#kay snippets

[kayzero]

For the ideas wanted post, I always find people's different interpretations of how Quark functions after different endings in VLR so so interesting, since they're a character i've analyzed so so much. so a Quark-centric writing of them after one of the endings in which they're alive and get out?

This takes place during/after Luna END.

Weeks and months and years ago, when Quark was little, littler than he is now, he would sometimes wake up without Grandpa. He would panic, he would cry, he would be convinced that this was it, Grandpa finally got tired of having a little kid around, he’s gone and never coming back. And always, without fail, Grandpa would come back, see his sorry state, and calm him down, explaining that he just had to get an early start on work, and Quark looked too comfortable to disturb.

He grew out of that phase when he started helping Grandpa out with scavenging in earnest. He started to understand why it was so important that he get up early, get to the good stuff before anyone else. The memories fell to the back of his mind, like baby teeth from his mouth.

When Quark wakes up after being sedated in Rhizome-9, he knows for a fact that Grandpa is dead.

The surety comes from the same place that screams for freedom, howls at being chained up in this flesh prison where he could die at any moment. The visions he’d been having in the first round of the AB Game with Dio and Grandpa crop back up. He could be sliced with a scalpel, buried under trash, killed by a cultist — and even if he could avoid all the ugly, violent deaths, he couldn’t avoid death by sickness or old age.

But the sedative still floating around in his system combined with the shock of his Grandpa’s death make him numb, and let him see the tantrum he threw objectively — and it was a tantrum, albeit one over his very life instead of some toy he wanted — but more than that, it reminded him of something he had seen on the streets with Grandpa.

The people who got infected with Radical-6. The Cultists and the Damned. They ranted about the state of the world being divine judgement, that humanity would shrivel up and die out eventually, that there was no point in struggling because they would do it to themselves.

The Cultists grew in fervor, shifted to talking about the world that would rise from the rubble that the world was covered in. The Damned all ended up dead by their own hands.

Quark had almost joined them.

Might still. Grandpa’s dead, what’s the point?

Quark put his hands on the ground and pushed himself so that he was sitting against the wall instead of laying on the hard metal floor.

“Oh good, you’re awake. I didn’t wanna have to struggle to get you into this suit.”

He tilts his head up and sees Miss Phi, dressed in a spacesuit but missing the helmet. Looks at her with dead eyes that were still too alive because his body is still moving while his soul is screaming that Grandpa is dead—

He tries to tune out the howling. “Why do you want me to get in the suit, Miss Phi?”

“There’s some sort of pressure difference between this room and the outside world, and the suit’s what we need to survive it.”

“But what about the AB Game?”

The flinty, cool look Miss Phi usually wears gives way to something close to what the people Grandpa used to talk to wear when they look at him. Kinda sad, kinda frustrated.

“You’ve been asleep for a while. The AB Game’s over. We won.”

He doesn’t feel like a winner. He doesn’t say that out loud.

Instead he goes, “So you want to leave?”

“Yeah, and I have to bring you with me because you’re too young to be on your���“ She stops herself with wide eyes and a hand that stops halfway up to cover her mouth, because—

Because Miss Phi knows. She knows Grandpa is dead, she thinks that Quark doesn’t know, she doesn’t want to tell him (right now? ever?). The howling starts snarling at her now, his mind starts whirling with mean things and bad words to say to her, things he said when the adults wouldn’t let him—

Well. He doesn’t feel like being mean, but he doesn’t feel like being nice either. He settles for polite and factual.

“You know there’s nothing out there, right?”

“What? What do you mean by that?”

He doesn’t have a bracelet on, and Grandpa’s already dead, so nothing stops him from saying, “We’re on the moon.”

“…What?”

“We’re in a research base on the moon. Grandpa told me before we got on the ship. But the pilot knocked us out, so it was probably a one-way trip.”

As he talks, Miss Phi backs up until her back hits the wall, slowly sliding down until she’s sitting on the floor like he is. She doesn’t move, except to wrap her arms around her shins and bury her face into the collar of the space suit.

They stay like that for a while.

[warmsol]

cleaning out my screenshot folder, don't mind me 🧹

[anoant-haikyuu-dump]

More Nekoma hcs

• One time after an intense match Kuroo makes the mistake of taking the whole team out for hot pot, his treat. Never again. His wallet is in SHAMBLES, especially after the menaces that are Inuoka, Tora, Fukunaga, and Yaku get their hands on the meat menu. At least Kai helped with the bill

• Yaku is secretly super sappy— he gets emotional when reminiscing about the past, he loves romance manga, he tears up at sad movies, etc etc. Kai and Kuroo know about it and love teasing him in private but would never expose his softer side to the rest of the team. He totally bawls at graduation though and no one's suprised (they all knew)

• Shibayama and Inuoka are little gossips, they're always whispering to each other and giggling behind their hands (kinda like Tsuki and Yamaguchi but less bitchy lmao). They're the types to have conversations entirely made of inside jokes so if you hear them in passing it sounds like incoherent gibberish

• Thinking about that panel of Fukunaga holding an entire bunch of bananas, I think he'd bring whole-ass watermelons to school and scoop them out with a spoon for lunch. At first Tora’s appalled by it— as he is with most things Fukunaga does— but eventually he joins in. You’ll often find them hunched over a melon in the courtyard shoveling away like maniacs and spitting seeds into the air. Kenma thinks its the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen

• While we're talking about manga panels look at Inuoka swinging his tie around in the bg. He never ties it right, it drives Shibayama insane so he fixes it for him.

• One thing I like about stage play Kai is that he kinda has a short fuse and is a bit more sarcastic. I think he deserves a good scream in the club room at least once a week (Kuroo and Yaku guard the door so he can do it in peace)

• The third years are kinda like the Date Tech Alums in that they just show up to random practice games and heckle the team from the stands. Yaku's screaming at Lev about his form, Kuroo's teasing Kenma and Tora, Kai made a bingo sheet.

