a sharp breath as your warm forms pressed together.

“Mind your wounds. Make sure you sleep on your side,” you whispered into the darkness.

You felt him adjust slightly, and then a heavy arm draped over your waist. Despite yourself, it was warm and the weight felt nice. Comforting. Now that he’d used your soap, he smelled like home. His breath brushed the hairs on your neck and another arm slid underneath you to use as a pillow. You would have pulled away, but you’d never slept so close to someone before.

Living on the street for most of your life, left you with scars. You didn’t realize how deep they’d cut you until Saber’s large body curled around yours. You felt safe.

When you woke the next morning, the bed next to you was empty. Your heart thumped heavily in your chest, wondering where he’d gone. Had it all been a dream?

The pile of dirty prison clothes folded and placed on top of a chest proved that it had not.

Breathing slowly, in the meditation you’d taught yourself, you stretched your awareness out, reaching for the blue thread. Saber was half a mile from you. You wondered what he could possibly be doing.

“Orc things, probably,” you muttered, making your way to the bathroom to clean yourself up.

It wasn’t like he could run off; there was nothing in that direction but trees. Through the window, you could see the sun up over the tree line, telling you that you’d slept much later than usual.

Usually, you’d have left at sunrise to sell your wares in the Capital market, but it was far too late now. Instead, you grabbed an apple from the kitchen and started fussing with your alchemy materials. Now that Saber was living with you, you were sure you needed to straighten up so he didn’t break something.

Walking across the room, you automatically skipped around the bucket on the floor; only the bucket was gone. You frowned, but looking at the ceiling, someone had replaced one of the boards with a fresh one. Had Saber done that while you were sleeping?

You huffed, returning to straightening your books. At least he’s putting himself to work.

You were trying to remember the order in which a pair of books written in ancient elven were arranged alphabetically when the bell above your door jingled.

Since your home was hidden with magic, the bell told you someone was nearby. It was a charm you rarely used. No one had any reason to look for you. The most it had rung was when you ordered a special cauldron or tomb and happened to have the cash to have it delivered.

Curious if a traveler was lost, you put your books down and wandered outside.

“Morning, spouse!”

Saber’s voice made you jump when he appeared hauling a deer on his shoulders.

“What’s that?”

He shrugged the creature off of his shoulders.

“Meat!” he announced proudly.

You nodded at him, your eyes catching on his bare chest, glazed with a sheen of sweat.

“Where are you off to?” he asked.

“Someone is here,” you murmured, forcing your gaze from the sharp planes of his muscles to continue down the path.

A shadow draped over you, and you glanced up to see him looming.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going with you. It could be someone dangerous.”

You shook your head but continued on your way with him in tow.

“Helloooo? Helllloooo?”

A female voice was screaming through the trees. When you rounded the bend, your eyes landed on an expensive carriage and a beautiful fairy shouting at the top of her lungs. Her pink hair fell in glittering curls around her shoulders, and matching wings emerged from her back.

“Damn it! Saber! Where the fuck are you?”

“Can I help you?” you asked as you stepped through your magic barrier.

Her eyes narrowed, but not on you. She looked directly behind you.

“Saber! There you are!”

She grinned, fluttering her winds and flying past you. Irritation immediately pricked your heart as the woman threw her arms around him. Turning around, you found him looking at her with wide eyes.

“Melody…what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

“I’m here to see you, of course. I heard you were going to be hung, but an elf saved you! I asked around the market and was told you’d been taken here. I was so worried!”

When she cupped his chin with her delicate hand, you crossed your arms, eyes narrowing.

“Not someone. Me.” you interjected.

You marched towards Saber and grabbed him by the arm.

“Saber is my husband. Who are you?”

She wrinkled her nose at you, ignoring your question. Her hand slid down Saber’s chest despite you.

“Is there someplace we can talk? Privately?”

Saber’s shocked face tightened.

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate ask in front of my spouse, Melody.”

She scoffed.

“You’ve been married…what? 8 hours? Saber, I think I more than deserve a little of your time. Especially as the mother of your child.”

Your jaw dropped, and your hand pulled away from Saber. It was true, you’d only known him for a few hours, but a child was something he ought to have mentioned.

His brow drew, looking between you and her.

“What child?”

She huffed, frowning at you.

“Fine…If you must do this, this way.”

She turned to the carriage and yelled.

“Nora, bring the baby!”

A maid climbed out of the carriage holding a small whimpering bundle. You gasped as the woman presented Saber with a little green newborn.

Saber’s eyes popped, his mouth opening and closing as the maid pressed the child into his hands.

“This…he…is mine?”

Melody nodded.

“Yes, and it’s time for you to take responsibility.”

He glanced up at her.

“You want to get back together?”

She let out a cruel but trilling laugh.

“Oh heavens no. I need you to take him. Dante hasn’t seen him yet. He thinks I’ve delivered his child. I had the maids tell him I was recovering for the past month so I could sneak him out. If he finds out I’ve been carrying your baby this whole time, he’ll throw me out on the street!”

Anger roiled under your skin.

“So what baby are you going to present to him?” you demanded.

She snorted as if that were a foolish question.

“I’ll get a baby from the slums. Plenty of mothers would happily give their child the life of a Lord’s son without question.”

She fluttered her iridescent wings.

“It only need be a fairy child.”

You could see the pain and confusion settle on Saber’s face. Stepping between the two of them, you gently pried the bundle out of Saber’s hands, looking at his cute little button nose and glossy baby curls.

“Of course, we will take him, but on one condition.”

She glanced at you.

“What do you want? Money?”

You let out a tight chuff.

“No. We never want to see you again. If he is our baby, he is ours. Don’t think you can change your mind and come running back here looking for him or Saber. The second you step foot in your carriage, this child and my husband are dead to you.”

Her eyes jerked to Saber.

“Saber. You can’t mean that. Of course, I want to see you…Dante, however, can’t know. You understand, don't you? This is everything we've dreamed about! You ought to support me!"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"I grew up in the gutter, too," you hissed. "But I'd never treat someone the way you have treated my husband. He is too good for you and I won't tolerate you buzzing around us like a nasty fly."

She glared at you.

"He's my child! You're just jealous Saber and I have history!"

Saber's jaw locked, and he put his arm around you, giving her a disgusted grimace.

“Have you named him?” he asked.

She looked contrite but lifted her chin.

“I…ah…it didn’t occur to me...”

He nodded and glanced down at you, holding his child.

“Then…I agree with (Y/N). You’ll never know his name. You’ll never see him grow. You’ll never return to ruin our peace.”

“But Saber-”

“Don’t say my husband’s name, either.” you snapped. “You thought you’d come here and drop all of your responsibilities in his lap and then keep stringing him along as a toy? It’s not going to work like that. You have your family, and we have ours.”

You jerked your chin at her.

“Make your choice. Either leave the child or be prepared to explain to your husband who he belongs to. Those are the only options.”

Her pretty face contorted into an ugly, wrinkled mask, and she lifted her skirt to turn on her heels.

“Fine! It’s not like I want the child of a thief anyway!”

Snapping at her maid, she hovered back to her carriage, and they disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust. You smiled down at the little baby, who’d managed to sleep through the drama.

“Saber, I know I shouldn’t have spoken for you…I just- He deserves better than to grow up with the knowledge his mother believes him to be less than. Can you imagine him living as her secret? Sneaking around to hide him? If she passed him in the street, she’d ignore him to preserve her status. He’d be heartbroken. I won’t let that happen. I hope I didn’t overstep, but I’m not sorry for it.”

He dropped to his knees, eyes wet, and pushed his head into your shoulder. His big arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing you tight.

“You said just the right thing,” he murmured, then turned his head to look at his son. “What should we name him?”

You smiled at him.

“Let’s talk it over over lunch.”

The two of you walked back down the path together, both having a hard time keeping your gaze off the baby. He wriggled in his sleep, making you both see hearts.

“Maybe we should move,” you murmured. “Just to be sure…and to give him a fresh start.”

He looked down at you.

“You won’t miss this place?”

You sighed.

“No…this is just a house. We have a family now. He should grow up in a happy little town, not the capital…we’ll have to save for a few months, but I think we can do it.”

“We don’t have to save. I have plenty of money.”

You froze in your tracks, looking up at him.

“What? I thought you said you were broke?”

He smiled down at you.

“I meant I didn't have any coin on me. I didn’t just piss all of my ill-gotten gains away. I hid them. Follow me.”

He tugged the two of you into the forest, walking quite a ways until you reached an oddly placed rock. Saber crouched down and uprooted a bush with a stiff jerk. Then he cleared the soil away, revealing a wooden chest. He turned the little dial a few ways until it clicked, and the chest opened with a creak. Your eyes widened at the hundreds of gold coins piled inside. He casually tugged the gold he’d lifted from you out of his pocket and tossed it inside with a metallic clink.

“I think we can buy a nice place with this.”

You were still completely confused. He rummaged around in the coins, producing the gold necklace he’d stolen. Standing, he fastened it around your neck with the nimble fingers of a thief.

“I thought you lost it gambling?”

He shrugged.

“I lied.”

“Why did you keep it?”

He gave you a long look.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. Something told me not to sell it.”

“But…what about the rest? I thought you gave it all to Melody?”

“I tried to…we grew up in the capital, in the same slums she wants to buy a baby from. It wasn’t ever about what I could provide her. She wanted to erase her past. She wanted a title…to be a lady, to be able to lift her nose at the very people she grew up with.

I started saving after she failed at her first attempt at seducing some highborn. At the time, I had this romantic dream that I could surprise her with a big house, start a business, and be the Lord she wanted so badly…but… as time passed, I realized I was already tainted in her eyes. She wanted the right blood attached to her money. It took me too long to be ready to pull away. Dante was the nail in the coffin, so to speak.”

He tugged the chest from the ground, hauling it onto his shoulder before leading you back through the forest.

“Even though I knew I wasn’t enough…I foolishly still loved her. I was a mess when he proposed. That’s why I got caught. I went on a bender that lasted most of a year…Fortunately, I never touched this. Maybe I held out hope since Melody still entertained my attention…but I got sloppy and ended up in jail.”

His gaze dropped to the baby.

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn't have ever known about him. Anything could have happened to him if you hadn’t-”

He choked a bit, a couple of tears slipping down his cheek. You didn’t push him to finish his sentence. You knew what he was trying to say.

“What about Arel?” you asked.

“Arel? That sounds like an Elvin name.”

You smiled at the little baby’s chubby cheeks.

“It is…it means ‘treasure’.”

He stopped, bending down to examine his son more closely. The baby’s eyes opened, and you saw that they were the same pretty chartreuse as his father’s. The two of them looked at one another in awe.

“I like Arel,” he said, brushing a thick finger over his cheek.

Arel’s big eyes grew wet, and he started to croon.

Shock and worry bloomed on Saber’s face.

“Is he okay?”

“I think he’s hungry. I have some goat milk at home.”

Saber straightened, and you had to almost jog to keep up with him, the two of you hurrying home to start your life as a family.

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kaeddehara · 5 months

Text

― 𝜗𝜚 .˚ MORE TOJI HCS/THOUGHTS — SFW + NSFW

sorry this is messy and a bit all over the place. i’m currently writing a much longer oneshot toji fic right now so here’s some scraps i came up with while writing it <3.

i feel like he’s one of those guys who kind and sweet to only you. yeah sure, he has a bit of temper at times and can say things he doesn’t really mean, but overall, he’d treat you with such kindness that you never see him give to anyone else. it comes in many forms but the most prevalent one has to be simple, small physical gestures such as :

a hand on your back when he’s trying to lead you somewhere in public

brushing some hair out of your face if you’re working on something and are too focused to move it

rubbing your shoulders if you’re stressed out or tense from the day

feel like physical touch would be his top love language honestly maybe along with acts of service <3

the list continues on all the sort of small but endearing gestures he does for you. i also feel like this feeds into his possessive nature so by doing these things, he’s claiming you as his. i feel like he’d have one of those stares at everyone else that just lets them know to not fuck with him or you. you’re just his sweet thing, hands wrapped around his thick forearm as you walk along the street.

even though i did say physical touch would be one of his main love languages, he’d definitely have to go through some warming up. he’s not exactly cold-hearted as many see him as, but his demeanor towards your kind gestures and overall demeanor make him feel a little frozen in time. he’s just been so unused to receiving kindness or praise that’s not just for the work he does that it honestly causes him to become a little standoffish to the kindness he’s receiving. i wouldn’t take it as an insult—it’s just his first steps into truly loving and appreciating you.

for example, after a couple of weeks of knowing you and going out on occasion dates, he’d finally get comfortable enough to head back to his place with you. while sitting on his couch, watching whatever movie or tv show of choice, he’d find your head laying on his shoulder. and although he has absolutely no ill will towards you, he can’t help but to feel uncomfortable at the touch. feeling tensed up as you softly cradle yourself onto him. slowly, he’d wrap his much larger arm around your body, bringing you closer to him and gently graze your skin with his fingers.

“you’re feel to stay toji, i thought you might want to since it’s pretty late” , you said as you continued to put the now dried dishes up. he was standing at the kitchen counter, rubbing the back of his head in thought.

all this kindness you give him and what’s he to do?

“if you’re offering i don’t see why not” he says in response, his his tone firm yet validating. you close the cabinet and turn around to give him a soft smile along with a soft “mhm”.

“i don’t mind and you know that.”

“jus’ don’t wanna be a bother is all…”

you almost couldn’t believe what you were hearing for a moment. toji fushiguro caring about being a bother? you wanted to smile almost giggle at his words but instead chose to be polite and not cause him to go back on any progress you’d both made.

