#drabbles/scraps

[witchedwicked]

“Sometimes I still think about that kiss…”

Shouta stills, glancing to the other side of the booth where Hizashi rests his head on his arm against the sticky tabletop. The blond’s blunt painted fingertips tap absently against the side of his beer.

“You probably don’t even remember...”

But Shouta does. With great clarity as if it had happened yesterday. On the rooftop, his mouth smacking into Hizashi’s upper line of braces at first. Fisting a handful of the other’s school blazer when he tried to withdraw in embarrassment. The trembling, shy, proper kiss that followed.

“Never did figure out how to bring it up again…” Hizashi mumbles, his voice a somber slur. “How to get one more from you…”

[museaway]

prompt: a well-meaning lie

Dean/Cas, 100 words

--

would you still love me if—

Castiel turned his eyes from the made-for-TV romcom and focused his squint on Dean.

“What does she mean?”

“Oh, that’s a test. Does he love her enough to stay with her no matter what?”

“So she isn’t a shapeshifter.”

“No, she was speaking figuratively.”

“Ah.” Castiel went back to watching the movie. After a minute, his head canted slightly toward his shoulder. “I have another form.”

“I remember. Wings, cosmic powers, real loud voice.”

Those blue eyes met his again and narrowed in unspoken question. Inwardly, Dean sighed.

“Yes, Cas. Even if you were a worm.”

[saeyoungchoismaid]

Kaeya presses up close behind you, bringing his arms up to place them under yours. “Hold it steady…” he says softly into your ear. You feel a shiver go down your spine, your eyes rolling back the tiniest bit. “That’s it…” he purrs.

“Bang,” he whispers into the shell of your ear as you pretend to shoot your target, your gun jumping in your hand a bit as it fires nothing out.

His hands go light as you pull the gun back to cock it, reloading the weapon with an imaginary bullet before going back into your original state. “Well done,” he mumbles—in what you swear is a sensual tone—right below your ear against your jawline. “You’re such a fast learner,” he praises.

[godsfavoritescientist]

Drabble request: post-canon "happy" ending for Bill & Ford, but find some way to imply that something super fucked up is going on just beneath the surface. Mind control, dream bubble fantasy, idk, dealer's choice, just something messed up.

Fragments of what was once Earth drift through the empty vacuum of space. They sit together on a summoned-up couch, watching it all float by. Ford fidgets with his brand new eye-shaped gold cufflinks. His ornately-embroidered sleeves are drenched in blood.

The henchmaniacs are busy elsewhere, expanding their reign of benevolent terror to the outer reaches of the galaxy. This mostly entails eating space rocks and crashing planets into eachother. For the first time since Ford accepted Bill’s offer, they’ve had time to really sit down and chat.

Bill throws an arm over Ford’s shoulder. “Lemme tell you something, Sixer. It doesn’t really matter how necessary it was–and believe me, it was necessary! What matters more is that it was the most fun you’ll ever have! Now that you’re immortal, I won’t sugarcoat it: Earth’s entire existence is a blip in the grand scheme of things. It was like a really dry log: destined to be burned!” He pats Ford on the back. “So don’t let me catch you moping about it.”

“I’m not moping,” Ford bristles, leaning away from Bill’s touch. “I’m contemplating.”

“Hah! Contemplating! You hear this guy?�� Bill asks an imaginary audience, gesturing at Ford with his thumb. “Well contemplate this: we’ve got ultimate power over the entire multiverse. You might as well be a god. You can spend an eternity studying everything that ever was and ever will be. This is a sweet deal no matter how you spin it!”

Ford makes a noncommital sound. “That very well may be true, and I am grateful to you, but… human emotion is not so easy to logic away, I’m afraid. I want to move on as easily as you did, but…” he shrugs helplessly. “It’s just hard to believe it’s gone.”

Bill pats him on the back. “A little bit of shock is normal! Took me a few weeks to work through. Of course, I was brand new to the third dimension too, so it shouldn’t take quite that long for you. But humans are more emotional than shapes, so I’ll be patient! Don’t say I never did anything for ‘ya.”

Ford doesn’t meet his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Now! You know what helps me when I’m like this? A good distraction! There’s bound to be dozens of my enemies tracking us down right now–it’s not exactly hard to miss a whole planet blowing up. So we’d better get a head start on things, attack first before any of them can put us on the defensiv-” Bill squints at something approaching from the distance. “Hey, what’s that?”

Ford looks up sharply. It takes a few seconds to spot it, but as it gets closer, it’s unmistakable: a steely-gray entirely flat object, no more than two feet wide and long, flying towards them.

Once it’s right between them, it slows to a stop. From above, it’s clearly shaped like a 2D spacecraft, except that all four walls are enclosed, not just the perimeter.

A stick-thin door opens up, and out floats a dozen multicolored geometric shapes, all with skin covering their bodies from above and below, not just around their perimeter.