• Fukunaga has the kind of ADHD where he picks up a new hobby every week. Sometimes he's in the club room crocheting, sometimes he's learning yo-yo tricks, folding intricate paper cranes, rubix cubes, cup stacking, card shuffling, juggling, you name it. His favorite will always be cooking though, he uses the team as a test audience for new recipies.

[s0ull3ss-p3rs0n]

The ninja are fighting against the Forbidden Five, and at one point, something happens that injures Rox fatally, and Nokt immediately runs up to her, trying to wake her up, but to no avail. The other ninja go towards Nokt, but Kai stops them, because for a brief moment, he saw what Nokt was like before shattering his soul. A brother who failed to protect his younger sister, fucked up the one thing he was supposed to do, now mourning the loss of the one he cared about the most.

He saw himself.

[kaymarie-bell]

Odysseus: Hermes, thank you!

Hermes: Don't thank me, friend, I'm not the one who fought for you

Odysseus:...then who?

Hermes:...ha ha, good luck!

WHEN I CATCH YOU MISTER JALAPEÑO-

[multifandom-nerds-blog]

The first days (part 1)

After the portal closed, they walked. They didn't really know where, it's not like either Kai or Bonzle had a map for this dimension, but they kept walking. Kai just hoped they wouldn't randomly meet with on of the forbidden five, or four, since one of them swapped places with Kai after all. He didn't like to admit his own weakness, but if the storys about them were true, then there was no way for Kai to beat the four or even just one of them on his own. Especially when he would probably need to protect Bonzle in a fight as well.

"Do you have a plan?", Bonzle asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Find a portal somehow, I guess. Or create a new one. Either way, we should check out how this place works. Aside from the random gravity rules."

Though, to call that a plan was probably to much. More like a general idea to get back to if the chance for it ever comes. Lloyd and the others would be able to deal with the one of the five that escaped, right? So they would be fine eventually, it was all that mattered.

But he wouldn't tell Bonzle that he basically gave up hope to get out of this place. Not after he just told her that 'Ninja never quit' and everything. Just like he never told Nya when they didn't have enough food for the two fo them, or couldn't afford her school materials, after telling her that he earned good money that month.

Lying wasn't very hard for Kai if it meant not making others worry. The situation may be vastly different, but he would adapt. Eventually.

A little voice in his head, honestly sounding a lot like his sister, tried screaming at him how this was one of his many bad habits he should get rid off. But ignoring that voice was another thing he just learned over the years.

He would just have to deal with this situation live gave him. He always did. One way or the other.

[spacebarbarianweird]

In Another Life, We Would Have Been a Family

Synopsis: Tiriel never knew her real father and Kay Dathnyar never knew he had one more daughter. Sylenn Ancunin, Astarion's mother, grieved her son and kept going. But what if one day… Tiriel's dad and Astarion's mum meet?

Tags: Astarion's mother, Tav's father, dadstarion

I really enjoyed writing Sylenn Acnunin in Past Grief so I decided to give her more agency. In this fic you will know about her past and how come she knew Balduran.The fic is set a day prior Dhampirs of the Sword Coast

Alethaine's age - 24 years-old

Thanks @themadlu for beta-reading!

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Kay Dathnyar recently turned 100 years old. Underage by elven standard, he’s been married thrice, fathered five half-elves, and has had seven grandkids and ten great-grandkids. 

For the last twenty years, he’s owned a tavern called “The Last Pixie” and is always ready to tell passersby why elves are a done cause.

“We are going extinct anyway,” he says to push anyone drunk enough to leave the tavern. “We need to fuck as many humans as we can and pass some decent bits of elven culture to our half-elven kids. Humans and half-bloods, that’s the future, not us!”

Kay is also proud to say he knows everything about his progeny. Dates of birth, fears and desires, favorite dishes and activities. He is often asked to solve issues between them and proudly takes the role of a wise advisor, but since he is still young, his advice isn’t always rational.

“Do you have any idea how many kids you have?” A tiefling called Birgga asks him. He is older than Kay by a decade and uses it to his advantage. 

“I have at least five,” Kay puts a mug of ale in front of him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, none of your wives has made you monogamous. There must be more than five.”

“Nonsense!” he says, noticing his wife, a forty-year-old blacksmith watching.

“Hm, wasn’t it you who slept with a married woman in the Sunset mountains? You are lucky her husband was away! The chieftain would have flayed you alive.”

“Well, even if it happened 80 years ago, I’ve been smart enough not to return there. They would definitely recognize me!”

“It’s difficult not to. Your face was made for mugshots.”

“I doubt they have them in those wild places. Maybe I should have taken that gal with me.”

“Ughm, her and her three sons?”

“The more the better, Birgga. Oh, how can you know? You don’t have children at all. Maybe we should find you a wife. Or do you prefer men?”

“Fuck you, elves, and your bisexuality.”

The tavern is quiet. There haven’t been any visitors for days – people are whispering something about demons and monsters on the roads. Some even talked about the mind flayers' attack on Baldur’s Gate that happened 45 years ago but Kay thinks that’s not really the cause of the stillness.

Still, there have been very few visitors. It's not like Kay needed money (he’s got enough saved in his chests), but the elf dislikes not seeing new faces.

A soft knock at the door snaps him out of his thoughts.

**

Sylenn Ancunin notices the tavern from a distance.

“The Last Pixie''. The slur is written in both Common and Elven (and also in Infernal) and Sylenn wonders if she should even enter the place. She knows the hostility of N’Tel-Quessira too well and she isn’t in the mood and shape to fight. 

She is five centuries old but still wears heavy armor like she did when she was young. 

But she doesn't want to. Sylenn is old and bitter even though she looks young. 

And she is coming home to Evereska to pay respects to her husband who was much older than her and must have been dead for centuries. And to wither in peace, hoping the Seldarine will have mercy on her.

“Come in, whoever you might be! We barely have guests!”

Sylenn enters the tavern and sees another elf at the bar.

“Welcome to the Last Pixie, etriel. Do you wish for a room or a drink? Or maybe both?” The elf outstretches his right hand to her in the human greeting.  “Name’s Kay Dathnyar, I am the proud owner of this place!”

