#proactive measures fic

[techmomma]

There is a degree to which we are responsible for our emotions. And certainly, we are responsible for our reactions and behavior.

In situations that we have control, situations where a friend is hurting us, like yes, maybe they shouldn't be hurting you. But there are also actions you have to take on your part.

Think of it like an ocean wave. If you go to the beach and a wave surprises you and gets you wet, and you're upset by this, that is perfectly reasonable.

If you keep standing there, letting yourself get wet and get more upset, when you can move away, then that's on you. I mean, it's your choice to do so. If you don't like getting wet and you just stand there getting wet when you can take a few steps back, you can do so. But it's also unnecessary stress, and you give up your own agency. Saying "I can't control this" when there are very much parts you can control denies your own responsibility in this situation. You can't control the waves from crashing, but you can step away from them.

If you know that a friend is going to keep disappointing you, there are two different actions we can take here: a proactive, and a reactive action.

A reactive action looks like knowing they're going to disappoint you or upset you, they do so, and you react to this. Nothing changes, and it keeps happening, and you continue to be upset. Your anxieties remain unaddressed and continue to hurt you.

A proactive action looks like knowing they're going to disappoint you or upset you and taking the steps to mitigate stress in anticipation of this. And THAT can look like setting down a boundary, removing yourself from the situation (no longer participating in the thing that your friend disappoints you about or no longer asking them to do X when they won't), or accepting that they will disappoint you--meaning you are at peace with the idea of them disappointing you, not "I am going to continue letting them disappoint me but it's going to upset me every time."

It means addressing the source of your stress and what upsets you before it actually does. And like. That's hard! It fucking sucks!

Especially for those of us who've grown up in situations where we didn't have any choice but to be reactive, because oh I don't know, we were children and didn't have any other options. And now we've grown up into adults who feel like there's no other option but to sit there and take it. Like there's no other choice but to be stressed and upset.

Part of healing from this kind of abuse, managing our stress in proactive, responsible ways means we no longer settle anymore, for being hurt. "Just taking it" when people hurt us and won't change. And as adults, that is kind of our responsibility and no one else can really do that for you. That's kind of part of being emotionally mature, is understanding yourself, and being responsible with your own emotions.

We sometimes can't change what other people will do. But we can change what we do, in response. And we can take care of our stressors before they stress us out.

#for those who like to read fanfic: #the reactive response to seeing a fic with a tag that upsets us is to read the tag then the fic and be upset #and deal with the fallout of being upset #the proactive solution is to read the tag and not read the fic because we know it will upset us #or to read the fic and take the appropriate measures to emotionally support ourselves or lessen how upset we will be seeing the upsetting c #or say you read fic from an author who makes great stuff and sometimes you can read their work #but sometimes they throw out a fastball and they don't tag things properly and there's some things you can't read #you ask them to tag and they don't #you can continue getting upset every time they don't tag properly and you see things you don't want to see #or #you can be proactive #and either stop reading #or find a friend to read it for you and point out where the upsetting parts are #or do a browser search for specific words so you'll have an idea of where the upsetting material might be #or do some emotional buffering to prepare yourself #we can't control that they won't tag it #but we can protect ourselves from being hurt in the future

[composeregg]

disclaimer: I am a volunteer for the OTW. I am speaking for myself, not on behalf of the organization, anything expressed here is my own. I may be wrong about some things, I'm very much not involved in any of this as part of my work. Additionally, I haven't run this by anyone else in the org, so take that as you will. I'm just a person, hoping to reassure other people, fans like myself.

A few people have come to me asking questions about this, and asking clarification already, so I just.... Want to reassure everyone. A lot of people follow me and know I volunteer, even if I don't talk about it much.

No, Ao3/OTW is not endorsing AI. Scraping is not being allowed or encouraged (you can, in fact, see here in this link, the code of Ao3 disallowing scraping). There is only so much the organization can do to prevent this. If you set your works to logged-in users only, it does somewhat give more protections. Data miners are very proactive, and prevention measures can only do so much. After the data is harvested, with or without consent, it is that much harder to pry back and out of those hands.

Many, MANY people are panicking. They saw an excerpt of an interview in this week's OTW Signal news roundup. This interview was from someone on the legal team of the OTW. She was speaking not for the organization, but as someone with credentials in the fields being discussed. Much of this has been misinterpreted and relayed second-hand. It was a conversation primarily about trademarks and AI.

I don't know the course the OTW is going to take regarding AI with the law, myself. That's not my field whatsoever. I can say, how would we even have the TIME or ABILITY to "develop an AI to be integrated with AO3" as some people speculate? It took our volunteer coders years to work out a block/mute function and get it from idea through testing to implementation.

The OTW does not want to just feed everyone's fanfic into AI. The organization may end up taking a middle-ground stance on the legality of AI and AI-generated creations. I don't think that Disney would care much for the distinction between "This is an AI generated item infringing on our trademark, remove it" versus "This is a fan-made item infringing on our trademark, remove it." The legality of AI versus fan creations is a very tricky topic, and from my understanding, that was the focus of the interview and what was being discussed (along with some other ideas).

Protecting the right to fanfiction and fan creations existing is the primary goal, and navigating new, emerging technologies that could find similar arguments, whether or not people at the org agree with them, means they may end up protecting them somewhat. This is not a betrayal of fandom. Every volunteer is an individual, and opinions within the org are all over the place, but we are all fans as well, and we don't want random bots just lifting all our fics and creations without any say-so either.

The topic of AI is a landmine right now, and I do think it was insensitive and ignorant of the current fandom/political sphere to highlight something like that interview, especially in the way it was done. It immediately led to panic, distrust in the org, and people spinning off numerous infeasible ideas because they simply do not have information, and hear rumors or don't parse a conversation about legalese well (I know I had trouble with it! A lot of my understanding comes from reading discussion about it myself). Nuance is important, as is the fact that nothing is ever published or discussed in a vacuum.

I don't blame anyone for having misinformation, I get it. It can be hard to find correct info. Transparency is something the org is not always great at (it's being worked on! Everyone is aware it's an issue! We are just very,,,,, very slow at implementing changes, as a volunteer-run organization). Time is the OTW's most valuable resource, and we are constantly, constantly in demand and in need of more time and manpower. It can make communications difficult, and very stressing.

The OTW is a non-profit, it is not selling any data. It does not want to sell your data. The money it makes is solely from donations. There is not going to be any selling to AI, there is not going to be any attempt to implement AI for the OTW itself.

Honestly, beyond that, I'm super not qualified to talk about the legal aspects of everything in the article/interview. I don't know all the inner workings of the org, I don't know all the thoughts and opinions and legal stances. I don't even know all the nuances of AI legal issues myself. I just know that I don't think it can replace creativity, and that it could be a fascinating tool in a better world (but I do not trust how it could be used here and now).

I hope this helps anyone who sees it. I hope that this is a reassurance, and that maybe it will help people feel better. I know panic is a powerful force, and I know there is a great distrust in any organization even mentioning AI (usually for valid reasons!). I know information can be hard to find, and legal discussions hard to read, I've been there with the org myself.

But the OTW is a group of people trying their best to make sure that fandom has protections. There are like, a thousand of us or something. Not all of us are going to agree on everything, but we all agree fans deserve a space to create and have those creations protected. One of the inciting incidents of its founding was a hatred of the idea of some company trying to profit off of fanworks with complete disregard for the fans themselves.

The OTW was founded to prevent fans from being taken advantage of, and to protect fandom's right to exist. It is never going to betray that core tenet. Partially because we're all fans ourselves and have a vested interest in keeping it that way, but additionally: This organization is nothing without its volunteers, and if someone high up on the board or something genuinely tried, we would know and we would make ourselves known.

(Just look into the Board Election of 2015!)

#otw #organization for transformative works #ao3 #archive of our own #ao3 discourse #egg speaks #ao3 blogging #otw blogging #I will turn off reblogs if people try to start shit #also if staff tells me I fucked up then like. I will delete this tbc #I just. want to say something. I'm just some person #but I don't want other people to feel like they need to panic #or be afraid #or take down their works #also this feels repetitive but yolo

[msmargaretmurry]

i wanted to write some fandom-related new year's reflections down and this felt like the best place for it! i miss livejournal every day!

i don't generally do formal new years' resolutions, mostly because i am always too busy around the new year to really sit down and think and reflect about what they should be and how i would want to measure them, but i do think the new year is a good time for a little mental reset regardless and i have been Pondering over the past few weeks about what i would like that to mean for me...... i have always complained that tumblr as a platform is terrible for making friends and i stand by that (i have met good friends on tumblr but the friendships flourished when we took the conversation elsewhere) but i do think this past year i have been #blessed in obtaining some really lovely mutuals and acquaintances On Here in a way that has made me feel more connected to hrpf fandom at large, which has been really nice ❤ so that is something i would like to continue in 2024. i hesitate to be like "i want to spend more time on tumblr" because i probably do not need to do that lmao but i do maybe want to try to be a little more proactive about making/maintaining connections and loose ties. my dear pal kasper @moregraceful has talked about fandom as community and that always resonates with me, because it can be so easy to feel like you are feeding Content into the Content Machine for people to Consume and honestly that is so miserable! i don't want that! maybe 2024 will be the year i finally post my thoughts on the interminable "bookmarks comments are for readers, not writers" discourse.

anyway. i know a lot of the actual fandom ~conversation these days happens on discord, which is am afraid of, but idk maybe i'll try to have more of an open mind about it this year. but maybe i won't. making no promises to myself there 😂 i am trying to be realistic about how much free time i will have for fandom in the midst of work and grad school and real life social life so i think the upshot here is wanting to be thoughtful and deliberate about how i spend the free time i do have for this stuff.

on the fanfiction front...... i came into 2023 in a pretty shitty mental place about writing, mostly due to how lonely i felt about writing-as-community in 2022 — it's just not fun to feel like your friends are having fun without you about things you thought you'd be included in! — and spent most of the year trying to pull myself out of it, with middling success. like, i enjoyed the head above water ficlets i added to that universe but i do still feel a little crappy that those were the only things i was able to finish writing. i have so many stories i want to get out! so i am also trying to look at this new year as maybe a chance to give myself a clean slate and say that no matter what writing goals i set for myself i will also try to be gentler with myself and focus on enjoying the writing process regardless of the end product. but i would also like to actually finish some real fics this year, lol. i might set some measurable goals, but that will not be happening until i get home next week.

in conclusion, idk what i want this year to be yet! a friend of mine recently mentioned the joys of using the julian calendar for her winter celebrations means the new year isn't until january 14, so the first two weeks of the year get to be kind of a "soft launch" of the year to figure out what works best and i did immediately steal the concept even though i am a gregorian calendar girlie. so i am still pondering, still percolating. if for some reason any of you actually read all this and have your own fandom- or writing-related new year's goals/resolutions, i would love to hear them ❤

#2023 roundup

[dramionediscussion]

Hi! So I haven't been following Dramione / Harry Potter fanfics community in a while and imagine my surprise that lots of post has been about the monetization of fanfics.