For the first time in eons, Bill is too stunned to speak a single word.

The leader of the group, a irregularly-shaped silver isoceles triangle, speaks first. “It’s you! It’s really you! We were starting to think you died in the aftermath of our dimension’s death. But the energy signals we’ve been following over the past week… we knew it couldn’t be anyone else.”

Bill’s voice is very quiet, and much less echoey than usual, as he says, “I thought you all died. I made sure you all died.”

The little silver triangle laughs. “Nope! The cleverest of us were able to escape. Your destruction only took the lives of those unwilling to change, unwilling to adapt to the higher dimensions. And the lives we’ve led since then have been so much better than anything our homeworld could have ever offered to us. We owe you a great deal.”

As he listens to this, Bill glows brighter and brighter and brighter, until he’s glowing the brightest that he’s ever been. “I knew it! I knew the worthy ones would live, I knew there was a way out for ones like you!”

He turns to Ford with a brilliant gleam in his eye. “Ford, these are survivors from my home dimension! Do you know how long it’s been? At least a trillion years! These guys are persistent. More than worthy of joining the gang, right Ford?”

Ford looks just as overjoyed as Bill. “Absolutely—but this is incredible! Liberating my dimension didn’t just give me an eternity at your side, but it’s also allowed these shapes to finally find you!” He shakes his head in wonder. “This whole time, you were right, Bill. You were right about everything. If our first act as joint-rulers of the multiverse can accomplish something of this scope, then there’s nothing we can’t accomplish together.”

Bill embraces Ford in a hug that sends them both twirling through outerspace. “Isn’t it exhilirating? Being free from all those stupid little ties to a planet that’ll be dead and gone in the blink of an eye?”

Ford nods wholeheartedly. “There’s a whole multiverse out there for the taking. You’ve finally made me see that.”

He lets go of Bill, and looks back at the handful of shapes floating nearby. “You must have so many questions. I know I do. But I’ll let you catch up with Bill, first.”

Bill zooms back to face the shapes. “Boy do I ever!!! How long do you guys live now that you’ve adapted yourselves to a three-dimensional world, because we’re gonna be here for a while.”

The group settles in for a very long chat, exchanging stories and ideas and many cups of tea. And way off in the distance, far out of Bill’s line of sight, his little world’s edge glimmers with the iridescence of a soap bubble.

[magnoliasforyourmedic]

Whenever things aren’t too busy the boys will go to Gene when they need something sewn, like holes in their clothing or reattaching patches. They know how to do it themselves, but Gene’s got so much practice that by the time he’s done you can’t even tell the clothing was damaged in the first place. He does enjoy it and takes his time with this sort of needlework, falling into a slow and smooth rhythm because what’s the rush? It gives him something constructive to do with his hands and it feels nice to breathe new life into something without all the blood.

[junosmindpalace]

unrequited love (& other clichés)

☾ ft. tetsuro kuroo

☾ sfw. kuroo starts seeing you in a new light.

you and tetsuro have been friends for a long time.

so much so that he knows you like the back of his hand. he knows how to approach you on your darkest days, to know the phases of your life that you’re most embarrassed about. he knows what makes you tick, what motivates you to get up in the morning, your favorite shows and movies.

the opposite is true too, because you always know what to say when it came to his volleyball club, you know his routines by heart and when not to interfere with them. you know which of his guilty pleasures to hold over his head as blackmail in case you ever needed to (but sometimes indulging in them with him as well). 

something shifted in the way kuroo viewed all the things he knew about you one day. over time, he started noticing how he he looks for you more often than not in the crowds of his games, that your little mannerisms you were more than often unaware of made him flustered, that the friendly touches on his arm or shoulder sent shivers down his spine. 

you and tetsuro never really understood love.

more like never really understood the kind of love poets wrote about, the cliches, and whatever else it was that people seemed to find so endearing. the two of you look on at the students in your school who cuddle close together, who stare at each other as if they were each other's entire world, who whisper sappy words into each other's ears and just couldn’t understand the appeal. the corniness of it all made you and kuroo scoff and laugh. 

some people may say it’s because the two of you were jealous, because you were alone and insecure and unimpressive when it came to romance. but you had your friends and family, good school careers and of course each other; you were perfectly content. simply looking from the outside in brought you more joy than you think you’d get being in a relationship. 

you and tetsuro leaned toward one another exchanging giggles under your breaths as you overhear a girl fawn over a love letter she received from an athlete on the soccer team. this was routine. you never sought out couples to tease, but eavesdropping was practically irresistible.

“what a romantic.” you rolled your eyes as tetsuro chuckled and looked down at you, arms crossed against his chest.