“you’re never a bother baby, take however long you need, doesn’t bother me a bit”

while toji didn’t want to admit it, the fact you called him baby did something to him emotionally that he couldn’t explain. it took all his strength not to just grab you and push you against your hall way wall to kiss you. you were just too kind, too pretty standing there in front of him. toji couldn’t help himself and so he took a chance while he could. moving in closer to you, he watched as you did the same to him, making him more confident this was a right choice.

all of a sudden, you felt his rather cold and large finger tips slip under your night top, his hand gently rubbing the soft skin of your stomach as it moved lower and lower, getting to the waistband of your panties. “didn’t mean to startle ya”, he apologized quickly upon hearing the gasp you let out. you grabbed onto his forearm as if to encourage him to continue whatever plan he had. “don’t apologize, it feels good” you whispered in a sultry tone that made to his eyes widen a bit. he’d never truly seen this side of you and just from the start, he can already tell he won’t be able to get enough of it. grunting in response, he took his fingers off your waistband and moved two fingers in between your thighs, letting your warmth envelop his hand. another quiet gasp escaped your lips as toji continued. gently rubbing those two fingers right where you wanted him most made your head light and chest full. moving your free hand up and grab at his shirt and other hand to grab at the counter. letting a pleasured sigh leave your mouth when you felt him press harder.

“you been thinking about this huh?”

he whispered in a deep, almost sleepy like voice that went straight to your pussy. that, and his scent, deep and musky it always made you feel drawn to him and safe in his presence. you nodded instinctively, not even thinking to give some sort of vocal response and instead getting lost in the pleasure. his eyes laid on your pretty facial features as he continued to rub harder and faster, not letting up in the slightest or for any reason <3.

#kaeddehara #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fluff #toji fushigro x reader #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk smut #jjk toji #jujustu kaisen smut #jjk fluff #jujustu kaisen fluff #― 𝜗𝜚 .˚ rumi writing #― 𝜗𝜚 .˚ rumi post #rumi thoughts ฅ/ᐠ. ̫ .ᐟ\ฅ

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oceantornadoo · 2 months

Note

hii! can you do what it would be like asking price to put pads on the shopping list?? and then when price goes shopping he has to call you to ask for what size ?? 😭😭 btw i love love your work, hope u had a good day💞.

im pretty sure you're referring to this post but i decided to make this price x reader so :) enjoy!

bsf marriage pact!price x reader, he's slightly creepy but he's sweet (this is actually a bit dubcon but its in good spirit)

you had had a shit day. actually, make that a shit week. emotional the whole time, feeling lonely, depressed, and with the weirdest cravings. right when you were about to call your best friend and rant about how terrible you felt, you had went to the bathroom and- oh.

that explains a lot.

and now here you were, sitting on the toilet for the past ten minutes, contemplating. you were completely out of all period products and your flow was so heavy there was no way you were making it to the store free bleeding or with toilet paper as a makeshift pad. of course, that's when john decided to call you (let's be real, who doesn't take their phone to the bathroom. don't judge.)

"evenin', duckie."

"ugh john, i told you not to call me that. its so annoying."

john grunted a chuckle into the phone, swiping a hand over his beard. "you love it." silence. he could practically hear your eye roll. "dinner tonight?" he was pacing his apartment, uncharacteristic for a man like him. calm, cool, collected. never when it came to you.

"can't, sorry. maybe in a few days." he grunted. "could order a takeaway?" you sighed in his ear, the sound a melody he craved to hear over and over again. on lazy saturdays and in-between small fights over laundry. baby steps, though.

"its just not in the cards tonight, john, i'm sorry." you were never like this, withholding information. even when you cancelled on him, it was with a long-winded explanation with the names of about seven people he didn't know and plans you didn't want to go to. "'s wrong, duck? got a hot date or somethin'?" he mentally crossed his fingers, not allowing a physical expression. he wasn't that whipped. not yet.

"no, im just sick. and tired." his muscles relaxed. he started putting on his boots and grabbed a fleece, something gaz insisted was not too tryhard for someone like him. "i'll run to the store and grab ya medicine, hm? what'dya need?" you sighed again, rubbing your fingers to your forehead. he obviously was not giving this up and you did really need pads...

"ill text you a list when you get there. thanks john."

"anythin' for you, duckie."

list: pads, advil, that one chocolate candy you know i like, something for dinner

shit. price had been with a woman or two, but had never had to buy her pads. of course, he'd never let it get to that stage, not when he had you to take care of. but now here he was, staring at playtex and always and what the fuck was a diva cup? he'd better call you.

"all ok, john?"

"ya didn't give me a color on your pads, duck." you giggled. of course he paid attention to the green versus orange pads.

"its pretty heavy so some of the overnight and extra daytime ones would work." silence.

"...there's numbers." your cheeks warmed. you couldn't believe you were talking about this with john of all people.

"god, john. this feels so embarrassing. so weird to talk about with you."

"why? gotta know this for the rest of my life, duckie." shit. he was referring to that night a couple weeks ago, when you confessed to him you thought you'd never find love. when he said he'd marry you in a heartbeat, just say the word. when you compromised by telling him if you were still single in two years, you'd go to the courthouse then and there. when you didn't see him turn and write the date in phone, just as a reminder.

"5, john. there should be a moon symbol or something. and then 3. should be green, i think?" he grunted an affirmation, putting the respective pads in his cart. he turned around, having said goodbye and ended the call, and was subsequently greeted by three women, staring. paused in their product selection, staring openmouthed at how nonchalant he was about buying pads.

30 minutes later he was at your place, groceries and takeaway in hand as he used his spare key to let himself in. "duck?" all quiet. he stalked through your place and noticed the light on in the bathroom. one, two, three quick knocks. "john?" "'s me. can i come in?" "no i- need you to get me something." he waited patiently. "can you go to my dresser and grab a pair of underwear. something ugly, lots of coverage." who was he to say no to a free invite to your underwear drawer?

john dropped the pads outside your bathroom door and headed to your bedroom. finding your dresser, he had to give himself a second. calm down, old man. they're all clean.

that didn't stop him from sniffing a few, reveling at the scent of your laundry detergent. he almost groaned at the scent, imagining you in them. even in the "unsexy" pairs, your curves clothed in cotton and elastic, wrapped up in a lovely package. all his.

john selected a pair with "lots of coverage", whatever that meant, and headed to your bathroom. he opened the door with ease, setting your pads down on the counter. you shrieked.

"john! im half naked, you need to knock." obviously, the sight of your bare thighs and the top of your mound peaking out was most welcome, but he was more concerned about getting you off the toilet and putting food in your belly. "jus' me, duckie. come on, show me how to do it." he gestured at the pads. he couldn't be serious.

you slowly unboxed them, taking care to cover your naked body as much as possible. even while moving slowly, your shirt still shifted and he caught glimpses of your pretty pussy. an image for another day, when you weren't in pain. he focused on your fingers, deftly putting the pad on your underwear with years of practice. he memorized how you placed the pad, ensuring it stuck to your underwear before tearing the paper off the wings and tucking them on the other side. you looked up at him and he nodded, mission complete. "thank you, by the way." he kissed your forehead, so quick you could have missed it in a blink.

"turn around, i have to put it on." he sat back on his haunches, staring. "go'on. 've gotta learn somehow." you were too tired to care, ready to devour your dinner. you missed his hungry gaze as you revealed your cunt to him, wanting even though it was covered in blood. you missed his fingers twitching as you slowly pulled on your underwear, fabric caressing your skin like he yearned to. you got up, flushed, and washed your hands, missing how he tucked his fingers in belt loops and leaned back into the wall, a move he'd done many times in his tac vest.

"thank you, john. truly." he gave you a grin under the muttonchops, all satisfied. task finished, mission accomplished. you had asked him to do this, a husbandly duty. after you dried your hands, you made a move for the door, but he stopped you with a hand to the jaw. he brushed his beard against you, feeling the shiver in your bones. his mouth hovered near your ear, accent coming out low and sultry. "anythin' for my future wife, duckie."

ngl this got a bit weird but i like it??? had to struggle to not lean into my simon riley weirdness tendencies as im still learning john as a character.

#john price #price #cod price #captain john price #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #price imagine #price headcanons #price one shot #john price x you #captain johnathan price #john price x y/n #tornadothoughts

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ask-the-prose · 2 months

Text

Writing Mental Health With Compassion

I've gotten a few questions regarding depicting characters with mental health challenges and conditions and I wanted to expand a little more on how to depict these characters with compassion for the real communities represented by these characters.

A little about this guide: this is, as always, coming from a place of love and respect for the writing community and the groups affected by this topic at large. I'm also not coming at this from the outside, I have certain mental illnesses that affect my daily life. With that, I'll say that my perspective may be biased, and as with all writing advice, you should think critically about what is being told to you and how.

So let's get started!

Research

I'm sure we're all tired of hearing the phrase "do your research," but unfortunately it is incredibly important advice. I have a guide that touches on how to do research here, if you need a place to get started.

When researching a mental health condition that we do not experience, we need to do so critically, and most importantly, compassionately. While your characters are not people, they are assigned traits that real people do have, and so your depiction of these traits can have an impact on people who face these conditions themselves.

I've found that reddit is a decent resource for finding threads of people talking about their personal experiences with certain illnesses. For example, bipolar disorder has several subreddits that have very open and candid discussions about bipolar, how it impacts lives, and small things that people who don't have bipolar don't tend to think about.

It's important to note that these spaces are not for you. They are spaces for people to talk about their experiences in a place without judgment or fear or stigma. These are not places for people to give out writing advice. Do NOT flood subreddits for people seeking support with questions that may make others feel like an object to be studied. It's not cool or fair to them for writers to enter their space and start asking questions when they're focused on getting support. Be courteous of the people around you.

Diagnosis

I have the belief that for most stories, a diagnosis for your characters is unnecessary. I have a few reasons for thinking this way.

Firstly, mental health diagnoses are important for treatment, but they're also a giant sign written across your medical documents that says, “I'm crazy!” Doctors may try to remain unbiased when they see mental health diagnoses, but anybody with a diagnosis can say that doctors rarely succeed. This translates to a lot of people never getting diagnoses, never seeking treatment, or refusing to talk about their diagnosis if they do have one.

Secondly, I've seen posts discuss “therapy speak” in fiction, and this is one of those instances where a diagnosis and extensive research may make you vulnerable to it. People don't tend to discuss their diagnoses freely and they certainly don't tend to attribute their behaviors as symptoms.

Finally, this puts you, the writer, into a position where you treat your characters less like people and story devices and more like a list of symptoms and behavioral quirks. First and foremost, your characters serve your story. If they don't feel like people then your characters may fall flat. When it comes to mental illness in characters, the people aspect is the most important part. Mentally ill people are people, not symptoms.

Those are my top three reasons for believing that most characters will never need a specific diagnosis. You will likely never need to depict the difference between bipolar and borderline because the story itself does not need that distinction or to reveal a diagnosis at all. I feel that having a diagnosis in mind for a character has more pitfalls than advantages.

How does treatment work?

Treating mental health conditions may appear in your story. There are a number of ways treatments affect daily life and understanding the levels of care and what those levels treat will help you depict the appropriate settings for your characters.

The levels of care range from minimally restrictive and minimal care to intensive in-patient care in a secure hospital setting.

Regular or semi-regular therapy is considered outpatient care. This is generally the least restrictive. Your characters may or may not also take medications, in which case they may also see a psychiatrist to prescribe those medications. There is a difference between therapists, psychiatrists, and psychologists. Therapists do not prescribe medications, psychiatrists prescribe medications after an evaluation, and psychologists will (sometimes) do both. (I'm US, so this may work differently depending where you are. You should always research the specific setting of your story.) Generally, a person with a mental illness or mental health condition will see both an outpatient therapist and an outpatient psychiatrist for their general continuing care.

Therapists will see their patients anywhere from once in a while as-needed to twice weekly. Psychiatrists will see new patients every few weeks until they report stabilizing results, and then they will move to maintenance check-ins every 90-ish days.

If the patient reports severe symptoms, or worsening symptoms, they will be moved up to more intensive care, also known as IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program). This is usually a group-therapy setting for between 3-7 hours per day between 3-5 days a week. The group-therapy is led by a Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) or Licensed Professional Social Worker (LPSW). Groups are structured sessions with multiple patients teaching coping mechanisms and focusing on treatment adjustment. IOP’s tend to expect patients to see their own outpatient psychiatrist, but I've encountered programs that have their own in-house psychiatrists.

If the patient still worsens, or is otherwise needing more intensive care, they'll move up to PHP (Partial Hospitalization Program). This can look different per facility, but I've seen them to be more intensive in hours and content than IOP. They also usually have in-house psychiatrists doing diagnostic psychological evaluations. It's very possible for characters with “mild” symptoms to go long periods of time, even most of their lives, without having had a diagnosis. PHP’s tend to need a diagnosis so that they can address specific concerns and help educate the patient on their condition and how it may manifest.

Next step up is residential care. Residential care is a boarding hospital setting. Patients live in the hospital and focus entirely on treatment. Individual programs may differ in what's allowed in, how much contact the patients are allowed to have, and what the treatment focus is. Residential programs are often utilized for addiction recovery. Good residential programs will care about the basis for the addiction, such as underlying mental health issues that the patient may be self-medicating for. Your character may come away with a diagnosis, or they may not. Residential programs aren't exclusively for addictions though, and can be useful for severe behavioral concerns in teenagers or any number of other concerns a patient may have that manifest chronically but do not require intensive inpatient restriction.

Inpatient hospital stays are the highest level of care, and this tends to be what people are talking about when they tell jokes about “grippy socks.” These programs are inside the hospital and patients are highly restricted on what they can and cannot have, they cannot leave unless approved by the hospital staff (the hospital's psychiatrist tends to have the final say), and contact with the outside world is highly regulated. During the days, there are group therapy sessions and activities structured very carefully to maintain routine. Staff will regulate patient hygiene, food and sleep routines, and alone time.