Initially I thought it was more of seller on Etsy selling their service of printing and book binding by request, so they are selling the printing and book binding service, not the actual fanfic works themselves, but then the more I read the more I realized it's actual sellers selling the fanfics in published hardcopy book form for profit without permission, which is just shocking, appalling, unethical, and really sad that this has caused numerous authors to pull the plug , so to speak , and pull out their fics as a way to protect their works. Not to mentioned with this gaining traction it increases the chances of original authors possible banning fanfictions all together since people are profiting from their work essentially.

Anyway, recently I have mostly been involved in smaller fandoms , or recently established fandoms, which much smaller community or smaller numbers of published fics, so I haven't heard much of this fanfic seller issues happening there.

Has this issue impacted other fandoms especially the big ones like Star Wars, Marvels, Supernaturals, etc? Also, aside from reporting the sellers, is there anything more proactive that we can do as readers, writers and community members? Has there been any actions towards raising this to The Organization of Transformative Works (the one heading AO3) for more concrete protection measures for everyone involves?

Thank you!

Hi!

Initially, authors said that the bookbinding profits were just from materials to make the physical book and the person's labour, but now that is not the case. Also, the binders would get permission or pay an artist to use their art in the books.

I don't know if this is affecting other fandoms, I haven't seen any Dramione author or fan say that they are seeing this elsewhere. If anyone knows, please leave a comment!

But people are saying in the Dramione tag that they have reached out to AO3, but haven't heard anything. I don't know how AO3 will stop this or help to be honest. They are just a host for the works. They give people the option to download fics. Some people on the tag were saying they were gonna try to contact AO3 and see if they can make downloading optional, so authors can choose if they want their fic to be downloadable.

But AO3 is a huge company, I don't see them caring unless this whole bookbinding thing starts getting the attention of JKR (who seems to be preoccupied with advocating for the removal of basic human rights).

BUT ALSO!!!

This is causing a lot of fans to start downloading their favourite fics before authors remove them. I am already seeing people sharing PDFs over on the Dramione subreddit. Many authors don't like this either. Download it for yourself, but do not share. So now they are gonna have to deal with this too.

-Lisa

[corvuscorona]

oh god this is so many chapters. "how many" do not ask me this. measure it in multiples of ten in your mind's eye & I'll get back to you someday. I have more different metrics for you:

my outline* (!) is about to be 10k words and I'm MAYBE at the halfway point. there are like 20+ bullet points for Concepts I still probably want to incorporate somewhere but haven't quite figured out how to place yet and AT LEEEEEAST 9 chapter-shaped holes to fill (lowballing so as to not summon misfortune) (middle chunk of fic is the most filled-out**; latter ~half or so is still missing some Events to go with the General Idea (beginning chunk is missing mostly prose and slightly Thinking)).

* not all of the outline is Outline-Shaped a lot of the words are prose. or a lot of the other ones are me giving myself instructions / slapping run-on sentences together to capture a vibe. YOU KNOW

** THE CORE EMOTIONAL PIVOT-CONSTRUCT FOR THIS PART MAKES ME INSANE I'M SPINNING IT AROUND VIOLENTLY IN MY BRAIN AT ALL TIMES

problem defeated: timeline stuff. OR IS IT writing this made me realize that having figured out the timeline stuff for the beginning and middle does NOT mean I figured it out for the parts after that necessarily so much to think about so much to think about

problem to beat going forward: all the Scenes I thought of or placed nicely without having to reach much are in there already so now I have to be like proactive about the ideas FUUUUUCK AAAAUUUghh ok scream over. I'm ready to use my inside voice to go insane thank you for your time

#sopffic #started writing this fic on a Beautiful Autumn Drive in late october. to 'battle: darkness'. on repeat. in the car at the state park #never underestimate Going Outside Weirdly. #edit: on my wife's birthday yeah #birthday present: The Vortex

[olderthannetfic]

The recent posts on your blog are an ugly reminder of how entrenched secondhand outrage is in online discourse. People who have never volunteered at Ao3 or OTW, or heard of whats-her-face or been impacted by her wank are OUTRAGED and FURIOUS that someone would criticize the site GO BUILD YOUR OWN (the racist dogwhistle is a separate issue). People who have never encountered ai fics or lost their jobs because of ai are OUTRAGED and FURIOUS that Ao3 isn't censoring ai fics and (somehow) preventing scraping FUCK YOUR PLAGIARISM MACHINES. And so on.

Like yeah, you use Ao3, it's wise to be informed and proactive and of course you care. But your emotional reaction should mirror the impact of the events on your life. Otherwise it's just displacement and emotional dysregulation. And it makes you (general you) less impactful in your action -- either because you're screaming incoherently or reiterating racist talking points in your outrage -- and massively fucking annoying to be around besides. I'm not going to say "touch grass" but you should definitely get in touch with something, like maybe the systems that keep you in a constant state of angry rumination and physiological arousal about things that, be honest, have had little to no measurable impact on your life.

--

[dross-the-fish]

feel free to skip if you're uncomfortable. I saw your post about the things you don't support in writing but what are your thoughts on things like rape-fic or CNC?

First and foremost I think I will never write them or read them. I am a rape-survivor and though I have managed my trauma well I am not in a place where I want to see or interact with it in literature or media.

In terms of whether or not they're ethical? That's a grey area. Context matters pretty heavily when depicting those topics and there is definitely a way people do it that is toxic and perpetuates harmful misconceptions about sex and consent.

To a point you can argue it's like BDSM, the people creating and engaging with these scenarios are adults writing about other adult characters and they retain control over the fantasy so there's no actual consent being violated. Though I certainly think there is a conversation to be had about why these fantasies are so prevalent, especially among women. There's also an issue with the predator characters sometimes being intentionally or unintentionally racially coded but that requires its own separate conversation. It also makes a difference if the writer is identifying with the predatory role vs the victim role which is also it's own conversation but I think for the purpose of this ask I'll focus mainly on female consumers who identify with the victim as that is the most widespread scenario in fanfic and the "romance" genre.

Take this with a grain of salt, I haven't really done a lot of research into this so most of this is speculative and based on conversations I've had with women who enjoy this kind of content. I could be way off in my observations but I noticed common threads in all of my conversations.

I think genres like smutty "bodice rippers" written by and for women don't have widespread popularity for no reason and the reason is rooted in internalized misogyny. It's a symptom of generations of women feeling ashamed of their sexuality. The main appeal of these kinds of narratives seems to be that the female protagonist has little to no control and is therefore not responsible for initiating or perusing any kind of sexual gratification. She remains passive rather than active, through that passivity she can retain a sense of moral purity and even innocence. Why do those things matter? Because historically and even in some sense currently, that is the measure of a woman's worth.

I've spoken to women who say that they inexplicably feel a sense of guilt if they take a proactive role in the bedroom and I find that more than a little troubling tbh.

In most of these stories the female protagonist is not given power because power would mean she could be held responsible for her own debauchery. It opens her up to criticism, slut-shaming and accusations of "asking for it."

In summary I don't think there's generally anything wrong with kink but I think it's beneficial to examine where the kink comes from and why a particular fantasy or kink is widespread. Fiction is shaped by reality and consumers of fiction are obligated to some extent to understand what they are consuming and why they are consuming it. At the end of the day all I ask is that people engage critically and be willing to unpack whether what their consuming is in itself harmful or a symptom of a more widespread harmful ideology.

#tw:rape #tw:sexual discussion #fandom critical

[renegadeguild]

Hi! I love what you do but saw a tiktok recently from kirby[.]alice that said any form of fanfiction binding even handbinding is completely illegal even if you do it yourself. Ist here any merit to this? I know I cant believe everything on the internet but I am afraid to be shut down or sued by a legal team

I am not an attorney but I've clearly learned more about the question of the legality of fanworks than the Tiktokker whose misinformed scaremongering video has got you nervous.

The legal status of transformative works, such as fanfiction about large corporate-owned intellectual properties, is not a matter of settled law in the United States. The Organization for Transformative Works has a whole legal advocacy team dedicated to legal protection of transformative works. You can learn a lot more about that on their site.

In practice, your risk of being sued is directly related to whether there is money being made or someone else's profits being cut into. This is all about money. As a small fry binding fanfic for yourself or as gifts for yourself or the authors, there is less than nothing to be gained for the copyright holders to file suit against you. What damages would they win? How is your activity impinging on their ability to make money off the original IP? The cost/benefit analysis doesn't lead to a conclusion that litigation will be a good thing. Never mind the self-destructive PR of a corporation going after some of their own most ardent fans.

On the topic of Real Person Fic (RPF) this is actually more settled law than more mainstream fanfic. In the US, RPF is protected under parody law. No competent attorney would file suit against you for writing and posting it.

Again this information relates to US law. Laws differ in other nations. the OTW legal advocacy team monitors laws globally. See their news feed here. Laws change all the time and new bills are constantly being developed and considered. Now is a good time to remind you to donate to AO3/OTW if you want to see this work continue.

If you're in the US, it's vanishingly unlikely that you be sued for binding fanfiction. You are small fry. The person who holds copyright over that fanfic is a private citizen and litigation is most likely not within their means to pursue. The entity that holds copyright over the original IP is not going to find it worth their while to sue you.

However if you want to avoid even feather-ruffling or hurt feelings on the internet, then I would suggest you further avoid:

(1) using print-on-demand services, a violation of their terms of use which typically prohibit fanfiction - a proactive legal defense measure because they *are* big enough to maybe be worth suing (2) offering traditional cash based commissions services for fanbinding, which can give an appearance of piggybacking and profiting off others' free labor (writing/art) (3) distributing a fic author's work or fanartist's work without their consent (e.g. reposting it, publicly sharing it, offering copies to people)

Again I am not an attorney and this does not constitute legal advice from an attorney.