“what? you mean you wouldn’t like someone calling you a light at the end of their dark tunnel?” and the sarcastic question made you break out into a new fit of giggles.

but as his feelings toward you shifted, so did tetsuro’s view on love. suddenly, he found himself yearning to experience a tender moment in the rain, to wrap someone up in his arms and spin them around, to exchange kind and loving words with someone he could call his. he wasn’t so quick to judge affectionate couples in the halls anymore, or people who would go on about their relationships whenever given the chance. he became sympathetic, almost jealous that others could experience those things with the persons they liked and he couldn’t. 

kuroo has known you long and well enough to know that you hate cliché relationships.

you’re sitting on the sidelines of the gym floor as you watch kuroo practice. this was also routine. he’d come over in between games and talk with you idly, a common topic being whatever sort of cheesy exchanges you had witnessed from your schoolmates that day. 

“you’re gonna laugh when you hear this. a girl in my homeroom got a massive bouquet of flowers addressed to her but the message was anonymous! just some corny message about meeting them after school!” you snickered as you recalled the events from the morning, your friend sitting beside you on the balls of his feet, arms draped over his knees. for the first time, he wasn’t joining in the laughter. 

he really doesn’t know why or when the shift happened, especially towards one of his closest friends. maybe it was when you wore your hair a little differently than you normally did. maybe it was when you ran up to him after a game, punching his arm and chest as he recoiled into himself telling you to cut it out like he always did after he won. maybe it was when he watched you sit side by side with kenma on the sidelines after practice, both of you immersed in the game he was playing on his console and his chest swelled up with a sudden overwhelming happiness. 

“maybe they thought it’d be romantic?”

maybe it was when he vented to you about some problems with the team and you talked him out of his doubts. maybe it was when you pulled an all-nighter helping kuroo make game-plans for the team. maybe-

you snorted.

“they always think it’d be romantic.”

tetsuro watched you in silence as you looked onward with a dazed smile. you have a hair out of place, and he wants to tuck it behind your ear, let his hand linger by the side of your face to admire your features. just like a cliché. 

your eyes shine under the gym lights, and tetsuro thinks they look gorgeous, that he can stare into them forever. just like a cliché. 

when did this happen?

“yo, kuroo! we’re starting up again!” 

he’s startled out of his thoughts, and you both turn toward shibayama signaling the beginning of the next game. you eyed your friend with a smirk before shoving him to his feet, him tripping as you did so. “go get 'em, lover boy.” 

tetsuro’s face curled into a look of disgust. “don’t call me that.” 

he spared one final glance in your direction before turning away and calling out ‘coming!’ in response to his teammate.

he let out a long sigh as he jogged toward the court. what the hell was he supposed to do? 

[sutherlins]

In November I wrote 'it was night when you died (my firefly)' - a mostly canon compliant fic following Sydney and Mikey's friendship prior to his death. I intended to rewrite the first episode with the added context of that fic but it's not working out so for anyone who liked that fic, this is a scene of how Sydney came to own the beaded Thom Browne shirt she wears the day she meets Carmy.

Sydney had set out her clothes the night before, her hand softly caressing over the beaded fish on the Thom Browne shirt she had chosen for her first day at The Beef. Sydney slid it on like an armour, each button a reminder that this was a second chance, for her and for Mikey. 

They’d just left Gino’s, the sun was high in the sky but neither of them were in a particularly good mood. Emmanuel and Donna both applying pressure to them from opposite ends of the loving scale. Sydney’s dad, so worried, so concerned, desperate to make up for the hurt he had caused her. Donna, lashing out, blaming everyone but in the absence of Carmy and with Nat pulling away with encouragement from Pete, it was Mikey who was receiving all of the fall out. They didn’t know the exact details of course. Those boundaries were maintained, but they both knew that neither of them wanted to return home. They’d just kept walking and talking instead, not stopping until they stumbled across a vintage store called Mathain. Mikey was holding the door open before Sydney had even had time to look in the window but when she stepped inside she was in awe. The brass tin tile ceiling stood in contrast against the black walls, and the rails were lined with the most beautiful fabrics. Mannequins stood flanking the cash register with vintage designer gowns. Mikey weaved through the racks heading for the jackets and Sydney made her way over the shirts. White button downs were a staple of her wardrobe and she expected that to be the case until she could one day save enough to get herself a really good quality chefs jacket.  The metal squeaked a little as she pushed the hangers along the rail but she froze when the fifth shirt appeared. The shirt looked simple at first, a basic but luxurious feeling white oxford weave short sleeve shirt. The point collar was sharp and the short sleeves had a little cut out detail pointing towards the buttons.  The beaded detail was what caught her attention though. Fish and floral designs had been embroidered across the shirt. Sydney flipped the shirt, the signature grosgrain tab and the square patch on the lower left of the shirt confirmed her suspicions. It was a Thom Browne.  The very worst part was that it was in her size. Had it been too big or too small she could have walked away happy but knowing the most perfect shirt was out of her price range made her bad mood worse.  “Shit, that’s fucking dope, Syd.” “For $200 it’s not.” “$200 is a fucking steal.” He whispered, taking it off the rack and inspected it. “What’s your budget?” “$2 plus, uh, I guess if I move some money around and pull from my savings I could add an extra dollar.” “I’m being serious.” “Fifty. I doubt you can get it down to fifty.” Mikey held his hand out and Sydney pulled out some notes and he snatched them from her, walking away with the shirt in his hand and a smirk on his face. Sydney watched from the accessories section as he leaned across the counter, tipping his head just right at the blushing cashier. At one point he leaned across and moved her hair from her face, tucking it behind the woman’s ear and the giggles in response filled the entire room.  Sydney tried not to roll her eyes, having to fake a cough to cover her laughter over the ridiculousness of Mikey. Ten minutes later he rejoined her, a bag in his hand and holding the door open, a final wave given back to the woman at the cash register.  “You’re shameless.” “The opposite in fact, you’ve not been paying attention in group. I'm filled with that bitch.” “Shut up. What did you get it down to?” “I don’t think that’s what’s important. The Mikey charm got the shirt and-” He held out the business card of the store, the number scratched out and the name and number of the woman written instead. “A date.” “Lovely. How much was the Mikey charm worth?”