“Owner,” Sylenn looks at him. “Then why did you call this place like that?”

“The Last Pixie? Well, aren’t we all the last of our kind? Here, have a drink.”

Sylenn watches Kay. He is young, underage even. Dark hair, green eyes. Moon elf, like her. But he talks like a human, even his elven words reveal an accent. 

One of these young souls who think they can live among humans and not suffer from constant grief.

“Are you an adventurer?” Kay asks.

“I was once,” Sylenn says. “Well, I still am. Sometimes.”

“How much for telling me why the fuck no one wanders these roads?”

“Yeah!” The tiefling adds. “It’s bad for business, you know? And we are peaceful people here, we enjoy ale and meat and would like to keep it this way!”

Sylenn notices three human girls watching her from the stairs. They watch Sylenn with the awe human children have for elves. 

“Go to sleep, you, three!” Kay orders.

“But Grandpa!”

“Go to sleep, or I won’t allow you to stay here after sunset! Kids…” He adds when girls disappear upstairs. “They grow so fast! Like, one day they perfectly fit in one arm and the next week you are beating the shit out of their boyfriends!”

“Are they yours?” 

“All mine, five children, seven grandkids, and ten great-grandkids. All live in Delimbiyr Vale but mostly here, in Loudwater. Family business.”

Sylenn frowns.

“I am sorry for you.”

“What for?”

“Because they will die. And you will bury them. Every single one of them.”

Birgga makes a disgruntled sound.

“Do you think I am not aware of that? I have buried two of my human wives and soon will become a widower for the third time,” Kay switches to Elven. “I’ve chosen this life.”

“You don’t fully understand. There is nothing worse than burying your own children. My daughter was killed when she was four. And my son… My son died bleeding to death in the streets of Baldur’s Gate. You’ve condemned yourself, Kay Dathnyar.”

“Well, etriel, then I welcome you to the house of the condemned!”

Sylenn decides to get drunk. Ale doesn’t affect her easily and she keeps ordering more till even Birgga starts giving her advice on how to avoid a hangover. 

“I have never seen anyone with her constitution drink that much!” Birgga mutters to Kay.

“You know how they say dwarves have the best ale tolerance? It’s a lie. Elves live for centuries and we can drink pure alcohol by the time we are old enough to forget our youth.”

“Well, at least she pays.”

“I am giving her a discount.”

“Why? Kay, since when you are into charity?” Birgga almost hisses.

Sylenn pretends she doesn’t hear them.  A young half-elf, who introduced himself as Lym and who has the same black hair as his father, keeps bringing her drinks.

Another shitty thing about being so old.You can’t get drunk.

A weird quirk – Sylenn remembers her grandfather, who was eight hundred when she was born, complaining he can’t drink away his memories. She laughed at him back then but now she suspects she inherited the same trait.

And she wishes she could have shut the memories up.

Her first husband, her thiramin, the love of her whole life, slaughtered by humans like prey. Their daughter, a silver-curled baby, brutally murdered by orcs when she was only four. Sylenn’s friends, aging and dying. Her second husband – Caeldrim. He was so much older than her that everyone thought she was his daughter. A good person, wise and reserved. Sylenn left him to look for their son in Baldur’s Gate, where she found nothing but his grave in the human cemetery. After that, she decided to never return to Evereska.

Maybe it was her fault, after all. She was told not to give her son an adult name right away. A bad sign. But she insisted that the baby boy in her arms must be named Astarion and should he not like it, he would be free to choose another one later.

And he died. Barely forty, a child by elven standards. Murdered and buried, all alone. She shouldn’t have let him go. Maybe later, when he would have been more prepared for the life out there.

“Hey, what’s happening?” Suddenly, Kay rushes to the doors. Sylenn hears distant cries and the sound of something heavy collapsing on wooden buildings. “Lym, get your brothers!”

Sylenn gets up and reaches for her sword and shield.

“Kay, hide everyone inside. It’s not a battle you can win.”

“It’s just an ogre.”

“That's not the point. Tell everyone to hide inside!”

Sylenn quickly fastens the straps of her heavy armor and prepares the shield and sword. 

A creature made of stone and wrath is crushing trees and barns. It grabs unfortunate village dwellers, smashing them just for the sake of it, and their lifeless bodies fall on the ground.

Ogremoch.

What in hell is it doing so far from the Earth plane?

“You!” Sylenn yells. “Attack someone who can fight back! Come closer! My sword is eager to pierce your stone flesh!”

“Sylenn, for fuck sake!��� Kay grabs her hand but Sylenn easily sets herself free and the young elf falls down. “Go and protect your family!”

The ogremoch roars and rushes towards her ready to smash the elven warrior with its fist. Sylenn protects herself with her shield, almost breaking the e monster’s arm.

She immediately jumps to her right and keeps her stance.

But before she manages to attack, the monster sweeps her off her feet. Her helmet flies away.

A powerful blow to her chest, which even heavy armor cannot protect her from, knocks the spirit out of the elven warrior. She coughs blood. The world gets blurry around her, and she can’t hear anything but the ringing in her ears.

Astarion must have felt the same, she thinks. When he was beaten to death.

Another blow.

She can feel the beast’s anger. How is she still alive? All thanks to the heavy armor.

Maybe she should just let the orgremoch do what it wants?

Sylenn has been hoping to die in battle. Sure, being murdered by a mindless creature in a village so tiny maps forget to mention it doesn’t sound particularly noble…

But why not?

Sylenn smiles.

“Corellon Larethian, to you I give my soul… Have… Mercy… On… Me,” Sylenn croaks, slipping into oblivion.

A whistle pierces the air. Ogremoch shrieks as a crossbow’s bolt gets stuck in its right eye.

“Fuck off from my property!” Kay Dathnyar recharges. 

Ogremoch rushes to the young elf but fails to catch him. Kay helps Sylenn to get off the ground. 

“Move!” Sylenn adopted her stance again. “Shoot from a distance!”