Inpatient hospital programs are controversial among people with mental illness and mental health concerns. I find that they have use, but they are also not an easy or first step to take when dealing with a mental health condition. Patients are not allowed sharp objects, metal objects, shoelaces, cutlery, and pens or pencils. Visitors are not allowed to bring these items in, staff are not allowed these items either. This is for the safety of the patients. Typically, if someone is involuntarily admitted into the inpatient hospital program, it is due to an authority (the hospital staff) deeming the patient as a danger to themselves or others. Whether they came in of their own will (voluntary) or not does not matter in how the program operates. Everyone is treated the same. If someone is an active danger to themselves, then they may be on 24-hour suicide watch. They are not allowed to have any time alone. No, not even for the bathroom, or while sleeping, or during group sessions.

Inpatient Hospital Programs

This is a place of high curiosity for those who have never been admitted into inpatient care, so I'd like to explain a little more in detail how these programs work, why they're controversial, but how they can be useful in certain situations. I do have personal experience in this area, but as always, your mileage may vary.

When admitting, hospital staff are the final say. Not the police. The police hold some sway, but most often, if someone is brought in by the police, they are likely to be admitted. They are only involuntarily admitted when the situation demands: the staff have determined the person to be an imminent danger to themselves or others. This is obviously subjective, and can easily be abused. A good program with decent staff will do everything they can to convince the patient to admit voluntarily if they feel it is necessary, but ultimately if the patient declines and the staff don't feel they can make the clinical argument that admittance is necessary, the patient is free to leave. It should be noted that doctors and clinicians have to worry about possibly losing their licenses to practice. They don't want to fuck around with involuntary admittance if they don't have to, and they don't want potentially dangerous people to walk away.

Once admitted, the patient will have to remove their clothing and put on a set of hospital scrubs. These are mostly made of paper, and most often do not have pockets, but I have seen sets that do have pockets (very handy, tbh). They are not allowed to take anything into the hospital wing except disability-required devices such as glasses, hearing aids, mobility aids, etc. Most programs will require removing piercings, but not all of them, in my experience.

The nurses will also do a physical examination, where they will make note of any open wounds, major scars, tattoos, and other skin abrasions that may be relevant.

The patient will then be led to their bed, where they will receive any approved clothing items from outside, a copy of their patient rights, and a copy of the floor code of conduct and rules, a schedule, and any other administrative information necessary for the program to run efficiently and legally.

Group sessions include group-therapy, activities, coping skills, anger management, anxiety management, and for some reason, karaoke. There is a lot of coloring involved, but only with crayons. A good program will focus heavily on skills and therapeutic activities. Bad programs will phone it in and focus on karaoke and activities. Most hospitals will have a chaplain, and some will include a religious group session. I've never attended these, so I can't speak for them.

Unspoken rules are the hidden pieces of the inpatient programs that patients tend to find out during their first visit. There is no leaving the program until the doctor agrees to it. The doctor will only agree to it if they deem you ready to leave, and you are only ready to leave if you have been compliant to treatment and have seen positive results in the most dangerous symptoms (homicidal or suicidal ideations). Noncompliance can look like: refusing your prescribed medications (which you have the right to do at any time for any reason. That does not mean that there won't be consequences. This is a particularly controversial point.), refusing to attend groups (chapel is not included in this point, but that doesn't mean it's actually discounted. Another controversial point.), violent or disruptive outbursts such as yelling or throwing things, and refusing to sleep or eat at the approved and appointed times. All of this may sound like the hospital is restricting your rights beyond reason, but I've seen the use, and I've seen the abuse. Medications are sometimes necessary, and often patients seriously prefer having medication. Groups are important to a person's treatment, and refusing to go can be a sign of noncompliance or worsening symptoms. If someone is too depressed or anxious to go to group, then they're probably not ready to leave the hospital where the structure is gone and they must self-regulate their treatment. Violent or disruptive outbursts tend to be a sign of worsening symptoms in general, but even the best of us lose our tempers from time to time when put into a highly stressful situation like an inpatient hospital stay. The hospital is supposed to be a place of healing, for many it is. But for many more, it is a place of systematic abuse and restriction.

Discharge processes can be long and arduous and INCREDIBLY stressful for the patient. Oftentimes, they won't know their discharge date until the day of, or perhaps the day before. Though the date can change at any time. The discharge process requires the supervising psychiatrist to meet with the treatment team and then the patient to determine if the patient had progressed enough to be safely discharged. Discharge also requires a set outpatient plan in place, such as a therapy appointment within a week, a psychiatrist visit, or admittance into a lower level of care. This is where social workers are involved. Patients are not allowed access to cell phones or the internet. They cannot make their own appointments with their outpatient care providers without a phone number and phone access. Some floors will have phone access for this reason, others will insist the social worker arrange appointments and discharge plans. Social workers are often incredibly overworked, with several patients on their caseload.

The patient cannot be discharged until the social worker has coordinated the discharge plan to the doctor's approval. Most often, unfortunately, the patient rarely receives regular communication regarding the progress of their discharge. I've been discharged with as much as a day's notice to two hours notice.

Part 2 Coming Soon

This guide got longer than expected! Out of respect for my followers dashboard, I will be cutting it here and adding a Part 2 later on.

If you find that there are more specific questions you'd like answered, or topics you'd like covered, send an ask or reply to this post with what you'd like to see in Part 2.

– Indy

#writing advice #writing tips #writing resources #writeblr #amwriting #asktheprose #ask the prose #writing mental health #mental health #writing with compassion #writing mental illness #writing compassionately

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gatorbites-imagines · 6 months

Note

Can i request the continuation of jason todd and dick grayson yandere ask? Maybe add in smut aswell. (Don't force yourself!, Take a good care of yourself 💗)

-🥚 anon

Yandere Jason Todd x speedster male reader x Yandere Dick Grayson

Part 2

Headcanons

Imagine sitting in a spinny chair petting a cat like a bond villain. I have wanted to write a part two for this for a while. Instead of reader just dating his og universes version of them, what if reader was dating multiple people 👀? Cuz you cant imagine the kid of Thawne being a nice person.

Ill refer to readers original universe as OG verse, and the yandere universe as yan verse cuz its easier to understand.

Part 1 can be found here

In part 1 yan Dick and Jason has pretty much abandoned their former dimension in smithereens after having wiped out the entire justice league, as they tried to stop them from crossing dimensions and tearing a hole in reality itself to find you.

So, when Yan Dick and Jason appear in your OG dimension, different procedures set up by the league notify them about the tear in reality and how unstable it is. They’d rush there and find two bloody and battered versions of Dick and Jason, and thinking they fled some battle or a doomed timeline, they bring them to the tower.

When Jason and Dick wake up, they immediately fall back on the many tricks they had been taught under their batman, who was apparently even better at lying than OG batman, as they believe them when they claim their home dimension was destroyed and they have nowhere to go.

It takes a while to work Yan Dick and Jason into the league and their hero roster, but they never suspect them of being anything less than heroes and stable. They start calling them Rick and Jay since it gets confusing with multiple people named the same thing.

They don’t drop hints that they know you, but they do try to figure out where you are and what you are doing at all times, but its harder than they thought it would be. Who would have thought trying to track a guy that can cross dimensions and time at will would be so difficult.

Rick almost bursts a blood vessel when he hears some of the younger OG league members talking about how “Mach 10 has been dating multiple people at once”, and Jay wants to curl up into a ball and disappear and tear himself apart.

Their obsession finally starts showing through the cracks as they use league resources to find you and stalk you. More and more cracks appear in their masks and fake personalities, as they see you going on dates with other people.

Jericho, Jamie Reyes, Roy Harper, Garth, Kyle Rayner, the list went on. You seemed to be dating multiple people at once, at the same time, as you used your powers to be in multiple places at once.

You weren’t a good person, so you hadn’t even felt bad when Jamie had cried finding out you were cheating on him with multiple people, you just shrugged and asked him what he had expected from Thawnes offspring.

It was common knowledge amongst the younger league members that you were down to a roll in the sheets with most, but there wasn’t a loyal bone in your body, and you could easily turn on whoever you were dating at the time if it was part of a plan.

Of course. Rick and Jay never saw you as the problem. How could you be? You were perfect, you were everything that mattered in the multiverse, and you could do no wrong. It had to be your partners that were the issue, they had to be neglecting your needs and leaving you having to resort to finding different ways to meet them.

OG justice league knew Rick and Jay had some issues, but they had always blamed it on coming from a dimension that had been destroyed by some unknown evil. But as time passed, they started to think that maybe the backstory they had been given wasn’t true.

It came to a head when one day Rick almost gutted Roy after he and Jay had followed you around Coast city, where you had met up with Roy and the two of you had gone on a date, ending with you two back in Roy’s apartment.

Rick and Jay were both cracking as they saw others put their grubby disgusting hands all over you and just doing whatever they wanted. Whenever they heard others insult you, they felt like repeating what they had done in their original universe.

After Rick attacked Roy, he was placed on probation. Jay was more subtle about his plans, as he wasn’t as blinded by rage as Rick and was more fueled by not feeling like he was good enough and blaming himself.

People didn’t even put two and two together for a while when your non league admirers started going missing, only to be found much later dead in many different ways. There was no way to tie the murders together, but it was clear there was a pattern, but no one could figure out what it was.

The league finally discovered just what type of people Jay and Rick were when you one day wandered into the tower. Maybe the league needed your help with something involving the speedforce, or the negative speedforce.

But the moment the two yanderes saw you, it was like they became completely different people, the masks they had been wearing for months shattered as they almost stumbled over each other to get to you first.

You just saw in your seat grinning to yourself as they clambered into your lap, vile threats of what he could do to anyone who touched to passing Ricks lips, as Jay warbled out apologies and begs for you to love him and appreciate him.

The league wasn’t sure what to do, but their suspicions only grew. It got to the point where they somehow track down the dimension the Yans originally come from, to see what really happened. Imagine their horror when they learn Rick and Jay killed all of them out of obsession fueled love for you.

But when they finally figured out the truth, Rick and Jay fully dropped their roles and started chasing you around like lovesick puppies again, butchering anyone who got in their way.

The league could lock them up, but they had also seen what happened when they were separated from you, and as long as they were around you and an had no reason to lash out, they seemed fine for the most part.

You had moments where you would peace out to different dimensions, especially when Rick and Jay started foiling all your attempts to mess around with other people, Rick always exploding in rage and Jay breaking down in tears and wails of misery.

Again, you were never a good person, and they annoyed you sometimes, but it was kinda cute to have them begging for scraps of your attention even as the league tried again and again to capture them and lock them away.

Rick and Jay never find a way to lock you away, you are just too powerful. But they at some point stumble across ways to make themselves stronger so they can keep up. Like making themselves speedsters, or developing gear to follow and track you, they come up with something.

But you learn an easy way to distract them is by piling attention on them for a while, get them comfortable, then you can peace out when they get on your nerves.

Jay is always easier to trick than Rick, as Jay is always aching for any tiny piece of attention and love youll give him, his knees always buckling when you kiss him or hold him, words almost akin to worship always tumbling out from between his lips towards you.

Rick is harder to trick, as hes always suspicious and angry, but an easy way is to dominate him in some way, like tying him up and then leaving him there, leaving him to get out on his own, or get help from Jay if he needs it.

All in all, the league is scared and cautious, but knows they wont be an active threat to the league as long as they have you. And your relationship with your yanderes is nowhere near healthy, with you only loving them like someone would love a pet or a toy, and them loving you way too much.

But what can someone expect from the offspring of Thawne, and two extremely unstable Bats.

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instarsandcrime · 3 months

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Someone Worth Falling For

Hi hello! Long time lurker in the community, first time poster. I'm not sure how good this is because it's my first snz fic. But practice makes perfect-- even if my writing tends to lean on corny fluff! So I might as well log what I write and hope things get better from here. Enjoy! <3

“Htchh'chieww!”

“Bless you.”

“Htch'shhhiew!”

“Ble–”

“Hihh’chiew! Htch'CHIEW! HET’CHHHIEW! Ohhh…”

Lucifer groaned, forcing gurgling blow after blow into his handkerchief. Face glowing gold in embarrassment when he peered up from the fabric to see another pair stare back.

“...Excuse mbe.” He finally rasped out.

“Absolutely not.” Lilith pursed her lips, “Ten times in a row! I've seen less out of fits than sinners allergic to their own feathers and fur. Are you sure you’re alright, my love?”

She'd offered a way out. She'd offered a way out several times. But the response was always so scripted that it bordered on comical. An orderly list that only the Sin of Pride could obsessively memorize by heart.

“Why, there's dothi’g– snff– nothing to tell!” Lucifer beamed between congested sniffles, one armed wrapped tightly around her waist. “I just want to help my wife get ready for her first night off. And a party? My goodness, now why would I pass up such a rare and wonderful opportunity?”

Deflect

“And that’s very sweet of you, darling.” His other half hummed when a string of pearls draped around her neck, “But I’m just as happy to stay home if you’re feeling unwell.”

The demon king’s hand jerked as he weaved a comb from a puff of golden smoke. “Me? Catch a cold? Pfft, what? Like a sinner? Even if I’m fallen, archangels don’t get sick. It’s in our biology.”

2. Pull the archangel card.

“Yes. I’ve been told that holy beings tend to avoid illness– or rather, those who reside in Heaven. Where everything from the sky to the ground is designed to be absolutely perfect. But here, you are victim to the worst torture imaginable. And I believe there’s been a newer Overlord that’s taken a seat at the table– that one you had a meeting with the other day? The one that embodies pestilence.” As her hair was lovingly tended to, Lilith raised her head ever-so-slightly to kiss her doting husband’s jaw. She nearly cooed at the way he melted on the spot.