She took fifty off.” “Only fifty?” Sydney sputtered out. “That’s $100 more than I can afford.” “Syd, consider it $100 I can no longer put up my nose.” Sydney blinked and them rubbed her temple, his jokes about his addiction always taking her by surprise. “Jesus, why are you like this?” “Lot’s of reasons and I think you know them all.”

“Thank you, Mikey. I don’t know how to pay you back.” “I know how…” “How?” “Get me a table at your fancy spot for the date I just promised her.” “Ugh, fine. I’ll ask when I’m back in tomorrow.”

[willowser]

bodyguard au + bathtime fic for kiri ?

oooooh, this is fun !!! i'm thinking of like, some situation in which you are the child of someone who is big and wealthy, maybe owns a few different multi-million dollar corporations and perhaps doesn't do it all legally 👀

kirishima has always been in the service of protecting your father !! you know him because he is a forever shadow in your home, quiet and large, peeking out windows and making sure doors are locked. he only speaks if you speak to him first, but his answers are always cut short when your father is around.

— so on a night when he has to go out of town, you're a little delighted to see kirishima sitting at the kitchen table when you get home from work.

"hi," he tells you, rising to stand leagues above you. his face is sweet, despite his wide stature. shy. "your dad asked me to stay with you until he comes back, i hope you don't mind."

oh, you don't mind at all.

it's probably really fun !!! and you make the two of you dinner and he relaxes a bit after eating, even takes off the dark jacket he's always in. his forehead shines a little, like he's sweaty, and he hikes the sleeves of his white button-up to his elbows underneath the fluorescence.

he's still is a bit hard to talk to, but he listens as you prattle on about your day, scooting around the kitchen as you clean up. he offers to finish for you, but you shoo at him to sit back down and after a little bit of insistence from you, he finally agrees to have a beer. or two.

that loosens him up enough that the conversation flows a bit easier; you learn his first name, and his cheeks go red when you repeat it with a grin. he tells you a little about his mom, that he's an only child, that he never went to college: very basic stuff that paints a vague picture of him.

you know your father does some shady things, deals with shady people. why else would he need a giant for a bodyguard, that could probably snap a man's neck without even trying ?? kirishima tells you little things, but he doesn't go too deep. doesn't reveal what twists and turns he made in his past to put him here.

eventually you leave to get ready for bed, and the soft look on his face ALMOST has you sitting down for more with him. he shifts his eyes to the table, then, like he knows he's been caught staring too long and you wonder — when the last time was that he did anything for himself ?? not for your father, or even for you, but. for eijirou.

regardless, you slip on up the stairs and take your time making a nice bubble bath, putting on some light music. there's a bar on the second floor and you steal a bottle of wine from it and two glasses before nestling in the warm water, spreading your legs out to test how much room you have in the gigantic tub.

and then you call for him. a little more urgently that necessary, but it brings him to you quicker, suddenly appearing in the open doorway of your bathroom with wide eyes, flushing down his neck when he sees you.

you lean against the edge of the tub, smiling as you prop your chin in your hand. "i was wondering if you could help me wash my back."

the question seems to buffer in his mind for a long time before he's finally blinking, adam's apple bobbing. and then he's bringing the bathroom door behind him as he begins to unbutton his shirt.

✨️ trope game ! ✨️

[jayparked]

what do we do when we can't sleep? WRITE SMUT 😼

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Angery? 👀 -studyofwhump

that's my Wildefire doc!! :D I named it "Angery" twoish years ago when I first had the idea for Lex and was running off nothing but vibes (and never changed it lol). The doc is... A mess. It's very disorganized but I make it work ahaha.