-ASH

#not real legal advice #but not disinformation either

[coffeeheartaddict2]

Pride through the years

Book: Open Heart

Characters: F!MC Casey Valentine

Category: Fluff

Rating: PG

Warnings: mentions of homophobia

Word count: 901

Summary: A look through some of the key Pride Parades that Casey has been to.

Disclaimer: non OC characters belong to Pixelberry

Authors note: so this will be a similar format to my through the windows fic but Casey and Pride. This another submission for CWFC Pride Bingo Card. Pride Parade.

🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

June 2011.

Casey had been at NYU for a year now. She loved dorm life and had made good friends. This was her first major exposure to the lgbtqi+ community. She knew people who identified as such existed, she knew that those who identified suffered both systemic and non systemic abuse. To see the extent was an eye opener and not long before pride month she saw first hand some of the non systemic abuse. Her and a few friends were out for lunch, enjoying a gorgeous day in New York when her companions, who were only holding hands, were verbally abused and threatened. This experience was an eye opener for Casey and right then and there she decided she needed to be the change she wanted to see. A few weeks later there was pride and there was a March. It felt empowering attending, being with people who were open about who they were and who they loved and the fight that everyone had in them. Casey had only just decided that she was going to pursue medicine but she wanted to be the doctor that anyone who identified as lgbtqi would feel comfortable seeing.

June 2015.

It was the pride between undergrad and medical school and around campus there was an air of excitement. There had been a long time push for marriage equality and even though it was allowed in 36 states, all eyes were on SCOTUS to recognize it across all states. June 26th was a massive celebration but they knew there was a lot of work to do. She knew of the systemic abuse that still occurred and she was entering a health system that showed not the best outcomes for those who were lgbtqi+.

June 2019.

Casey was now a resident. She still considered herself an ally but work was busy, now that she was a junior fellow on the world famous Diagnostic team. She still attended events and she went with Jackie for most of them. Jackie had to hide it for most of her life, due to her parents and when she was away from home was still guarded about her sexuality due to her upbringing. Children were not on Casey’s radar yet, if ever but hearing Jackie’s experience made her determined to be the parent who would be understanding of her own child’s sexual orientation.

June 2022.

Casey was now an Attending and after the news broke that Roe was going to be repealed she was awed by Caroline’s proactivity. Casey knew that if women’s rights in health care were attacked, those who identified as lgbtqi were definitely going to be in the firing line. Caroline instigated a whole suite of measures and education aimed at the public and physicians so we knew where we stood legally, putting out education programs at community clinics in schools around women’s and sexual health and consent. Edenbrook fast became seen as an ally and Casey could not be any more proud of the organization she was working for.

June 2026.

There was more change at Edenbrook again but again there was much excitement. Caroline had not long announced her retirement from being the CEO of Edenbrook Hospital and her parting gift was a Medical centre that despite being apart of the hospital was going to be set in one of the more diverse areas of Boston both socially and economically and the primary focus was women’s health and the lgbtqi+ community. Casey was excited and hoped that at a local level in time there would be better health outcomes.

June 2034

Pride had become a family affair for the Ramsey’s. There was always plenty happening at the hospital but they always made an effort to go to a parade together. Hudson was nearly 9 and Alexis 5. Even though they were young both Ethan and Casey agreed it was good to educate them in an age appropriate way that the love that those who identified are people too, who love and are a part of society. This pride was bittersweet. Hudson enjoyed it but he was starting to not like being seen with his parents. Ethan and Casey did not want Hudson attending by himself just yet but they did not want one child missing out either. Ethan and Casey made the decision to continue coming to pride but leave the kids with family.

June 2047

Pride was special in more ways than one this year. It was first Pride for Alexis after coming out as bi-sexual and the first pride where Casey and Ethan were a parent to someone in that community. They were very proud of Alexis regardless, graduating top of her class and heading to UPenn but they were relieved when Alexis came out. She was less stressed and seemed to be really happy that she was a true version of herself.

June 2048

This was Alexis’s first pride out of home. She was loving college and had joined the lgbtqi club on campus. It was here that she was introduced to Polyamory and she enjoyed the freedom it allowed to explore her sexuality. Ethan and Casey were still very proud of her. Ethan and Casey were still very active at work and they had been noticing, at the local level any way even more and more better outcomes for those who identified as lgbtqi and both were really happy about that.

Tagging: @jerzwriter @jamespotterthefirst @genevievemd @liaromancewriter @potionsprefect @youlookappropriate @cariantha @bex-la-get @crazy-loca-blog @a-crepusculo @alj4890 @tessa-liam @binny1985 @schnitzelbutterfingers @lucy-268

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#open heart #ethan ramsey #choices fanfic writers creations #casey valentine #choices #cfwc pride bingo #fic of the week #pride #choices stories we play

[weekly-magazine-uk]

Navigating the Maze: Understanding FIC Compliance in London

The financial landscape is fraught with complexities, and for businesses in London, navigating the maze of Financial Crime (FIC) compliance is a journey fraught with challenges and opportunities. As regulatory landscapes evolve, understanding and implementing foolproof FIC compliance measures have become paramount for financial institutions. In this blog post, we will unravel the intricacies of FIC compliance in London, shedding light on the key components that make up this intricate maze.

1. Regulatory Framework in London: A Shifting Landscape

London, as a global financial hub, adheres to a robust regulatory framework designed to combat financial crimes. The Financial Conduct Authority (FCA) and the Prudential Regulation Authority (PRA) are at the forefront, setting the tone for compliance standards. Navigating this framework requires a keen understanding of the regulatory updates and a proactive approach to staying ahead of the curve.

2. The Role of FIC Compliance: Safeguarding Financial Institutions

Financial Crime Compliance is not just a checkbox on a list; it is the safeguarding shield for financial institutions. It encompasses a broad spectrum of activities, including Anti-Money Laundering (AML), Know Your Customer (KYC) protocols, and measures to counter terrorist financing. Compliance is not just about meeting regulatory requirements; it is about protecting the integrity of the financial system.

3. Anti-Money Laundering (AML): The Cornerstone of Compliance

AML measures form the cornerstone of FIC compliance in London. Financial institutions must implement robust AML policies and procedures to detect and prevent money laundering activities. This includes conducting due diligence on customers, monitoring transactions, and reporting suspicious activities to the authorities. A proactive stance on AML is crucial to maintaining the integrity of the financial system.

4. Know Your Customer (KYC) Protocols: Building Trust through Verification

The Know Your Customer (KYC) process is fundamental to FIC compliance, aiming to verify the identity of customers and assess their risk profiles. London's financial institutions must establish robust KYC protocols to ensure they are doing business with legitimate entities. This not only satisfies regulatory requirements but also builds trust between financial institutions and their clientele.

5. Emerging Technologies in FIC Compliance: Staying Ahead of the Curve

As the financial landscape evolves, so do the tools and technologies available for FIC compliance. Artificial Intelligence (AI), machine learning, and blockchain are becoming integral to enhancing the efficiency and effectiveness of compliance measures. London's financial institutions must adopt and adapt to these technologies to stay ahead of potential risks and maintain compliance in a rapidly changing environment.

6. The Human Element: Training and Awareness Programs

While technology plays a pivotal role, the human element is equally critical in FIC compliance. Training programs that keep employees informed about the latest regulatory updates, emerging threats, and compliance best practices are essential. A well-informed workforce is an institution's first line of defense against financial crimes.

7. Collaboration and Information Sharing: A Collective Approach

In the interconnected financial world, collaboration is key. Financial institutions in London must actively engage in information sharing and collaboration with industry peers and regulatory bodies. This collective approach strengthens the overall resilience of the financial system and ensures a united front against financial crimes.

In conclusion, understanding FIC compliance in London is about more than just ticking boxes on a checklist. It's about embracing a proactive and comprehensive approach that encompasses regulatory awareness, robust AML and KYC measures, the integration of emerging technologies, ongoing training, and a commitment to collaboration. Navigating the maze of FIC compliance requires not only a map of regulations but a strategic mindset to adapt to the ever-changing landscape of the financial industry. By embracing these principles, financial institutions can navigate the maze successfully, safeguarding their operations and contributing to a resilient and trustworthy financial ecosystem in London.

[astrum-cipher]

Havent decided yet, but PSA to download my fic if you care, I'm considering deleting it

#cipher self talk #proactive measures fic #tried to ask around for thoughts but no one replied so still in the air #ppl hate abandoned fics so

[angeli-marco-writes]

Harry Holland - Polaroids

A/N & WC - I do not know Harry or the other people mentioned in this fic, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.9k.

Warnings - Swearing, mention of food, smut: depictions of oral (m+f rec), penetrative sex, use of toys, bondage & bdsm, photos being taken in the act, mild exhibitionism and definite voyeurism (not Harry or reader) 18+.

Summary - You and Harry have an exciting intimate life to say the least, and he rather enjoys taking photos of the two of you in compromising positions. However, in his sex-addled mind, one vital fact is let slip when he allows Sam into his room unsupervised.

“BUD, WHERE ARE THOSE PHOTOS you took of my food the other day?” Sam asks.

The sizzling of pancakes overlaps the conversation, and you mussing up Harry’s hair distracts him, his attention drawn to more important matters than his brother. Harry barely swallows his giant mouthful of food before speaking.

“By my bed there’s a huge pile, they’ll be somewhere,” he answers flippantly.

Flippantly.

Usually so cautious and so organised Harry lets one thing slip his mind for five seconds, and his life is going to fall through the cracks. His reputation will be utterly destroyed. Just with his brother, but it still stands. Sam is… more innocent than Harry has ever been. And Sam will also tell the others, and likely their friends…

“Remembered something, baby?” you muse sardonically from beside him, your hand halting its movements as you cup his jaw, turning him to face you.

The second his green eyes meet yours, you watch the world crumble in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scramble up from his seat so quickly. His bare feet slap on the tiled floor violently, thudding sounds echoing through the house as he blunders around, swinging around the banister with the force and elegance of an elephant.

“Sam! FUCK— Wait!”

“Don’t look in that pile of photos,” you add in a feeble shout.

It’s not like what Sam’ll find there is any secret. You’ve been together a long time, you and Harry, and everyone knows full well that you’re shagging, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily want them to know exactly what happens in the bedroom, in your most intimate, secret moments together. That’s sacred, even if it seems like sacrilege to so many.

