#but if it's in orbit still then like. yeah. yeah we come in normally and ripping a hole is perhaps not a good idea.

[flatstarcarcosa]

speaking of the sheepdog fic i realized while half asleep last night i need to change the setting from "fully crashed ship" to "derelict ship floating aimlessly in orbit" because if it's planet side i have a glaring fucking plot slash logic hole in the entire fic that, were this a movie i was watching, i would notice that would severely hamper the enjoyment and quality of the rest of the piece.

which is.

why doesn't vader just a rip a hole in the ship to get us out, like how we went in?

[the-moon-files]

Wait, quick idea! Twilight looks like the only hylian in his village because everyone else has round ears, so what if he wasn’t as surprised as the others to see their human companion so resilient, but still fairly impressed because of the fact that most if not all people in his village don’t put themselves in as drastic situations as the reader? Or is this just humans from our world?

get out of my head lmao /lh - you, me, and wayfayrr are actually the same person on diff accounts LMAO

im of the belief that (blame @wayfayrr, my beloved) that he knows of humans bc of some in his village but yeah, just not the type of human in drastic situations

(ALSO they wrote me a fun, long, glorious, male reader human space orc au fic for winning their raffle a bit ago, and it brings up their headcanon abt this and i Adore It actually, check it out here pls if u wanna know🤲)

(also if u see this wayfayrr, sorry for the ping, also should i be calling u moss? or wayfayrr?? idk which, i hope thats even ok to ask 😭 i assumed u would call my ass Moon)

Moon: Male-Masc Reader (he/him)

Orbit: short headcanons-ish, rambling mostly

Stars: Twilight Princess Link (Twi/Twilight), mentions of other Links

Comets & Meteors: CWs: none known, & TWs: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

to reiterate what i said up there, in case u skipped it for the bullet points,

i like the headcanon he knows humans, knows some of their quirks, and how they were the first ppl the other hylian villagers called on to help stuck cows or downed wagons, lots of heavy lifting stuff

but he really hasnt seen the extent of real humans, bc the humans who were in Ordon, well, they lived in hylian society,

why would they need the adrenaline to lift a car when hylians have set up whole tools and systems in all their towns to help lift just a full bucket of water out of the well??

not to mention, i think all the humans in his village were older adults? like at least not the age theyd be doing things like parkour or going to any trampoline parks type of age,

id imagine its more like stories talked about amongst hylians how hard humans can go, and even the humans themselves talked abt things like,

“well compared to u hylians, we have stomachs made of molten lava to you guys really, but we never have to use it, bc u know hylian food works just fine”

when Twi asked they would say stuff like that, but as soon as he saw ur human ass just picking wildflowers and berries off the side of the road to snack on? even random grasses/vines at some point (kudzu)?? easily eating Wild’s Dubious Food that's DEFINITELY got monster parts in it???! gnawing on the bone of a cucco and it just breaks??!!! and you look surprised too, thank fuck finally a normal reaction from u- oh my goddesses u were just curious (damn the elders were right abt human curiosity too) **and are now sucking out the marrow and eating the bone-!!!!!!!!!!!!

Twilight’s perspective of you is actually the equivalent of like, reading stories about vampires all ur life, then this new friend you made starts to get allergic to garlic, crave blood, has crazy strength and advanced senses, etc

and he’s just watching those honest-to-Hylia human mythological feats play out in real time in front of him, like he’s the only self-aware character in the story that immediately clocks the really obvious vampire as a vampire lmao

is the first to either 1. start choking on his laugh as he theoretically knows ur about to jump on the back of a lynel/hinox to ride it around and watch as the others come to the same conclusion OR 2. try to Stop you from jumping on said big monster in an attempt to ride it around bc he gets used to ur human BS quicker than the others and can see it coming a mile away now lol

very much so this meme:

(ur welcome i made it myself <3)

anyway id love to rant abt this dynamic

abt both Twi’s shock at you eating peppers like a god has come down from the sky to prove their immortality,

but also poor rancher esstientally humansitting you too lmao

the Chain/Time/Wars absolutely put him down as the resident human expert like: “ok he just drank like, 5? No- Four stop him from drinking more at least- (dual sighs). okay, 6 stamina potions, will that kill him??”

Twilight, saviour of Hyrule, of the Twili, Link from Twilight Princess himself,

has to keep a record book of all the new shit he’s heard/learned about humans in Ordon, what he has actively learned abt ur ass just fucking around and finding out, and the few bread crumbs of information u give him abt ur species

(that rlly just come off as kind of cryptid statements abt u/humanity, or don't apply in this scenario bc ur only comparison is Earth Rules, which honestly scare every single fucking one of them in the same way as walking on Ganon’s lawn or something, like straight up view ur home planet as enemy territory, the Amazon jungle, the Hyrule wilds if you will-)

Twilight also gets involuntarily volunteered for human-sitting duty too

tbh the only person Not allowed on human-sitting duty, when u guys go new areas esp, is Wild/Hyrule

you’d tell him you wanna get inside the guardian robot to operate it and ride it around and he’d probably be in shock you even fathomed something like that, yet also now EXTREMELY intrigued to watch it play out

(they’re both more of a “u wanna jump off a cliff?? that's actually crazy, wait for me please.” he seems to think he can somehow protect you if he joins you? its worked sometimes to be fair to him ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ just not really conveniently when the rest of the Chain are around lmao)

☆

i live btw, ive been writing/updating fics along with life updates (moving states/new job/online class) so a few asks will hopefully be answered over here in the next 2ish weeks

no promises, my life is kinda girlbossing at the moment too close to the sun and i am Nervous abt disappointing u guys

i already feel like im disappointing my other blog bc i haven't posted in forever bc im writing a fic instead of asks during any free time i dedicate to writing for it so :/

pls excuse my super slowness like a package ur waiting for in the mail or smth type of slow

AGAIN thanks for the ask!! i hope this was at least entertaining to read as some addon to what u said, you guys have gotta check out some of wayfayrr’s stuff if ur into this, bc they're the only other place i can think of that's talked abt humans not just being the same as hylians

have a great week!!

Peace out hugs and chaos,

🌙

[verstappentime]

divorce verse for your wednesday <3 this is from after max & dan break up. (the rest of this verse is here) (the scene previous to this will get finished but this is what i have today <3) The first night Daniel’s gone, Max walks into a fucking wall trying to go to the bathroom.

It’s happened before, because his depth perception is awful and worse in the dark and worse sometimes than others, but usually he hits knee-first or something. Nope, just a wall right to the orbital bone. 

It’s not something Daniel could have saved him from, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. Daniel’s not there to be woken up by his cursing a blue streak and ask if he’s alright, to sit him down and put ice on it and make him feel less pathetic.

His head is throbbing, in a normal person kind of way. He’s going to have a massive goose egg. He finally gets to the light switch, very, very carefully, and tempts himself to go down the hall with the promise of crying about it afterward.

It’s easier, with the bedroom light illuminating the way. He makes it there and back okay. 

He needs to not call Daniel, but he’s groggy and worked up and he gets confused at night and– he’s just going to lose it if he can’t talk to someone. 

Daniel picks up on the first ring. He must still have Max excluded from do not disturb. Must be sleeping with the ringer on.

“I walked into the wall,” he says, before Daniel can get anything out. 

“What?” He can hear Daniel sitting up, sheets rustling. He should be scolding Max for calling in the middle of the night. He doesn’t. “Are you hurt?” 

“I hit my head. Or, like, my face. Both.” Max touches where the bruise is forming on his head. He kind of forgot what hurt that’s not coming from the inside feels like. He pokes it again. He’s lucky he hit on bone, probably, and that it wasn’t a corner and he’s not bleeding. “I don’t know,” he says, voice cracking. 

“Okay.” Daniel’s all calm. This kind of stuff never bothers him. Max wants him to be here. “You sound alright. You weren’t, like, running, right? Do you have a headache?”  “No. I think– I think I am okay.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, just to see how bad it hurts. “This is shit, Daniel.”

“We need to get you some of those lights you can turn on with your voice, yeah? I’ll look in the morning.” We. He’s going to have to stop that. Not right now.

“I can– I’ll do it.” 

“I’ll remind you, then. What do you want to do right now?” 

“I don’t know,” Max says again. “I don’t want to get up again.” He presses his knuckles to his teeth, something awful in his chest. “I feel shit that I called you already.” 

“I don’t care. It’s good you did. I was scared that you wouldn’t. Makes me feel better.” Daniel pauses. “Not that I’m like, glad you walked into a wall.” 

“It sounds very stupid when you say it out loud.” He knows it’s his fault, but he can’t help it: “What am I going to do? Just call you always?” 

“You can, baby.” Daniel never tells him no. Daniel let him leave because he never tells him no. “You have other people, though. They’ll be happy to answer. You can call your mum or Victoria or Charles. But also me, if you want to.” 

Max wants Daniel to tell him that’s unfair. But the idea of being cut off from the only person that really knows what it’s like for him makes him want to throw up. Charles would laugh at him for this one, even though he wouldn’t mean to. Max says, “I think I want to go back to sleep.” 

“Good idea. You want me to stay on?” 

“No. That will be very boring for you.” Max lays down, turning over on his side, his back to where Daniel should be. “Are you sleeping too?” 

“Yeah, Maxy, I’m going to.” 

“Okay. Then we will both go to sleep.” 

“Yeah,” Daniel says, all gentle. “I’m going to text you tomorrow, okay? It’s okay if you don’t want to talk to me after that. But I’ll remind you about the lights and ask about your face.” 

“That’s fine.” He can’t know if he’ll remember, and he really does not want this to happen again, and– and now he knows for sure he’ll hear from Daniel tomorrow. 

There’s a beat where neither of them know what to say, but Daniel’s the bravest and he says, “I love you. Goodnight.” 

“I– Me too, Daniel.” He can’t lie. Not about that.

[visionsoffutile]

The queens curiosity Chapter 3:

The cafeteria at North Shore High was buzzing with the usual lunchtime chaos, but today, it felt quieter than usual to you. Maybe it was because you were sitting alone at a table near the window, absentmindedly picking at your salad. You weren’t used to eating alone, but the new school year had come with a shift in the usual groups and cliques, and you hadn’t quite found your place yet.

Your mind kept drifting back to yesterday’s encounter in gym class with Regina George. The way she walked up to you, flashing that signature smile that could mean anything—charm, malice, or something in between. The entire conversation had felt like a chess match, except you weren’t even sure if you were playing the same game as her. And the way her eyes lingered on you for just a moment too long—it sent a shiver down your spine.

You stabbed at your salad again, trying to brush the thoughts away. But the more you tried to forget, the more vivid the memory became. Her voice, her confidence—it was like Regina had imprinted herself in your mind, and no matter how much you wanted to stay out of her orbit, it was impossible to ignore her gravitational pull.

"Hey, do you mind if I sit here?"

You looked up, startled out of your thoughts. Standing in front of you was Gretchen Wieners, clutching a tray of food and offering a hesitant smile. You blinked in surprise, glancing around the room. The Plastics’ usual table was in full view, and there she was—Regina George herself, talking to Karen but occasionally casting a glance in your direction. Your stomach knotted, but you managed a nod.