“As hypocritical as it sounds, I wouldn’t be so quick to ju- …j-juhhdge…” Lucifer froze, quickly rubbing his nose to satiate a tickle. Lilith’s face dropped to something so freely unimpressed because his last tactic was always to

3. Hide his symptoms. Poorly.

“Darling?”

“H-huhhhh…ho-hold on…” Lucifer raised a claw, handkerchief in the other. “I-I’m fine, it must…m-must be…s-suhh-something in…in the air— h-heh! Oh my, ex-excuse– Et’chiew! HET’chiew! HETCHHIEWW!”

“Bless you again.” His wife winced as the comb was unceremoniously dropped to the floor with a sharp clatter.

“Th-thahhnk– hhhHITSH!” Caught in a hitching jag, Lucifer quickly pinched his nose– and to his dismay, the slight buzz became an angry swarm.

“Beloved.”

“Het’Chht!”

“Let me just–”

“HIH’CHH! H-hihhh! HIH’TCH! ‘TCH! ‘TSHHH! I can’t s-st-stohhHT’CHNX’iew! Hih! Hhhih…hghh…nnh…” Lucifer’s ragged breathing slowed, peeping open a watery eye. Kneeled close, Lilith’s finger pressed under his nose, draped against her own handkerchief.

“See? Was asking for help so hard?” She smiled. Lucifer only swallowed, wordlessly taking the cloth in his palm. Silently he made his way to the side of her vanity, hopping on its desk. Eyes downcast, frown tucked behind cotton and smudged lipstick. “Be honest with me. There’s something more to your stubbornness this time, isn’t there?”

“N-no, of course not! I’m. I’m just– it’s…” Empty words trailed off into a muffled whisper.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“It’s– well–” Lucifer cleared his aching throat, biting back a cough before he lowered his makeshift mask. “It’s…it’s humiliating, that’s all. I trapped you down here with me. You had the opportunity to live in an eternal paradise. And now you have this one night to go out and party and enjoy yourself and I just– I know it’s not even close to that kind of perfection-- but I’d be ruining another chance at freedom all over again! And all because you think that I might have caught a cold? I’m fine! This is fine! I’ve been through worse! I’m just a little…a-a…a little snehh…” He quickly pressed the well-soaked cloth to his nose, trying in vain to hold some control over his next fit.

“Hit’shew! ‘Chiew! Hep’shiew! H’tsh! Heh’TSHIEWW! HA’SHHHIEW! HA’PSHHHIEWW!” He cradled his forehead with a palm, blinking stars from his eyes. “A…a little sneezy. Ugh, ‘scuse mbe.”

All too suddenly his chin was lifted, and his vision cleared to meet a piercing gaze. “Lucifer. Darling. Love of my life. Do you know where I’d be if I wasn’t down here with you?”

“N…ndo?” He muttered nervously.

“With Adam.” Her voice curdled like spoiled milk, “I would trade a thousand rings of Hell just to never see his face again. Taking care of you tonight wouldn’t be a curse. It would be a blessing. In fact, it would be a new opportunity at freedom for me. Now, I can finally repay the favor you gave to me so long ago.”

“Snf! I’m sorry, I– I don’t understand.”

Two strong arms lifted the demon king. “Then let me remind you of the day that we fell together.”

It took seconds too late for the fallen angel to realize what was happening, and Lucifer’s lovesick blush blended with his illness. Before he could even open his mouth to protest he was set gently on the bed, and his wife immediately went to work.

“First,” Well-manicured claws slowly unbuttoned his vest, “Since I was unable to move, you helped me get into something more comfortable until I could dress myself again.”

“I-I did, didn’t I?” A tense smile began to unfurl, and Lucifer allowed his other half to prop him against the headboard, slipping off his boots like he were made of gold and porcelain.

“After that, when I was feeling less restricted, you checked me for any injuries or illness.” A cool forehead bumped softly against something damp and burning, not bothering to worry about smudging freshly applied foundation. “And while I didn’t have a fever, you certainly do now.”

“I–” Lucifer paused, feeling delicate hands intertwine with his own. Slowly he retracted his forked tongue, tasting the bitter words in his mouth. “--I, um. I have to admit, I feel just a smidge under the weather.”

“Well would you look at that! No longer a saint, but you still cast miracles.”

“I do my best.” The fallen angel croaked out a weak chuckle, tired eyes lighting up when Lilith stopped to kiss his knuckles, lips briefly brushing over a golden wedding ring.

“Oh, what was next? Let’s see.” She got up, pacing around the room, “You bandaged my open wounds and wouldn’t let me begin my work as queen until I was off my feet.”

“I still have some mighty big scars from all the kicks you bucked me with.” Lucifer huffed.

His better half looked unashamedly proud, crossing her arms until they locked tight around her chest. “And as I said before, I will do what you have done to me. I’m sure it’ll do you well to give your more inventive powers a rest–” the fallen creator groaned miserably, “--while a servant fetches us some medicine and tea to wash it down with. As well as–”

“Hhhih!” Lucifer’s nose twitched, and he couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that mingled with unsteady breaths. Both handkerchiefs soiled, the demon flicked his wrist and summoned a third, “Oh for the love of– this i-ihhh…is getting rihh-ridiculuh…huhhh..hhh’tsh! Hut’Sshhhieww! Ha’TSHIEW! HET’CH’HHHIEW!”

“--a few tissue boxes. Bless you.”

“...I’b sorry for all the trouble. Snff!” A hacking cough broke through the apology.

“Trouble? Lucifer dear, it’s no trouble at all.” She consoled, sitting by his bedside. “You said it yourself. It’s just a cold. And you seem to forget that, when your caretaking was near its end, you refused to leave me until I truly needed space. You said that if I would permit you to stay, all I needed to do is ask. Well? Would you like me to stay?”

Painted nails fidgeted with the hem of a long cocktail dress and, despite everything that’s happened, Lilith offered a silent prayer to whatever higher power would listen.

Lucifer took a deep breath, “Th-then– um. If you wouldn’t mind lending a hand?”

“I’d be delighted to.” His other half hummed, kissing the red dimples on his cheeks, “You really do have no idea how much you were worth falling for.”

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel//#lu/ci/fer #li/li/th

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gonzo-rella · 5 months

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Headcanons: Charlie Dalton, Neil Perry and Todd Anderson Taking Care of Their Sick S/O

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Relationship(s): Charlie Dalton x sick!gn!reader (romantic), Neil Perry x sick!gn!reader , Todd Anderson x sick!gn!reader (romantic)

Warnings: The reader has a cold so... yeah. Also, since I'm sick myself, my brain isn't really working at it's normal level so apologies for any mistakes! (Let me know if I need to add any)

(A/N: Unfortunately I'm still sick (it's only been a few days). Fortunately, I'm still motivated to write headcanons to get me through this relatively mild illness (and I'm starting to feel better)! I've got a Todd one-shot draft that I started a year ago and never got around to finishing, so here's my first offering to the Dead Poets Society fandom. I'd love to write more for it, both reader-insert and not. I'm not sure if I'll end up writing any more sick fics (I've already written hcs for Yellowjackets and Abed Nadir and Annie Edison from Community) since I should be better soon, but if you're still interested check out my fandom list and requesting info and feel free to send an ask!)

CHARLIE

Charlie will jokingly tell you that you’re disgusting.

If you’re not amused by that, he’ll awkwardly but sincerely apologise, his mortification thinly veiled.

He isn’t entirely sure what the hell to do to make you less sick.

(He'll have to consult his more medically knowledgeable friends for advice)

He will ask you if you want him to kiss it all better.

(And he will not hesitate to kiss you when you give him the go ahead)

Suffice it to say, he does not care all that much about getting sick himself.

(A small part of him hopes that he does get sick so you'll have to take care of him)

He will spend so much time with you, you’d think you were dying.

He will also get you anything you ask for (even if it has no clear use in making you physically better- he just wants to make you happy).

If his earlier attempt at joking doesn't work, he'll still persist in cracking jokes and making you laugh to make you feel better.

(If your laughter causes you to break out into a coughing fit, though, he will feel awful).

NEIL

Neil knows exactly what to do.

He may not like his dad's dream of him becoming a doctor, but damn he has such a knack for looking after you.

He makes sure you’re drinking enough fluids and taking any medicine you need to take.

No matter how disgusting you might get, Neil is completely unfazed the whole time.

If anything, he'll find it funny and try to keep you in as high spirits as possible.

If he does mind getting sick, he certainly doesn't show it.

For example, he doesn't hesitate when kissing you on the cheek or forehead.

He loves you so much that it really won’t matter to him if you can- or do- get him sick.

He’ll regularly ask you if there’s anything that you want or need, and if you’re comfortable, and if you’re too hot or cold.

It’s evident that he cares about you getting better.

He’ll sit at your bedside and try to take your mind off of how you’re feeling.

But, he will insist that you need to rest up, so when you’re asleep or trying to fall asleep he’ll be as quiet as humanly possible to make sure he doesn’t wake you up.

If he does end up waking you, he’ll feel terrible about it.

He’s so loving and caring anyway, but especially when you’re sick.

TODD

This guy is fucking terrified.

He assumes that anything he does will only make you sicker.

A small part of him is convinced you will die under his care.

So, he begs Neil for advice, and Neil humours him so that Todd doesn’t drive himself nuts.

Todd will regularly ask you if you need something, and he’ll repeatedly offer you whatever Neil advised him about.

He’s also completely torn between his innate desire not to get himself sick, and his deep love and affection for you.

So, please don’t get upset with him if he recoils almost every time you cough and sneeze, because he does spend as much time as he possibly can at your bedside.

Speaking of which, Todd sits at your bedside like a loyal golden retriever.

He’ll hold your hand (internally panicking about your high temperature, of course) and place the occasional kiss on the back of it.

He’ll also read some of his poems, works in progress and completed, out to you, and he’ll make sure to pick plenty that are about you specifically.

Sure, he’s nervous, but you love his poetry and all he wants to do is reduce how terrible you feel.

#dead poets society #dps #dps headcanons #charlie dalton #neil perry #todd anderson #charlie dalton x reader #neil perry x reader #todd anderson x reader #x gn!reader #x gn reader #x gender neutral!reader #x gender neutral reader #x reader #headcanons

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jedi-hawkins · 16 days

Text

Flowers for the Doctor

The Clones all deserve flowers! Or maybe they think you deserve flowers 😉 Either way, love is in bloom this week for the Clone Flowers Fic Event!

Throughout this week, May 20th-25th, certain participants will be posting their own fics of Clones and different flower themes that were selected! The participants as well as the Clones and flowers they will be writing for are listed below and links to each fic will be added as they are posted! 💐 Follow the tag #cloneflowerficevent to see them all as they come!!

Event Masterlist

@arctrooper69 - Tup, Rex, Gregor

@photogirl894 - Hunter, Wrecker, Fives

@nahoney22 - Fox, Tech

@totallyunidentified - 99, Cody

@dragonrider9905 - Hardcase

@l-lend - Wolffe

@moonstrider9904 - Howzer

@eyecandyeoz - Waxer

Make sure to go check out their entries too, we'll be posting throughout the week!

Pairing: Kix x f!reader

Chosen Flower: St. John's Wort

Word count: 3.8k

Rating: PG-13

Warnings/Notes: Medical terminology, pandemic, sickness and death, brief suggestive content, friends to lovers

Beta-read by @anxiouspineapple99

The helmet of your hazmat suit hisses as you release the seal. A deep sigh passes your lips as you step out of your suit and hang it on the rack for decontamination. When you open the door to the decontam stalls, the creak echoes around the tiled room.

'Damn. All this and we can’t even get some WD-40 on the hinges?' You think to yourself before stripping down to your skivvies and stepping under one of the spouts. The doors from the infectious disease ward open again and a friendly face steps in.

“Kix.”

He smiles at you as he strips down to his briefs and steps under a spout. “Long day, Doc?”

You can’t even muster a reply as you close your eyes and hit the red button in front of you. For just a single moment, the rest of the hospital fades away with the roar of the sonic waves washing over you, and then it’s over.

“That good, huh?” Kix notes your response, or lack thereof.

You shake your head, trying to keep it together. “I’ve had better.”

Kix holds the door to the locker room open for you as you step through. “At least you don’t have to wear the clone kit all day.” He says, tossing you a pair of clean blacks from the cabinet. “On the battlefield it’s great, but here I bump around like a pinball. I’m lucky if I can make it through the day without breaking anything.” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

The corner of your mouth does twitch a little. “I don’t know.” You respond, “I’ve always thought I looked like a hutt in those hazmat suits, and the gloves are so annoying.”

“Dinner?” Kix simply asks.

“Please.”

He leads the way to the hospital cantina. You met Kix just a couple weeks ago, but the two of you had become fast friends. He was a clone medic, sent to your planet to help in one of the hundreds of makeshift ‘hospitals’ that had popped up in the wake of a pandemic. This particular hospital was housed in an academic campus, shut down because of the spreading illness.

Normally, you were the second in command in the biggest hospital in the planet’s capital, but for the past month your days consisted of random converted buildings, biohazard suits, and patients you felt like you couldn’t do anything for. At the end of the day, you were thankful Kix had been stationed at your hospital.

Though you two were usually preoccupied with your own patients throughout the day, the pair of you could usually be found together on your breaks. It felt like Kix truly saw you and your struggle. Sure, the hospital Medical Director was the top dog, calling the shots, but you were the one in the trenches of the Infectious Disease Ward every day.

This pandemic was an enigma that you just couldn’t figure out. It should have just been the normal yearly wave of Wet Lung, easily managed by some general antibios, but those didn’t work. Then your Medical Director ordered you to move up to more aggressive drugs, so you did. Before you knew it, your patients were on IV drips of the most aggressive antibio cocktail you could think of.