No matter how quickly you hear Harry legging it upstairs, his lean legs carrying him up the stairs perhaps three at a time, his curly hair even more unruly than before from the exertion, you know he won’t be fast enough, and that Sam is an insolent bastard when he wants to be. You’ve lived with them all long enough and have had more than your fair share of near misses: no chance will you not be found out, this time you’ll be caught. Better than the alternative and the other times, you suppose, as you cram one more syrup-drizzled and strawberry-covered pancake into your gob, reluctantly trudging your way upstairs to the hive of fun.

It’s chaos by the time you get there. Dozens of artfully-taken photos spilled out onto your duvet, Harry’s freckled face paler than you’ve ever seen it, his hands tugging at his pyjama shirt convulsively while Sam stands on the other side of the room, his dark eyes wide, his expression agog, his jaw unhinged, staring blankly and pointing at whatever the most incriminating thing is he sees next. You just hope he doesn’t go ferreting through your drawers, because then you’ll really be in trouble.

“What… the fuck.”

You come up to Harry’s side, and wrap an arm around his slim waist, lending a weak, “Surprise?”

It’s their fault if they haven’t guessed, frankly.

You can’t draw your eyes away from the pictures, so many of them, all displaying different aspects of your sex life at varying degrees of explicitness. You can even recount the minutes and hours of pleasure that led to the photos, each occasion etched into your mind. Sure, you and Harry go at it a lot, but you don’t always go the extra mile, hence why these commemorative photos of your special nights are so treasured. And private. Or, were.

The first one… oh boy, that takes you back to the most far-out, extreme experiment you tried—the most recent, as well: just this past weekend. You’re still covered in rope burn from it, though that could’ve been prevented if you hadn’t writhed or wriggled about so much while in those bonds. The amount of attempts it took, the sheer number of YouTube tutorials you had to watch, but it was definitely worth it. The intricate patterns the ropes formed all across your body, creating braids down your back, suspending you prone with little movement in your arms or legs. It was heaven to have Harry tugging on the ropes, contorting you into new and wonderful positions for his own delightful access to all of you. Perhaps it’s not something you’ll gravitate towards again, but it was fun while it lasted, and it’s another thing to tick off your list of fun, kinky bedroom experiments to try. To be fair, even though the swathes of soft, rose-coloured rope, intricately woven around you were a lot, you certainly wouldn’t be averse to trying something else with rope. Less shibari, perhaps just normal levels of bondage. You can feel the skin on your arms prickling with heat: Harry feels it too, winding his fingers into yours, holding on tight as he struggles to suppress a smirk.

The next set is interesting, and rather common. Harry’s freckled, ring-less hand is unmistakable in the dappled light as it grapples with the handle of a leather whip, or a paddle, even his belt, bringing them down harshly onto your ass cheeks, already reddened with hand prints, purple from bruises. In one of them, your skin is even glistening with his release, and another, your hands are suspended behind your back. Harry’s always been one for spanking, and the rest of them know it. Even before you were sleeping together he’d playfully smacked your bum, and he certainly hasn’t stopped even with the sexual connotations it now conveys between the two of you. As though he can read your mind, he snakes a hand down and pats you on the bum; his wink telling you it’s just for good measure. Cheeky shit.

One in the dead centre brings shivers throughout your body. Not because it wasn’t fun or pleasurable, but because of the way it made you feel afterwards. Yes, you’d talked through it in thorough details—as with everything the two of you do—how it made you feel going in, throughout, and you’d got a safe word sorted, but perhaps you hadn’t discussed all the long term risks of it. The pretty pink collar, the satin blindfold… The whole subservient thing is a big turn on for Harry, and you played into it, you always do and you naturally fall into a position of less power in your relationship because of the way you are, but being degraded in such a way isn’t for you. You can’t help but feel a sting of shame ricochet through your heart. Harry must feel it this considering how reactive he is: he leaps towards the bed and snatches it up, shredding it before your eyes, chucking it into the bin, and curling another protective arm around you.

“Look,” you whisper to Harry, turning his attention elsewhere as you point to the bottom few: your favourite photos of all.

Despite the disarray, they’re all together, and they remind you of an incredible night. Your anniversary, and what a special day it was. Butterflies swarm you at the sight of them again, but it feels strange for someone else to be looking at them. Not that you or Harry are exactly in a fit state to be proactive about preventative measures now Sam’s seen them all. His eyes bulge from his face, his mouth going dry as he swallows viciously, suddenly having to shift his already apparently tight shorts. Again.

“You’re so sexy in those, baby,” purrs Harry.

He’s damn right, you do look incredibly sexy. And though the first one in the chronological series is you mostly covered, you can remember how hard his dick was at the sight alone, salivating, clenching his fists to stop from ripping the lingerie from you piece by piece. You wanted to put on a show for him that day: who was he to deny you?

On top of your bra, panties and stockings was a nightgown, and above that, a dressing gown. Each image shows you in a further state of undress. It was a deep burgundy lace set of negligée with soft satin straps that pushed your boobs together, lifting them up, the lace hooked together with a single eyelet on your spine, whereas the panties, though half covering your cheeks with dustings of lace, hid nothing while they sat high on your hips, revealing your entire upper thigh where a matching satin garter sat with tiny lace bows. The entire thing cost a fortune. You forked out a damn arm and a leg for what you got, even with a discount included with a certain toy you bought.

First went the dressing gown, letting it fall from your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your feet as you showed off the skimpiness of the silk slip in a series of flourishing twirls, much to Harry’s delight. Next went the slip, and you honestly wish you’d taken a picture of his face utterly agog—as you stood there in stockings held up by garters, barely there panties and a push up bra. There’s one shot of his rough fingertips playing with the trim of the stockings delightedly, like a kid in a candy shop. Next went the feeble scrap of fabric that you dared to call a bra, barely covering your nipples, allowing your breasts free, spilling into Harry’s awaiting hand. You remember the next part vividly, because he was just about to peel the panties off when you laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, babe.” you cooed.

His twinkling eyes grew as wide as saucers, and you dared to card your fingers through his curls as you settled yourself over his lap, letting him keep his camera in one hand while leading the other down, down, a little further…

He’s never since made a sound quite like it, so visceral and animalistic, so ready to devour you, to come on sight. He’s never been as hard as he was in that instance.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he moaned, a deep groan released from him the second his fingers slipped through your folds to find dripping arousal all ready for him. “Just—wait a minute…”

You followed his every instruction for the next few moments, finding yourself standing up in a good lighting position, Harry strategically beneath you as he snapped a particularly incriminating (yet oh so sexy shot) of your bare pussy in crotchless panties. Harry’s never recovered. He’s already openly admitted that he uses those particular photos more than any others to get himself off whenever you’re away from him. However, the creases and folded corners of one particular photo can’t be blamed on him, since that’s the one you use when you're away, two of his fingers plunged knuckle-deep inside you in those exact panties, from that exact angle, desperately trying to replicate the irreplaceably pleasurable feeling of him within you. He took a good few more than had to be thrown away. Spillages are awfully unfortunate… He fucked you that night with the panties, stockings and garters still on. Twice. Then without the panties, then without the stockings, then nude at last at some ungodly hour of the morning when he took you at last as the sun rose. You didn’t sleep a wink.

There are more of you with lingerie on, nightgowns and matching sets, scraps of silk and strange one pieces that took you hours to get on, but they’re bound to make a sort of book, stowed away neatly (mercifully) beneath his bed.

Sam still hasn’t moved from his state of paralysed shock, and though you should probably clear the photos up from where they’re dumped, you feel a filthy swelling pride within your chest, a glean of risk as you watch Sam rove his eyes over some more, these all involving toys. If only he knew where you hid them. One his eyes focus on is you with a thick purple rubber dildo deep inside you, a rabbit vibrator stuck to your clit. Your body is but a blur, writhing around for Harry, your hands cuffed before you and not released no matter how much you moved. Harry wouldn’t let you stop coming for what felt like hours: it was the first time you squirted for him as a cry tore from your heaving chest, drenching the bed with your fifth orgasm of the night. Harry vowed he’d be the only one to make you squirt after that, no toys involved, and he’s stayed true to his word.

There’s a few more, and Sam seems to be furrowing his thick brows at the sight of the Polaroids. Glass wands, spreader bars, clit suctions (that admittedly look like they’d be used in a spa for a facial). Poor boy is being corrupted...

Good God, you need to get those toys out again.

With his twin's attention diverted, you snake your hand down the front of Baz’s shorts, wrapping your fingers around his already hard member through his boxers: he seems to be enjoying this as much as you are.

You point out one of your favourite pictures, a debauched mess that shouldn’t be viewed by anyone else, frankly. Harry was reluctant about hurting you or pushing you too far, but you begged to be gagged. You meant just by a tie, maybe his bandana—which features in many images in many different manners: as a bind for your hands, tying you to the bed, keeping your ankles together, even wrapped lightly around your neck, but never as a gag—but he went all out. When you got home, he was waiting in his room with a leather-bound ball gag.

“You begged, baby,” he said, and you couldn’t refute. You had begged, but this was above and beyond. You complied with his every wish that night, and though you’d do it again in a heartbeat, Harry wasn’t a fan of not being able to shove his fingers or cock down your throat at any given moment. He liked hearing your whines and moans and hushed curses, prayers of his name. He also liked hearing your bratty, belligerent rebuttals when he took on a dominant role. You enjoyed it more than a little, but only now can you see how much of a mess you were, messy hair and tears spouting from your eyes, drool down your chin...

Given the chance of the slightest spark of stimulation, you’ll be coming on the spot.

There’s a scattered pile of the two of you in just about every position under the sun, every shape in the karma sutra, fucking both inside and out, al fresco sex beneath the big oak in the garden, anyhow, anywhere and everywhere you could fuck safely and privately, you would, and you didn’t even realise Harry had snapped some of these shots after consenting to him taking them at any time. Your eyes squeezed shut as you peaked, Baz’s palm kneading your chest, your skirt hiked up around your stomach while your jaw was agape, your pussy exposed and glistening slick in the mirror, penetrated by Harry’s cock. That was a good day, mirror sex, and definitely something you’ll try again. This time with your own mirror... There are a few snapshots of oral, perfect Polaroids of Harry’s nose nuzzled into your pussy, his tongue deep in your core, his lips on your labia, all of them for your sake whenever he goes away.

“Gonna recreate that one tonight,” Harry husks, pointing towards one image in particular of you sucking him off.