"Uh, yeah, sure."

Gretchen slid into the seat across from you, setting her tray down. You had no idea why she would leave the comfort of Regina’s side to sit with you of all people, but then again, this was North Shore High. Nothing ever made sense when Regina was involved.

"So, how’s the second day of school treating you?" Gretchen asked, taking a bite of her sandwich like this was a normal conversation.

"Fine, I guess," you replied cautiously. You tried not to glance over at Regina, but it was hard not to feel her presence from across the room. "Why are you sitting here, though?"

Gretchen looked a little taken aback by your bluntness, but she quickly recovered with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Oh, I just thought it’d be nice to get to know you better. You know, we don’t really talk much, and you’re new here, right? It can be tough finding where you fit in at North Shore."

The explanation sounded rehearsed, almost as if Gretchen had been sent on a mission. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was Regina pulling the strings, especially after yesterday’s encounter. Still, you decided to play along, at least for now.

"Yeah, I guess it can be," you said, trying to sound casual. "So, what do you want to know?"

Gretchen’s eyes flickered with interest. She was eager, clearly not expecting you to engage so openly. "Oh, just the usual stuff. You know, where you're from, what you like to do for fun… anything, really."

You raised an eyebrow. "Anything? That’s kind of vague."

Gretchen laughed nervously. "I mean, Regina—" she stopped herself, glancing down at her tray. "Well, we were just curious. You seem, um, interesting."

There it was. Regina George had sent Gretchen to find out more about you. But why? What did she want? You couldn’t shake the feeling that Regina’s sudden interest in you wasn’t just friendly curiosity. You could feel it in the way she looked at you yesterday, the way her presence had lingered long after the conversation ended.

You glanced over at Regina’s table again, catching her eyes for a split second. She was smiling at Karen, but there was something in the way her gaze briefly flickered toward you that sent a chill down your spine. Like you were part of some game she was playing, and you had no idea what the rules were.

"I’m not that interesting," you said, turning your attention back to Gretchen. "Just another junior trying to survive the school year, I guess."

Gretchen nodded, but you could tell she wasn’t satisfied with your answer. "Well, if you ever want to hang out, just let me know. The girls and I are always around."

You forced a smile, unsure of how to respond. The invitation felt more like an obligation than a genuine offer, but you couldn’t deny the curiosity bubbling inside you. What was Regina George up to? And more importantly, what did she want with you?

As Gretchen got up to leave, she flashed you one last smile. "See you around?"

"Yeah, see you," you replied, watching her walk back to the Plastics’ table.

Your appetite was gone now, replaced by a knot of unease in your stomach. Regina’s eyes met yours again, and this time, her smile was more subtle, almost calculating. You had a feeling this wasn’t the last time Regina George would cross your path, and something told you that whatever game she was playing, you were already a part of it—whether you wanted to be or not.

Previous

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I restart an argument with a friend?

🌊⚓ <- so I can search for it.

So, a while ago, a friend was over and we talked. She is from South Germany while I am from North Germany, where we are both living (this'll be important in a sec).

I don't really remember why we were talking about the topic, but we started talking about regional dialects and sayings and then she called Low German* a dialect. Which tldr: big no-no. But I don't think she was being malicious, she just didn't know about the topic at all.

So naturally I explained: "You absolutely cannot call Low German a dialect to peoples faces around here. People will take offense to it. I don't really, because I consider the difference between dialect and language is arbitrary to begin with. But you will provoke incredibly unkind reactions from other people."

Her response was "Yeah but like. Doesn't everyone think their own dialect should be a language."

And... Idk why that one hurt but it did. It just felt incredibly dismissive. And I didn't really know how to respond other than "but this is the one case where it is true" which felt weird so I just. Didn't. We kinda moved on to other topics. But in hindsight, I really wish I hadn't?

Because I wish I had explained it in depth to her so she understands why what she said is considered unacceptable. But also for her own sake, because she will piss people off if she says the same thing to other people. And honestly for my sake so I can make peace with the conversation.

So I'm considering either finding a way to restart the argument/ conversation when we are together or go the cowardly route and send her a couple screenshots explaining the topic. But I also feel like restarting a fight we never really had and really doesn't matter is kind of a dick move.

Additionally I tend to be a person that corrects people when they are wrong and starts discussion way too much. Because in my family academic debates are a love language.** So I tend to reaaaaaally overestimate the amount of debating/ arguing people are comfortable with. They tend to perceive me as being upset with them while I am just having fun hashing out a topic from different angles.

So Tumblr. WIBTA?

Footnotes

* Low German is the regional language of North Germany. The definition of North Germany is actually pretty much "wherever they are speaking Low German". There is some controversy if Low German is a dialect or a language. Which like... People often describe it as closer to Dutch and English than Standard German, it's a recognised language in every state it is spoken in, it is recognized as a regional language in the fucking European Union WHY is it still controversial.

It is also very much an endangered language because in the past decades especially it has been looked down on as being "lower class". No that's not where the name comes from, low german is spoken where the terrain is flat/ low and high/ upper german is spoken where the mountains are. This attitude towards Low German is shifting a lot recently but it is entirely possible it's too late to prevent it from dying out.

** I felt like this part needed some clarification too. I can't count how many dinners in my childhood were spent eating while getting into the meat of whatever topic caught our attention. Politics or science or more spiritual stuff. Ask questions about things we were wondering about. Absolutely tear into each other when we had opposing positions, but concede when we were convinced. Oftentimes I'd get up to grab pen and paper, or demonstrate orbital dynamics with the jam container, a bowl and my plate, or use the butter as an impromptu drawing board.

But that doesn't mean we were fighting in the normal sense even if someone got upset occasionally. It was really just communicating with one another. It was connecting. Exercising our debate skills. Play-fighting but make it academia. It was genuinely fun to us and still is. An alternative outlet for sibling rivalry. There is no need to fight over the TV remote when you can just reason it out together.

So yeah. That's how academic debates can be a love language (and simultaneously absolutely destroy your conception of what is considered arguing).

[anonymityisfunwriter]

There Is No Coming Back From This - Chapter 4

Characters: Stark!Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Summary: "It's her time, Tony. And I hate that as much as you do, but there's some things you can't fix. There is no coming back from this."

"What do you mean you're leaving?"

"You're so dramatic," Steve groans, rolling his eyes at Bucky as he makes his way to the door, "I'll be back in an hour. I'm just getting a few things so we're ready to move when we have to." 

"Then take her with you!" Bucky insists. 

Your eyes volley back and forth between the two men, not bothering to pretend that you're not listening to them talk about you. 

"It'll be quicker if I go alone."

Though he did ask you if you were okay with being left alone with Bucky given your tense encounters. You shrugged Steve off and told him you didn't care. Steve only wished Bucky was as ambivalent. 

"Fine, then I'll go with you!"

"We can't leave her alone."

"Well, I don't babysit."

"You're not babysitting because she's not a baby."

Bucky quickly steps in front of the door, wedging himself in the doorframe. "I mean it, Steve! What the hell am I supposed to do with her?"

"I don't know, maybe, and I know this seems a little far fetched, talk to her," Steve incredulously suggests. "Have a normal, civil conversation."

Bucky snorts, "With a Stark?"

"With another person. Don't you remember what it's like to be 17?"

"No, actually, I don't."

"You two will be fine." Steve peels Bucky away from the doorframe, stepping through the door. "I'll be back in an hour. Kid, you have the burner phone I gave you?"

"Yeah." 

"Call me if you need anything."

"Got it."

"Steve, I mean it - " Bucky begins to object again. This time, he's met with the door snapping shut before him. He stares at the door for a long moment. He shakes his head, muttering under his breath, "I'm gonna kill him."

Bucky barely acknowledges your existence as he walks back to his kitchen. He plops himself down at the table, staring at the wall in front of him.

You take this as an opportunity to smooth things over with him. Sure, you didn't really do anything to him, but your father was still mostly responsible for him and Steve being fugitives. You take the only other seat at the table, plopping yourself right in his line of sight. "You know, Steve's told me all about you. He made you sound a lot nicer though."

Bucky barely offers a grunt in response. 

"But I'm thinking that treatment is reserved for me. Because I'm a Stark."

Bucky continues to ignore you, shifting his intense glare to the small kitchen window.

"I don't blame you for what happened to my grandparents. I know it wasn't your fault."

For the first time since you met him, his gaze shifts to you, "Your father does." 

"But I'm not my father."

"Sure you are," Bucky remarks. "Apples don't fall far from the tree."

Your brows pull in. You loved your father. You loved him as your father, as a scientist, as an innovator. And still, you weren't blind to his temper, to his constant need to strive for bigger and better. He wasn't a person that could leave well enough alone. You knew that firsthand. "What does that mean?"

"It means, that it's really only a matter of time before that Stark arrogance and cutthroat ambition kicks in. All you morals, ethics, everything that's right or wrong, it'll mean nothing to you. Consequences be damned. Just like your father."

You're not sure that you're the person that's supposed to be hearing this. These words weren't meant for you, but he unloads it on you anyway. "Don't talk about my father like you know him."

"Isn't that what he did to you? Consequences be damned. He wanted to make his perfect little daughter a perfect super soldier." 

You shake your head over and over, "That's not true."

"Sure it is." He raises an eyebrow. "He's willing to use every single person in his orbit as his little experiments. There's not a single person that he isn't willing to use and discard. That's why you're here and not with him."

You shakily exhale, your voice tinged with laughter, "Ouch."

"Truth stings, doesn't it?"

"I was dying," you state, staring at Bucky. His eyes widen slightly as his face drops. He looks over at you. You stare down at the table, tears starting to fall down your face. "Cancer. That's why he did what he did. He was trying to save my life."

He remains quiet, though this time it's not of his own volition. You've left him speechless. You wordlessly stand up, and take a seat back on the couch to wait for Steve. You lift your knees up, propping your head on them, and pull the hood of your sweater up. 

For the remainder of the hour that Steve is gone, Bucky sits in the uncomfortable silence. He can't quite think of another time he's felt like a bigger jackass. 

And considering he's the reason you're upset, he's pretty sure he has no right to console you or to try to smooth things over without Steve's presence. 

The moment he hears Steve's familiar steps, he bolts for the door, quickly stepping outside into the hall. Steve's eyes widen as Bucky blocks Steve's entrance into the apartment. 

"Okay, now, don't be mad."

"Oh God," Steve groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What did you do?"

"What makes you think I did anything?"

"What did you do?"

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you. I just want you to know that I didn't mean to. I just - I kinda lost sight of the fact that she's a kid. And that I wasn't talking to Tony Stark."

"What do you mean? Bucky, what the hell did you do?"

Bucky's mouth twists remorsefully, "I might've said some things... About her family. About how eventually she'll lost sight of all morals, ethics, and sense of right and wrong with that Stark ego. And I may have said something along the lines of her father discarding her and dumping her here with you."

Bucky cringes as he recounts each barbed word he threw at you. "But - but in my defense, I didn't think she'd cry - and - and I didn't know that she was dying. If you think about it, it's really on you for not telling me that. And that means this whole thing is sorta all your fault."

"My fault?" Steve squawks. "So she has to have cancer for you to be nice to - Wait, you made her cry?"