With a battle cry, Sylenn Ancunín lunges forward and her sword pierces the stone-like monster’s skin.

Alright, she thinks, as the monster collapses and her own legs wobble.

Not today, I guess.

Kay helps her to stand up and allows hSylenner to lean on him while walking her back to the tavern.

“I would have carried you on my shoulders, but my back wouldn’t thank me.”

“I've already been carried this month like that,” she says. “A dhampir. Alethaine or Athelaine. Carried me from a dungeon as if I weighed no more than a cat.”

“A dhampir?” Kay notices. “Vampires have been breeding like rabbits over the past 40 years, dhampirs are as common as tieflings now!”

“I beg your pardon!” Birgga helps Sylenn to unfasten her armor.

“I tell you, It's like some asshole released a bunch of vampires all at once,” Kay says.

“Hm, about 30 years ago I fucked a woman…” Birgga reminisced. 

“Congratulations, you won’t die a virgin.”

“... I fucked a woman and she was so cold and pale, I am sure she was a vampire!”

Sylenn, finally free of her armor, groans. It seems like she hasn’t received any serious damage, but she feels exhausted and weak. 

“Kay is right, there have been too many half-undeads and undeads recently. And also monsters and demons. The world’s wheel is in motion again and I doubt these changes will do us any good.”

Suddenly, Sylenn notices there are a bunch of young humans and half elves gathering outside the tavern. Not all look like Kay, so she suspects it’s just village kids. 

“Look, it’s her! The elf who killed the monster!”

“Did you see it? She murdered it like Thetir the Dragonslayer!”

“Hey!” Kay notices them. “Leave her be!”

“That’s all right,” Sylenn smiles. “Let them.”

The small crowd of youthlings immediately surround Sylenn.

“How old are you?” A human girl whose nose and eyes resemble Kay’s.

One of the older girls shushes at her.

“I am 517.”

“Wow! It means you are almost as old as Baldur’s Gate!”

Sylenn grabs a mug of ale. 

“I was Balduran’s bodyguard in the times when he founded the city.”

A cheer of awe erupts among the kids.

It’s fun to talk to these children. Sylenn has lived so long she’s forgotten her life wasn’t only grief and sorrows.

“... So, Balduran comes to me, angry as a troll, and yells ‘Sylenn! Stop drinking when I am talking to you!’ And I was like, ‘Balduran, with all the respect I don’t feel for you, I cannot take your bullshit seriously when I am sober!’”

“... And then I realized they were sailing west and if I didn’t quit now I would have to spend months watching Balduran and Ansur having their love drama. So, I stood at the aft of the ship, opened my arms, and fell into the sea. And seconds later it came to my mind that, maybe, I shouldn’t have jumped into the open sea in full armor! My grandpa would always tell me: ‘Syl, your brain is capable of only one coherent thought per day, and even then it backfires!’”

“... So, I got right into the evil sorceress's lair and she looked at me, in all her dark magic glory, and said ‘Sylenn Ancunin, I thought you were smarter.’ And my first husband, who she’d taken hostage, stares at her and says: ‘Lady, honestly, you really thought SHE WAS SMART?!’”

“... All right, all right, by the time I got my adult name, I finally learned not to mess with things that were bigger than me. I got a quest from a wood elf. Don’t remember his name, their clan was called Goldenroots or Goldenboughs, for some reason, they’d translated it to Common. And a young elf asked me to look after his father who’d run away with a sword. Their ancestors were Star Elves and they were passing a very particular sword from father to son. I went looking for the old elf and found him dead – he died in the dumbest way! He’d picked a spear which was clearly cursed. I took the sword – a very beautiful one and magical to the point it probably had its own will. Returned it back to the owner and was like ‘Bad news, your father died.’ And this Goldenroot elf chuckled and said ‘Thank gods I don’t have to tolerate his bullshit anymore. I hope he will reincarnate as a drow.’” Family dynamics can be so weird!”

**

“I am leaving,” Sylenn says to Kay two days later. “I am going East.”

“To Evereska?”

She nods. 

“It was nice to meet you, Sylenn.” He smiles.

“The feeling is mutual. Uluvathae, Kay!”

“Wait, these lands are dangerous to walk alone. Follow me.”

Kay takes Sylenn to the horse farm at the edge of the village. A herd of horses with silvery manes grazes peacefully in the grass, and their master, a young man in his twenties, sleeps by the stable.

“They look like horses from Evereska, but they are bigger,” she notices.

“We breed them with regular horses. They are not as fast and smart as their ancestors who let elves ride them, but they are stronger and bigger than the ones humans use. Nim, wake up!”

“Oh, hi Grandpa.” The young man yawns.

“I am our great-grandpa, lazy ass. Give Sylenn Lunar.”

“Are you kidding? Lunar is our best horse! It costs as much as your tavern!”

Kay slaps him on the head. 

“My tavern is priceless. Go get Lunar!”

Nim groans and a few minutes later returns with a gorgeous mare.

“Here, she is yours. She will take you to Evereska fast and safely.”

“Kay, I don’t have money to pay you!”

“Nonsense, Sylenn. You saved us. And besides, doomed we are or not, we are both born of Corellon’s blood. But you can repay me,” he adds when Sylenn saddles the horse and takes the reins. “I want you to tell everyone you meet on the road that ‘The Last Pixie’ is the best tavern you’ve ever been to!”

Sylenn laughs hearing the slur.

“No, no, I am serious, Sylenn, I need you to say the name out loud.”

“Alright! ‘The Last Pixie’ owned by Kay Dathnyar is the best tavern you can find!”

**

The same day, Luskan.

“Do you think they know you are a vampire?” Tiriel points at the guild members, feasting in the big hall. Astarion, as usual, stays inside the library doing the paperwork.

“I am sure they do, but should they want to make a big deal out of it, I will do the same out of their past. For example, our archer is a drow who masks himself as a wood elf. And the genasi-monk is not a monk and is wanted in Neverwinter for cannibalism.”