His huge member down your throat, you’d trained yourself to breathe solely through your nose, but the neatly trimmed patch of hair there tickled your nostrils. Harry’s talent for photography reveals your doe eyes were red rimmed, saliva trickling from the corner of your mouth matching the mascara tracks down your cheeks. You’ve never looked so fucked out, and Harry couldn’t believe you remained in that innocent façade, rosy cheeks and a coy expression even with his dick rammed down your throat, making you gag.

However, the one you’d like to recreate is one he picks up on, surreptitiously moving a hand to your chest, his fingers hovering over your peaked nipple.

“Reckon we can go again the second Sam fucks off?”

“Yes,” he eagerly exhales.

You don’t blame him, especially not when both twins are staring at the same image of your tits, pushed together with Harry’s dick between them, fucking your chest despite the fact his come already painted your chest in hot white strips, a beautiful painting you’d always wish to frame. He certainly has an obsession with your boobs so there are a couple like that, his hands all over them, the tip of his member tapping them, but the debauched one is by far your favourite. Similarly, there’s one of you tied to the bed, completely spread eagle, his dick resting on your stomach while your belly is coated in his come once again.

It seems, however, that’s what snagged Sam’s attention and has his face a ghastly shade of grey because it's so pale, is the one photo Harry never wanted anyone to see. You leap and snatch it up in one fell swoop, and Harry draws you into a bear hug within his arms, kissing your temple affectionately in thanks as you stow it away for safekeeping. Though Harry naturally carries the more dominant title in your relationship, you always like to shake things up, hence why this photo (and a series of others he already has hidden) depict Harry as your submissive. You walked around as the picture perfect dominatrix in stilettos, carrying a whip while Harry lay there with his hands bound, a blindfold on in some photos (you took them so they’re not as great, but he still looks damn sexy) with a vibrating cock ring wrapped snugly around his girth. He’s never come so hard or so much after you finally removed it and cuffed his hands to the bedpost and began to ride him. You can still feel the warmth of him climaxing within you if you close your eyes and clench your thighs.

“I promise I’ll touch you later,” boy do you hope he sticks to that promise he whispers while nibbling on your earlobe, “but Sam’s coming out of his daze in 3... 2... 1...”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” he remarks breathily, hazel eyes wide as he pivots, met with two incredulous stares. Tom’s cry wakes Sam up right on cue.

“Harry! What the fuck?!” Sam demands, his voice a bellow, horror and disgust and... something unattainable just emanates from him. “Why do you have three porn mags worth of your girlfriend down here? That’s fucked, mate.”

“No it’s not. We just like to have photographic reminders of all our... sexcapades.”

Sam is, unsurprisingly, retching, now finally turning his head away from the pile without even bothering to pick up.

“This was cool until you called them sexcapades,” Tom chimes, smacking Harry upside the head as he swaggers over to the bed, fishing a few photos up before tossing them back down.

Sam's horrified attitude doesn’t seem to be spreading thankfully, but you and Harry are understandably rooted to the spot, stuck to the carpet, just biding your time until this is over. Then again, you can’t really tell, since no one is saying anything. You nor Harry want to be the ones to break the silence, though, and you can tell with the furtive and expressive stares you’re sharing that his anxiety is increasing the more people are seeing this.

Momentarily, you think someone may remark about your silent communication, your fixed glances and speechless conversation, but instead, Harrison comes up to you both, a sly smirk etched onto his pretty model face as he clasps a hand around one shoulder of yours and one of Harry’s.

“Harry Holland, you kinky fucker,” he praises.

You definitely feel a swell of pride at that. And the fact that Tom is trying desperately hard not to look at you while also trying to hide how flustered he is, somehow still abhorred by the sight. Harrison’s intrigue is palpable, gnawing on his lower lip as his lithe fingers trace you on the polaroid's, whereas Sam? He can’t decide whether to cry or scream. Harry huddles in closer and cuddles you, ensuring you feel every part of him, just how much he wants this lot to leave to finally have you at his mercy once more.

“So you two are shagging,” Tom observes.

You and Harry nod between kisses.

“Dangerously.”

You nod again, though this time a little reluctantly.

You expect Harry to nestle down with you again, but instead he detaches himself, unravelling his arms, and shoulders past Tom and Haz. He gives Sam a death glare as he piles up all the Polaroids and shoves them deep in a drawer for him to organise later, away from prying eyes and judgemental comments.

“Really, though?” Sam bursts out, flailing his arms before grasping Harry’s collar. “I thought you’d just handcuff her and give her a smack at most, very vanilla.”

As much as he tries to fight it, Harry’s face flushes bright red, leaving no visible distinction between his forehead and hairline. “I think those photos, erm, tell a different story.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet, tugging himself out of his brother's grasp, only to fall into another, saved by Harrison’s scowl at Tom.

“Can you lot bloody get out? Please? I’d like some alone time with my girlfriend after that sodding invasion.”

“If you’re having alone time, we’re leaving the house for a while,” Tom jokes, “how long?”

You smirk, striding over to meet Harry, eyes fixed on him as you press onto your tiptoes, wrapping your fingers around his shoulder before kissing his earlobe. He wilts into your touch.

“Two hours should be enough time. Scram.”

They do, gladly, and you slam the door shut as their scurrying footsteps down the stairs recede. Harry’s grip increases around your waist, a growl escaping him as he pushes you onto the bed. You gasp when your back hits the mattress, his lips instantly attacking your jaw.

“Which of those polaroid's do you wanna recreate first, baby?”

—

It’s hours later, and you're all around for your weekly dinner at the Holland house. You and Harry, having some ‘business’ to attend to before leaving the house, are the last to arrive, and Paddy, poor unfortunate Paddy, has the delightful job of letting you into the house.

“Sam asked me to give you this,” he says barely before you’ve entered the porch.

Harry’s face pales as he unravels the small piece of paper bundled into his hand by his younger brother, but you could swear all blood drains from him the second the words sink in.

‘You took them, you lost them, you collect them. What would mum and dad say, Harold?’

“Harry, what’s happening?”

“That utter wanker stole the polaroids as revenge for scarring him. He’s hidden them around the house. We have to find them before mum and dad go looking. You in for the ride?”

“Only if Haz can join us tonight,” you tease, and after calling a hello to Harry’s parents, you follow him around the house, detaching all the pinned photos.

Harry's learnt a solid lesson today: hide his damn Polaroids better from now on, away from the prying eyes of his bloody brothers. But, he thinks with a smirk, by no means will the two of you stop taking them.

#harry holland #harry holland imagine #harold holland #baz holland #harry holland fluff #harrison osterfield #harry holland smut #harry holland x reader #harry holland angst #harry holland fanfiction #harry holland blurb #harry holland fic #harry holland x y/n #harry holland one shot #harry holland x female reader #harry holland x fem reader #harry robert holland #h holland

[crestfallercanyon]

you're worth all the fuss

Here's my (late) Valentine's day little fic. Or, not so little anymore. Was supposed to be a ficlet, and now it's over 2500 words. Oh well.

The Maze Runner Thomally Tags: Sickfic, Holiday traditions, bickering

Hope you enjoy! Happy Valentine's!

“I’m fine. Stop — stop with the fussing. Give those back, I have to get ready for work.”

“Gally. You’re sick. Go lay down.”

“I’m not a dog.”

Thomas took Gally’s button down shirt and slacks from the back of the door, replacing them with Gally’s biggest sweatshirt and sweatpants that Thomas warmed up in the dryer. Instead of recognizing Thomas’s kind gesture for what it was, he is batting at Thomas’s face and trying to reach for the hangers in Thomas’s outstretched arm, determined to go to work. Thankfully, on Thomas’s side is the fact that Gally’s so sick he’s uncoordinated, and still trying to keep his towel wrapped around his hips.

“It’s just a bad night’s sleep,” he grumbles. “I don’t get what’s the big deal.”

“You nearly passed out in the shower.” He’d nearly given Thomas a heart attack. Opened the door to the bathroom to brush his teeth and there he saw Gally slumped against the wall, just letting the boiling water hit him, his eyes closed as he slid against the tile. Thomas lunged toward the shower to shut it off and pulled a delirious Gally out from the steam.

“It was just too hot,” Gally argues, which has Thomas rolling his eyes. “Our room is really cold.” It’s not, and Gally is always a furnace anyway; none of these arguments hold water and if Gally didn’t have a fever-addled mind he’d know it. “It was just, the — thermometer change.”

Thomas raises an eyebrow. “Thermometer change?”

“Temperature.” Gally’s face can’t get any redder, but it seems to glow more at his mistake. “You know what I mean.”

“Oh yeah, you’re totally fine,” Thomas says, teasing, which earns him a glare.

Taking more proactive measures, Thomas drops the hangers on the floor and grabs the sweatshirt off the bathroom counter, opening at the hem scrunching it up with his arms. He throws it around Gally’s neck, the sweatshirt old and faded from its once vibrant red, now it matches the blush of Gally’s face. Gally gives him a flat look and doesn’t help Thomas at all. “Work with me here, Gally.”

“I don’t get sick.”

“Don’t be stupid, everybody gets sick.”

“I don’t. I can power through it.”

“Thought you weren’t sick. What are you powering through if you’re not sick?”

“Thomas. Just, where are my work clothes. I’m going to work.” Instead of helping Thomas get the sweatshirt on, he starts trying to tug the sweatshirt off his neck.

“Quit using what little energy you have to fight me.” When Gally continues pulling, Thomas can’t help but laugh a frustrated and hysterical thing. He didn’t know why he expected anything else from Gally, whereas Thomas is a clingy brat when he’s sick, he should have figured Gally is an annoying bear who wouldn’t admit he had the sniffles if he had a gun to his head.

However, Thomas isn’t going to back down, and for once in his life he might actually be stronger than Gally. Not that Gally’s fight is completely ignorable. “Damn it, would you stop?”

“We have a reservation.”

“And I’m going to cancel it.”

“No!” Sickness is effecting Gally’s pitch, Thomas has never heard him sound so whiny in his life. “You love Valentine’s Day,” Gally finishes with a pitiful slump to him.

“We can take your perspective this year. A hallmark holiday to raise the prices in flowers and chocolate by forty percent and ignore the fact that the biggest day in Valentine’s history was a massacre. I’ll have a hot pocket because you won’t be able to stop me, I’ll get you all set up with tissues and some green tea. We’ll watch mob movies to commemorate the day instead.”