Bucky winces, "There may have been tears."

"I left you alone for an hour. One hour. How did this even happen?"

"Well, she just started talking. I was trying to ignore her, but she just kept talking. She went on and one, saying how you told her about me, that I was nice, and she didn't think I was to blame for her grandparents. I don't know, I just kinda snapped."

"So she, a 17 year old, a child, tried to be the bigger person and smooth things over with you, not that she really had to because she's not her father. And instead of being patient, or at the very least not yelling at her, you berated and insulted her and her family? That's what you're telling me?"

Bucky throws his arms up in exasperation, "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds really bad!"

"Because it is really bad!" 

"Okay, okay, I admit, I was being a jackass."

Steve rolls his eyes, "How did you leave it?" 

"I didn't get to say anything else. She just put her headphones in and sat on the couch with her hoodie up like an angsty teenager."

"She is an angsty teenager! She was on death's doorstep last week. This week, she's a fugitive with powers that she never wanted. I think that would make anyone a little angsty!" 

"Okay, okay! I already said I was being a jackass. Go talk to her or something. She's on the couch with her headphones in."

"Headphones?" 

"There those little things that you put in your ear - "

"I know what headphones are!"

"Okay," Bucky raises his hands in innocence. "No need to shout."

Steve grits his teeth, trying to remain calm in spite of the two children he was now looking after. "Just let me talk to her. Then, you can apologize."

"Fine," Bucky huffs like a petulant child. 

Steve walks through the door first. He spots you on the couch, "Kid?"

"I don't think she can hear you."

Steve holds up a finger, walking up to you and pulling on the loose headphone wire. He holds the wire up, showing Bucky that it's not connected to anything. He pulls down your head to find you staring up at him with a sly smirk on your face. 

Bucky sputters, "What the hell?"

"She doesn't cry," Steve explains. "And she didn't bring her phone with her. There's nothing to plug her headphones into. I'm surprised she even has them."

"Yes, I do cry," you retort. "I can cry."

"I can count on one hand how many times I've seen you genuinely cry. You can, however, cry on cue, but no, you don't cry." 

You narrow your eyes at Steve, "You don't know that."

"I've known you since you were five years old. That's how you used to get out of homeschooling."

A crocodile tear falls down your cheek, "But Uncle Steve.."

He points a disapproving finger at you, "Don't Uncle Steve me, that doesn't work on me anymore."

"Oh my God," Bucky exhales. "She's an actual psychopath."

"And you're an asshole!" you retort. 

"Language!" Steve remarks. He turns to Bucky, gesturing to you, "Now apologize."

"Me?" Bucky's eyes widen in disbelief. "She fake cried to make me feel bad."

"Do I need to remind you what you did?" Steve rhetorically asks. 

Bucky grumbles, "But, Steve..."

"There's two adults in this room, Bucky. Can you please act like one of them?"

"Don't bother," you object. "I head you from in here. You only feel bad because I had cancer. I don't need you to feel bad for me. I don't want to be here any more than you want me here."

"Okay, okay, can we all just calm down?"

Bucky scoffs, turning away from you, "Whatever, Princess."

"Whatever, Buchanan," you counter.

Bucky whirls around, glaring at you, "What did you just call me?"

"What's wrong, Buchanan?" you taunt. "You don't like the taste of your own medicine?"

"Don't call me that."

"Don't call me Princess. At least Buchanan is your name."

"I already told you to quit calling me that. No one calls me that. Who even -" He looks at Steve, who looks entirely fed up with you and Bucky. "Why? Why? Why would you tell her my full name?"

"In my defense, I was just telling her a story." Steve looks pointedly at you, "I certainly didn't think she'd use that against you."

"I have no regrets. He started it." 

Steve quietly mutters to himself watching as you and Bucky bicker back and forth. "How the hell did I end up here?" 

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist 'There Is No Coming Back From This' Chapter List

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[carionto]

Geronimo!

Space suits have come a long way - near 1 to 1 articulation and haptic feedback, intuitive zero-g booster based movement, nano-clamps for spiderman-like grip in low/no gravity, and of course dozens of micro layers of protection against all know space radiation and other hazards. Plus a centimeter thick composite armor against sentient threats, with a "cocoon" mode to fully cover all joints and other normally more exposed parts, that renders the Human inside near impervious to most small arms, and even some heavier impacts.

To fully test the limits of protection you don't actually need to have a person inside, just plenty of sensors and a good understanding Human physiology and anatomy. The military, of course, does things a bit differently, as their suits are even tougher. They do have this half-half mode where you are mostly armor, but can still move, but more like the Terminator. Given it also boasts a powered exoskeleton between the armor and hazardous protection layers, soldiers can wield weapons other militaries typically mount on vehicles, so the metaphor is almost just a straight factual comparison.

Some, however, are still not satisfied, and are always seeking to extend the durability of their suits to beyond the extremes.

____________________________

Hilda Lavre was standing on the edge of the ship in low orbit. One hand gripping an outer handle while engaged in final diagnostics.

"Alright, Hilda, everything looks green on our end, how 'bout you?"

"Same green green. I'm good."

"Whenever you're ready then. There's some clouds in the way of the predicted path, might slow you down a bit. Wanna wait?"

"Nah, nah. I'll wing it."

After a seconds pause, Hilda let go of the handle and gently kicked off the side of the ship. She was now on a direct collision course with the Atlantic Ocean.

.

.

.

(Thermals should start going up soon. I'm gonna turn on the external mic just a tad. There's just something about how the heat sounds scraping against the metal.

Oh, there it goes. Yellow, slowly getting to orange. Good.

Yea, that's a nice screech - burn that paint!

Halfway to red, altitude check. Already this close? Guess it'll be just shy of 80% tolerance.

Hehehehe, that means we can go for a bit faster next time. Cool.

Eh... wind without the heat just doesn't sound right, I'll turn it down to just barely audible. Something to keep me company.

Aaaand three.

Two.

One.)

SPLASH

.

.

.

(It's dark. But I guess it was dark before...

before what though?

Well, that's okay.

This feels like a new kind of dark though.

There's the dark when you're alone in your room at night, all the lights are out.

Another kind is when you decide to get inside your brothers closet to scare him when he comes back from the kitchen. That's a fun kind of dark. (it's getting cold)

There's also the dark of being in an underground bunker during a storm. Then the power gets cut and all the exits are sealed. That's a... lonely kind of dark.

One time I was wandering the woods, and before I knew it, it was the middle of a moonless night, overcast too. Hiding out in an abandoned shed, without even the wind or animal sounds to let you know anything is out there. I didn't like that kind of dark at all. (It's really cold)

This dark though... I dunno. It's like I'm hiding out in my own closet. My shoulder is up against my winter jacket, feet are grazing those old sandals I swore to throw out two summers ago. But also, it's not my room. Or even my house. Why am I in my closet? How did it get here? Where even is here?

I feel sleepy.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Hey, hey! Hilda! Wake up!"

*grunting* "Ugh... shut, shut up Barry..."

"Gods, don't freak us out like that. You okay?"

"Depends. How high did it go go?"

*laughter* "Okay, [She's fine everyone] yeah, you're fine. 87 meters, new record."

"Hmm, I was aiming to to break 90."

"Well, those clouds nudged you a little off, you hit it at a 83 degree angle. Still, those other readings are nice. I'm pretty sure we can do a boosted fall next time."

"Yeah, I I think so too. I feel a little little cold, did something break on hit hit?"

"Not break, but the impact did jolt the subsystems a bit. Activated one of the sedative shots. I manually made your suit give you a wake up shot right as I noticed. You should be feeling the effects right about now."

"Mmhhmmm, oh yea. I'm feeling the kick kick now. We need to improve the kinetic tic dampeners. No good if if it puts you to sleep upon any hard enough nough impact."

"Yup. We're suspending any other jumps for the week until we get that fixed and implement some minor tweaks based on your jump once we analyze the telemetry further.

Okay, everyone! Good job today! Let's meet up next weekend and test these bad boys out. Let's aim for a 100 meter splash by the end of the year!"

*cheers and yeahs as Barry opens a mini fridge and everyone cracks open a cold one*

[strangequarked]

On Throwing One's Self Forward

this ramble was prompted by Time to Orbit: Unknown's ending, so yeah spoilers for that.

I enjoy, probably a more-than-normal amount, the feeling of acceleration. Breaking into a sprint, screaming down a hill on a bike, flooring the gas pedal, the roar of take-off thrust on a jet, I find all those not only exhilarating but comforting. Thus, I can't help but wonder what it must feel like to be in the Courageous, to be the Courageous as it engages its engines, screaming across the void to chase the stars. The beauty of it all...

and in general, I loved TTOU's ending. A story that was equal parts grim and joyful ends on an optimistic note and a very particular one at that. The Javelin Program was billed as a mission of hopeful exploration, of venturing into the unknown to discover what lies there, and the crew of the Courageous had finally made it come true. No more murders, no secret Antarctican project, no half-mad experimental AI. We saw the worst of humanity, but we also saw the best. Aspen's resilience, muscling through the void of space all on their own. Dinesh and Tal sticking a failing starship back together. The way everyone on the crew protected each other. Ultimately, we see that we are indeed capable of surmounting dire odds and that is cause for optimism all by itself. Even when everything is falling apart, it can yet be saved. What should have been can still be.

I am perhaps a hopeless optimist but what we see in ttou is my hope for the actual future. I dream of humanity working together to go further than ever before, of an Earth that is more vibrant than ever, of a well-taken-care-of people, of a deeper and broader knowledge of the universe. It is highly unlikely I will live to see our own Javelins set out across the stars, but I hope someone aboard one of them feels the same comfort in acceleration I do.

[tennessoui]

Jesus shitting christ, I just finished ch 6 of weeding out our wildfires, and how is it that every time I think things cannot possibly get any more heartwrenching, there come lines like 'that love that surpasses mother and wife and freedom itself—it is not enough' holy fuck. YOUR WRITING IS SO. FUCKING. GOOD. I am crawling out of my own skin for Anakin's sake, holy shit. (God, he really will never be normal about that old man. AND I LOVE IT.)

Also I just. I read the fic last night and hours later I'm still orbiting around this line: Yeah, alright, swee—yeah, okay, Obi-Wan

THE ABORTED TENDERNESS. THE WAY MY HEART SKIPPED A BEAT AS ANAKIN CUT HIMSELF OFF. GOD. HELP. The way Anakin uses endearments (in your fic in general, and in this line specifically) makes me FERAL. I don't - i can't even describe why or how, just that it's so tastydelicious for my brain and every time it happens I get the very real urge to start chewing on concrete.