Here's a scrapped Wildefire drabble all the way from Angstpril 2023! Alexei's first (conscious) week at the Tower:

Lex counted thirteen meals before the metal door opened. A pair of guards stepped through, closed the door behind them. He stayed silent, tried to stare them down, to look intimidating despite how powerless he was in this scenario, despite the quickening of his heartbeat. It sort of worked. One of the two seemed uncertain, looking to their partner for reassurance. The second guard seemed undisturbed, digging through a bag slung over his shoulder like Lex wasn't even there. He pulled out what looked like a bundle of tubing, and moved to the wall near the toilet, uncapping something and shoving the tube in the wall. "Uh, Wade?" piped up the other guard as their partner worked. "Don't act so skittish. He can't do anything to you." He finished attaching the tubing, and stood, eyeing Lex. "Come here," he said. Lex didn't move. Wade shrugged. "Or don't."  He fiddled with the hose, and a jet of water rushed out, hitting Lex with a stream of freezing water. He hunched over instinctively, shoulders drawing in, gasping at the sudden shift in temperature. Muscle memory kicked in just as fast, heat spreading from his core, dulled by the cuff on his ankle but not quite snuffed. Fire didn't erupt from him—the lack of hands make his body unsure of where to channel it—but his skin grew hot enough to turn the water to steam. "Shit! You said he couldn't do anything!" the nervous guard squeaked. "He's wearing a dampener, I don't know—" Wade cursed, dropping the still-running hose and grabbing a baton from his belt. Lex managed to uncurl a leg before he could reach him, kicking him in the stomach and driving him back, leaving singe marks in his uniform, but then the second guard was on him, pressing the baton into his side and activating it. The resulting pulse sent a spasming pain through his muscles, whitening his vision.

[sylkiddsey]

P.

One of the best things about being married to a PIC is that he almost always has a sub for Sanders. When Sanders calls in at six in the morning with another case of the flu from her kids, Matt doesn’t have to stress. Sylvie’s literally a nudge away and always more than willing to help him out.

She’s better than some floater and of course he has another reason for always suggesting her name. He loves working with her. He really enjoys operating under the same house together again. Especially because his off time is always much more fun when she’s around.

Half the time, they shamelessly make out in his office, but he’s earned that. He spent enough time without her during the long distance.

Matt truly loves having her around at work but sometimes, he regrets his offer. Sometimes, he unintentionally puts her in a dangerous situation. A situation that turns his blood to ice.

This is that situation.

He and his crew had been on the way back from a small self set fire in an alley. It was a simple hose down that didn’t take them longer than ten minutes to put out. Afterwards, they loaded into the truck to head back to the station.

However, they were rerouted when Jones, the less experienced paramedic at his firehouse, came over the intercom. She frantically told him how the ambulance witnessed an accident. A car apparently lost control and veered off the road, coasting down a slight mountain, crossing a fairly busy hiking trail before plummeting into the Willamette river.

That information wasn’t positive, but it wasn’t necessarily urgent either. Accidents happen all the time and whatever squad truck is closest would respond. He doesn’t have the equipment needed for that rescue, but he does have a wife.

He has a wife who goes above and beyond in her job. He’s married to a selfless hero who to his absolute horror, dove into the river herself to try and remove the driver.

Sylvie’s in rough waters without the proper gear and that makes him wish he just let her sleep in and found a different sub.

They get to the scene in record time. His crew member Tim has a lead foot which came in handy for this type of situation. He gets to Sylvie and her partner within five minutes of the call.

Tim hasn’t even parked the rig on the edge of the road before Matt is jumping out and running for the riverbank. The terrain is uneven, but he makes it to the paved trail. Sylvie must have parked the ambulance here, so she was close to the patient.

He doesn’t see anyone aside from the crowd of hikers gathered around, watching the water.

“Sylvie! Jones!”

“Down here!”

It’s not his wife’s voice who calls back to him and he tries not to think about what that could mean as he skids down towards the rocky riverbank.

Jones is crouched on the edge, looking out towards the water. It’s pretty calm today aside from the giant red SUV sinking towards the bottom. Matt can just barely see the top of the car.

“She hasn’t come up,” Jones says. “I told her not to jump in. I told her to wait for a rescue crew.”

Oh god.

He shrugs off his turnout coat and slides his suspenders down each shoulder. The less weight he has on, the easier it’ll be to get Sylvie out of the water.

“How long has she been under?”

Jones glances at him, tears shinning in her brown eyes. This is only her first year on the job and she looks as young as she probably feels. “Almost four minutes. The driver never resurfaced. She thought he was probably unconscious which is why she wouldn’t wait.”