And they still weren’t getting better, in fact, they were getting worse. You’d already lost a number of patients to sepsis, blood poisoning, and the other hospitals across the planet were facing the same issues. As far as you knew, any person that had caught this mysterious strain of Wet Lung were either dead or dying and there was nothing you could do about it.

You nearly bump into Kix when he stops to open the cantina door.

“Coruscant to Doc, are you okay?” He asks, guiding you through the door with a hand on your lower back.

You shake your head, trying to clear it. “Yeah, Kix. Just a long shift, you know?”

He squeezes your shoulder before grabbing a tray and heading to the serving line. Even though the Republic had brought the war to your Planet a few months ago, you had to admit their support was needed for this pandemic. And nobody knows how to feed the masses quite like the GAR.

Kix immediately starts eating when you two sit down, he told you about one of his brothers, Fives: 'If you didn’t eat quickly around him, he’d swipe the rest of your rations.'

You just can’t bring yourself to eat, instead you just chase a few peas around your tray. Of course, Kix notices.

“Jahaal'got.” He says, using your nickname to grab your attention. “Come on. Talk. It wasn’t just a long day.”

You avoid his eyes, the words getting stuck in your throat. You’ve lost patients before, multiple in one day even, so why was today crushing you so badly?

Kix sets down his fork and reaches across the table to gently grasp your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at him. “How many did you lose today?”

You take a deep breath, “Twelve, eight more deteriorating. I just… I don’t get it, Kix. What are we missing? The drugs aren’t working, they keep going septic before we can catch it, and those that haven’t progressed to sepsis are dying to the Wet Lung.”

Kix stops your rambling by taking both your hands in his. “You remember what your nickname means, right?”

You should be able to remember, but your mind has been so overworked, it doesn’t come to you. “I, uh… something about medicine?”

“Jahaal’got.” Kix repeats it. “It’s the mando term meaning 'good for health', because that’s what you are. You’re doing everything you can, and that’s all you can do.”

You nod, closing your eyes and rolling your head to try to release the tension in your shoulders.

“You’re off tonight, right?” Kix asks.

“No,” you shake your head. “I picked up the night shift, I have to be here.”

Kix scoffs at you. “Are you serious? What, you’re just going to sleep on the hospital floor forever?”

“Not forever.” You protest. “Just until this blows over.”

“This pandemic or the war?”

You meet his eyes, and a knowing look passes between you. After meeting him, you had discussed sending in an application to become a civilian medic for the GAR.

“Well, we have an hour before the night shift starts.” Kix says, standing up and taking your tray. “Why don’t we go for a walk and then try again at this ‘food’ thing before going back to work?”

Your brow furrows at his remark, “But you-”

“Will also be working the night shift, so it seems.” He cuts you off. He shifts both trays into one hand and holds his other out to help you out of your seat.

Kix leads the way, dropping the trays in the wash basin on the way out of the cantina. Outside, the sun is beginning to set, painting the sky with shades of orange, pinks and purples.

The two of you walk through the academic campus, chatting about nothing in particular. Kix asks you a few questions here and there about the buildings you all pass. Though it’s been a few years, you tell him what you remember about studying here.

“It’s a shame all the students had to be sent home.” You remark as you step into the university greenhouses.

Kix nods his agreement. “What is this place?” He asks, looking around.

“The campus greenhouses, they're shared by a few departments.” You explain. “Biology, horticulture, environmental studies, and engineering to name a few.”

“I’m surprised everything is still alive, don’t plants take some maintenance?”

“Well, the greenhouse forms a pretty self-sustaining environment. I remember the medical students coming in here a couple times.”

Kix tilts his head at you. “What would medical students study in here?”

“Well,” you shrug, “There are quite a few medicinal plants native to this planet. Though they aren’t quite as effective as modern medicine, they can still be used for daily management or as an additional treatment.”

The two of you weave through the greenhouse aisles for a few more minutes before you notice Kix has lagged behind. When you turn around to find him, you notice he’s hiding something behind his back.

Your eyes narrow. “What do you have there, Kix? It’s not a bug, is it? That was only funny the first time.”

He chuckles, “Haha, no. I promise it’s not. Here, one last thing to brighten your day.”

You freeze when you notice what he has in his hand.

Kix notices your expression at the small yellow flowers he’s holding out to you. “What, are they poisonous or something?” He asks hesitantly.

“No,” you shake your head smiling as you take them from him. “It’s just funny, those are St. John’s Worts.”

“Weird name.”

“It’s from local mythology.” You explain. “The flowers tend to bloom on the summer solstice, which is dedicated to their namesake.”

Kix looks from you to the flowers and gently picks a few more sprigs from the nearby planter, tucking them behind your ear. “They’re pretty, like something else I’m looking at.”

His words make you smile, but you playfully swat at his arm. “Oh stop it. I know I look like hell.”

“You look better than anyone else would after nearly a month of non-stop work in an infectious disease ward.” He responds.

“Thanks Kix.” You say, hoping that your sincerity projects. Before you know it, you’re throwing your arms around his neck.

Kix falters, but only for a second. You feel his arms wrap around you, strong and steady, just like him. Just like he has been for you the past few weeks. Maybe it was his clone conditioning, or maybe it was just him, but he seemed so unshakeable and he always knew what to say.

He doesn’t relax until you do, but his hands remain on your hips, his eyes darting across your face, trying to read your thoughts. One of your hands rests on his chest, the other still on his shoulder. You won’t deny how drawn you are to him. Though you hoped for the end of this mystery illness plaguing your planet, it stung that it’s end meant saying goodbye to Kix.

Kix is shifting. ‘He’s leaning in, why is he leaning in?’

You move as well, but the moment is shattered when your foreheads bump into each other.

Kix lets go of you completely and takes a step back, color spreading across his cheeks.

“I uhhh…” He tries to find the words, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh, it’s fine.” You stammer. “You’re fi- we’re fine.” A giggle slips past your lips at the awkwardness.

Kix breaks into some nervous laughter as well before readjusting some of the yellow flowers in your hair. “Tell me about them.”

You smile at him. “Well, they’re perennials, meaning they come back every year, they don’t need to be replanted. Although the flowers are yellow, they’ll stain your fingers red when you crush them. They’ve been shown to have some antidepressant properties as well as anti-inflammatory benefits, but you need to be careful when combining them with modern drugs.”

You notice Kix’s soft expression as he listens to you.

“It’s been shown that St. John’s Wort has antibio and antiviral properties as we-'' Your heart stops. “Kix.”

“What?”

“Kix, that’s it,” you repeat. “That’s why we keep losing them. We’ve been treating this Wet Lung with antibios, but those aren’t working because it’s not bacterial.”

Kix’s mouth drops open and he says the words at the same time as you. “It’s viral.”

You can see the thoughts tumbling in his head. “And because we advanced to use the system-wide drugs, the patient’s are too weak to fight the virus, triggering the sepsis.” He stammers out. “But, wait, that can’t be right. How can it be viral? There’s never been a case of viral Wet lung reported on this planet.”

Your feet move automatically as you start pacing. “‘There’s always a patient zero. Normal trade is scanned and sanitized.” You stop. “The troopers.”

Kix’s brow furrows. “No, we're vaccinated.”

“Yes, but vaccines aren’t a foolproof plan, with a mutated strain it might present as a mild cold, or not even show symptoms, especially since you all are engineered to have a more robust immune system.” You say, your brain moving a klick a minute. “Where were you all stationed before being deployed here?”

“Most of the 501st was on shore leave on Coruscant.” Kix replies, shaking his head. “The Carnivore and Execute Battalions… They were on Rhodia and transferred directly here for the occupation.”

His eyes widen and he grabs your wrist without another word.

“Kix? Kix!” You shout as he drags you through the campus back towards the hospital. “Why is it so important that you were on Rhodia?”

“Rhodia is one of the native planets for viral strains of Wet Lung.” He pants. “The Rhodians are largely immune, but some mutated strains survive. You were right, we had a couple troopers reporting colds when they transferred.”

The doors to the Infectious Disease Ward bang open and Kix finally lets go of your wrist, giving you a moment to breathe.

“Like you said, the troopers, we’re engineered to have stronger immune systems and we’re vaccinated.” He continues. “The population here…”

“We never have.” You finish his sentence. “We don’t have any kind of immunity. Combined with your theory that it’s a mutated strain and the antibios we’ve given them, it’s no wonder-”

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?”

The two of you turn and see the Medical Director storming down the nearby hallway.

Kix steps partially in front of you and stands at attention. “I’m sorry sir, but we-”

“I don’t care what you two were doing!” The Director booms. “You bursting in here is no excuse.”

You slowly step out from behind Kix. “Please, sir. We think we’ve figured out this pandemic.”

“I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m in charge here.” The Director says, his eyes narrowing.

Instead of bowing away as usual, you stand your ground. “I am just as qualified as you, if not more. I'm the one that's been running this ward while you sit in your office. I graduated from this very campus, top of my class and I’m the second in command at the Capital Hospital. This disease we’re dealing with, it has to be viral.”

Your Medical Director looks you up and down, pausing at the yellow flowers in your hair. “There has never been a case of viral Wet Lung reported on this planet. The antibios always work. We just need to find the right combination of meds.”

“Sir, you need to listen.” You insist. “I know we’ve always treated Wet Lung with antibios, but look,” You wave your arm at the ward behind him. “Every single patient that’s come in is either still sick or has progressed to sepsis. The other hospitals are reporting the same.”

Kix puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. “She’s right, sir. Strains of viral Wet Lung are common in other systems. We had a couple battalions transfer here from one of those systems, Rhodia. It’s likely some of our troopers were carriers for a mutated variant and brought it here.”

You pick up where Kix left off. “Even though our population doesn’t have any innate immunity, a fair amount of people probably could have ridden out the virus if we hadn’t given them those antibios.” You bite your lip before continuing. “Those drugs are effective, but in a patient with no bacterial infection, all it would do is compromise their system. They can’t fight the virus, and they progress to sepsis. Only we’re not catching it before it kills them because the Wet Lung is masking the sepsis symptoms.”

You try to stop the words from spilling over your lips but in a last desperate plea for your officer to understand, it slips out.

"We’re killing them."

Kix’s hand squeezes firmly on your shoulder as you let out a choked sob. Your medical officer looks at you curiously, you’ve always been so level headed and sure footed.

The Director crosses his arms. "So you’re telling me to take them off the drugs and do nothing. You do know that’s how we treat viruses, right?"

You lock eyes with him. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. We need to give them supportive treatment; fluids, steroids, pain medication. We can try some antivirals to weaken the Wet Lung strain, but the patients will have to fight it off on their own. All we can do is give them the best chance possible.”

Your director looks you up and down before letting out a little ‘hm.’ He glances behind him to the infectious disease ward and back to you. “I will not take responsibility when this goes wrong. Looks like we’re taking your direction now, Doctor.”

Under your instruction, all of the patients in the ward are removed off the antibio cocktail. Much to your Medical Director's annoyance, the death rate begins to improve. You sent word to the other hospitals caring for pandemic patients and they saw similar results. It’s a slow process, and Kix stays by your side every step of the way. The day you discharged your first survivor, you cried. You both did, actually.

It takes a few more weeks, some patients are touch and go. There were still a few deaths, and Kix held you as you cried for them. Then came the day that you got the news. Your patient numbers had reduced so much your little makeshift hospital was going to be closed, and you were being sent back to the Capital Hospital with a new position, no less. Your remaining patients would be transferred along with you and the University was going to be reopened.

And yet, you weren’t quite happy. Sure you’d basically saved your planet’s population from facing extinction, but you couldn’t revel in it knowing that a certain someone was going to be shipped out.

“The campaign here is over.” Kix had explained. “And with the pandemic contained, there’s no reason for the medics to stay behind.”

The 501st was being sent to Ryloth. You knew there was a crisis brewing there, and you were proud that you knew some of the brave men going to help there, but it still stung. It stung the same as your eyes did as you stand on the landing platform, waiting for someone to come say goodbye.

“There you are.” He says, walking up behind you.

You sniff slightly, trying to keep tears from pricking at your eyes. “Here I am.”

You hear a bit of laughter and you notice a group of clone troopers in blue armor across the landing platform that seem very interested in the two of you.

“Don’t pay attention to them.” Kix says, moving in front of you to block them from view. “Brothers…” He mumbles.

“I get it.” You say, searching his face, what for you’re not quite sure.

Kix reaches for a pouch on his belt. “I- I have something for you.” He says, sheepishly pressing a box into your hands.

Looking down you realize it’s a jewelry box. Gently you open the lid and gasp at the sight of what lays inside. Strung on a delicate chain is a single golden pendant of a flower. The same flower that Kix had tucked into your hair all those weeks ago. The same flower that led to the salvation of your planet.

“Kix… I don’t know what to say.” You stammer.

“Don’t say anything,” he says sweetly. “Just turn around for me.”

He takes the necklace from the box and gently brushes your hair out of the way before clasping the chain around your neck. Turning back around you can only shake your head and smile at him.

“I have something for you too.” You say.

Kix looks at you a little puzzled, he hadn’t seen you holding anything.

“They’re naming the new wing of the hospital after you.” You explain. “It’ll be like you’re always here. No one will forget what you did for us, for me.”

Kix gingerly cups your cheek with one hand. “It was an honor and a privilege.”

He’s leaning in again.

This time your lips connect and the landing platform melts away. There’s nothing but him. Him and you.

Of course your heart has to ruin it as it sinks with the returning thought that he’s literally about to leave and never come back. You break the kiss, but he keeps your foreheads pressed together.

“What is it?” He breathes.

You can’t help but scoff. “You’re leaving and we’re kissing. I doubt the GAR will give you much time for visits.”