ALL OF THIS to say, holy fucking shit, thank you so much for sharing your writing! Your stories are incredible and it is such a joy to read them (including when I'm drowning in my own tears).

hello im so sorry for answering this ask late (aka after i posted chapter 7) BUT thank you so much for this i loved reading this ask (and i did multiple times) and it made me want to write chapter 8 that much faster

thank you for noticing all these things and loving them!! to talk only about one, yes!! anakin almost called obi-wan sweetheart and then i hope no one recovered

BECAUSE he choked on it!! and because he thinks (in chapter 6) that he can never truly label obi-wan as anything but 'master ' and 'obi-wan' so how can he possible say sweetheart??

i obviously love anakin calling obi-wan any number of pet names but i don't think we've spent enough time thinking about anakin feeling as if the ONLY pet name/nickname he is allowed to give to obi-wan is 'master'. it's like. either master or obi-wan? nah. we can do better.

like the consolidation of everything he wants to call obi-wan down to only his name or his title or some half-bitten off endearment??? i could write essays about that i think

[quindread]

Constanstine starts acting sober on important missions/meetings for the JLD; he has a sanity-potion dealer

Zatanna reports this odd behavior to Batman, they interrogate him when his veins are swamped with alcohol.

C: … I-I know what yer doin’ [hiccups]

Z: We care for your well-being. You have bouts of sobriety that you seem to have control over.

B: Are you on something new?

C: M’yeah… is called a pwoz—piss—poise! Poise potion, yeah das it!

B: And who makes this “Poise” potion?

C: My dealah, my busniz. G’way! [stumbles out the door]

Z: … That went as well as expected.

Sober Constantine is actually more reasonable. Batman catches him after a meeting.

B: [observes his brushed hair and very high-quality, new trench coat] You’re sober… Congratulations?

C: Uhuh. Did you need something? I have some business elsewhere.

B: With your dealer?

C: [affronted] Wha—Who in their right bloody mind would dare call Celest that?

B: You did.

C: ….

B: Who’s Celest?

C: Oh, fuck me!

Constantine gives him an address - it’s in Milan, Lombardy (Region of Italy). He specifically instructs him to come as a civ along with Red Hood and Robin with the threat that he will erase their memories if they so much as go into detective mode.

Bruce Wayne and his two wayward children enters the teahouse and is led by the hostess to a private room. They are served with tea and light snacks that they know even Alfred would more than approve of.

A door opens - they didn’t even know it was one with the way the molding blends into each other seamlessly. And out came one of the most enchanting woman Bruce has ever seen. He’s seen his fair share of attractive females but he has never been star-struck like he should be - as if he were back to his pre-pubescent days.

M: Constantine said you’d be here.

B: [realizes that this person was Constantine’s dealer and was 100% magic] You’re his dealer?

*Jason and Damian who saw the look on their dad’s face snicker at his opening line*

M: [raises and elegant eyebrow at Bruce] And you must be his work associates?

J: Something like that, lady. I’m Jason, kid’s Damian, and the one who can’t stop staring at you is our Dad, Bruce.

*Bruce grumbles and Marinette smirks*

M: I’m Marinette. It’s a pleasure to meet you.

D: [gestures at Bruce] Pleasure is all his, Marinette.

B: [red at the ears] Their Grandfather thought them better, I swear.

M: Mhmm. I guess he didn’t teach them how to not die then?

The guys: ….

Jason gets a more potent version of the potion Constantine consumes - it’s a prescription that he has to come for every month. Damian gets a charm; ear cuffs because he does whatever her wants, a spontaneous orbital piercing is nothing. And Bruce gets Mari’s number.

(Tim also gets forwarded in his fave fashion label’s waitlist from the near thousands to the fourteenth - his first consultation coincides with Jason’s next appointment.)

AN: Some posts/fics call Mari Celestial Guardian. Idk where and when that happened - I have abandoned canon a long time ago. These are all pulled from my days in the maribat blackhole (still kinda stuck there). I basically pulled this out of my archives so they at least get the chance to see the daylight.

Addressing Brucinette: I have a whole re-written MLB plot in my archives where everything is more brutal and the miraculous aren’t actual pieces of accessories. Like there’s an initiation to the order and stuff like that. I normally don’t enjoy aging up characters in crossovers but Brucinette just works. I have a secretary AU somewhere (it’s tragic and I’m considering scrapping it if I find it). And I also have deep-rooted issues that wants me to write Good!Dad Bruce who has Mari breathing down his neck when he so much as raises his voice at his children (Muminette/Mominette is another breed scary). And those tropes where Mari sees right through Brucie? Has a second sense for the when the batkids are in/causes trouble? Love those. I WILL FIGHT FOR THIS SHIP. (Jk people are free to dislike this. I get it.)

[cuprohastes]

Dave The Human vs. Religion

The question of religion had come up, as it does.

Dave The Human, female Tsin muttered something at a high pitch at her tablet and Dave the human, formerly Dave the Atrix, formerly also Dave the Human performed some epic side-eye.

Gondy was filling in for the Atrix member of the group, still slightly scarred from having her helmet smacked hard enough to split during the recent disintegration of the station due to Von Neumann's Space squid.

Raxy, her Little Guy was stuffing his face in a way that you don't normally see on an Atrix that size. This suggested to the Daves that the Little Guy was shortly going to be upskilling, getting certified and getting referred to as female...

Given Atrix really just looked at the whole gender thing and opted out, and the whole male/female thing was labelling for other people's benefit, the Daves formed an unspoken and instant agreement that helping Raxy bulk up was their new hobby.

For two people from radically different biologies and cultures, the Daves were staggeringly similar as though some cosmic author had created them with the same voice.

Tsin Dave waggled the tablet. "Homeworld want to make sure everyone's complying with off-world best practices. They want to ensure that we're... ugh: 'Maintaining tradition in line with oof-world guidance'" she grumped.

"First I'm a heretic and a sky-demon and now they want to make sure I'm the right sort and not making you lot think less of us with my wicked deviant ways."

Gondy paused, as did Rax.

"graaaaak?" Rax said, around one of the mysterious and never explained purple bread rolls.

Meta-note about the purple bread rolls: They're actually Ube potato bread rolls. They're steamed in the Caffeteria. The food services are very aware that everyone who encounters them assumes they're a food from some other species culture. It's the little things that make the day to day fun.

"You never heard about that?" Dave The human said. "Oh well hum..."

Dave the Human gave his buddy full points on her mastery of colloquialism and settled in.

"So there's this legend that many years ago the People - 's us - had an idyllic land, and the concept of evil was unknown. Then one day, Sky Demons, jealous of our ways and our purity of soul absolutely pounded the knekp out of the place and only those of us in the Great Underground Halls, who were devout enough survived. And since that day, to leave the ground is to attract the attention of the Sky Demons."

Gondy raised a claw.

"Boats are OK. Water is theologically still ground."

Gondy put her claw down.

Dave the human said, "That sounds like..."

Dave The Human answered, "Nope, it was Orbital Bombardment. Nation-on nation. The shelters were built because it was a strong possibility that things would get all... ker-blammy."

"Yeesh!"

"Yeah. And the religious angle kind of got shuffled in as this agreement that when everyone got out, nobody wanted to be dancing around pointing claws at other countries and trying to blame them, while it was everyone's fault. Can't really blame them but for a thousand odd years that was the official line."

Gondy said "Wow! I never knew that!"

Dave The Human nodded. "Yeah yeah, it's been pretty common knowledge for a century or so, but still, when we got back into space after the Wallandernoooks showed up to trade, it was a major, major problem and uh well, leaving the Homeworld means you're a Heretic and in league with the Sky Demons according to the Dogma soooo..."

"Huh. And that means...?"

"Not much. Kind of lightly excommunicated. Not really welcome back home where things are a little more traditional. But y'know. No biggie. We're all colonists out here anyway, and we still get Homeworld support. It's just we also have to get audited that we're not giving Homeworld a bad name." She paused and took a long drink of mekp. "Aaaaand this time they want to know if we have a shrine to show you filthy heathens that we're still the number one proper pious type heretical sky demons. F.M.L."

Gondy, Rax and Dave pondered this.

"Gondy... what do Atrix believe in?" Asked Dave the Human.

"Graaak."

"Yeah, Rax, I guess 'some places are lucky' covers it. You know.... good moss, cool rocks, just got a good vibe. The sort of place you can drop a bunch of... what do you call them? Possums."

Dave the Human choked on his water. "Possums?!"

"Grak." Commented Rax and Gondy pulled her tablet out and poked. "Yeah... human smalls." She said, holding up a picture of a possum mis-labelled as an infant human.

"Huh. You guys are adorable when you're young" cooed Dave The Human, who Dave previously rated as about as maternal as a meat grinder.

Dave let it go for now, suspecting this would yield hilarious dividends at some future time, and turned back to Dave the Tsin.

"Ok, this is shaping up to be another wacky hi-jink. What's the gig?

"Gotta build a shrine."

"Any shrine?"

"Pretty much. It's got to be location appropriate. Y'know. The god of the place. To show we're uh... friendly to the local divinities? On theological good terms?"

"OK but... we're all godless atheists, apart form the ones who aren't. Who are you going to build a shrine to?

"Yeah that's kind of it. I mean I don't want to be the grit under anyone's scales..."

"Ohhhh," said Gondy, "Oh oh! Rax, call Garf! I have an idea..."

Several weeks later, the Tsin named Walks-between-Waves arrived as part of the Tsin welfare and general ambassadorial circuit.

O'Patel and Big Ma performed the proper greetings and paperwork, and Dave presented herself.

Walks-Between-Waves ("Just call me Waves") walked up and declaimed, "Heretic, and blasphemer. You bones will never lie with the ancestors, and your meat will rot. You and the demons you dwell with are denied! Cast out as the foul beasts you are. How are you doing? Well I hope?"

Dave bowed, small hands together, big ones outstretched.

"Oh yeah. They're all very nice here." She said. "Did they change the words of the castigation?"

"Oh, no, but some of it needed translating for human language a little," Waves said and added, "such a fun language! Quite the fad back home. And since you're hmm, officially human, I couldn't resist. Now, I believe you have something to show?"

O'Patel looked bemused and said sotto voce to Big Ma, "I think this is going to go well!"

Dave led Waves to the common area where, true enough, there was a shrine. It was made of old pieces of the station recovered from it's partial disassembly. 3D printed and painted panels along the sides showed Tsin, Atrix and Humans, helping each other climb up the sides, to the top of the shrine where someone had creatively frosted some glass and lit it with shifting lights to suggest something exciting and pleasant waited. The thing dripped with moss and a small water feature played down from the back into a shallow bowl of stones.

"Ah!" Said Waves. "Very impressive. Going for extra credit?"

"No..." said Dave. "It's a group effort. Once we started, everyone wanted to help. Especially after we found a small god for the Station that everyone liked... Their name is Arepo."

[antigonenikk]

Find the Word

got tagged by the elite mutual @chirpybirdy

Rules: Share snippets of your work containing each of the words the previous poster selected for you (optional addition: if you can't find the word in your WIPs, or you simply don't have any WIPs, you can just write a sentence around the word).

Words: letter, add, lung, bus, lead.

letter:

(from liebgott x f!oc fic)

They stopped after letter 60. In the Spring of 1945 they stopped. One month before V-E Day. Birdie held the last letter in her hands, tearing at the edges. Four months ago now. 

The last one read:

Dove. 

I don’t know how to tell you. Don’t wait for me. I won’t be coming home. The world we live in is beyond cruelty. 

There was no sign off. But she could read his handwriting in the dark. Still. Like a fool she took the train from Atlanta to New York and waited at the docks for him on the day of his expected arrival. She has no idea how he did it. But he never showed. She saw the rest of his company. She even saw Margie’s Ron. But no Joe.

add:

(no snippet for this one. random on the fly poem instead)

I add, and add, and stack.