“Don’t cancel it. We’re going to go.”

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

Gally rolls his eyes. It looks like his brain is rattling in his head as he does it, and Thomas puts his hands on his shoulders to steady him. He still feels like a furnace, but he’s shaking like a leaf.

“You’re going to go,” Gally amends.

“Gally. I am not going to leave you here alone tonight. Also, I am not going to have a fancy dinner all by myself.”

“I’m fine. I can take care of myself. Go, have the fancy dinner, buy yourself flowers. Get a bunch of violinists to play at your table. Kiss yourself in the rain, or whatever they do in the movies.”

Thomas snickers and continues to fight him on the sweatshirt, getting it down from his neck. Gally is, of course, no help, continues tug up. It’s not that Thomas couldn’t probably overpower him right now and force the sweatshirt on him, but Gally’s a proud man. If being sick alone has got him all riled up, the last thing he wants to do is take every ounce of his dignity by forcing him to bend down and manhandle him into a sweatshirt.

“I don’t need you to fuss. I can take care of myself.”

The last word becomes garbled by a sneeze, wet and thick and disgusting. Thomas flinches at the sound, at the goop. Thomas reaches into his pocket where he has stashed several tissues ever since he realized that Gally was sick and going to fight him like all hell about it, and reaches up to wipe up Gally’s nose.

Gally looks absolutely defeated. His whole body slumps, he drops his hands from the sweatshirt, and stops fighting. While it seems like he wants to take the tissue from Thomas’s hand and do it himself — the angle of his eyebrows and the stiff frown he wears tells Thomas that he’s certainly not happy about Thomas wiping away his snot — he doesn’t physically move again.

Thomas chucks the tissue in the garbage and washes his hands.

“Put on the damn sweatshirt, Gally.”

Finally, finally, he does as he’s told. Gally puts his arms through the sleeves and finally grabs at the sweatpants and puts them on slowly. When he rises upright again he sways, and Thomas steadies him with a hand on his back.

Then Gally frowns, tugging at the pockets of his sweatpants. “Why are they warm?”

“I put them in the drier. You’re welcome.”

Gally’s fingers play at the hem, and a wobbly smile on his face. Thomas inches back to watch him, a bit surprised by the open expression. “Oh,” he says, his voice soft.

Thomas’s heart falls in a little. Gally’s all walls, always has been. Thomas has come to know them very well, and while he knows how to climb them and get close, it’s a process. One he’s learned to accept and one he knows Gally is working on, but a process all the same. This kind of expression never comes to his face easy. To see him be this vulnerable now, all Thomas can think is, oh baby, you are sick.

He takes Gally’s hand and leads him back to their bedroom, a slow shuffle of heavy limbs and Gally’s hot fingers pulsing against Thomas’s cold ones. When they get to the bed, he tugs, pulling Gally onto the bed.

“I don’t get sick,” he says again.

Thomas puts his hand on Gally’s forehead. It’s burning. He scratches his fingernails across his scalp after, and Gally’s eyelids flutter closed. “Your fever says otherwise.”

“I need to go into work.”

“Absolutely not. If you don’t call your office I’ll do it for you, and I’m going to lay it on thick. Really embarrass you.” Thomas is probably going to be the one calling them anyway, since he’s definitely going to call his own office and tell them he’s not coming in.

Because, while Gally must have gotten sick in his life, it is true that Thomas hasn’t seen him get ill like this before. It’s always been minor stomach bugs and sniffles, not full on flu-like symptoms. He’s not going to leave him.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

Gally groans. Then he reaches for Thomas’s hands and puts them back on his face. Thomas laughs.

“Your hands are nice. Have I told you how much I like your hands?” Gally asks, his voice this funny, dreamy and quiet because his throat is sore. “They’re really nice.”

Thomas snorts. “Are they particularly nice now because they’re cold?”

“Maybe,” Gally admits. “But they are nice hands. Pretty. They suit you.”

“You saying I’m pretty?”

Gally hums in agreement. “I always think you’re pretty.”

Thomas leans in and kisses him on the forehead.

“Okay, we’re going to get you set up. I’m going to get you some cold meds, and bring my computer so you can watch your documentaries because you’re a nerd, and lay out a bunch of tissues. Then I’m going to get some medicinal rub for you and get you all soothed up, and then you’re going to sleep. How’s that sound?”

“No. You should, you should crash Minho and Newt. Celebrate Valentine’s with them.”

Thomas frowns. “Why would I do that?”

“I’m gross. You love Valentine’s. I’m just going to be sleeping anyway.”

With the leverage of having his hands on Gally’s face, Thomas is able to maneuver Gally to laying down on his back. Settles him down into the pillows, plush and warm. He strokes his cheeks with his thumbs, feels the heat of them underneath his cold fingertips.

“Think you’re missing the point of Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.”

“Everybody’s missing the point of Valentines day. It was a pagan festival to encourage fertility where they used to sacrifice animals and smack women with animal hides because people thought it’d encourage, y’know. Babies.”

Thomas raises his eyebrows at that. A laugh bubbles over his lips. Gally gives him a sharp toothed grin, a little dulled by the general misery of sickness, but impish in Gally’s own weird stoic way.

“I was going to woo you with Valentine’s Day facts. Or argue. Depends on how the night went.”

That makes Thomas outright laugh. Of course Gally looked up Valentine’s Day. “Pagan fertility festival?”

Gally nods. “So, I was wrong. Wasn’t Hallmark, though I do think Hallmark’s made it bigger than ever. But it’s older than that. But, like, you’re wrong too.”

“Of course I am,” Thomas says, the stupid facts and Gally’s goofy voice making him warm inside and out.

Gally snorts, and it’s this viscous sound, disgusting in the back of his throat. Thomas hands him a tissue.

“I’ll be right back.”

When he reenters, phone calls made and his own pajamas back on, he’s got a cup full of medicine that Gally will be able to down in one gulp because he’s always been like that — Thomas usually takes forever to drink down the chalky, fake-cherry crap — and some green tea piping in a mug. Precariously perched atop the mug is medicinal rub, and in his mouth is a capped thermometer because he wants to know what Gally’s temperature actually is. Tucked under his arm is the computer which he will load architecture documentaries or history documentaries or whatever Gally wants. He’s also got another blanket around his neck, because while Gally’s face is hot, he keeps curling into the blankets in a way that he never does.

Gally looks like foggy misery, sickness making him pale-faced and weak, his lips bright red and chapped. Thomas sets all the items out and then grabs some lotion from the nightstand, smearing it across Gally’s face.

He flinches and gacks, but otherwise bears it well. Then Thomas hands him the medicine, which, he downs instantly. Then the green tea.

Gally can barely hold it. The tea ripples inside the mug like a wave pool. Thomas cups it and takes out of his hands, setting it back on the mug. Then he presses a hand to Gally’s clavicle and pushes him back. Then he leaps up into his lap and straddles his legs, reaching for the medicinal rub.

“Wasn’t expecting this,” Gally says, frowning, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Thomas grins.

“Don’t get excited now, sweetheart.” He uncaps the medicine and smears the gel over his fingertips. “Just trying to help you breathe easier.”

“What are you saying? This is exciting.” When Thomas touches his hand to the space between his collarbones he shivers, hard. A dying noise comes out of his throat. “Cold.”

“Sorry baby,” Thomas says. “It’ll make you feel better, promise.”

“You keep calling me pet names.”

“You like them.”

Gally doesn’t outright deny it, which usually he does, and Thomas files that bit of information for later.

He smooths the gel over Gally’s chest, over his collarbones, up the column of his throat. This is quite intimate, actually. Thomas can feel the heaviness in Gally’s chest, poor thing, no wonder he’s sick. He dips his fingers down against Gally’s sternum, feeling the ridge of it, before rising back up and tracing over his collarbone. Smooths the gel across Gally’s chest, then paves a path up the column of his throat. Something seems to break down in Gally’s chest because he makes this relaxed cooing noise and the next breath out of him seems easier than the rest. Then he brings his hands to Gally’s nape and rubs the excess goop out into the tensity of his shoulders, trying to get him to unwind.

“Much better,” Thomas murmurs. “That should help. And look, you’re all… shiny.”

“Tacky, more like,” Gally complains with a scrunched up expression. Then he taps at it. “This stuff smells nice, though.”

Thomas reaches for the jar. “Eucalyptus.”

“Hm.” Then Gally erupts in coughs, his body wracking with them, nearly throwing Thomas off of him. Thomas grabs a tissue and brings it to Gally’s mouth, then treads his nails through Gally’s hair.

“Easy, easy. There you go, get that shit out.”

“I hate being sick,” Gally says, and Thomas feels something snap into place at Gally finally admitting it. Except there’s more to just the vindication. Gally’s eyes are wet, which is probably mostly from the coughing, but Thomas worries it’s a bit more. “I’m sorry for ruining our plans. You don’t have to stay here with me, really. I’ll be okay.”

“Gal. I don’t care about the plans. The point was spending time with you. So, I’d rather take care of you.”

“Really?”

“‘Course. There’s no one else I’d rather spend my pagan fertility festival with.”

It’s true, Thomas loves Valentine’s Day, but Gally’s getting all skewed up as to why. He doesn’t love it because the flowers and the chocolates and going out, though those things are nice. It’s having someone to spend it with. Even if it’s getting a medical regiment together, he wants to be here.

Gally smiles, but tears fall down his cheeks. Thomas can’t help but feel alarmed at the sight of them, quickly strumming them away with his thumb and Gally rubs at his face with his sleeve like he’s trying to erase any emotion at all.

“I don’t know why I feel like this.”

“Because you’re sick. Poor thing.” Thomas continues rubbing in the ointment, swirling soothing patterns into Gally’s skin. “You’ll feel better in a day or two, promise. Get back to that stone face that I know and love.”

Clearly Gally’s still able to pull out the flat look, though, despite the red face and wobbly thin lips. He does so now, his serious eyebrows ticking up in mild, not-real annoyance. Thomas flicks his shoulder to let him know he’s been thoroughly chastised.

Then Gally’s gaze ducks away. “I’m not used to being taken care of,” Gally admits, his voice rough and low.

Thomas does the only thing he can think of. Throws himself at Gally and wraps his arms around him, pushing him into his chest and squeezing tight. In hindsight, that was probably stupid to do with someone who can’t breathe, but Gally wraps his arms around him all the same. Thomas tucks Gally’s face into his shirt, slides underneath the covers with him.