“Hey,” Kix says gently holding your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s like you said, I’ll always be here, jahaal'got. I will admit I should’ve kissed you sooner.”

“Hey lovebird! It’s time to go!” One of his brothers shouts.

That manages to get a laugh out of the two of you.

“I think you have to go.” You mutter.

Kix lets you go and takes a step back. “There’s one more thing, but it’s waiting in your office.”

He turns to leave, but you reach out and grab his bracer. “Kix. Thank you. For everything.”

With a smile, he leans in to peck you on the cheek before turning and jogging over to the shuttle where his brothers are waiting.

A grin spreads across your face when you see one with shoulder pauldrons wrap his arm around Kix’s neck to give him a noogie, while another with a top knot of hair claps him on the back.

The sun is setting by the time you get back to your office. The door slides open with a gentle woosh. It’s a nice space, though somewhat empty as you have yet to move most of your stuff over from your old office. On your desk is a vase of small yellow flowers. You find yourself shaking your head again as you walk closer.

Kix… when will he stop absolutely melting your heart?

When you didn't think he could surprise you any more, you realize the flowers in the vase are ceramic. Tucked in between some of the delicate blooms is a notecard. You instantly recognize Kix’s swooping handwriting.

‘I think I need to make an appointment with the Doc, I seem to have been bitten by the love bug. (augh, that was awful, Jesse told me it would be good) I hope you like these, you deserve real ones, but had a local artist make them for you since I won’t be around to make sure real ones never wilt. I’ll see you soon, jahaal'got, on my next shore leave.’

Also Happy Birthday @arctrooper69! (today, May 20th)

#cloneflowerficevent #clone trooper kix #clone medic kix #star wars tcw #tcw #the clone wars #star wars the clone wars #clone wars #sw tcw #tcw kix #kix #501st #501st legion #kix x reader #st. john's wort

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writingquestionsanswered · 1 month

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Hi! Do you have any tips how to not lose interest in a story and be enough interested to start/do write if? Personally I just get hyperfixated on a story idea I have, do the brainstorming, even the planning, sometimes world building and if I get serious I make lists about almost everything but never end up writing even if I have interest still, but at most cases at the point I could start writing I just loose interest and get bored of a story when I'm done figuring out what it'll be about and maybe because I don't really like thinking about the climax or the end of the story...

Hyperfixation on Planning Story, But Can't Write It

I do have some tips on rekindling your interest in your story, which I'll link below, but first I think it's worth addressing the specific issues you mentioned: that you don't like to think about the climax or end of the story.

Have you thought at all about why you feel that way? There are a few potential reasons I can think of:

1 - Your story doesn't have a conflict, so your story doesn't have a natural climax or ending. Stories revolve around conflict, or in other words a problem that needs to be solved. This problem could be in the character's heart and mind (internal conflict), in the character's situation/life/world (external conflict), or you can have both at the same time. Many stories these days have a parallel internal and external conflict. Stories are ultimately about someone (or a bunch of someones) trying to solve a problem. In order to solve that problem, they need to reach a particular goal or accomplish a particular thing. The bulk of the story will be their struggle to reach this goal as they overcome the obstacles along the way. The climax of the story is where they face down the cause of the conflict once and for all, whether that's a villain (like an evil wizard or corrupt corporation) or a force (like illness or a natural disaster) and try to solve the problem once and for all. Everything after that is the aftermath... whether they succeeded or failed, patching up their "wounds" from the "battle" (again, it doesn't have to be actual wounds or an actual battle), and settling into the post-conflict life. That's your ending.

2 - You have a conflict, but haven't figured out how it would be resolved, so the climax and ending are fuzzy. If you have a conflict but aren't sure how it would be resolved, it might help to think of the conflict as a problem that needs to be solved. For example, in The Hunger Games, the conflict was the Hunger Games Event... the problem was that Katniss volunteered to compete which put her life at risk. So the solution to the problem was to survive the event.

3 - You know what the climax and ending are, but you are enjoying the characters and world and don't want the story to end. This is one I think many writers can relate to. It can be really hard to let go of a story when you've enjoyed writing it, have gotten attached to the characters, and feel comfortable/familiar with the world. It can also be a little scary to think about diving into a whole new story. But, we do have to learn to let go of stories when they're finished and let them come to their natural conclusion. You can always go back to the world and characters, even if just for yourself, later on. It wouldn't be weird to write "fan-fiction" of your own story, and many writers turn these kinds of stories into prequels, sequels, companion series, and companion short stories that their readers enjoy, too.

Here are some tips for getting excited about your story again if you just need your motivation rekindled:

Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write 5 Reasons You Lost Interest in Your WIP, Plus Fixes! Getting Excited About Your Story Again Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists Feeling Unmotivated with WIP

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking | ♦ Learn more about WQA here

#wqaadvice

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vanishingcherry · 1 year

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hi! would you be able to do the “ now you want me like i wanted you” prompt with lando? thanks <3

MEMORIES

send in a prompt from this list with a character/driver and ill write a blurb!

masterlist

๑ ⋆˚₊⋆────ʚ˚ɞ────⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

You had always been involved in the world of racing, specifically Formula 1. From a young age you would watch the races, cheering for your favourite team and favourite driver, something that changed almost everyday depending on your mood.

When you found out that Lando, a boy from your school was interested in the sport, you immediately became best friends, spending all day, every day talking about racing. You stayed best friends for years, but nothing could stop your growing affection for the boy.

Your confession had been, admittedly, poorly timed. It was right before, arguably, the most important season of his life thus far. He had finally made it into F2, and needed to spend all his time on racing. But his tone and his words were something you were never able to forgive, you'd think being best friends with someone for years would at least guarantee a certain degree of respect.

"Y/N I can't! This is important to me and I need to put all my focus towards racing, I don't have time for your feelings."

"I get that Lando, I'm not saying you have to ignore the championship. I just wanted you to know how I feel, its not like I expected you to act on it immediately."

"Look. I don't want you, not now not ever. Get the thought of us out of your mind, the thought of me out of your mind. You're a distraction, thats all."

The memory of that fight was always unwelcome, but you weren't going to let a boy, especially Lando, ruin your love for racing. From that day forth, you cast him out of your mind, separating your love for the sport from the memory of him.

You had been invited to a Grand Prix by Alex, who you had met when you were younger and attended races with Lando as support. The two of you had stayed good friends, and you were excited to watch a race in person.

You were stood in a corner of the garage, watching the mechanics finish up last minute preparations when you felt a hand tap your shoulder.

"Lando." you said, spotting the bright orange suit after turning around.

"Um hey Y/N. Alex said that you were here, and I was wondering if we could talk?" He stutters through the question.

"We don't have anything to talk about."

"Darling I- I'm sorry, about what I said. I've missed you every day since then and I just want you back in my life. I was hoping we could talk and figure things out?"

"And thats why you waited 3 years to talk to me again?" Your voice is cold, not wanting to let any emotions slip past. Your feelings for Lando had long since disappeared, and all you felt for him now was contempt.

"I didn't know what to say or how to say it, love. But when I found out you were here I knew I had to talk to you."

You sigh. "Lando, I was your best friend and you treated me like shit. Its fine that you didn't feel the same way I did, but you didn't have to call me a fucking distraction and stop talking to me."

"I know and I'm so sorry. I swear i'll make it up to you I promise, I just- I have to tell you something. I love you, I love you so, so much and I need you in my life. Darling I- its killing me that I hurt you and I need a chance to fix this. Please, just one chance." The desperation is visible in his voice, eyes pleading.

"Now you want me, like I wanted you?" You could almost laugh at the irony, saying the first words that came to mind at his confession.

"Yes." Lando replied instantaneously, knowing what you were thinking, and knowing that he deserved it.

He had messed up, and he had spent hours thinking of things he could do to get you to forgive him. But as years passed, he grew more and more scared of talking to you, regretting his decision more than anything in the world when he realised just how much of an impact you had on his life. Just how much he missed you and just how much he loved you.

"I know I fucked up, and I'm willing to do anything to fix this. Anything, I swear."

"I think its best if you go back to your garage now."

His face fell at your suggestion. Some part of him had stayed optimistic, and he could feel that warmth slipping through his fingers. "Wait! Please, please Y/N. I'm so sorry, you aren't a distraction, you're the only thing I want, the only thing I care about."

"Lando, maybe at some point in the future, we can be friends again. But I don't think I could trust you to that level again." Your voice has a sense of finality to it, and Lando knew it was the best deal he could get. He did mean it when he said he wanted you to be in his life. If this was the way you wanted, then so be it.

He nodded. "Okay. Whatever you find comfortable. I- Just please know that I'm sorry, and that I do really love you."

He left the garage after saying that, silently walking back to his own. It was his fault, he knew that. He would just have to make do with the memories.

#vanishingcherry #lando norris drabble #lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris f1 #lando norris fluff #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 #formula 1 #f1 imagine #formula one #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #lando norris fic #lando norris blurb #leah writes ──⋆˚₊⋆ ๑

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bad268 · 1 year

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Could u write a princess of Monaco and Arthur lecrelc , I see this being written so much for Charles and none for Arthur

thank you :)

Queen of Monaco (Arthur Leclerc X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 2/3

Requested: Clearly (haha we have the same mind bc I was already drafting this before you requested it)

Warnings: death of parents and brother (mentioned), google translate, the Monaco curse is affecting Arthur now and that's a warning itself bro. I am in denial about the race results today, so I made this to make me happy.

Pronouns: She/Her

W.C. 4108

Summary: The beginning of the relationship between Arthur Leclerc and the Queen of Monaco.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(@/Arthur's insta from January 29, 2023)

It was a normal day in Monaco. It was not a race week, and there were no pressing matters to attend. I had just returned to Monaco last week after attending the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in the United States, but I just received my Bachelor's degree and wanted to return home before starting my Master's. I decided to take my first semester online, so I could go home and spend time with my family.

When I got back, my parents urgently began to train me for the throne even though I was not next in line. Despite having an older brother who was scheduled to become the King of Monaco after my parents, he had to serve in the military before he could move forward. They wanted to have me prepare in the event that something happened to him in battle.

I had never really been in the public eye due to my brother being the next in line. He was always the one attending meetings, trainings, and keeping up appearances. I was free to do as I pleased for the most part, but in 2015, they sent me to a training school in London. It taught the basics of monarchy and the foundations of how to run a country. It was the same one my brother attended. Even in my spare time, I found my passion in mechanical engineering and aerodynamics. It took some persuasion, but my parents allowed me to attend MIT after my graduation because they were so sure that I would not be needed. My brother is in the final stages of the training. All he needed to do was finish the last few months of military training, and then he would be crowned.

Upon my return, I learned that my mother was ill, so they wanted to get my brother crowned quickly. However, they practically had to start from square one since I was provided very minimal training in London. My father was furious, not at me, but at the situation they had been placed in. They told me the best thing I could do while they prepare the training is to memorize Monaco as it had been nearly seven years since I had been here.

I was walking down the pier, looking at all of the little shops that lined the pavement and the boats at the dock. There was a small ice cream shop, a couple of clothing stores, a few restaurants, and a salon. I realized that I had not had my hair professionally done since before college, so I thought it would be a good idea to treat myself.

“Bonjour, comment puis-je vou aider? (Hello, how can I help you?)” A lady greeted me as I stepped through the door. It was a small shop, no one else was in there, but it was cute and welcoming other than the fact that I could not remember French for the life of me.

“I’m sorry, my French is no good,” I replied sheepishly, fully prepared to leave, but the woman stopped me.

“Oh, not a problem, dear. My name is Pascale, what can I help you with?” She smiled, kindly, leading me over to one of the chairs.

“Well, I haven’t gotten my hair done in almost four years, so I think it’s time to freshen up,” I explained.

“Oh perfect, I can most certainly help with that,” She laughed, placing an apron around my shoulders. “Are you thinking about dye, highlights, trim, cutting…” She started listing more but I couldn't follow along with all of the terminology.

“Uh, probably just a trim,” I chuckled, “my parents would kill me if I showed up with short, dyed hair.”

“Not a problem at all,” she grinned and began cutting the ends, little by little, as we made small conversations. “What do you do for work?”

“I actually don’t have a job at the moment,” technically, “but I just came back from the United States. I was at MIT for the last four years, getting my bachelors in mechanical engineering and aerodynamics, and before that, I attended boarding school in London.”

“That’s interesting,” she hummed, “Sounds like you like Formula 1?”

“Not so much the races. I just like the cars,” I laughed in response. “I like learning what could make the cars better, faster, stronger, and safer, but the actual races aren't something for me. I watched one too many accidents end badly, so I can never find enjoyment in it anymore. The last race I went to was in Japan, and I lost my best friend.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that, dear. If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” Pascale consoled. I looked at her confused through the mirror. She just set the scissors down just as her phone got a notification. She pulled out her phone and opened the notification. It was a text message with a picture. “That is my son, Charles, and his best friend, Pierre. They’re in Formula 1. They went out karting today, and he just sent me this.”

“Oh, Charles Leclerc and Pierre Gasly! I know them,” I recognized immediately. “That’s your son?”

“Yeah, he’s always had this passion for driving, so I’m proud to see him living his dreams,” She smiled, putting her phone back, and resumed cutting my hair.

“Well, I’m proud of him too, and I don’t even know him.” I laughed.

“Maybe, if you’d ever change your mind, you could join us for a race,” Pascale offered. “Only if you’re up for it.”

“I’ll have to see, but probably not,” I declined nervously.

“It’s not a problem, dear,” She said, patting my shoulders. “But you are all done. How do you like it?”

My hair was shorter by a couple of inches, but it felt so much lighter and healthier than it did earlier today. “I love it so much, Pascale! Thank you so much! How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing, just promise you’ll think about joining us? It would do you some good to get to know more people, and you could even check out the cars before the race! If you’re not comfortable staying for the race, you can always leave. Just promise you’ll think about it before immediately rejecting it?” She pleaded.