Her soft tread, and small feet

make indents in the sodden earth.

The shadow presses back.

lung:

(from f!Eugene/Leckie au fic)

Sid, as the night wore on, kept shooting them very ugly looks, which Genie did not appreciate.

In his defense, he had a right to be jealous for her attention, since it was their first shared birthday party away from home. Hoping to appease him, she tried to include him in the conversation. But every time she turned to ask Sidney something Leckie somehow drew her attention back into his orbit. His wide blue eyes, so much like her old babydoll's that Sid had broken when they were children, sparkling with glee.

Soon talking had turned to dancing, and Genie, four beers in, had forgotten why she was out in the first place. Leckie whirled her about the room. He wasn’t a great dancer, but he made up for his lack of technique with enthusiasm. And anyways, she was a real dead hoofer herself, so she had no room to complain.

Sweaty and giggling, unable to catch her breath, lungs aching, they left the makeshift dance floor, only to find that their friends had all abandoned them.

bus:

(from the modern!au eugene/snafu fent addict fic)

Gene is sorting through his textbooks. He can’t see out of his left eye. It’s completely swollen shut. A smaller body sidles up to him, leaning against the cool, worn blue rows of lockers. 

He looks over and sees that it’s Shelton. Snafu. Situation-Normal-All-Fucked-Up. He got the name from Burgie. Back in eighth grade when he snorted a line of coke in the back of the school bus on the way to the annual DC field trip and then immediately puked up bile onto the seat in front of him. Back then Burgie and Snafu had still been childhood best friends, so he had been in the splash zone so to speak. This was before he started running track with Gene and Bill and fell in with them instead. 

He had shouted with disgust, and declared his friend was acting completely and utterly fucked in the head. Robert Leckie, pretentious asshole extraordinaire, sitting a row in front, had turned in his seat and with his dumbass smirk had said, “So, then, he’s acting like his normal self?” 

Burgie, still livid about the whole thing, turned to Shelton and told him, “Yeah. A real fucking Snafu.”

After that it just sort of stuck.

lead:

(from me and @guarnerepdf 's lovingly deranged french partisan BoB fic)

Friedrich had tried to insist that as lead for the mission, he should hold all the papers himself. But Isabella had argued incessantly that it would be odd for a man to be holding his brother-in-law’s identification. He could not find a reasonable rebuttal to her and had given up trying to express the deep dread he was feeling about this entire thing. No one was listening to him anyhow. Not the Commander, not Isabella, and frustratingly, not Pleun. Pleun was meant to always be on his side. But somehow, they all had been convinced that it was possible to get Andrews back to England. That they would be able to get away with it. 

[letters-adressed-to-the-fire]

actually, taylor is just as delusional as all of us (or "over-analyzing chloe et all: the sequel")

First part analyzing the first verse and the chorus is already posted if you want to check it out ;) I'll be waiting and ready to dive deeper into the lyrics and uncover the hidden meanings and emotions behind the song (or how i like to call it: making everything about me and my own personal traumatizing experiences, hope you can relate!!!)

“You said some things that I can't unabsorb You turned me into an idea of sorts You needed me, but you needed drugs more And I couldn't watch it happen”

In the second verse, she’ll be reflecting on why they broke up. The line “couldn’t watch it happen” emphasizes that she didn’t leave because she wanted to, but because she couldn’t endure it anymore. This shows the painful reasons for their separation and her struggle to move on.

“I changed into goddesses, villains, and fools Changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules All to outrun my desertion of you”

First of all, no, she isn’t a normal person who can just say “yeah, I’ll try everything to get over you”. No, Taylor needed to emotionally destroy us.

Second of all, yes, despite logical reasons for the breakup, the fact she had to leave makes her wonder what would’ve happened if she stayed, even if she knew she couldn’t. It’s a contradiction that, between delusions, makes sense (I know most of us can relate).

“Down that passage in time back to the moment I crashed into you, like so many wrecks do”

She wonders if things could have been different if she knew then what she knows now. Alternatively, the “crashed into you” part could symbolize their first meeting and the idea of avoiding the entire relationship.

That last thought is reinforced by the bridge, where she’s basically saying that maybe, if she just over-analyzed every single moment she shared with him, she may find the exact moment where things went wrong, and she wonders, again, if it could’ve been different if she knew then what she knows now.

I want to add that the first few times I listened to this song, I interpreted the “crashed into you” part as a metaphor for their first meeting. I thought these lyrics suggested a “what if she had turned around and avoided the entire relationship?” scenario. I mention this because, like with all of Taylor’s songs, there isn’t an absolute truth when it comes to interpreting her writing. In this case, it’s devastating how both perspectives of the bridge can be so sorrowful yet opposite at the same time.

As I mentioned before, the third verse is mostly about accepting that they will never be able to pretend it never happened. So, now that we’ve covered the general meaning of these lyrics, I’d like to dive into more specific metaphors.

“Will that make your memory fade from this scarlet maroon”

Aside from the fact that this is an obvious maroon reference, we need to remember Taylor’s tendency to use color symbolism to express her emotions. I’m not sure exactly what color she’s picturing when she talks about “fading,” but it’s likely gray. She has often used gray as the opposite of love or as a synonym for cold in many songs, so it makes sense that she expects the scarlet maroon (their love) to turn into a shade of gray—something unimportant or that could eventually disappear.

“Could it be enough to just float in your orbit?”

This line immediately evokes the feeling of centering your life around someone else. More precisely, it could have two meanings, or perhaps a blend of both. First, Taylor might be asking if it would be enough for her to be part of his life and know about it despite the baggage from their failed relationship. Alternatively, she could be asking him if she really needs to leave or if she can stay close enough to still know about him. I interpret both meanings as if they are already exes because that’s the vibe I get from the entire song. I think it would be too unhealthy to keep yourself at arm’s length from your romantic partner just to avoid losing them, and I personally don’t think that is what Taylor was trying to depict here.

“Can we watch our phantoms like watching wild horses? Cooler in theory, but not if you force it to be”

With this last metaphor (or more accurately, simile), we can finally complete the picture. Taylor is asking if remembering their time together could eventually feel like watching wild horses—if, in time, they’ll be able to look back and simply remember the lessons they learned from that period without the heaviness of the “what ifs” mentioned earlier. Here, I’d like to reference MoonSkylarr on Genius because their interpretation of these lyrics was spot-on:

“Can we watch the ghosts of us with the same reverence, admiration, and respect we watch wild horses? Wild horses are beautiful in their wildness, but man always wants to tame them. Can we look at them without wanting them to be anything other than exactly what they are?”

“So if you wanna break my cold, cold heart Say you loved me”

Taylor ends the song with a variation of the chorus. She is no longer asking for him to tell her that he loved with the way that she was, now she’s only asking to know if he ever really loved her, it doesn’t matter how anymore.

[sharpth1ng]

As someone who has TRIED to write longfic for a while, I find outlining and sticking to it so fucking hard?! Like I never know what I'm doing at all. And I wanted to ask how do you do it??? Like what's your process if you have one or just whatever tips you have, because I feel like the pacing and plot/character evolution in your fics is so good? Idek dude I'm desperate this is so hard 😭😭 but I really wanna do it so. Help please

Honestly this is the first long fic I’ve managed to write, it’s something I’ve struggled with a lot as well. I guess I have a couple tips, but it’s by no means expert advice. It’s also possible some of this is too basic, idk, but I’ll do my best to be helpful.

Outlining and thinking into the future is really important but I’d actually recommend you give yourself a little flexibility to change things as well. I like to have my end point set- that means I know how characters start out and how they change through the course of the fic. After that I basically just have to get from point A to point B by figuring out what events happen to change the characters over the course of the plot.

In Debaser the start point is a closeted, self-denying Billy and a Stu that’s not yet completely sure of his place in Billy’s orbit. At the end we have a Billy who is still closeted but admits his sexuality to himself and has fallen in love with Stu, and we have an equally but more openly in love Stu who is also significantly more confident (if also severely injured).

It helps to have a solid midpoint as well, this is basic plot structure stuff. You need the characters to face a challenge and overcome it, and for Debaser this is Maureen’s death. It’s their first murder but it also marks the beginning of a significant change in their relationship. Before Maureen their behaviour has been almost justifiably kinky to Billy. He can tell himself that he’s only getting off on causing Stu pain, but kissing him crosses a line, and then there’s everything that happens at Christmas and it just continues from there.

As I’m writing this stuff I try to be mindful that I’m creating a sense of escalation- the characters are making progress or regressing, but either of way the stakes are getting higher. Scream lends itself well to that, so I got lucky.

It also helps that I’m sort writing a book slasher, at least later in the fic. It means I can make use of those tropes, so I have something to lean on. I’d recommend figuring out some tropes that you like from the genre you’re working in, and put your own spin on them or find a way to subvert them.

I often work through this kind of planning with more of a visual map, then this eventually gets turned into bullet point summaries of each chapter. When I actually go to write the chapter a lot of the time I realize some of those planned plot points don’t quite work or don’t feel in character, and in those cases I often change those details. If it works better for the story I’m telling then it’s good to go off-script a little. There are usually some major events that I won’t change, but most things are fair game.

Finally, I’d recommend writing ahead. It’s really benefited me to know what’s happening in the next few chapters before I edit for publishing. That way I can add in or change any details that no longer work with what’s coming up in the future.

I hope some of this makes sense (and is helpful) but like you’re right, it is hard. It’s such a scary process honestly and that’s part of why Wave of Mutilation is taking me so much time. But yeah I think it’s normal for it to feel kind of awful to do this kind of thing. Truly the only thing i hate more than writing is not writing.

I wish you the fucking best with whatever you’re working on!

[wolven91]

Slugs & Apes - Chapter 1

"Have you heard? We're getting a Human representative!" Called a familiar voice behind Blarah.

Blarah retracted her eye stalks all the way back into herself in a slower-than-normal moistening as she sighed deeply. A fresh headache had just blossomed in the centre of her ‘head’. 

"No, we aren't." Blarah responded offhandedly to Pleppany. Turning to face her long standing friend who, whilst Pleppany was undeniably annoying at the best of times, she still meant the world to the young sluggat.

"This is a backwater, tail end of nowhere dust bowl. Why, in the deepest salt-mines, would a human come here?" She demanded. “They can live in the lap of luxury wherever they go.”

Whilst she doubted Pleppany, Blarah would have loved to see one of the new species that had recently joined The Galactic Community, but being realistic, there were far nicer places to go than the edge of space on a station that orbited an awful double star system. The Edge wasn’t liked by non-molluscs.

She sighed, her sides bubbling. She moistened her eye stalks again and looked at Pleppany, who, now she was paying attention, was visibly undulating. She wasn’t joking; Pleppany believed what she was saying.

"... you're not kidding are you? You know something!" Blarah realised, eyes ‘ploping’ as Blarah blinked. Pleppany was practically bouncing on the spot at this point as she began her long, winding way to the point, as usual.