“Well, that’s what I’m here for. And we’ve got the whole day together now, so, yay.” He presses a kiss on Gally’s head. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Gally's response is drowsy and slow, but makes Thomas feel gooey all the same. “Happy Valentine's Day to you, too.”

#thomally #myfics #ficlet kind of #drabble kind of #the maze runner #sickfic #happy valentine's day!

[a-lil-perspective]

Something I also love to think about is how the boys would handle the gross aspects of raising a baby. They’re cute, but babies can also be real gross. And being a cute dad is great, but if they’re gonna run away as soon as things get gross then I’d be a grumpy mama.

Dads being helpful and even finding amusement in the gross moments of being a parent. (Dealing with spit up, when the diaper overflows. Poops in the bathtub) that’s what makes a super good daddy.

-fivesx4

I AGREE 100% and I’ve shared my thoughts on diaper changing and spit-ups but I really do need to be more proactive in sharing the not-so glamorous sides of parenthood as well especially because I’ve been a long-standing participant in such. Can confirm poops in the bathtub happen more often than you’d think. Idk fam I’ve seen it all.

Anyway that being said; I think Hunter especially would be really good at dealing with the day-to-day hiccups. He truly wants to help in any way can and he really is there for the full experience. And I just imagine Hunter and Cyare make a really good parenting duo, they’ve a really good support system among each other so that definitely helps fuel that “come what may” mindset.

And I mean with the others too, I think they would all come into it in their own time/ways. Feel like Wrecker would be totally okay with all the messes (he’s probably the reason for them in some capacity XD). Tech is not sure how to perform in (parenting) situations that don’t fit the rigorous mold he’s delineated. I imagine any deviation from what constitutes as “normal” would be a bit jarring for him, knowing that he truly can’t form any preemptive measures when it comes to this tiny human being. But Tech is also incredibly adaptive, which we’ve seen in TBB series and he’s surprised me on more than one occasion with his ability to adapt and improvise despite his disposition for baseline calculations. Crosshair is just… very unsure about everything that is not sniping. And so even in his role of an Uncle, he tends to hang back and observe everything, take it all in—which you’ll notice is a pretty distinctive pattern in my fics. He never ever jumps right in to anything involving the child. He’s not an active participant for a long while but he gets there. I think all of these “uh-ohs” with baby would “squick” him and Tech out the most but like I said. They grow into and beyond it.

#tw diapers #tw spitup #tw poop #tw bowel movements #whew sorry I got off on a tangent #as per usual #fivesx4 #thanks for putting that into perspective honestly #I tend to get carried away with just the fluffy moments #the dad batch #ba’vodu bad batch #papa hunterverse #papa hunter #sergeant papa #dad shaped hunter #sergeant hunter #hunter #cyare #daddy wrecker #wrecker #dad!tech #tech #cross’buir #crosshair #bad batch baby #it’s a lil thing

[family-discord-server]

okay, so you know all those fics where they’re basically parodying Hero Class Civil War? where there’s a final exam that’s heroes vs villains and Midoriya is the leader of the villain team? I was thinking about how it would be interesting to see if the usual tactics people come up with for him could be combatted, if Bakugo, or whoever is usually the hero leader, actually put up a fight and challenge instead of basically rolling over and letting themselves get steamrolled by Deku’s analysis

here are my thoughts to make fics more challenging or simply how I would head off the hero team, or how you could frame nezu being in charge idk run with me here

Deku has two main advantages usually that the other characters, due to personality traits such as kindness, brashness, friendship usually prevent them from being effective: 1) he knows how they think/plan/act from analyzing them and 2) the villains have to make the first move and the hero teams plays defense

this usually culminates in the heroes responding based on protocol alone and not actually fighting Deku like he’s a chess opponent, they’re not combatting his strategy, they’re following procedures

that’s the first thing I want to address, instead of treating Midoriya like a villain they need to treat him like Midoriya and focus on combatting his knowledge of their plans in a couple ways

1. he usually bases decisions off who he believes is giving orders and what they will prioritize

2. he has different contingencies for different people

3. he knows their fighting styles both quirk and non quirk (Mina and Uraraka usually get some form of martial arts training in fics)

my solution: don’t let him know who he’s fighting.

first, no leader. break into small teams/units that each have a smaller degree of command so that he doesn’t just have one strategic opponent but multiple. this makes it more challenging to form a single strategy and wastes Deku’s energy on planning for things or accounting for scenarios that might not happen. you want him to expend as much mental energy as possible, waste his time and his resources, his plans will become much more generic since he can’t count on a single individual’s flaw as the crux of a plan. making decisions on the fly or adding some aspect of randomness for confusion may also be beneficial

second, get rid of hero costumes. make each student/hero indistinguishable from everyone else - all black, mask faces, voice changers, lifts in shoes, flat jackets (armor and erase gender characteristics).

this needs to go even further. in most fics two things happen: they get time to train before the exam and Deku knows what someone’s fighting style is. this can be mitigated in the same way: use that training time to learn each other’s moves so that you can confuse who Deku thinks he’s fighting.

this means no right hooks to lead for Bakugo, but definitely for Uraraka, or no fancy flips for Uraraka but give them to Jirou. essentially, you want to control who Deku thinks he’s fighting or at the very least confuse him both in terms of identity as well as who is calling the shots.

there’s one more caveat to this strategy: fight quirkless as much as possible. for one, he won’t expect it but two, quirks are a dead giveaway of identity, so use it sparingly and try and confuse, misdirect, smoke bomb your way out of letting him know who is where or using what quirk. Monoma would be an OP hero for this strategy. basically, you want to control who Deku thinks he’s up against for as long as possible

alright, next major problem in each fic is that the hero team is playing defense the whole time and basically has to respond to the situation as it happens, they don’t conduct reconnaissance or have proactive measures. usually this is explained away through the villain team’s use of stealth and making it so the hero’s can’t pursue (usually because of critically injured teammates) or follow them back to the villain base

i have a couple thoughts on this. first, have a team completely break off from all other objectives and remain mobile/tracking. do not engage, stealth only to figure out where the villain base is since security of resources, sleep, and a hideout are all usually significant in fics. pursuit and tracking is the only goal here

second, when fighting villains in any other form of engagement, divide and conquer. do not let them remain unified, you want to stay in close quarters combat and pick them off teammate by teammate, don’t engage the whole group, pick a target and eliminate/incapacitate. the goal is to dwindle their numbers and quirk resources, this limits Deku’s options for plans. there’s no need here to go after heavy hitters first, you’re just trying to limit his options of quirks for different scenarios

another key goal: i want the heroes mobile and proactive. tripwires and alarms should be set up all over the city near suspected targets or not with the aim of narrowing down position. early warning systems are important and having access to security feeds is necessary. these should be small censors the heroes use just to track movement and position, something that wouldn’t be on blueprints for a bank or a precinct or museum or whatever that get you want to use.

finally there is a small smattering of other scenarios that are semi common but not as easy to combat. hostages. it’s not feasible to evacuate an entire city, so instead instituting neighborhood watches or canvassing or having more police patrolling could foil that plan. poisoning food, air, water - following testing and treatment procedures, boiling for water, masks for air purification, and testing of food before consumption. there are others that I’m not sure about such as spies but I took a shot at my major concerns.

I love villain Deku fics it’s just sometimes I think he wins too easily and I for one would like to see him challenged so it feels like a proper victory

#bnha #my hero acedamia #mha #deku #villain deku #midoriya izuku #katsuki bakugou #heroes vs villains #class 1a #uraraka ochacho #todoroki #todoroki shouto #bnha monoma #kirishima eijirou #denki kaminari #mina ashido #shinsou hitoshi #aizawa shouta #bnha fanfiction #hero class civil war

[damienthepious]

lalalalala i’m still on my au bullshit :D

Knight of the Swamp (chapter 4)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ao3] [ch 5] [ch 6] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ch 10] [ch 11]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum & The Keep, Sir Damien & The Keep, Rilla & The Keep

Characters: Sir Damien, Rilla, Lord Arum, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, (some characters tagged will not appear until later chapters!), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Love Confessions, (for rilla&damien), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, (for R&D and Arum), Dueling, Fealty Dynamics, Pre-Canon AND Alt-Canon at the same time!! fun!!!, Mira is not Queen yet

Summary: Perhaps the King should have known better than to force Sir Damien to choose between his heart and his oaths.

Chapter Summary: The Keep should not have expected to be able to maintain a secret, considering that its familiar always knows, to some degree, what it is thinking.

Chapter Notes: mweheheheheheheheheheheHEHEHE. We are finally getting TO IT. also god i'm so stressed for completely unrelated mostly dayjob reasons please send good vibes and comments if ya don't mind bless love bless. also i'm working on the playlist for this fic and it fricking slaps so far. hell yeah.

~

The Keep brings them food again, when they begin to run low. Or- well, when their original pile diminishes to perhaps half, but- the Keep is not precisely certain how much they need to eat, so it decides to be proactive, just in case.

They can't seem to understand it when it sings. Not properly, not the way that Arum does, of course. It understands them decently well, when they attempt to communicate. The one with long dark curled braided hair (perhaps Amaryllis, perhaps Rilla, perhaps forever-flower or darling) is more likely to try to speak to it directly, but the one in the armor (Damien, as his companion only ever calls him) seems to understand the Keep's intentions more easily when he tries to speak.

He's still very nervous, the Keep can tell. It doesn't blame him for that. The both of them are rather shaken, rather ragged, and the Keep has lived long enough to know that a measure as small as a day is not nearly enough in which to heal. Perhaps in a year or so they might begin to trust the Keep more fully. Perhaps two.

Arum is busy enough with a project that he does not fuss over the Keep's split attention too terribly much, restraining himself to only grumbles and rolls of the eye when the Keep does not respond immediately to his questions and requests. He is still suspicious, the Keep can feel it rolling off of him, but he is clearly trying not to let it show quite so much.

Amaryllis sings, light and warm, and when the Keep accompanies (harmonies are its most honest voice, its first language, it doesn't need to know her songs to sing along) the Keep can feel her spike of curious delight. After that song she pulls out the toy she seems to favor, the little clicking box with the wind-up handle, and then she asks what other songs the Keep (she does not know its name yet, of course) would be willing to sing for her.

It preens, as delighted as she is, ignores another frustrated grumble from back in its tower, and picks out a few more songs to sing. Perhaps she and Damien might even recognize a few in return.