He’s not surprised. Sylvie’s not the type to sit on the sideline even if he really wished she would. He wishes she was dry and safe on land.

He’s about to kick off his boots when he hears commotion in the water. Splashing and gasping.

It’s his wife.

Sylvie’s barely able to keep her head above the water with the weight of the teenage boy she’s holding up.

“A little help over here!” She cries, taking in water.

He springs into action, leaning as close as he can to the edge with his arms out. “I got you, Sylvie.”

She pushes her way closer, dragging the victim with her. “Get the kid. Please help him, Matt.”

He wants to help her.

“I need help down here,” Jones tells his crew. “Grab a backboard!”

Matt snags the kid’s t-shirt material and pulls him upward, passing him along to Tim who gets him laid flat on the ground. Matt hears Jones announce the kid isn’t breathing and start CPR but he doesn’t offer his assistance.

He grabs Sylvie’s hand before her head completely submerges into the water.

“Come here, baby.” He gets his hands under her armpits and is able to pull her up in his arms with minimal struggle. Even soaking wet, Sylvie feels light in his grip.

Sylvie grabs on, digging her cold fingers into his neck. She’s shivering and panting against his cheek.

He honestly has no idea how she was able to extract a victim twice her size and swim him to safety on her own. He can tell she’s exhausted from her breathing and weak grip.

“Oh my god,” he mutters, kissing her cheek. “I can’t believe you jumped into unsafe waters like that.”

She laughs. “Like you wouldn’t have done the same thing. You have done the same thing.”

She has a slight point.

[good-beanswrites]

LCSYS prompt?

Yuno: *looks up 'cat maid Fuuta'* That's a lot more results than I expected!

Omg yes!! 😂 Based on this convo and wonderful art -- it's so fun to picture the characters having access to the current fandom... I wish them all the best of luck............ (Obviously this would be part of the famous-variation of the au 👍)

“What are you looking at?” Amane leaned over to see Yuno’s phone, just as she hurriedly closed all the tabs.

“Nothing.”

“Yuno-san, it’s not good to lie.”

Fuuta looked up from his mobile game to scrunch up his face. “She’s probably looking into something scandalous for the upcoming photo shoot.”

Yuno rolled her eyes. “It’s not that bad. I’m just trying to get some ideas. Haven’t you guys started brainstorming?” 

She looked between the pair who’d joined her on the break room couch. They had some time away from filming, offering the perfect opportunity to come up with ideas for the merchandise photoshoot that was quickly approaching. Most of the content that the team sold came from within the prisoners’ music videos, so they were abuzz with the prospect of choosing their own unique outfits for this one.

Amane straightened her posture. “I have. Mahiru-san helped me pick something out.”

“And you, Fuuta?”

He slumped further into the couch, focused on his game. “Who cares? It’s supposed to be our natural style, right? So, whatever I wear that day will be what I wear.”

Amane frowned. “You should have a little more pride in your appearance, Fuuta-san.”

“Eh, I care as much as I need to. What am I supposed to do, pander to the audience like some sort of a sellout?”

Yuno opened a new search. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. I was just looking through what some of my fans have been saying about me! I want to see if there’s any specific ideas I can get on my outfit, something they’ll find attractive.”

Fuuta scoffed. “Who in their right mind would find us attractive?”

“Could… could you look for me too? Look at what people are saying about me?” Amane dropped her gaze when she said it, ashamed of her curiosity. “I-I like the outfit Mahiru-san chose. I just want to make sure it won’t be disappointing to everybody…”

Yuno and Fuuta jumped to reassure her at once. 

“I can still find some things that they’re saying,” Yuno added, “if you wanted to hear their compliments firsthand!”

“No, no. That’s alright.” She squirmed in her seat, trying to hide the blush creeping to her cheeks at the thought. To change the subject, she quickly asked, “what if we looked into ideas for Fuuta-san?”

“Tch, I don’t need any help.”

“That’s a great idea! Hmm~ I wonder what his fans like…” Yuno shot him a look. “... in general.”

“Hey!”

Amane pointed to the screen. “What were you searching up for yourself? Could it be the same?”

Yuno’s hand flew to her mouth, trying to stifle the loud laugh that escaped. “I’m not so sure about that. I doubt Fuuta’s videos inspire talk of cat maids as much as mine.”

“Cat maids?” Amane’s face lit up at whatever mental image she’d conjured for herself. Her eyes were intense. “We should still check. You know. Just in case.”

Yuno made a mental note to find some cute art of cats in dresses to show the girl later. Still, she didn’t see the harm in indulging her now.

“I guess we can see if anyone’s mentioned it…”

Fuuta tossed aside his phone, Game Over scrawled across it. “You must be stupid if you think I’m going to wear a fucking dress at my photo shoot.” He peered over Yuno’s shoulder. “Oi, are you listening?”