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” I laughed, “but only because you were so persuasive!”

–

The next time I was out in the streets was nearly a week later. My time was being packed with different trainings and attending private events, but nothing public yet so as to not stir up controversy. I decided to go to a local bakery and get some tea and some food. The food in the castle just did not compare to my favorite bakery. Not by a long shot.

When I walked in, there were not a lot of people in there. It was a small shop with only two tables and a counter. There was the person behind the counter, Ella, and three people at the tables. One sat by himself and the other two occupied the second table. I approached Ella and ordered a tea and sandwich. She said she would bring it right over once it was finished, and I approached the man sitting by himself.

“Bonjour,” I greeted, my French was slowly coming back to me but not enough to carry a full conversation. The man looked up from his phone at me. He had blue eyes and shady blonde hair. He had airpods in and took one out as I approached the table. “My name is Y/n. Would it be alright if I sit with you? The other table is filled.”

“Of course,” He responded immediately, moving the bag that was hanging on the other chair to the floor. “I’m Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur. Thank you for letting me sit with you,” I laughed, taking the seat that he pulled out for me. “I really appreciate that.”

“It’s my pleasure,” He chuckled along, “It was just empty anyway.”

That was the start of an inseparable bond. It was strange having someone so close again because even though I had some friends in school, they were never as close as Arthur was. For the first couple of months, any time that was not filled with training was spent with each other. Whether it be chilling in his apartment, driving around Monaco, boat rides, and random trips around France and Italy, we were content with doing random acts of entertainment. It didn’t take long before he asked me to be his girlfriend.

One thing we knew would be difficult is the time commitments. With his recent change from Formula 3 to Formula 2 and more royal training for me, we knew it was going to be more time-consuming. That didn’t stop us, however. Tuesdays were the most random day of the week, but neither of us had any responsibilities.

One day in particular, the day before he was set to go to Australia, we were at his apartment, and I was helping him pack since he *conveniently* forgot. We had gone to get smoothies and acai bowls earlier that morning before heading to his apartment. Then, after we ate, we put on some music as background noise while we packed and conversed back and forth.

“Would you ever come to a race with me?” He asked as he pulled a couple of shirts out of his closet. “I know you didn’t have a good experience at the last one, but would you be willing to give it another time?”

“I don’t know, A. I get anxiety just knowing you’re racing,” I explained. Moving to fold the shirts he’s pulling out.

“That sound like an improvement!” He laughed, jumping over and wrapping his arms around my shoulders as I put the folded clothes in the suitcase. “When we first started talking, you said no immediately. Now, you’re saying you don’t know.”

“What can I say?” I leaned back into his embrace, “You are pretty persuasive.”

“What are the chances of you coming to the Monaco Grand Prix with me?”

“The odds are in your favor since I don’t go anywhere,” I laughed in response. He turned me around in his arms. He was pouting and had his head tilted slightly. “No, don’t do the puppy face. You know I can’t say no to that face.”

“Please?”

With a heavy sigh and a joking eye roll, I caved. I was about to vocalize my decision, but my phone started ringing. This time, my sigh was out of annoyance after seeing it was from Mila, my personal guard and trainer. “I need to answer that, but yes, I promise to go to the Monaco Grand Prix with you.”

“Of course,” He exclaimed, kissing me all over my face. “I will take care of everything. You go take the call, and I’ll finish packing in here.”

With a small smile, I walked out of his bedroom to the living room and stepped out onto the balcony before answering the phone. “Hi, Mila. What did I forget?”

“Nothing, but are you near the palace?” She responded. Just the tone of her voice made me nervous.

“Not really, I’m about 20 minutes away. Do I need to head back?”

“Yes, let me know when you get here.” And with that, she hung up. I walked back in to see Arthur with his suitcase fully packed by the door.

“I need to head home,” I started. “Something’s not right.”

“That’s fine,” He reassured, pulling me into a hug. “I’ll need to head out for my flight soon anyway, so I’ll walk you to your car.”

During the drive back, my mind wandered. Was there a meeting I missed? I couldn’t remember having anything scheduled on a Tuesday. Most meetings were on Mondays or Wednesdays and policy training sessions were Thursdays and Fridays. Maybe there was a last-minute meeting.

Pulling through the gates, I texted Mila once I parked in our car park, and a few guards were waiting for me. “Hi, what did I miss?”

“Y/n, we need to talk,” one of the guards, Chris, said, and right then, I knew things were worse than I thought. We walked through the corridors to reach one of the meeting rooms, but the only person in there was Mila. The guards immediately turned around and left the room.

“Mila-”

“Have a seat,” She cut me off, gesturing to the seat next to her. I took it hesitantly as I looked at her skeptically. “So, I’m not going to beat around the bush with this. As you know, your mother, the queen, was sick.”

“I assume she died then? That’s what this was for?” I cut her short. However, there was something on her face that said she wasn’t finished. “Okay, I’ll let you continue.”

She shook her head dismissively, “No, it’s fine, but you’re right. She passed away early this morning.”

“So my brother will be crowned when he comes back?”

“That’s the next news,” Mila paused. I encouraged her to just rip the bandaid off because I was getting impatient. “Your father went to the base to get your brother, but there was an explosion. There was a gas leak, and somehow the building they were in exploded. We’re still waiting on the details.”

“Wait, so my entire family…” I trailed off, but she knew where I was going. She just nodded solemnly as she pulled me into her side. “So that means…”

“It means you are to be the queen.”

Third POV

Ever since the Melbourne Grand Prix, Arthur has been talking about how his girlfriend was going to join him on the paddock for the Monaco Grand Prix. To say that his friends and brothers teased him would be putting it lightly. Any chance they could, they asked questions about this “girlfriend” of his that they had never heard of, and Arthur was willing to spill all of the details. On the Thursday before the Monaco Grand Prix when he was driving to the track with Charles, he accidentally let it slip that he actually had not heard from her recently. He asked Charles to check his phone to see if she had texted him recently.

“Wait, you haven't heard from her in over a month and you’re not at all worried?” Charles asked, very concerned for someone he’s never met.

“No, we’ve definitely texted recently,” Arthur responded in disbelief. When they pulled up to a red light, Charles showed him that the last message from her was April 1. “No, we’ve definitely talked.”

“Here, pull over. We’ll switch, so you can call her, and I’ll drive us the rest of the way to the track,” Charles said, already getting out of the car as soon as they were on the shoulder. He immediately dialed her number, and after a few rings, it went to voicemail. He thought about leaving her a voice message, but she was already calling him back before he could start.

“Hey, traffic is hideous, but I’m almost there,” She started her explanation. She was sitting in the backseat with a couple of guards, and Mila as her driver took them to the track. “Are you already there?”

“No, we’re not there yet,” he laughed. “Charles and I are still stuck in traffic, but we noticed that I hadn’t messaged you since the Australian Grand Prix. Thought I would call to see if you were still coming.” Charles was half listening to the conversation, but he was smiling to himself, hearing how lovestruck his younger brother sounded.

“Oh, definitely,” She chuckled. Mila nudged the girl with a knowing grin. “I’ve just been insanely busy recently, but I promised. On the bright side, I finished my training!”

“No way, I’m so proud of you, ma chéri!” Arthur cheered. Charles was a little confused as he pulled into the track, but let it go, knowing Arthur would explain it later. “Does that mean there will be a ceremony or something?”

“You could call it a ceremony, yes,” She giggled. She noticed that they were only a few blocks away from the car park of the track, so she turned her phone away toward her shoulder as she directed a question to Mila, “Could I jump out and meet up with Arthur before the race? I promise I’ll be careful, and I’ll be in the box before it starts.” Mila turned to discuss it with one of the guards who was entirely against it. “Please, I won’t leave Arthur’s side, and you know he’s trustworthy.”

“I won’t let her out of my sight, Mila!” Arthur’s voice could be heard through the phone despite it not being on speaker. She gestured to the phone at her shoulder as Mila tried to reason with the guard.

“I’ll go with you,” Mila said as she started collecting their passes and jumping out of the car that was stopped in the traffic going into the parking lot. Y/n immediately climbed out of the back, pulling her phone back up to her ear.

“Alright, Arthur, where do you want us to meet you?”

First POV

“You seem to have gotten shorter since Melbourne,” I laughed as I ran into Arthur’s arms from where he was waiting at the Dams garage.

“You’re wearing heels,” he pointed out after we pulled away. “What are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

“You say that like you don’t like me in heels,” I teased back.

“Ok, lovebirds,” Mila pulled our attention away from each other, “I am going to head up to our seats. Don’t tell anyone I left.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. Thank you, Mila,” I responded as she started walking away.

“You have seats?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to rely on you for the passes for Mila, so she bought us hospitality seats,” I explain. It wasn’t the whole truth, but I could not just tell him that in the open. “Is it possible to talk somewhere away from the cameras?”

“You’re not breaking up with me, right?” He immediately jumped to conclusions.

“No, no, no, no,” I quickly shut down. “Je t’aime trop pour partir, mon amour. I just want to tell you something. (I love you too much to leave, my love)”

“Je t’aime, ma belle, (I love you, my beauty)” He whispered, pulling me in for a light kiss before leading me back towards the driver’s room he shares with Ayumu. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I took a seat on one of the beanbags as Arthur sat right next to me. I took a deep breath before deciding the best way to tell him was just to say it fast. “Arthur, I need to tell you about my family.”

“Are you trying to have me meet your family already? You could meet my brothers and maman today if you want,” He rambled.

“I can meet them, but you won’t be able to meet my family. That day you left for Australia was the day I found out they passed away.” I paused looking at his reactions. He looked sorrowful as he grasped my hands and ran his thumbs across the backs of my hands. “Maman had an illness, and papa went to get my brother from the base.”

“Your brother’s in the military?” He asked.

“Was,” I answered. He looked even more confused at that before I continued. “He was serving in the military as his last stage of training. Kind of like my trainings, he had to serve in the military.”

“What kind of training did you need to do? Was this part of your degree or something?”

“No, that’s the big secret I haven’t been able to tell you,” I whispered, putting my head down as I felt guilty for not explaining this sooner.

“Anything you have to say, I will accept you either way,” He reassured me as he pulled me into his chest and kissed my head. “I understand that you have your reasons for hiding some things, so whatever this is, it is not going to stop me from loving you.”

“What if it is complex with more spotlight than you already have?” I asked, throwing my head to rest on his shoulder and looking into his blue eyes. “What if it’s a big change?”

“When we go public, it will be a big change, but I’m willing to do anything for you, ma princesse.”

“Reine, (Queen)” I whispered.

“Quoi? (What)” He responded just as fast.

“What if I told you my parents were the king and queen of Monaco? And my older brother was the prince of Monaco? And now that they’re gone, I will be the queen of Monaco? What would you do?”

He went silent for a few seconds before whispering, “Are you serious?” My silence was enough of an answer for him to jump up, pulling me with him as he starts laughing and spinning us in circles. He set me down after a couple of spins before holding me at arm's length, “I would completely understand. I mean you probably didn’t plan on taking the throne because of your brother, and you’d just come back from studying. I only tell people who need to know, and when we met, I wasn’t someone who needed to know. We haven't talked since you found out, so I could never be upset with something like that.”

“But now, if we tell people, you will be heavily scrutinized as people will see you as a potential king,” I signed, happy to know he isn’t upset with me, but still wanting him to see all sides before completely agreeing to move forward. “You’d have more on your list.”

“The only question I would have is if it would interfere with racing,” He turned serious.

“I would never let them keep you from your passions,” I laughed. “They have to respect it by order of the queen.”

“Well, then I would see no issues against continuing to be by your side, ma reine,” he chuckled with a mocking bow.

“Merci mon beau prince, (Thank you my handsome prince)” I mocked back, “now by order of the queen, go win this race.”

“And Arthur Leclerc passes Fredrik Vesti in the final turn of the race,” Crofty shouted over the radio during the final lap of the race. I was up in the hospitality seats with Mila and the guards but headed down to the pitlane a couple of laps before since I was going to be presenting the trophies. I was standing at the pit wall with Charles, Lorenzo, and Pascale, who I met (again) just before the race. “The Monaco Curse is broken for Arthur Leclerc as he wins his first Monaco Grand Prix!”

I left the pit wall to meet everyone at the podium and stopped to meet up with Mila on my way over. She and the guards escorted me through the crowds. “I’ll tell you now, one of you will need to tell Arthur not to out our relationship when I give him his trophy.”

At the podium, I stood behind the steps as Alice announces the winners. “In third place, we have Théo Pourchaire! In second place, we have Frederik Vesti! And in first place, breaking the Monaco Curse, the home favorite, Arthur Leclerc! Presenting the trophies today is the future Queen of Monaco, Y/n.”

“I’m proud of you,” I said to Arthur as I handed him the trophy.

“Merci, now if only Charles could win,” He joked, taking the trophy and posing with it.

“I’ll tell him you’re talking crap about him,” I teased back, moving away to grab the next trophy for Dams. I handed them all out and expressed my congratulations to the other two drivers before posing for the picture and immediately ducking back as I knew Arthur would try to spray me. I walked down the stairs to meet up with Charles before he heads back to Ferrari for his own race. “Arthur’s talking shit about you. You better win.”

“I’m starting sixth, so we have hope,” Charles responded as he rolled his eyes.

“Just don’t box for hards at the last lap again and you’ll be fine,” I laughed as if it were really that simple.

“Maybe I broke the curse for both of us or maybe I just had some good luck today,” Arthur said, coming up behind us and throwing his arm around my shoulders.

“Oh yeah, what good luck did you have?” Charles teased, punching Arthur into me.