Tiriel sits beside him and puts her head on his shoulder.

“I love you.”

Astarion chuckles and kisses her cheek, tugging Tiriel closer. “My sweet, I love you, too.”

**

The same day, Waterdeep.

Alethaine Ancunín puts out the campfire, packs her things, and climbs the hill to see the City of Splendors better.

It looks much bigger and more beautiful than in the pictures.

The young necromancer adjusts the circlet on her head – it was given to her by an elderly elf, Sylenn, a month ago. A reward for saving her from the shadows in the dungeons. She said she’d made it for her deceased son and Alethaine sometimes feels a bit weird wearing it.

But then she sees her own reflection and reminds herself the circlet looks like it was made for her. It suits her silver hair and pitch-black eyes.

Maybe, the dead son of Sylenn looked similar to Alethaine.

“Well, Waterdeep it is,” Alethaine licks her dhampir fangs. “I have a very good feeling about this!”

--

I won't elaborate on the fact Birgga might be Theris' father. Also, the wood elf Sylenn returned the sword to is Elren Goldenroot's, Alethaine's husband-to-be, grandfather.

--

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[creepiecreator]

I was damn near asleep when my brain cursed me with this silverusso snippet

"If Terry was the snake, forever tempting humanity to sin, to endulge in their truest dark desires, Then Daniel-who was once Eve. Innocent and oh so naive, was now the apple. Sweet and beautiful, flesh tainted with sin, mine consumed by knowledge never meant for mere mortals. Both of them cursed to remain side by side for all of eternity, standing together in defiance of man, government and god"

[guplia]

I hate how this unrelated paragraph is the longest of all in an upcoming fic (will probably post today)

[kayzero]

I've been exhausted for three days straight so I don't think I can come up with any decent prompts atm but I'd love to know how you write Roxas! I'm compelled to say maybe something between kh2 and kh3? Despite the fact that during that he's y'know

Here’s a personal headcanon: Xion (and other Replicas) had the capacity to grow a heart like other Nobodies should be able to do. Her process was slowed by her function, to absorb Sora’s memories and eventually become a clone of him, and eventually halted altogether as the intake flow increased to an uncontrollable speed.

But the process did start.

As Roxas sank into Sora’s heart and fully disappeared from the outside world, he allowed his (plastic, fake, liar) smile to fall into a frown. Of course he wasn’t content to just fade away for the sake of someone else’s life — even if that someone else was instrumental in dismantling the Organization and saving an untold number of worlds.

Not that he was bitter enough to blame Sora. He didn’t ask to have his heart ripped out, he didn’t know that in order for him to be whole, someone else would have to be sacrificed. Roxas has the feeling that if Sora had known, if the cost of becoming whole was someone else’s life, he would still be walking around with a broken heart.

No, if anything, Roxas blames Riku. Riku, who had turned to the darkness in the first place. Riku, who had let himself get possessed and tore out Sora’s heart. Riku, who resorted to turning back to that source of power, resorted to soaking himself in darkness, in Ansem’s power, just to get the upper hand in a single fight at the cost of his very self!

Riku, who had the privilege of a heart, had the privilege of a self, and threw it all away.

Had the choice to throw it all away.

And then! And then! He gets it all back in a freak fucking accident! Like he didn’t have to sacrifice anything when Roxas had to give up everything! His self, completely irrelevant! His heart, crammed into Sora’s! His friends, dead for Sora’s sake!

He wasn’t bitter enough to blame Sora, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t part of the problem.

…Friends?

Come to think of it, when did he form a self? When had he grown a heart?

Roxas, now sat on the edge of Sora’s stained-glass heart, tries to think.

He remembers…

He remembers being overwhelmed. He was angry at Axel, who was hiding information from him. Who was lying to him. He was afraid of Saix, who barred him from leaving. He was hurt, and exhausted, and victorious, forcing Saix to the side and dragging himself out of the castle.

And then…

He was furious, running through the streets of the Organization’s undercity, tearing through endless numbers of Shadows and Neoshadows. Disbelieving of an unknown who wasn’t unknown, who tried to stop him from trying to free Kingdom Hearts. Shocked by a stranger who was his best friend in another life as he tried to use memories that weren’t his to convince him to give up.

Victorious again. Until he wasn’t.

But…

He wasn’t hurt when he fought Riku.

Think harder.

He was overwhelmed, but by information, not emotion. He was indignant, because that was the proper response. His anger, his fear, his satisfaction, they all felt distant, shallow.

But his rage, his fury toward Xemnas, and then Riku, it was potent and volatile. He relished tearing through Heartless on his way to the castle. His disgust when Riku caught his Keyblade left him nauseous, his shock when Riku got back up left him breathless.

There was a… divide. Something in between. A day, maybe two.

He… dragged himself through a corridor to Twilight Town, bought hi-potions and hi-ethers from a moogle, but not elixirs, because they made him nauseous and dizzy and left him achy after they healed him in a way that potions didn’t. He hid in the train station, in a supply closet that held specific tools and chemicals — too far away for the janitors to bother with, Demyx had told him, a perfect place to hide out and pretend that work took way longer than it actually did.

And then…

Come on. Think.

He brought himself to the top of the clock tower. He stared at the sunset.

He fought on a magical platform that rose and rose until it reached the heavens, that twisted and became other worlds.

Xion.

He had forgotten Xion.

Xion, his best friend. Xion, who was kind and understanding. Xion, who learned from Roxas, and who Roxas learned from in turn. Xion, who fled from the Organization, fearing her self, fearing becoming someone else. Xion, whose fears came true, who begged Roxas to fight her, to kill her, so she could die as Xion rather than live as Sora.

Xion, who was never meant to be remembered.

As if he could forget such an important piece of his heart.

Even if no one else ever did, he would always remember Xion.

[merlyn-bane]

For the foelu snippets I'd like Cody and or Rex with precious toddler.