“You don’t have to wear it. Right now we’re just seeing what the people want~” Yuno’s fingers flew across the screen. “Cat Maid Fuuta.” She hit search.

Her eyes widened. Then Fuuta’s. He slapped a hand over Amane’s.

Yuno pursed her lips. “That’s… a lot more results than I expected.”

Behind Fuuta’s palm, Amane was beaming. “It sounds like it’s a good idea, then!”

---

I like them chillin on the couch better but this was a doodle I had from a while ago 😂

[erstwhilesparrow]

“I’m—” Pirate Joe sputters, caught by his shirt collar. What Sausage was doing patrolling a field of carrots, who even knows. “I’m getting supplies. For my crew!”

“Uh huh,” Sausage says, an amused quirk to his mouth. “Where is your crew?”

Think fast, Joe— “In GlimmerGrove, actually. She has important witchy duties to attend to.”

“Oh!” Sausage drops him. “You guys made up!”

“None of your business what we did—” Joe mutters, but he swallows the rest. “I’m making dumplings for her birthday. She doesn’t like fish or pork, the weirdo.”

“Ooh,” Sausage says. “Let me get you potatoes too!”

[doomingthenarrative]

i am on my 3rd rewriting of time loop tav. Help Me.

[crabsgate]

so i'm working on a longshot set in act 3, but a whole section of it is getting scrapped because the fic branched off in a way that it doesn't quite fit anymore. However, I really enjoy what i've written and I want to share it so ! under the cut is the bit i've deleted

I'm hoping that maybe I can work it into another fic, but I'm not entirely sure it'll go somewhere else. For now enjoy what i do have <3 It's unedited btw

"Really?" Astarion says, his hand curling around Gale's jaw like a claim. His fingers were cold where they brushed over his beard and onto his cheek. "You'd devote yourself to me, just as I am?"

"Of course," Gale murmurs, unable to look away from those red eyes, softer than he's ever seen them before. He wants to worship him, drown him in the endless fount of devotion that he's been bottling up since the night of the Tiefling party. 

Devotion and love have always gone hand in hand with him. He knows no other way than to give himself wholly to the other. What better proof of his commitment than to worship at his feet? How else can he be worthy of love in return?

"You'd forget your goddess," Astarion breathes, inching ever closer, until they're but a breath apart. "For me?" 

"I would," Gale responds, a rough sound pulled from his throat, gone before he could hold it back. 

Astarion's touch was intoxicating, and the little distance between them maddening. Anticipation curled around him like a dragon hoarding gold, eager and wanting, hungry for whatever Astarion decides to give him. Anything. Everything. Nothing. 

"How the hells could she have ever thrown you away?" Astarion muses, his eyes trailing over the whole of Gale's face. "No matter. She has no claim to you anymore."

Gale doesn't trust himself to speak, nodding instead. His throat is dry, body angling towards the elf like there's a magnetic pull bringing them together. There's an ache in his chest—not the orb, no, but something limitless in its intensity. 

Astarion pulls him close until their lips brush. It's hardly a kiss, the touch ghosting against his lips in a maddening tease. Still, he keeps his hands to himself as if touching Astarion would break the moment.  

"Gods," the elf murmurs, and Gale can feel the movement of his lips. Astarion sounds drunk, his tone breathless and the word slurred. "You are…"

"I am…?" Gale asks, steadier than he feels. The orb is angry in his chest, purple light glowing between them, but it's nothing compared to the hammer that is his heart, fast and unstoppable. 

"Dangerous," Astarion purrs. "You make an elf like me think things, darling."

[ponds-of-ink]

Quick FNAF 6 Drabble: “Of Prize Tickets and Of Threads”

Well, I’m pretty much going to be gone for almost the rest of the weekend. So I wanted to post something for fun before I go to sleep. And what better way to do that than to expand on some older head-canons (and then some)?

—

Scraptrap leaned against one of the vent’s “walls”. His good ear struggled to cling onto one of the many conversations going on nearby.. Or above. Wherever those partygoers were.

As he speculated on the whereabouts, a familiar sound made him raise an eyelid. Clanging chimes, followed by a tinny voice saying “Congratulations! You won a prize!”

“A claw machine,” Scraptrap mused to himself, half-chuckling. “And here I thought the new manager removed them…”

The clatter of a flap door proved him wrong. Many young voices cheered— But not in a way Scraptrap was expecting. “You got the dud!” one of the older youths cried over the rest. “And the last one, too!”

“How many tickets do you think I can get for it, ‘Trix?” a meeker voice asked with geniune intrigue.

“Not much,” a third, more nasally kid chimed in. The keyboard-like clack of a pocket calculator made Scraptrap inch closer. “If I had to guess, your best offer would be a plastic ring and twenty tickets,” the kid resumed. “And that’s only because of the rareness.”