“Maybe just the future queen of Monaco.”

~~~~~

#arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #formula 2 #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #bad268 #ship268 #thing268 #arthur x reader #f2 #f1 #dams racing

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rafeandonlyrafe · 8 months

Text

reluctant friends to lovers

words: 1.8k

week one of class

“are you freaking serious.” you whisper to yourself, seeing his name on the sheet next to yours. you were hoping for basically anyone else, the ditzy blond who you know you’ll have to carry throughout the whole course, or the quiet kid who you’d never have a not-awkward conversation with. but, that’s not who you get as your lab partner. you get rafe cameron.

he slides up next to you, big smile on his face. “hi beautiful.” he says, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. rafe is nice to you, too nice. you’ve been in a couple classes with him before, and it’s always the same. he flirts heavily with you, invites you on dates, to parties, dismayed when you say no like always. you were flattered at first, thinking he was actually into you, but you should have known it was too good to be true. you see him every week with a new girl, and he probably just wants to add you to his list of conquests.

“hey rafe.” you let out a sigh with your words, but he doesn’t have time to respond as your professor begins to speak. you flip your notebook to a fresh page, starting to jot down notes. geology is not your favorite subject, but it’s a required class for your degree. you’re not even sure what degree rafe is going for, or why he is even here. you know from the gossip around the school that he comes from money.

whats your degree? you write on the back of your syllabus.

business rafe writes back. that makes sense. you’re not sure what business his family is in, but you’re guessing they forced him into getting a degree. it’s not that he’s not smart, he seems to pass all his classes, but he clearly much rather spend all his time partying. what’s yours?

political science with a minor in communications.

rafe ooo’s quietly, showing his impressment with your choice of degree. you smirk and roll your eyes.

you don't even get to any lab work today, it's just the professor going over what the semester looks like and giving you some reading to prepare for your lab next week.

"see you next week." you say, not wanting to give rafe time to chat you up again as you hurry out of the class. when you look back you think rafe looks almost disappointed.

week two of class

"did you do your prep work?" you ask rafe. you're honestly not sure why you're so confident he didn't. maybe it's because his priorities always seem elsewhere.

"of course." rafe pulls his lab book out, and the first page is done. you nod in approval.

"should be easy anyways." rafe says. "i mean today is literally just testing the hardness of different rocks. how bad can that be?"

you shrug. you have no interest in science, and while you enjoy nature, knowing what kind of rocks you are stepping on is not something you're truly interested in.

your attention turns to your professor while he does a quick introduction, but after that, its all you and rafe.

you work down the list of rocks, seeing what it scratches or what scratches it.

"okay." you set the rock down, frustrated with it. "i can't freaking tell if this is leaving a scratch or if it's just residue." you let out a huff. this is not going to be your favorite class, but you already knew that when you saw who would be working with you all semester.

"relax." rafe let's out a chuckle, picking the rock up. "ill help." rafe does the same thing you just did, getting his face awfully close to the rock, and all you do is sit there and admire his side profile. he's handsome, but after seeing his tongue down five different girls throats last semester, you know to stay away.

"i think it is scratching, yeah." rafe nods, and you mark it down on your sheet.

"thanks." maybe this partnership wouldn't be so bad after all.

"you can thank me by going on a date with me friday night." nevermind.

week three of class

“did i miss in the reading what geomechanical tests are?” you ask, flipping through your textbook.

“here, hold on.” rafe reaches over to flip to a specific page, pointing out the section that explains it all.

“thanks.” you nod, quickly reading the section as rafe prepares the materials for the lab today.

you’re about to get started when a pretty brunette comes up to your table, leaning across you to talk to rafe, “hey handsome.”

you cringe, looking to rafe, who doesn’t seem all that interested. must be last weeks conquest. old news.

“hey kelsey.” he says, not even bothering to look up from his paper.

“are you coming to my party this weekend?” she asks.

“need to study.” rafe says. you hold back a laugh. it’s the third week of class, there’s nothing to study for, and kelsey must know that as she stalks away.

“why do you do that?” you ask before you can help yourself.

“do what?” rafe looks up at you, but you just shake your head.

“nevermind.” you don’t want to explain that you’re more interested in studying whats going on in rafes head rather than the rocks in front of you.

week five of class

“i can’t believe we already have a pop quiz.” you thought you liked this professor originally, but maybe not anymore.

“at least we can work together.” you guess that was the one saving grace of it.

“you’re gonna have to carry me through this.” you say honestly.

“you know, it’s actually nice to know there is one thing you’re not good at.” rafe says as the professor hands out your quiz. you let out a sigh of relief seeing its only one page.

“what do you mean? i’m averaging like a 3.0 right now.” “really?” rafe looks shocked. “i always just assumed you were top of the class because you never party or go out.” you let out a little laugh, shaking your head as you write down your name on the top of the paper. “i’m just not really a party person, that’s all.”

week six of class

“i can’t believe i’m saying yes to this.” you hand your phone to rafe, letting him put his number in it.

“oh come on, we are getting pizza and then studying together. it’s not like i’m asking for your hand in marriage.” “alright, just don’t mistake it for a date.” “wouldn’t dream of it.” rafe says, but sounds disappointed.

week seven of class

you laugh and lean into rafe, it feels natural, the way your body presses against his, if only for a moment. he googled some dumb geology jokes to make you feel better with studying for midterms. they’re awful dad jokes, but that just makes them even funnier.

“please come over again to study.” rafe says as the class is nearing the end. your professor gave you an entire class to study and use the materials in the lab, but you’ll need to go over the textbook for the written portion.

“yeah, it was actually fun last time.” you admit. not that you didn’t expect it to be, but you went on got pizza with rafe, eating it on campus, then headed to his condo just outside of campus to study. it’s a really nice one, and you figure his family must be paying for it. you wish you could live without any roommates, but you’re stuck in the cheap dorms.

“great. i’ll text you a good time.”

week ten of class

“please just talk to me.” rafe says, grabbing your hand, which you quickly snatch out of his grip.

“i am talking to you.” you say with a sigh.

“i mean about what happened i would understand if you’re upset.”

“we should really focus on the lab, rafe. he said this would be on our final exam.” you turn back to your work, hoping rafe would do the same, but he’s persistent.

“i kissed another girl and you saw it, you’re allowed to be upset, but if you’d just let me explain-” “we are not together!” you say loudly, getting a couple people at the tables near you to turn and stare. “we are not together, rafe.” you say quieter now. “so kiss whoever you want, i don’t care.” “i know we’re not together but we had something good going and i don’t want this to end because i’m an idiot.”

“nothing has ended. we weren’t together before and we aren’t together now. we aren’t even friends, we are just lab partners. now stop before i walk out of here right now. we have work to do.”

week eleven of class

“thanks for ruining him, bitch.”

you look up confused, sure that the girl isn’t talking to you, but you look up to kelsey staring back at you. “excuse me?” “rafe. he didn’t throw his party this weekend because he was being a crybaby over you. he was hooking up with my friend but he won’t do that now that you turned him down. god, it was so much better before you had to sink your claws into him.” and with that, she stalks away.

you wait in shock until rafe comes in, frowning and for once silent as he slides into his seat.

“rafe.” you say. “can we talk?” “oh, now you wanna talk?” rafe scoffs.

“i- i didn’t know you were serious about us. i thought i was just another name to add to your list. i didn’t realize that you were actually hurt.” “of course i’m actually hurt. i never once tried to hook up with you, it was always more serious than that. when i hook up with a girl, they know that’s all i’m interested in. i tell them that’s all they’re going to get out from me. it’s never a secret.”

“i’m so sorry i judged you too quickly.” you say, placing your hand experimentally on top of rafes. you honestly can’t blame him if he doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore.

“it’s okay.” rafe turns his hand over to lace your fingers together. “can we give us an actual shot now?” “yes.” you squeeze his hand. “yes.”

week thirteen of class

“you nervous for the exam?” rafe asks.

“nope.” you lean into his side. “because i’ve got a great partner.” “great in more ways than one, huh?” rafe pecks your lips, but you stop him from pulling away, deepening the kiss.

“great at geology is the main thing that matters right now.” you say with a giggle.

rafe wraps his arm around your waist, thumb rubbing gently over the skin between your shirt and jeans. you smile at him, even as your professor begins to explain your lab.

#obxweek23 #reupload!#rafe fic #rafe fanfic #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron drabble #rafe cameron one shot

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heliza24 · 4 months

Text

Being a physically disabled Dimension 20 fan breaks my heart sometimes

I’ve been thinking about this since last Wednesday’s episode when we finally got a real scene with Lydia, one of the few physically disabled characters in the entire canon of the show. It was nice, but it was really just a lore dump. An excuse for exposition. A moment for Kristen to look good by expending sympathy/pity. (I’m a little frustrated about how that interaction went down. Extending the help action was nice but patronizingly touching the neck of a full-ass adult without consent was not. It was weird and not something she would have done to a nondisabled character).

I have watched almost all of D20 (still missing a couple of seasons) and as far as I know here’s where our list of canon physically disabled characters stand: Lydia Barkrock, Jan de la Vega (who feels pretty problematic to me, maybe more on that in a later post), one of the Dwarven statues in the temple in The Seven (who is not given the dignity of being brought to life like Asha), and Pete’s coworker in TUC2 who is in exactly one episode and is so unimportant I have forgotten his name. I guess you could make an argument that Gunny is disabled, but I don't feel that Lou or Brennan really talk about him or play him through that lens. So in terms of canon physically disabled PCs-- that leaves us with 0.

We do a bit better with neurodivergent characters and characters with mental health problems; Ayda (my beloved) is very well developed and Adaine is a PC. There have been some openly neurodivergent players, like Omar and Surena, whose characters also read ND to me. But that isn’t labeled or discussed in canon, so it's hard for me to know where to class that. I am going to focus the rest of this post on physical disabilities, since that is my area of lived experience. If another fan wants to write about their perspective of neurodivergence rep in the show, I would love to hear that, and will happily amplify.

There has never been a character with a sensory disability or a limb difference or a chronic illness (not a fantasy one, a real one) on Dimension 20. The only NPCs we have are nondescript, similar wheelchair users. And there has never been a physically disabled player at the table. On the flagship show of Dropout, a company founded on diversity and inclusion. It feels extremely pointed to me.

In fact as far as I can tell there has only been one (1) physically disabled performer on any of Dropout’s shows. (Shout out to Brett, you were great on Dirty Laundry.) Obviously I haven’t seen every episode of everything they have produced. If I have missed someone, please do let me know in the comments/reblogs. But it’s a problem. And Sam Reich even agreed with this criticism when I asked him directly about.

I do really hope they’re working on it, as Sam says. But why has it taken so long?

Dimension 20 has had trans and nonbinary and queer players. It has had players of many different races. I’m not saying that the diversity here is perfect; there should always be more POC in the dome, more queer people. We should keep pushing for that. (And we should also push for performers at the intersections of these identities!) But we’ve seen the ways this diversity has expanded and improved the different seasons, because diverse players create sensitively drawn, diverse player characters. They add details to their PC’s experiences that make them feel rich and alive. I’m thinking about each of Ally’s PC’s incredible capital G gender and Aabria “all my characters (even the stoats) are Black” and how excellent they all are. D20 would not be the show it is without this input.

And yet. And yet.

There are 1,000 interesting and complicated themes to explore around disability. Dealing with access. Dealing with ableism. Dealing with compassion and community care. Dealing with none of it and just being a cool fantasy or sci fi character that happens to be disabled. We don’t get any of it.

I watch my favorite show and I see myself in the ace rep and the female characters. But I don’t see all of me. I see a silent but ever present message: you aren’t quite welcome here.

I have this fantasy that I play in my brain sometimes that someday I’ll get to talk to Brennan in person, like maybe if I buy a VIP ticket and risk Covid to go to a live show or we run into each other on the street or something. I am able to look him in the eye and articulate why he NEEDS to include a physically disabled player in an upcoming season. I reference the ways he’s talked about inclusion and writing diversely on Adventuring Party. Maybe I hand him a handwritten letter, or hell, a printout of this post. And because he really cares about diversity and his shows and his fans he would listen to me, and cast a physically disabled performer in the next season.

But I think that might be giving that nondisabled man (whose work I adore, who I respect so much) too much credit. Because he’s had Jennifer Kretchmer, a physically disabled actual play performer, on adventuring academy to talk about access in gaming. He’s hired disability consultants. He knows about physically disabled people, enough to give us shoutouts as inconsequential npcs. And he still hasn’t thought to include us at the table. In over 20 seasons. None of that other stuff matters if we aren't given a seat at the story telling table, and the agency to craft our own narratives equal to other participants in the game.

When Lydia was telling her story in the last episode, I kept wishing for a prequel, where she is more than a plot delivery device and a kind but unimportant parent. I want to know about her adventures with her adventuring party. I want to see a talented, wheelchair-using actor play out the scene when she decides to put the gem in her chest. I want to hear about what happened after. I want to know how she survived. I want it so badly it hurts.

I am in the process of trying to find new indie actual plays that feature more disabled talent. I am learning how to GM myself so I can tell these kinds of stories. But it’s not the same as being a fan of something. Sometimes I don’t want to have to make my own representation. Sometimes I just want to turn on my favorite tv show, the one that I have cosplayed from and written metas about and loved whole heartedly, and see myself included.

If you’re another disabled or neurodivergent fan I’d love to hear your thoughts on this. If you’re not, I’d love for you to reblog this. I would love for the absence of physical disability in this show to be a topic of fandom conversation, at the very least.

#dimension 20 #d20 #my crip media reviews #being a fan is hard sometimes #and being disabled means you get left out of “diversity” all the time #I love this show so much it hurts #I wish it could love me back a little bit more #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high #my meta #dropout #dropout tv #Sam reich

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