I decided to go with just Rex, hope that's okay! He's just so very dad shaped and I was sad not to have had a good place to put in some real good one-on-one time with him and the baby in the main story 😊😊

[Requests for Foelu missing scenes, future snippets, and extra vignettes are STILL OPEN. Please submit any requests you might have to my ask box. They will all eventually be cross posted on AO3 as well 🥰🥰]

~~~

“No! Bubu!”

“We're still going to go see the biffleflies, Tal'ika, you've just got to let me carry you there.”

“No! Down, Bubu!” the toddler demands, kicking her little feet in a vain but less than pleasant attempt to free herself. “Wanna walk!” 

Rex sighs and stares dead ahead as his daughter continues flailing and scowling at him severely. “Kai-Tal,” he says patiently, “if you walk now, you'll be too tired to run around in the flowers.”

“No I won’!” Her complaints are starting to rise in pitch, now, and Rex sighs again as he resigns himself to having to decide whether he wants to deal with this the ‘Jedi way'—pausing this entire enterprise to discuss what she's feeling, why, and how to address it, which is a model all of her buir'e are still trying to figure out—or 17's way—giving her what she wants and letting her experience the consequences. Typically Rex prefers the former, even if he's still practicing at it. Today, though, his gut is insisting on practical application. 

So he lets her down. She takes off at speed for the lifts immediately, of course, but Rex just lets her and follows along behind her at his regular pace; the odds of her managing to actually leave him behind are low, and even if she does, they are in the Temple which is the safest place in the galaxy for her to be. At worst, Obi-Wan will have to retrieve her from Master Yoda’s tonight after an impromptu tea-and-swamp-pie party. 

That's where Luke usually seems to end up when the twins are in-Temple for classes, at any rate. 

Kai-Tal lets him pick her up under the armpits once they get into the lift just long enough to be able to press the right button and then starts squirming again, so Rex sets her back down and fondly watches her all but vibrate in place waiting for the doors to open back up. Apparently the urge to go go go as one becomes progressively more mobile is endemic to all younglings, even jetiise.

Obi-Wan insists this was not the case with him. The créchemasters have informed Waxer and Boil that they in fact seriously considered leashing him when he first came into their care at three standard and immediately attempted to stage a breakout. 

The lift lets them out into what the jetiise insist is not a dimensional pocket despite being a sprawling outside space that is contained inside one of the Temple’s obscenely large number of sub-basements, and the toddler immediately takes off at a wobbly run in the direction of the field where her favorite biffleflies can usually be found. Rex is pretty sure she'll run out of steam before she even makes it past the stables; she usually does, and then she'll insist that he stops at each occupied stall so that she can say ‘hi’ and pet them on the nose. 

She might not be the most animal-inclined child in her generation of Jedi, but that's mostly because she's age-mates with Ezra Bridger, and even then it's pretty close. Not that any of them are surprised; they've all seen Obi-Wan befriend everything from a womp rat to a rancor, once.

Sure enough, Kai-Tal starts dragging her feet right on schedule (if a little longer than last time), and she starts tugging at Rex's pant leg before he can even push the stable door open. “Bubu, ‘m tired,” she mumbles, pouting up at him, and Rex is glad that these little excursions are just the two of them because it means there's no-one there to see him fold like wet flimsi. 

“Alright, ad'ika,” he sighs, stooping down to scoop her up and settle her on his hip. “I thought you said you weren't gonna get tired if I let you walk, huh?”

Kai-Tal buries her face in the side of his neck, little hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Don’ be mean, Bubu.”

Rex chuckles and cranes his neck to kiss the side of her head. “You've got a funny definition of ‘mean’, kiddo.”

The toddler just shrugs and snuffles into him further. “Go see bif-biffa-biffafies now?”

“Yeah, Tal'ika, we're gonna go see the biffleflies now.”

[kaitontenchu]

Unwritten Bonds

-

"...Thanks for comin' to talk with me, Esti." The slightest bit of hesitation caught Kai's tongue at the utterance of his adoptive brother's name. "I - It's been a while for sure...!"

Keenly catching on, Estinien let out a sigh before taking another swig of his ale. He approached the younger man and placed a gentle palm atop his head.

Kai's ears perked up at the sudden weight.

"What are you getting flustered over, boy? You used to call me that name when we were just naive little kids. We both grew up, but that's it. Our lives may have run a different course and will continue to do so, but you will always be my little brother in the end."

Kai felt his face flush in a rush of comfort. He lowered his ears and simply nodded. A content smile being the only response he needed to give back to Estinien.

[princess-of-purple-prose]

Yoo Joonghyuk vs. Online Shopping

In which Han Sooyoung and Yoo Joonghyuk disagree on what Yoo Joonghyuk’s post-scenarios wardrobe should look like.

786 words; read on AO3!

“And now that you don’t have to worry about blood showing through, we can get you some other wavelengths of light in your closet, too,” Han Sooyoung says breezily. Yoo Joonghyuk, who had been tuning her out for a good ten minutes, finally feels some faint alarm bell go off in his head at those words, and he pauses his game to turn to look at what she’s brandishing a finger at: her computer screen, filled with rows and rows of images of… trendy modern clothing.

“What,” he says.

“Colors, Yoo Joonghyuk, colors,” Han Sooyoung says, rolling her eyes. “I’m saying you can branch out with, like, a blue shirt or two. Maybe green if we’re feeling adventurous.”

“Why would I do that.”

Han Sooyoung’s mouth slants at his flat tone. “Well, you’ve always kind of stuck to permutations of your outfit from scenario one, and the black coat... I mean, it’s hot, yeah, but is it even practical anymore? Let me tell you right now: we’ve all noticed it isn’t sweat-resistant anymore.” Kim Dokja, sitting away from the other two at the dining room table, makes an indeterminate sound—possibly a smothered protest, possibly a chuckle. “You can’t only ever alternate between that and lame tracksuits and identical goddamned black sweaters, is what I’m saying. You suck all the light out of the room just by standing in it.”