“You’d think the rareness would drive up the ‘price’,” Scraptrap muttered to himself, shaking his head. “At least to… bah, what do they ‘sell’ over there in the cheaper spots now? Actual miniature plush toys? This calculator Trix seems to be using?” He shook his head again, now with much more energy. No. Now was not to speculate on the modern Prize Corner ‘economy’.

On he crawled towards his destination. The would-be traders’ voices faded away, yet their talk lingered in the rabbit’s mind. He thought about the doll he won from a crane machine months ago. If that was the same one, then did they get the same Scrap Baby? Or was it one of the other three? If it was any of them, then which one was the “dud”? Lefty wouldn’t make sense, as he was the only stage-worthy one. Molten Freddy could have been— But surely someone would have found winning an octopus-bear made of yarn funny. And that alone would ramp up the trades a little.

So, that only left Scrap Baby.. And him.

Judging from the aftermath of his own Circus Baby stunt, collectors would have loved to get their hands on this mysterious variant. A new Circus Baby? In this era of Freddy’s? And inspired by old plans the founder commissioned concepts for? Ha! It would be foolish to call Scrap Baby’s plush form a “dud”— Especially in front of all those fans born from forum speculation and collecting promotional items!

Scraptrap grinned as he turned the corner. His fellow robots’ little selves had survived the fires of mockery. And, soon, the toys’ life-sized counterparts would strike.

…If he could ignore the one lingering question, that is.

He stopped short of the final corridor. A heavy sigh escaped his slumping body. The manager had already left the room. And, what’s worse, the question kicked out any drive to attack anyway.

“What about my little plush self?” he thought as his chin thumped against the vent ‘floor’. “Obviously, it got some attention. Whether or not the buyers treated it fairly afterwards is none of my business. Yes, it is a shame that Spring Bonnie’s newest iteration isn’t as popular— Far from it, even.. But it’s not supposed to be Spring Bonnie! Not exclusively! It is supposed to be a mixture between suit and man. The suit and I…!”

His good ear lowered. Looming dread began to cloak the flames of frustration. “…That could imply some things,” his train of thought resumed as he crawled towards the barren office. “But.. Sales of something loosely bearing my ‘likeness’ should not be the main concern. What should concern me is the fact that I am the only one here..”

Scraptrap fumbled out of the vent. He looked around, but all he could see was the pitiful working conditions before him. His arm rested on the meager office chair. Was everyone else arguing about the Prize Corner now?

Two green dots stood out in the darkness before him. Rapid thumping soon followed. “Scraptrap, look!” a soft-spoken voice called out in glee. “I got a plush for free!”

“That’s nice, Baby,” Scraptrap said casually, nearing the vent. “But why would we need such a thing?”

Baby tilted his shadowed head. “Well, I figured someone needs to take care of him,” she said thoughtfully, extending her claw arm towards the rabbit. “The child who dropped this off really didn’t want to, so…”

Scraptrap’s eyes widened. Before him was an olive green bunny with incredibly “messy” reddish stitches. One of its arms was shorter than the other, with no paw to speak of. Its button eyes were in the style of his own crane-won ragdoll— Except the rabbit’s left eye had a two tone look. An attempt to mimic the slack eyelid of its non-plush counterpart, no doubt.

“..I see…” Scraptrap said in a much more plaintive tone than expected. With a careful hand, he scooped up the thing and inspected it further. Aside from a multicolored bunny tail made from yarn, no new details caught his eye. “Well then,” he spoke up more firmly, “who is going to give this little one a new ‘home’? Molten? Lefty?”

“I was thinking…” Baby hesitated briefly. “..I was thinking I could.”

The poor rabbit nearly dropped the doll. “You?” he asked in equal parts surprise and disbelief. “You really think this little…creature.. will be a fine addition to your collection?”

Baby nodded sternly.

“Let me rephrase this,” Scraptrap advised, handing back the doll to its new owner. “Are both of your instincts in agreement? Does your ‘heart’ and ‘mind’ think that this fulfills your prettiness quota?”

Another firm nod, punctuated by a tighter grip on the poor plush.

“Very well,” Scraptrap huffed as he finally took a seat in the manager’s chair. “I will offer no further advice on this matter. Do with him what you like.”

Baby’s eyes glowed like sparklers in the dark. “Thank you!” she cried out, nearly hugging the struggling out of her newfound ‘friend’. She hurried back into the darkness. Her voice happily relaying the news was the sole reminder that she was nearby.

As she regaled them with her story, Scraptrap leaned back in the chair. If he wasn’t so worn out from all that clambering through vents, he would have cackled. So much for that trading system! And so much for that spiral he almost slid down! All crashed before his eyes— With Baby as its absolute, resolute outlier.

“Perhaps I should give my own little bundle of yarn a quick visit,” Scraptrap thought as he rose to his feet. “It’s not like the manager’s going to be back anytime soon..”