~

"So. This is what you've been up to."

Rilla fumbles, dropping her recorder with a gasp as Damien spins on his heel, his hand flying to his bow.

The monster stands at least a full head taller than Damien, far more than that when accounting for the horns, with a bipedal, reptilian body shape and mottled, glossy green lizard scales that take on the appearance of beetle-like plating near his hips, along his biceps, by his ankles. His violet cape stands vividly against the green, accentuating the near identical color of his sharp, diamond-pupiled eyes. Two arms fold dramatically over his chest, and a second set of hands caress the lily-shaped hilts of a pair of knives belted to his thighs. Damien can see, as well, another pair of blades waiting at the monster's hips.

"Back, beast," Damien barks, automatic and sharp as he shifts his stance to stand between the creature and Rilla, standing uncertainly without her crutch. "Stay back, or-"

The vines from the canopy drop again, that ethereal song drifting from the entire swamp around them as a pair of green tendrils drop to the monster's shoulders, gripping there like hands as a third vine with a cluster of soft leaves gently cups the monster's snouted face. More vines follow, one reaching to touch his own shoulder, the other at the edge of his vision lifting Rilla's recorder to place back into her hand.

"You be quiet," the monster mutters, scowling and shaking his head to dislodge the touch of the flora on his face. "This is your mess that I will now be forced to clean up. Humans, of all the ridiculous-"

Another warble of song, and Damien can hear the distinct note of an insincere apology before it sings- something else, more complicated and nuanced and beyond Damien's ability to interpret.

"I'm going to kill them, obviously. That one-" the monster meets Damien's eyes, ducking his head pointedly in his direction, "is clearly itching to kill me. I would not assume that you would like me dead before them, would you? You cannot have grown so attached already."

Damien's fingers flex against the wrapped wood of his bow, terror and desperation and the thinnest sliver of hope all warring within his breast, and then he forces himself to breathe as he releases his grip.

"I- if you keep your knives sheathed," he says, his voice surprisingly clear, "I see no need to draw my bow."

Rilla steps closer, a warm presence at his back, and the monster- rolls his eyes, like a petulant child.

"Please," he snarls, shaking off the other two grasping vines. "As if I'd believe the word of some- some trespassing human. The moment I turn my back-"

The vines sing, admonishing but gentle, and Damien feels his nerves settle just the littlest bit more. He bites his lip, glances over his shoulder towards Rilla for strength, and then he stows his bow entirely away.

"I give my word regardless, to be believed or not. We are- we are Exiles, looking only for safety, for shelter. We mean no harm-"

"Pretty words from a human in that particular armor," the lizard spits. "You may have sanded away the crest, but I recognize the casing of one of the Citadel's pet knights easily enough."

The vines squeeze gently at Damien's shoulder, comforting, and then it sings a sweeping, swooping phrase that dances between the higher and lower tones of the voice, yet again too complex for Damien to follow the feeling, but the monster in front of them clearly understands well enough. His expression shifts, wary, then scoffing, then contemplative, and then incredulous again.

"No," he growls, slashing two of his four arms through the air with a dismissive sneer. "By no means. No. I have no need of further subjects at all, let alone humans, and there is no reason to believe they would be anything but a liability, Keep. If they do not stab us in the back, then they will surely be followed by others who will be far more of a threat. I do not care to-"

The voice - the Keep - gives a murmuring phrase, its tone chastising, and the monster's face contorts into a scowl, his head ducking as the webbed frill at his neck raises in a fluttering halo.

"Be that as it may, I cannot possibly condone-"

Another phrase, more firm, and the monster throws all four of his hands in the air, his teeth bared.

"I am Lord of the Swamp, you complete imbecile! My entire purpose is to-" his eyes flick towards the pair of them again, suspicious and furious, and then he rephrases. "They cannot be trusted not to destroy our home. Your softness will kill the both of us if you do not allow me to do fulfill my role and protect our swamp."

Rilla's eyes dart between the monster and the draping tendrils, rapt and worried and still so tired, and Damien remembers helplessly the days before they found this place- before this place took mercy on them. He remembers each wincing step Rilla took upon her injured ankle, remembers startling awake at every creak and chitter in the night, remembers pangs of hunger between pangs of terror, remembers Rilla's raw heartbreak when she realized that they had left behind her father's oud in her hut, remembers desperation. Remembers hopelessness. Remembers resignation.

Remembers a monstrous, impossible, alien vine, offering his arrow back to him.

Grace, that's the word. He's been struggling, since this creature first began to help them, to think of the precise word for its manner. This monster acts with grace.

"This place... this place chose to take pity on us," Damien says quietly, and the lizard scowls in their direction. "This place- the Keep?" The monster hunches his shoulders, snarling, but the familiar voices sing in tandem, ringing around them with such clear delight that Damien nearly smiles. "The Keep," he says again, more firmly, "decided to allow us a place, here, even if only for a short while. There must be a reason why it would, a reason we were-"

"The Keep is a softhearted fool who may be convinced that any passing stray might be a pet and not an insidious threat against all of our lives," he hisses through his jagged teeth, and Damien's stomach twists.

"You protect this creature, then?" Damien asks, desperate, the weak outline of a strategy forming in the back of his mind. "You are its defender?"

The monster folds his arms in a tangle over his chest, sneering hard. "Our relationship is not so simple as to be explained in-" he pauses, clenches his teeth for a moment, and then says, "... yes. Yes, I protect the Keep. I am Lord Arum, he who rules the Swamp of Titan's Blooms, and I protect the Keep and its lands from any who would harm it."

"I am Sir- I am Damien the Pious," Damien says, and the monster's lip curls instantly in disdain. "You were right about my former profession. I am- I was a knight," Damien continues, his heart sinking, cracking. "I- I owe your Keep, the both of us do. I was a knight," he repeats. "I could be a knight again."

"And I'm Amaryllis of does it really matter right now," Rilla says, sounding anxious and frustrated beneath her casual tone, and her hand tightens at his elbow. "Damien, I don't think your career is gonna ingratiate us to a-"

"This place- this Keep sheltered us. It fed us. It saved us," Damien says, speaking to the monster as much as he is speaking to Rilla, "I know what we owe to it. I- I would pledge myself to protect-"

"I don't need your help to fulfill my purpose," Lord Arum spits. "You- you arrogant little-"

"I present no comment on your own ability," Damien says quickly. "I only mean to repay the debt owed to your- your Keep."

The monster bristles, his jagged teeth bared.

"The Keep prefers you alive. Fine. So why will you not just leave? If it provided you food and rest then you should be perfectly able to move on and just go home."

"We can't go home," Rilla says, her expression flat. "He told you already, we're Exiles. There's nothing left for us to go back to. They'll kill us if we do."

Damien feels his heart- crack. It's true, of course, but-

Neither of them have said it quite so plainly, since they left. Neither of them wanted to, while they were still in such a precarious, uncertain position, while they were still running. Of course it's true, but it still hurts.

Something crosses the monster's expression, just for a moment. A flicker, a twitch, something Damien can't quite read, and then his frown returns.

"I don't see how that could possibly matter to me. Go somewhere else, then."

The song- rather, the Keep sings, then, another chastising trill, and the monster's frown twitches.

"No I don't. Be quiet."

"Let me prove myself. Let me prove that we- that I could help to protect your swamp."

Arum's spine straightens, his lip curling. "You wish to fight me?"

No, that certainly wasn't what Damien meant, but-

"If that is what you require, for me to earn my place. If I must. I am- I w-was one of the most accomplished knights in the Second Citadel. If I must prove my mettle in a duel, I shall."

"That's idiotic," Rilla says, her words coming at the precise moment that the Keep sings a song with similar sentiment, and Damien cannot help a small sort of smile, despite their precarious situation. "Look, are you in charge, or is the Keep?"

The monster sneers, two of his hands caressing his hilts again. "That is not how we operate," he hisses. "Do not expect our hierarchies to mirror your own, human. Monsters will not conform to your nonsense arbitrary-"

"So, the Keep's in charge, then," Rilla says, and the monster chokes on an indignant noise. "Do you want these two fighting, Keep?"

The Keep sings a clear denial, and Rilla crosses her arms in front of her chest with a satisfied noise.

"That's what I thought."

"You stay out of this," Arum snarls, clearly meaning the Keep. "You, in all your ancient wisdom, have clearly already decided what you want to happen here. My own decision will not be made so flippantly. If the little knight thinks himself so formidable a fighter that he could be at all a threat or an asset, let him prove it." The monster narrows his strangely magnetic eyes, sneering down at Damien with clear venom. "Let him prove himself, then."

"You will duel me?" Damien asks.

"I will prove to you that I do not need you. I will show you that I could best any human in combat, and then the both of you will leave my swamp and never, never return."

"And if I win? If I best you?"

Lord Arum glowers. "Do not think for a moment that I truly believe that you have any desire to be our knight ," he hisses. "If you best me, I expect either my Keep will prevent you from killing me, or you will be quicker than it expects, and it will learn to regret trusting humans so easily."

The Keep trills another clear denial, stern and confident, and the vine on Damien's shoulder squeezes lightly before it releases him, and then it sings again, even more pointedly, and Arum wrinkles his snout and rolls his eyes again.

"Fine, fine, it does not matter because it will not happen, but if this human manages to best me in a fair duel, then he may pledge himself to whomever he pleases."

"And you will allow the both of us to stay?" Damien presses, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Arum's eyes flick to Rilla for a moment, considering, visibly noting her unsteady ankle and her own vicious scowl, and then back to Damien.

"If you best me," he says slowly, "you may stay."

It is... strange. Damien should be terrified. He has been unsteady, uncertain, unmoored since they left the Citadel, desperate in the dead of night. Saint Damien came with him, a whisper in his mind, an echo in his heart, but-

Here, in this place, he can hear Saint Damien as a ripple on the still waters, can see him as a shadow beneath the lilypads, can feel him, as ever, within his heart.

Here, among monsters, surrounded by magic, Damien can feel his saint all the better. His feet are steady, anchored in soft, damp soil. He asked for a sign, and the Keep opened its swamp before them like a temple, like a sanctuary.

This is where they are meant to be.

He will win, he thinks, just as Rilla squeezes his hand again. He will win, and they will be safe again, here in a land of monsters, and magic, and answered prayers.

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#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #the keep #amaryllis of exile #sir damien #lord arum #aaaaAAA #knight of the swamp