"You know how I've been hanging out with one of the Captain's secretaries? The tall one with the green tinge? Well he let slip that his girlfriend had said, you know his girlfriend, the one that made a fool of herself at the party last year, yeah her. Well she said that her dad had said that he had to put in a ton of human acquisition requests to ready a diplomatic suite for one on the second floor north section and… that it had to be done by today at the very latest!"

Blarah stared at her friend for a moment as her mind quickly worked its way through her tale before latching onto the meat of the story, realisation washing over her.

"There's a big freighter due to dock later today..." Blarah mumbled aloud as the implications made themselves clear "But it'll be a diplomat, not goods, won't it?"

"That's the best bit, I heard that humans have been sliding over each other to get off Dirt! They chose to come here. They want to see every part of the Community, even this dump!"

A human, willingly choosing to come here and maybe even one that wasn't some dusty old political type? Blarah would believe it when she saw it. But… there was a moistening of hope.

Pleppany gave a smile and a seductive undulation, exaggerating her already undeniably attractive self, cocking an arm against her hip, just above where her body lay against the ground. 

"I intend to get an interview with him. The station's news centre has to keep on top of these new developments after all..." Pleppany said with a hungry tone.

Any Sluggat with working eye stalks couldn't deny Pleppany had every desirable trait going for her. If she intended to use her 'strengths' to get to the alien, she would likely succeed.

As for Blarah, she just might see him from the spaceport’s admin offices, but otherwise would have to settle for pictures and whatever information Pleppany put on the station's local network. Pleppany eventually slid away and out of sight, leaving Blarah alone.

Once Blarah was at her desk, she looked up everything she could on the Humans.

It began with the usual history lesson; The Galactic Community was a federation of the vast majority of the various species across the stars that had been found and contacted. Any smart mollusc understood the benefits of working together rather than going it alone so regardless of the various cultural differences amongst the gathered races, they ultimately all agreed to the same goal of cooperation and exploration to seek out new friends and allies.

The Galactic Community had countless sluggat races as part of their collection. Sluggats came in a vast variety of colours and construction, but were found exclusively around The Edge, the perimeter of the known galaxy. Sluggats did make their way inwards, but their home worlds were outward. 

It didn’t take much to decide to join The Galactic Community and for the most part sluggat kind was left to its own devices thanks to their choice of uncontested territory. The Community’s disapproval at their constantly warring ways was shown, but they never actually did anything to stop or prevent the various skirmishes. Nothing to adjust the status quo. 

Then these creatures appeared. Humans. Bipedal like most of The Galactic Community races, but smaller, closer to slaggat size, much to their joy. There had been some kind of issue during their rapid uplift. Sluggats being limited to The Edge only really learnt of the event after it had been and gone. Whatever happened, the humans rapidly spread out amongst the stars and were immediately a hit amongst all if not most of the sentient races for various reasons. 

On average, they stood as tall as the tallest sluggat, roughly the same in width, but instead of securely travelling across the ground with the use of mucus and their lower body, they perpetually fell forwards, catching themselves with two appendages of dense meat and bone like the other races.

Bipedal, warm blooded, even their blood was bright red when exposed to the air. Everything about them was strange and screamed "Alien" and they enraptured sluggats just as they had everyone else. The video Blarah was watching had a human male and female standing side by side as the information was given as a voice over. 

Their skin didn't move unless they chose to move themselves. She wondered how the hell they saw behind themselves without being able to extend their eye stalks, unless they were constantly retracted in? There was a class of Sluggat that did that, she was sure of it.

Blarah grasped the fast food drink cup in one hand and while slurping it loudly, trying to get the last of the delicious sugar water at the bottom, a deep voice washed over her, the deep vibrations rippling her flesh subtly.

"Excuse me, I'm a bit lost."

Blarah’s eyestalks snapped up from the video, getting locked onto the Human's in front of her. Her free hand slammed down on the keyboard in an attempt to shut the voice up. After an awkward few seconds and several brutish slaps the computer was silenced as it began an in depth explanation on the differences of their genders.

She moistened her eyes with a quiet 'plop' as she struggled to figure out what to say. He was huge, he was solid and he was leaning right over her desk and his eyes had entranced the poor unsuspecting Blarah completely and utterly.

[blasphemecel]

Oikawa Tooru — Jersey #2

PAIRING: Oikawa Tooru/Reader WORD COUNT: 6k TYPE: Angst, Fluff, Humor, Rivalry, Emotional Constipation (we laffed and we smiled and we crode) WARNING(S): Injury, There are no specified pronouns or identity for reader, but they are on the shiratorizawa boys volleyball team for plot reasons.

There are several truths in life.

The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. The Earth orbits around it by spinning on its axis. Oikawa Tooru hates geniuses.

He hates Shiratorizawa, hates all natural talent, hates Ushijima Wakatoshi, and hates everything he represents. It's kind of his drive, the loathing, but really, he just wants to be something. And people like Ushijima and Tobio just seem to wall him.

His time as a first year student in Aobajousai is fine. He has his admirers, and Iwaizumi still slaps him on the neck when he pisses him off, and that guy Hanamaki punches him on the shoulder and calls him a heartthrob in a sarcastic tone when girls come around to watch them practice after school.

Sure, his upperclassman is still the regular setter, but that's normal. Maybe if he puts in some extra thirty minutes every afternoon, things will be different.

When it comes to sports, Shiratorizawa is inevitable. They're always going places, be it the junior teams or the high schoolers. Like when Ushijima washed them when they were in Kitagawa Daiichi. It's a school that upholds individual talent and prestige, so Oikawa goes to Aobajousai and it's fine.

They arrange a practice match against them two weeks after the season starts. None of the first years from Aobajousai make it on the line-up, and Oikawa's sitting on the bench next to Iwaizumi, and he heaves a theatrical sigh. "Only watching is so boring. I hate this."

"Quit whining," says Iwaizumi.

"But it's not fair, Iwa-chan! Look, they're all first years on the other side. Is Shiratorizawa bragging or something?"

Ushijima looks like a big lumbering idiot as usual, Oikawa thinks, but he's not even going to acknowledge his presence. Yeah, that'll show him.

"I've heard most of their players don't even get to, well, play," Iwaizumi says. "Maybe they're trying to scout 'em out." Coach Washijo does have a reputation for being high maintenance.

"So they are flexing," Oikawa cries.

Iwaizumi punches him on the shoulder. "I said stop whining."

It is not Ushijima who gets the first serve. Instead you stand there, and you look like you don't know what the hell is going on, but when the whistle blows, you jump high and smack the ball straight to the nationals. Their libero doesn't even twitch to touch it — hadn't expected it — and you score the first point, even though someone receives your second one.

Oikawa's immediate thought is to wonder if his serve is this powerful. And if it isn't, how much practice he needed to make it so.

His gaze stays on you after that, and it comes to his attention that you barely know the rules of the game. You're all sharp reflexes and raw power and high jumps, but the only time you make correct plays outside of serving is when the guy with the weird hair tells you where to block.

It has become apparent to everyone else, too, and most of the wing spikers target you since you're bad at receiving. Float services fuck people over all the time, too, and the guy in front of you fumbles when the ball changes trajectory at the last second. You extend your leg and kick it to the other side of the court with something like amusement in your eyes and that's another point.

Aobajousai takes the game, but it doesn't matter because Oikawa is wondering what that was. All of it. So he stays up late that night searching up Tendou Satori and Semi Eita and [L/n] [Y/n] on Facebook like a man starved for attention, looking for a victim to torment with the poke function.

He doesn't infer much about this Tendou fellow except that he had a bowl cut until not long ago. And Semi Eita seems to think being mysterious is cool because his wall is empty except for the strange messages Tendou has written on his board and occasional birthday wishes.

You're not discrete like them, but maybe you have no reason to be. Photo after photo after photo of you posing with trophies — first place, almost always — with this stupid, guileless smile on your face, but it's all for soccer.

What the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you in the volleyball club now?

It's not like Oikawa's never won an award. He just acts like it.

Then... Then, he realizes, ah. You're one of those people he hates.

___

This is their first time at the Inter High as high schoolers. It's prime time to get bullied by Shiratorizawa for anyone unfortunate enough to play against their team. In the corridors, after Aobajosai's first win, Oikawa doesn't mean to eavesdrop, not really.

"Man, we got our asses handed to us," whines some guy to another teammate of his and a boy who's probably the manager, judging by his attire. "Shiratorizawa's totally unfair."

"I thought we'd have an easier time if we targeted number twelve because Ushiwaka is too overpowered-"

"Overpowered?"

"-but that kid's got demonic spikes, too."

"Number twelve is a meathead and if you guys worked harder, we wouldn't have been humiliated like this," says the manager before he lets out a yawn.

"Oh, shut it!"

"That asshole's asking for a shattered wrist hitting the ball that hard every time."

"Oh, so your spikes suck 'cause you're concerned for your safety? How convenient."

Number twelve, the other wing spiker. So you're a regular, huh?

It's stupid, anyway. No one can win against Ushijima by ignoring him.

No one can win against Ushijima, but that kind of goes unspoken.

___

He bumps into you and deems it rational to assert himself. "We're gonna win, you know?"

You turn around to face him and you appear confused. "Who are you?"

Oikawa's eye twitches but his lips curl up in a phony smile, anyway. "Oikawa Tooru," he says. "From Aobajousai."

He watches the way you squint at him until recognition flashes across your face. "Oh, you're that guy."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ushiwaka has his eyes on you."

He fakes a shudder. "And that's totally not a creepy thing to say."

You shrug and pivot on your heel to leave since your teammates are probably waiting for you inside the bus already, but for some reason he can't quite explain, Oikawa blurts out,

"You play soccer."

"Used to, yeah," you say. "You a fan? I'm planning on starting tennis in university." Then you rummage through your pockets until you pull out a marker and aim it threateningly at his forehead like you're about to autograph him.

"What? No! Not my beautiful face!" Oikawa shields himself with his forearms and once you appear to have stopped moving, he deems it safe enough to expose himself again. He thinks about how every word you said during the last minute pissed him off. Who the hell switches sports for every academic establishment they enter? "Tell Ushiwaka to mind his business."

You smile. "Sure, I'll let him know."

"... Are you serious?"

"Why wouldn't I be serious?" You pull out your phone and dial someone, and he flails his hands around as he wonders once again what the fuck is wrong with you, but you're adept at ignoring his urgent gestures. "Hi, Ushijima. No, I didn't get lost, it was just a tough shit to squeeze out. Yeah, yeah, tell Coach I'm coming in a bit. Listen, some Oikawa Tooru said you should mind your business. Ah, okay, I'll let him know."

When the call is over, you tell him,

"He said you should've come to Shiratorizawa."

Oikawa clenches his fist and chokes, "Ack." Then he sticks his tongue out at you. "Whatever. Hmph."

You seem to find some amusement in his theatrics.

___

Before the match when everyone's doing their warm-ups, a hard smack echoes across the gym when a stray ball whizzes past Oikawa's head while he's setting before it bounces off. For a second he thinks Iwaizumi has finally decided to assassinate him, but then he glances towards Shiratorizawa's side only to see you panicking with wide eyes and frantic waves of your hands. You rub your head, still grimacing. "I'm so sorry!"