“Yah, Sooyoung-ah, give his face some credit, too,” Kim Dokja calls. Yoo Joonghyuk glares at him, and Kim Dokja beams—first at Yoo Joonghyuk, then at Han Sooyoung. “See! He’s doing the face right now!”

Han Sooyoung sighs gustily. “Either help me get this idiot a new wardrobe or just shut up, Kim Dokja,” she calls back, unnecessarily loud for the scant distance between them, before following it up with a disparaging mutter about Kim Dokja’s tastes that Yoo Joonghyuk doubts he was meant to hear. Or—no, actually, Han Sooyoung absolutely intended for him to catch the derisive comment on his chuunibyou tendencies.

Han Sooyoung turns away and points demonstratively at the screen. Yoo Joonghyuk stares wordlessly at it, then at her. She sighs again, with less affectation this time. “Listen. It won’t kill you to expand your wardrobe, is all I’m saying. Actually do some justice to that physique, why don’t you?”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s lips tighten. “I like my coat.”

Han Sooyoung looks up to squint at him quizzically. “I know??”

“And I like black,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, still toneless.

Han Sooyoung scoffs. “We’ll get you a new coat if it matters that much, dumbass. But you—”

“And,” Yoo Joonghyuk glowers, “I am going to continue wearing both.”

Han Sooyoung visibly restrains herself from putting her face in her hands. “I’m not saying you can’t keep the fucking coat, okay. I’m just saying—begging—for you to wear something other than identical black turtlenecks. Fine, I won’t put you in a crop top, but we’re going to get you in something brighter than navy blue if it’s the last thing I do, you hear?”

“No.”

There's a long silence, broken only by Kim Dokja cheering under his breath at whatever mobile game or webnovel it is that he’s been entertaining himself with.

“No to…?” Han Sooyoung prompts, voice hovering at a precarious edge between incredulity and unbound fury. “Answer me, moron. No to what? To buying a single piece of clothing that doesn’t look like it came from that shitty dragon’s shitty merch line? Is that what you mean?” 

Yoo Joonghyuk is silent.

“... Stop bullshitting me, Yoo Joonghyuk.”

“...”

“No, are you serious?”

“...”

“You know what? Fuck you. What the fuck do I even try for,” Han Sooyoung says spitefully. She navigates away from the page she’d been on with great vindictiveness, muttering with bloody intent. “Goddamn protagonists and their one-note wardrobes, who do you think you are, you clow—” She jabs a key so hard it’s difficult to believe in its continuing functionality. “I’m getting you cargo shorts.” 

Yoo Joonghyuk nods and settles back against the couch, clicking resume with his controller. “That’s fine.”

“What the fuck?!” Han Sooyoung cries over the renewed sounds of Mario Kart pinging through the room.

“It’s the pockets,” Kim Dokja calls without looking up from his phone.

“It’s also Yoo Joonghyuk!” Han Sooyoung shrieks, flailing her arms at him.

“You don’t have to get the cargo shorts,” says the man in question.

“Fuck you, obviously I have to get the shorts now!” Han Sooyoung shrills. Yoo Joonghyuk sighs. Kim Dokja, apparently less absorbed in his screen than it would seem, snickers.

“Just for that, Kim Dokja,” Han Sooyoung promises darkly. “I’m buying you shorts too.” He looks up, protest hanging off his lips, and she growls. “Khakhi ones.”

[salparadiselost]

Some times I read my old writing and I’m like “wow this is crap” sometimes I read my old writing and I’m literally blown away like holy shit how did it do this

[satashiiwrites]

Snippet Sunday

Working on the Hanai verse a bit today (not Family, Familia, Ohana… unfortunately) so have a snippet sunday. Tagging with no pressure/obligation: @tiny-reader @tkwritesdumbassassins @outtoshatter @monsterrae1 @missanniewhimsy @whimsyswastry @rosieposiepuddingnpie and anyone else who wants to play along.

Title: A Final Vow, part of the Hanai Series

Fandom: SWAT, 911, minor Hawaii 5-0

Pairings: Daniel ‘Hondo’ Harrelson/David ‘Deacon’ Kay, prior David ‘Deacon’ Kay/Annie Kay.  Minor Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Steve McGarrett/Daniel Williams

Summary: On her deathbed, Annie extracts a promise from Hondo to take care of her husband. 

Tags/warnings: Character death (we’re fridging Annie at the start for plot reasons), medical inaccuracies, grief/mourning, explicit sexual content, exploring sexuality later in life, relationship with theoretical power imbalances (they’re on the same team…but it’s really not a relationship problem in this fic). Other tags to be added as appropriate. 

Annie’s cancer returns in October. It’s right before Halloween, and the Kay household is decorated to win awards; the entire team and extended friends and family are present when over a bowl of punch playfully labeled vampire’s blood, Annie drops the crystal goblet she’s holding and it shatters at her feet as she temporarily looses the ability to grip with her left hand. 

Hondo watches Deacon shatter in front of him, in slow motion, when the doctor informs him that Annie has had a mini-stroke. The devastation in his friend’s eyes scares Hondo. He’s seen Deacon exhausted, shot, blown up, and raw from beatings, but he’s never seen Deacon look like this. 

“A stroke?” Deacon asks, his voice hoarse like he’s been screaming for hours. 

“Yes,” the doctor confirms, biting her lower lip. The female neurosurgeon is younger than Hondo or Deacon, but the ER doctor had been ebullient about consulting her, saying that he’d trust Dr. Rice with his own family. “There’s more.”

“More?”

“Your wife previously was diagnosed with meningiomas?”

Deacon nods silently, unable to speak. Instinctively, Hondo crowds into Deacon’s space, pressing against him from shoulder to hip. He can feel the faint tremor in Deacon’s body as he holds himself rigidly up, bracing for whatever the doctor’s about to say. 

“She had surgery before—to release pressure on her brain,” Hondo offers, prompting the doctor, whose frown deepens. 

“Yes. Well, that operation was necessary at the time, but it may have delayed her symptom development until now.”

“And that’s bad?” Hondo asks, wrapping one arm around Deacon, who sways dangerously on his feet but shakes his head when Hondo tries to guide him to a chair. 

“It’s allowed the tumor to get big and invade other parts of the brain.”

“Other parts?” Deacon repeats faintly. He’s only still standing because Hondo’s taking his weight. 

Dr. Rice gestures to the computer where she’s pulled up Annie’s scans. “The tumor starts here, close to the base of the brain, where it joins the brain stem and then spreads outward. It’s…uh, actually somewhat surprising that she’s not had issues before now.”

“You said her shunt was helping?”

“It’s relieving pressure. The tumor has invaded the natural drainage system that surrounds the brain. Without that, she’d already have likely passed away.”

Deacon physically flinches. “She’d be dead?”

“Yes. Her shunt has bought her time, but the tumor is invading other parts of the brain now. It’s unresectable.”

“It’s what?” Hondo asks for clarification, hoping that word doesn’t mean what he thinks it does. 

To the doctor’s credit, she’s gentle as she breaks the news. “It means we can’t do surgery to fix this. The tumor has spread too far. She’d die in the operating room.”

The noise Deacon makes in his throat like a dying animal will haunt Hondo to his dying day. He never wants to hear Deacon make that noise again. Breathing in quickly through his nose, Deacon shudders against Hondo, who has wrapped his arm firmly around Deacon and pulled his friend into his body. Despite being taller, Deacon tucks into Hondo, appearing much smaller. 

Deacon’s not crying, but his eyes are bloodshot before he ducks his head into Hondo’s neck and clings to him. 

“Surely there are other options?” Hondo scrambles for ideas while holding onto Deacon. He’s not a doctor or a nurse, but there have to be options. 

Dr. Rice is apologetic. “There may be options to delay progression, but at best, we’re talking weeks to maybe months.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Deacon manages to say. Then they’re standing outside Annie’s ER room, waiting for her to be admitted, with the nurses doing something to make Annie more comfortable. Why she’s being admitted, Hondo isn’t sure since she’s mostly regained movement in her hand, but the doctors want to watch her for a while in case something else happens.

Hondo has the distinct impression that if something else happens, it’ll be days, not weeks or months, for Annie. He’s already mentally gone through everyone he knows to see whether they might be able to help and has come up gallingly empty. 

Annie doesn’t deserve this—and neither does Deacon or their kids. 

“How do I tell her?” Deacon asks him, his voice thick with heartbreak, but his dark eyes are dry as they beg Hondo for salvation. Deacon has seemingly aged ten years in ten minutes; his proud shoulders slumped under a load heavier than a mountain. Hondo wants to take the burden from him, wrap himself protectively around his friend and second. 

If he could take this pain from Deacon, he would in a heartbeat. 

Deacon inhales with a hitch, swallowing down the pain. “How am I going to tell the kids?”

Hondo gives into his instincts and slips his arm back around Deacon’s waist. Deacon comes willingly into his arms, accepting the hug and clinging to him, fingers twisting in Hondo’s t-shirt like anchors. 

Deacon’s been there for him, and Hondo will be here for Deacon. They’ve got each other's backs. It’s an unspoken promise between the two of them from two weeks after Hondo got promoted and Hicks tried to talk Deacon into throwing him under the bus. 

They’re partners, a team. You hurt one of them; you hurt them both. 

“You tell them that their mom is very sick. And you need to spend as much time with her as possible and make as many memories as you can. Take it a day at a time.”

Deacon’s eyes are locked on his, hanging on every word, and he nods, trusting Hondo. “A day at a time.”

“Yeah. And I, uh, we—the team, we’ve got your back. Anything you need, we’ve got you.”

“You’ve got my back,” Deacon repeats, eyes sliding closed, and he sighs, slumping into Hondo for a brief moment. Hondo’s arms contract automatically, tightening the hug. It’s what Deacon needs; seconds later, he straightens and steps out of Hondo’s arms, reluctantly giving him space. “Can you wait out here? While I talk with Annie?”

“Sure. Anything you need, Deac.”

After the nurses leave, Hondo catches the door before it completely closes, leaving it open a crack. He listens as Deacon haltingly tells Annie that her cancer is back and how she breaks down and cries, confessing that she’s been having headaches and has been so tired with four kids. Deacon shushes her protestations, saying it’s not her fault, that she’s a good wife and mother. 

Annie’s so brave. Hondo has always admired that about her. She’s never been afraid of calling him out when he’s not treated Deacon right, made the wrong decision, and put Deacon at more risk than necessary. 

He’s wished at times that he could find a woman just like her. 

Deacon’s voice is low, murmuring something that Hondo can’t pick up, but it seems to be exactly what Annie needs to hear. Deciding he’s heard enough, Hondo makes for the waiting room. He’s got a few phone calls to make, childcare to arrange, and start looking into a home nurse for Annie. Deacon’s exactly where he needs to be—at Annie’s side. Hondo can shoulder the rest of the load. 

[ablazenqueen]

WIP Tag Game

Tagged by @fairlylokai, thanks bestie! 🥰

RULES: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Sad to say I use pretty boring, straightforward document titles 😅

But here they are!

My multi-chap, ongoing fics, of course:

1. APTGTSYRH Chap 7 (Patpran, my Thief AU)

2. Tiwpor Star Trek AU Chap 3

And then the ones that have yet to be posted in any capacity:

3. The Boy Next Door (Enjoltaire)

4. North Sonic

5. Nawaguy 3 + 1 Protectiveness

6. Lawyers AU (Difanghua from Mysterious Lotus Casebook)

7. Case fic! (Difanghua)

8. Grim Reaper (Bingqiu, Mingling, Moshang)

9. SVSSS Aladdin (Bingqiu, side Mingling)

10. Prapaisky Actor AU

11. Alanjeff 5+1

There are more, but these are the ones that I’m most likely to actually complete and eventually post.

Tagging @thepancakelady @7nessasaryevils @non-binarypal7 @arisprite @xagan @dropthedemiurge @pigeonriot @itsza @faillen @veertjed @dribs-and-drabbles if you would like to play!