"You blockhead! What's the point if the ball makes it out of bounds?! That's ten extra laps next practice," Coach Washijo reprimands, shaking his fist in the air while you shriek and duck away from him before you skid to the other corner of the room.

Oikawa stares while Tendou points and laughs at you. Did you do that on purpose? Are you picking a fight? It didn't seem that way, but the thought of a Shiratorizawa member being endearing to him makes Oikawa sick.

___

He can't help it; Oikawa is always looking at different spikers and thinking about how he'd utilize them. Even on opposing teams and even about Ushijima once or twice, but it's more of an ego thing. He likes the idea of everyone reaching their full potential when he's pulling the strings.

Unlike Semi Eita during the practice match, Shiratorizawa's regular third-year setter doesn't toss to you or anyone else much at all. Not that it stops Ushijima from stomping all over them throughout the first set — like usual, really, since Oikawa and Iwaizumi are the only ones who can even attempt receiving those left-handed spikes — but Shiratorizawa has all these tall heavy-hitters, and only one of them gets to shine.

You're the kind of useful idiot who's running all across the court to make sure Ushijima has enough energy to spare for all five potential sets. And you don't stop or think because with people like you, of natural talent and ability, flinging yourself at the ball wherever it goes is about enough.

Up front, he gets to face you head-on and it's better because it doesn't seem as impossible. Again, taking notes is something he does almost unconsciously, even if only to help him read the game better. He likes to think he knows he's good enough of a setter to hone a sense for these things. The two third-years rush to attempt to wall Ushijima, but from the toss, the only person who spikes that high, from that position, is...

When Oikawa blocks you, it feels like you're trying to break his arms. His hands sting, but it doesn't matter because the ball makes it back to your side of the court, and the pain doesn't matter either because he's endured worse just to make this happen.

He lets out a dramatic ouch before he flicks his fingers and your mouth parts open in surprise. Do you have to be so shocked that he managed to stop you. How conceited-

"Woah, that's awesome," you say, looking at him through the net.

"Eh?"

You point at your teammate. "You read his ass!"

He blinks. Once more, "Eh?!"

Begrudgingly, days after that stupid, familiar, devastating feeling of losing a match right at the finals, Oikawa admits to himself he finds it a shame that someone like you has to play second fiddle to Ushijima. But maybe he just hates him and hates you a little less.

___

"Could you stop staring at their number twelve like a pervert all the time?" asks Iwaizumi. Casually.

It's another practice match. Tendou Satori tells you something while you're holding your water bottle, then you squeeze it and water squirts straight into your eye. Tendou all but dies laughing until Semi Eita smacks him on the neck and scolds him, though it hardly seems to phase him.

He's not ogling you or anything. You look stupid, is all.

"Wh- I never did such a thing! Stop being trashy."

"Says Trashykawa."

Oikawa pretends to flip his fringe. "You don't have to be jealous."

With his usual pout on his face, Iwaizumi looks a touch more incredulous than usual when he raises his eyebrows. "Jealous?"

"I understand you want my attention all the time." He grabs Iwaizumi by the shoulder and sighs like this is some kind of Shakespearean play. "But you don't need to act out-"

Just before Iwaizumi is about to call him a dumbass, which is his usual repertoire when it comes to insulting him, Mattsun and Makki join the conversation with intentions of ruining Oikawa's day. Apparently they'd overheard all that. Hanamaki whistles and says, "Fraternizing with the enemy, aren't we?"

"No fraternizing is going on," Matsukawa says with a shit-eating grin. "I think that's the kinda thing that's supposed to go both ways."

"Ooh, savage," supplies Makki with a snicker. Jerk. It's not funny.

"Like I'd want [L/n]'s Shiratorizawa cooties." Oikawa crosses his arms, and he means it in full seriousness when he says this.

"Shiratorizawa cooties," repeats Iwaizumi, like he's trying to get him to understand how ridiculous he sounds. "Why are you an overgrown baby?"

"Besides, I didn't even know that person's name, but you do," Matsukawa adds.

"Wah! Stop ganging up on me!" Oikawa covers his ears and Iwaizumi gestures towards him with a shake of his head as if to say, 'See, an overgrown baby,' and Matsukawa and Hanamaki nod as if to answer, 'Yeah, an overgrown baby.' "You big bullies, I'm telling!"

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.

"Telling?" Hanamaki asks. "Are you twelve?"

___

Oikawa never had any expectations to see you outside of a court, much less at this time of night. He's a few steps away from school when you appear into view, running, and then you halt when you notice him. At least you're as quick to recognize him as he is to you, so Matsukawa could eat that.

He's not sure if greeting you would be appropriate. It'd be cordial, yes, but you're on opposing teams and he's kind of notorious for being unable to stand your ace. Not like you leave him any time to think about his decision because you make your way in front of him. "Why are you out so late?"

"You are, too!" he says, though he doesn't have much reason to sound annoyed.

"I was out on a jog."

"All the way out here? Are you stalking me? Are you a fan?" he taunts, even though it's obvious you've crossed paths with him by accident.

The cleverness of him throwing back your words at you seems to escape you, and if it doesn't you don't care enough to acknowledge it or be impressed. "You're still wearing your uniform," you say. "Were you practicing 'till now?"

Oikawa doesn't see how that's any of your business. "Observant, aren't we?"

"Not really," you say with an impish grin. "I'm pretty dull."

You seem like such a happy person, but he figures it must be easy when you're on the side that wins all the time and when you've made it onto the list of most promising rookies despite playing for less than a year. Not that Oikawa's name isn't there, but this is different.

"What do you want?"

"I'm curious about you."

He's a bit dumbfounded by that.

"You talked to me at the Inter Highs before."

"So?"

"So," you say. "That means you're curious about me too, right?"

"No, I'm not. You're projecting," he whines and his tone is all defensive. "I'm going now," he finishes lamely.

"Bye-bye. Take it easy, alright?"

Like you're one to talk. You make some of the most exaggerated movements he's ever seen and put too much force in both your spikes and your serves and it's probably not even a big deal. Your concern pisses him off.

___

Oikawa makes it to second year without ever going to nationals. But it's fine, they'll get two more chances to try, or at least that's what he settles on telling himself. Another year means another practice match, and another, and another, and what that means is more chances to see Ushijima's annoying mug. He scoffs when Iwaizumi tells him to behave.

"I'm not your dog, Iwa-chan, you brute," he pretends to cry.

"Please spare me the embarrassment."

There are some changes, of course. High school teams rarely resemble what they used to be by the time another season rolls around. He watches you hound some newbie along with Tendou during break. The number on the back of your shirt now reads seven instead of twelve. You push yourself up and down the bench with your leg while Tendou is having the time of his life bothering whoever this guy is.

"You can't seriously be doing homework right now, Shirabu," you say.

"Not all of us can stay in this school with a sports scholarship," he says as his pen flits across whatever exercise sheet he's filling out even faster than before, maybe just to spite you.

"You're such a nerd." Tendou covers his mouth to laugh.

"You're a smartypants," you add, and then you high five each other, much to Shirabu's chagrin.

"Oh, you thought you did something," he says before he throws his pen at you, or at least he tries to, but you catch it before it can poke you in the eye. That's some killer aim, you think.

"A souvenir! From our precious underclassman!" Tendou exclaims before he comes closer to examine it like it's a mystical artifact. "Lucky."

"Hey, actually, can you give it back?" asks Shirabu, flustered, and it doesn't suit the stern expression he's trying to pull off at all. "I don't have anything else to write with."

This isn't at all riveting. Oikawa doesn't know why he's always observing.

___

Oikawa hatefully watches Semi set for Ushijima across the field even though what they're doing is innocuous. Everyone else went back already, but he finds himself sitting on his ass in the middle of Shiratorizawa's open yard, taking dramatic sips of water here and there, maybe waiting for someone to notice his sulking. What his reasons for staying are, even he doesn't know. Perhaps he's waiting to discover Ushijima's secret weakness.

He was tossing to you before this, actually, just to see what it was like, but then you started kicking the ball around, not letting it touch the ground. His gaze flickers back to you, and he thinks you're an asshole because you've been at this for longer than ten minutes.

"Do you like my moves?" you ask, once you notice his attention is back on you.

Oikawa considers it. "No," he says, then drinks some more water for emphasis. "Why'd you quit soccer?"

"Wanted to try something new," you say. "Why do you care so much about me playing soccer?"

"Doesn't it piss you off being in Ushijima's shadow? You seem like such an attention hog on the court."

He bursts out laughing when your legs tangle and you almost lose your balance and trip over nothing. Though you're still on your feet, somehow, the ball falls down and rolls away. "Ushijima is," you start, like nothing happened, and Oikawa laughs at you some more, "the best." And then he stops laughing.

"I'm sure he is," he settles on, but makes sure his tone is sarcastic enough so that you know he disagrees.

"I love it."

He pouts. "You love it?"

"Yeah," you say. "I like to compete with him. He doesn't take me seriously, though. It was so boring in soccer. I was the best player in the prefecture junior leagues."

Oikawa's eye twitches.

"I know you hate Ushijima."

"And? Everyone knows that," he says, not unlike a petulant child.

"You don't need to get so wrung up over some losses."

Oh yeah? That's easy for you to say, he thinks with a scowl, before he figures it must be a good time to leave.

___

Semi is a much more competent setter than the old one, but Oikawa can't say that brings him any comfort, exactly. When they lose finals again, he can only see Ushijima staring at him with the same distanced look on his face. Like it's natural, like it's not a big deal.

You got six service ace points overall and goaded about it until Ushijima outdid you. Tendou told you to take your sausage party to the locker rooms before going out to celebrate later, and Oikawa had to listen to you argue with him about whether he's a twink or not on the way out of the gymnasium.

You're... competing with Ushijima in your own way, just like he is, aren't you?

___

Oikawa can't say Iwaizumi didn't warn him. Even wrestled and dragged him out of the gym a few times, but that's beside the point. He trained harder because it was obvious there was something he was lacking. Overcompensating. Still, he has an injured knee now, and he's going to be out of commission for a few weeks.

There is nothing he hates more than sitting back on the bench and watching a practice match. Too lost in thought, he almost bumps into you on the way up the stairs, and when he snaps out of his trance, he sees your hand is hovering in front of him. Then his focus adjusts completely and he sees the seven on your shirt is now a two.

He looks at you like you're an alien.

"Heard your leg got fucked up," you elaborate, though you don't see why offering help is something that needs an explanation.

For a second his face seems blank, until he reaches out to wrap his fingers around yours and announces, "Sure. I love getting treated like a prince."

You tilt your head because you really do not understand his character sometimes, but then you smile as usual. "Like a prince? Just for this? You're so silly."

"Hey! Are you laughing at me right now? I dare you to tell me you're laughing at me."

You help him up nonetheless, and Mattsun and Makki make scandalized expressions at him in the background just to be annoying.

___

"What are you doing here?" asks Oikawa in an accusatory voice like he just exposed you for doing something incriminating.

Like it isn't obvious what you're doing.

"Uh," you gesture at Minako, who's holding onto your sleeve and who Oikawa knows because she's friends with Takeru, mind you, "walking my cousin to volleyball practice?"

Minako cranes her neck to look up at you and asks, "So you know the creepy man?" while pointing at Oikawa.

"Hey!" Oikawa protests.

At the same time, Takeru snickers and says, "Is this your dumb older cousin, Minako?"

"Hey," you protest, too, looking the tiniest bit embarrassed for what feels like the first time.

"Yeah!" She beams at him in confirmation, which isn't really helping your case. "I'm gonna be even better than [Y/n] at volleyball, believe it."

"Sure, Naruto," you say with a roll of your eyes.

Oikawa is pretty eager to pretend the toddlers didn't just have a roast session on both of your asses, so moving swiftly on, he squints and asks, "How come I've never seen you around?"

Minako and Takeru rush to greet Coach Ukai, who they find cooler than you and him combined.

"I don't really hang around."

He rubs his chin as if you're suspicious. "Then what do you do?"

"Go to the gym or go for a jog. Come back. Pick her up." Then you raise your eyebrows, wondering why he's acting like you just committed a crime. "What do you do?"

"Take photos, duh," he says in his usual snotty tone.

For some reason, you struggle when trying to picture him doing that, but you lower your eyelids before your lips quirk up in something more teasing than usual. "Well, aren't you sentimental," you say and adjust the strap of your gym bag around your shoulder. "Sure, you know what? I can watch, too."

Your thigh is pressing against his on the bench. Affection feels bitter in Oikawa's stomach, and so, he asks, "How were nationals last year?" even though he knows full well Shiratorizawa didn't win. Not that you'd care, anyhow.

"Not bad," you say, then you smirk and glance at him from the corner of your eye. "Same old, same old."

He frowns and huffs.

"You took a dig at me first."

"Yeah, but gallows humor is only funny when you're in the gallows, you know?" Oikawa punches you on the shoulder with a cry.

"Maybe," you allow. "Your team's good. I think we played worse guys there once or twice."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, in case you're wondering."

"Sometimes," you fiddle with the drawstrings on your shorts, "when Coach puts me out, and I'm looking at the game from the sidelines, I kinda root for you instead."

At this, Oikawa punches you on the shoulder even harder, then whines some more. "I don't need your dumb pity either."

You've got a charming smile and he really, really hates that about you. Among other things.

___

It doesn't stop Shiratorizawa from winning Inter Highs again, but Oikawa thinks they were in their prime last year, with Semi as the setter. Not that Shirabu is bad — he's not — but it's like he's always shielding himself behind Ushijima. So it makes their loss feel all the more despairing.

Oikawa really doesn't need your dumb pity. You talk with him every week when Minako and Takeru go to Lil' Tykes, so what? That doesn't mean he hates you any less for always winning, or for jumping higher than him, or for being more flexible, or for hitting harder serves, or for having a stronger block.

So why you're trying to hug him right now is beyond him.

"Away with you." He waves his hand to shoo you and backs away with this grimace on his face that almost convinces you you're diseased. "You're all sweaty and gross."

"Be nice," chides Iwaizumi before he slaps him on the back of his head with a towel and disappears down the hall. He's probably hurrying to cry in the locker rooms. Not that Oikawa doesn't do it, too.

"A girl from cheer told me she likes it when I get all sweaty after a game."

Oikawa covers his mouth in abject horror and disgust. "Ew?"

"What? I'm sure someone thinks that about you too."

"You're appalling," he says in the most distressed voice he can muster, ducking out of the way again once you attempt to go for a second embrace.

___

There are several ways something can go wrong. Actually, Oikawa isn't ready for things to go so wrong this soon.

You're going down the stairs to leave the building after your win, Tendou and Semi trailing behind you. Oikawa is going up the stairs to look for Hanamaki, who had disappeared to god knows where. He didn't cry in the locker rooms, so it was possible he chose the toilet as his brooding spot. Or maybe if he's feeling cinematic, he could be on the rooftop. Though that isn't really his style.

You reach out to give him a high-five in passing and he's reluctant to return the gesture.

Oikawa doesn't quite see how it happens.

Maybe you slipped? All he knows is that you lose your footing and barrel down seven sets of stairs mid-step, landing straight on your left leg, and then stumble onto the other one. Oikawa and Tendou both reach out their hands like they're trying to catch you, but you already fell.

You jostle a little where you stand, but it doesn't occur to you that something might be wrong after the initial flinch. If any noise came out, the impact must've drowned it out.

"Shit, are you okay?" Semi asks, hurrying down.

"I'm cool," you say, then you take a step forward, and sharp, searing pain shoots up your leg. Immediately, you fall down to your knees and start sobbing like you can't bear it.

Tendou joins to help you up and they support you with their shoulders on the way to the nurse. Not that she could do much to help with that, probably. Oikawa gawps at the spot long after everything has passed like he's in a stupor.

But it's going to be fine, right? You're one of the most physically resilient people he has ever met. Surely he's overreacting.

___

You feel kind of stupid laying down in a hospital room with a cast on your leg. Like when something of exaggerated destructive force happens in a cartoon and then two characters who hate each other have to occupy adjacent beds. Actually, you feel kind of stupid all the time, so maybe this isn't that different.

Tendou visits you a day after your surgery. Almost like he's mad at you, he throws something and you catch it before it can smack you in the face. "You've got an admirer. Which, fuck you, by the way."

"Oh, is it from Yui?" You wiggle your eyebrows since you know this will piss him off. The two of you have been having this debate for half a year.

"No!" Tendou says, giving you the stink-eye. "And you keep your grubby paws away from her. If you scare her away like Saeko-chan, we'll never get a cute manager to pass us bottles before we graduate."

Yui is the latest candidate for the manager position. The last one, Saeko, tucked in tail after the first half of her trial week, though you think it was unlikely Coach Washijo would approve her application. He's always nit-picking.

"You freaked her out by showing her your Goku voodoo doll. I didn't do anything."

"No, you scared her away by showing her the rotten sandwich in your locker," Tendou argues before he pulls the chair backwards and sits on it with his arms crossed. You laugh when you remember the incident. She looked kind of confused when you first told her to 'come smell the sandwich,' but you're pretty sure she ended up thinking it was funny. Maybe. "Anyway, that's from Oikawa."

"Yeah, I can... tell," you say, examining the envelope. Not that you're the guess monster between the two of you, but it's pretty obvious since it's labeled 'From: Oikawa Tooru ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭*' on the front.

He sighs and slouches almost all the way down his chair. "I wish Iwaizumi would dote on me."

"You've got a thing for aces?"

"What'd he get you?"

"Chocolates," you say. You're not sure if you're allowed to eat that. You certainly didn't when you were on an eating regime for sports, but that's not relevant right now. 'Get better soon (╯3╰)' was written on the inside, so he hadn't even bothered to get a piece of paper. It's pretty shoddy, all things considered.

But you appreciate the gesture... Kinda.

"He came during practice looking for you and I was on the way, so." He shrugs. "Anyway, how's it lookin'? When are you coming back? The old man was bugging me about it."

"Oh," you say with a wry smile. "I'm finished, I'm afraid."

Seeing genuine surprise on Tendou's face, of all people, is rather rare. Maybe you would've eviscerated your ankle earlier if you knew. He sits straight up again to stare at you. "Wait, huh?"

You stare back at him.

"That's really not funny," he says with a forced laugh before he pats you on the shoulder. "You're always such a jokester. Now tell me, really, when's it gonna heal?"

"They said 'cause I was already under a lot of strain before it happened, it probably won't go back to the way it used to be. So."

Tendou isn't really sure what to do. He's not good at these kinds of things.

"Would it make you feel better if I drew a dick on your cast?"

"I mean, shit. Maybe you should write me a Hail Mary, too."

With a salute, he promises, "On it."

___

Oikawa sees you for the first time again after a little over a month following what happened. You're about to leave with Minako and he hadn't noticed before because you were sitting next to him on the bench, but he can see it in the way you walk.

It's not like it's hard for him to make observations. You're easily the most dynamic person in Shiratorizawa alongside maybe Tendou, while the rest of them are stiff. Quick on your feet, what-have-you.

Your limping isn't as bad as he expected it to be considering apparently they took off your cast not too long ago, but his gaze lingers on the way you're slightly dragging your foot across the pavement.

Minako pulls on your fingers and yells out your name.

"Hm?"

"Can you carry me?"

"Sorry," you say. They told you to lay off the weights, and you're already carrying both of your bags. "Can't."

"You suck!"

You laugh at her and flick her forehead.

"Uh," Oikawa starts. He thinks about the time he had a sprain and you helped him up the stairs, and he wants to offer to do the same, but the words don't wretch their way out of his throat. Besides, he has to get Takeru home, and... "See you around."

At finals, preferably.

"See ya." You give him a peace sign.

"What was that?" asks Takeru in a judgemental tone. "Lame."

___

There are several ways something can go wrong in life. It always has to be all ironic and shit.

This isn't how this was supposed to go.

You're sitting on the steps outside, hunched over with a fizzy drink in hand. Oikawa plops down next to you and he can recognize the Shiratorizawa uniform shorts anywhere, but you're wearing a random shirt and some tracksuit along with it. "Isn't it a bit cold to be sitting out here like this?"

"Whatever," you say, eyes flitting over to him. "The fuck are you dressed like a journalist for?"

"Gah! Don't be mean, I couldn't find my contacts in the morning," Oikawa cries before he adjusts his glasses.

You always seemed like such a happy person, smiley and cheery and air-headed.

"Why weren't you on the bench?" he asks when you don't follow up with anything.

"I guess you wouldn't know," you say. "I got kicked out of the team a few weeks ago."

This isn't how the finals were supposed to go — it should've been you and him playing inside, and then Shiratorizawa would've lost, and Ushijima would've bowed down to him, and you would've put your head in your hands and said, 'Oh, damn!' or something.

He traces your leg with his eyes and stops when he sees the way your knee cap juts out way more than it did before. "I'm sorry about your... injury," he says, because there really isn't much else to make of this.

You purse your lips and shrug. It goes without saying that you've lost, well, everything. Your biggest hope of getting into university was the stupid sports scholarship, and Oikawa has overheard those morons Tendou and Semi tease you for your abysmal grades more than enough.

"I think I'll try chess next," you joke and your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"You'd probably be good at it. Maybe Shiratorizawa would have won if you were there," he concedes. He doesn't have any preferences on who wins between the two pains in his ass, so speculating isn't any more miserable than the current reality.

"Probably not." You pick your ear. "I really hate how Shirabu sets."

"Semi's better than him," agrees Oikawa in a mild tone, and you take another sip of whatever crap you're drinking.

Oikawa isn't half as cruel as he likes to believe he is. He thought — had really, really hoped in a way that's selfish and naive — if this were to happen, he would've felt vindicated. To see someone with an advantage over him get punished for it. But it did and he doesn't, and he thinks if it was Ushiwaka instead of you, he wouldn't have been content with it either.

You're just some dumb kids with dreams, after all. Be it your stupid desire to conquer every sport you can get your hands on or his desperation to make it to nationals at least once, to prove himself.

And really, Oikawa isn't as wronged by fate as he makes it out to be, either. He can still go for it.

You can't.

___

I got my leg fucked the same way reader does in this fic, broke both of them actually, and while one of them is fine, the other one that took the brunt of the it never healed properly lmao