#maybe because the fandom is too quiet to my taste

[meliohy]

.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | first meeting (part 2)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Black Christmas, Scream (kinda)/ Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; Billy Lenz, mentions of violence and general slasher activity, kidnapping, stalking

♡ notes; i didn’t include Bubba last time, so i slipped him in with the pt 2 team :v

also for ghostface i went with Danny over Billy + Stu, just because i’m more comfortable writing older characters tbh. and he’s very attractive to me. maybe i can do a college au fic of them in the future?

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> you were lost

> utterly, hopelessly lost without a map, compass, or even your backpack

> you were out camping with a couple of new friends when you wandered off to pick flowers

> well, acquaintances more like- they weren’t particularly nice to you, but you knew one from your home town

> before you knew the sun was starting to set and you had no clue which way to go

> you’re kicking yourself for being so dumb but try to make the best of it, continuing to collect flowers and pretty rocks

> soon enough you find yourself on the edge of a lake

> that couldn’t have been good- there weren’t any lakes near the campsite at all

> maybe this was that old summer camp they’d mentioned?

> either way you turn around and try your best to retrace your steps

> but even with a full moon it’s just too dark and too dense and you’re exhausted

> holding in tears, you find a small meadow and finally sit to rest

> you’re still sniffling and rubbing your eyes when someone walks up to you

> you were so oblivious that Jason was able to get a few feet in front of you before you noticed

> he seems…perplexed to find you there

> he thought he’d gotten all of the campers

> and you didn’t really look like you belonged with those fornicators

> (or at least that’s what he told himself to justify leaving you alive)

> he’s holding his machete and soaked with your companions’ blood, but you don’t seem to notice

> “…can you take me back to my friends?”

> well he most certainly cannot do that, not if he wants you to like him- though he’s not sure why that matters

> he’s still staring so you, exhausted, do the only thing you can think to

> “…do you want a flower? I picked a lot”

> he’s delighted and takes it before finally gesturing for you to follow him

> you can’t keep up, so eventually he picks you up

> and like that you’re nearly dozing off

> you don’t even notice he’s taking you back the way you came from

> and he’s glad- he wasn’t going to give you much of an option anyway

Bo Sinclair

> single travelers are so much easier to deal with

> so when Lester gives him the call that some college kid was stuck on the road, he’s eager for an easy catch

> you take your sweet ass time getting to the station- even though Lester drove you most of the way you let him drop you off just outside of town

> the smell of the truck was really getting to you, and you’re happy to let the dog lead you

> when he strides out you’re cooing over Jonesy and giving her a belly rub for her troubles

> he’s seen his fair share of attractive victims

> men, women, and folks that didn’t fit either category

> and he’s slept with most of them

> but you… there’s something extra special about you

> he decides right there he’s not taking care of you without at least getting a taste

> you’re not too impressed by his flirting- or at least you try and act like it

> but he catches your pink cheeks and quiet giggles as he takes you on a walk

> because of course he’s got the part down the road at his place

> by the time you get there he’s decided he’s marrying you - or maybe keeping you tied up, beggars can’t be choosers

> he’s impulsive but he’s never wanted to keep anyone before

> “hey sugar-“ god your face heats up just hearing him call you that “turns out I don’t have that part you need. It should be in by tomorrow, if you can stay the night?”

> you say yes before you can think critically- he’s good at getting folks wrapped around his finger like that

> “Good. Cause I’m just dying to show you some real southern hospitality…”

Danny Johnson

> he knows you long before you know him

> he’s a natural nosy guy- he’s a journalist after all

> and a serial killer, of course stalking is on his to do list

> originally you were going to be a victim

> you’d make a good story, a young person taken tragically early

> but you were too cute to die just yet- he had to at least meet you, just once

> if you were a dick no one would say anything nice for your article, right?

> so he just happens to bump into you outside your work one day

> literally bump

> when you spill coffee all over yourself he smoothly apologizes and offers to help clean you up

> “What a mess- I’m so sorry sweets. Let me take care of all this”

> and you fall for it, hook line and sinker

> he’s a handsome guy, he’s used to that but he’s smug anyways

> he gives you a spare shirt of his, though you still skip work

> he buys you another coffee and you sit in his car chatting

> you’re innocent enough to trust him like that- to get in a vehicle with a strange man?

> a strange man that’d been stalking you, no less

> it’s adorable- if he wasn’t so attached he could kill you right there

> but you’re just so damn sweet, and genuine

> and you’re so fascinated by these Ghost Face killings…

> maybe you’re worth keeping around for a bit

> just a bit

> that’s what he says to himself anyways

> when you meet him as Ghost Face, it’s after you’ve already got him all figured out

> and he’s lucky that you like a bad boy

Billy Lenz

> it’s a given that you first meet him over the phone

> you’re renting out a spare room from Mrs Mac, not in the sorority but a good enough tenant that she keeps you around

> you get along well with the girls and cook them meals, run study sessions and help clean

> it’s almost parental at times, even if you’re not far off in age

> Billy hates you at first, for taking such good care of ‘filthy piggy whores’

> he tells you just as much over the phone, but you’re not bothered

> you never seem to be bothered by his calls

> and that pisses him off more

> but you’re so so cute… it quickly becomes an obsession

> he’s in your walls constantly, watching you

> and the calls from the moaner start coming more and more frequently at times you’re home alone

> one day you just start giggling at him, tipsy “you know, you scare the girls,”

> “good i—“

> “but your voice is sooo nice. that’s why i pick up so much”

> you didn’t mean to confess that , and you hope he takes it as an awkward joke

> when he hangs up you think that maybe he did take it that way

> its not until late that night that you realize that he knew he was sincere

> before you can register that there’s anything wrong he’s covering your mouth and pinning you to your bed

> “hi there, baby doll,”

> his grin gets huge when your still horrified face goes bright red

> he always knew you were perfect

Bubba Sawyer

> you pick up Nubbins hitchhiking one day, and he’s just dumbfounded by you

> you’re nonplussed by his rambling and you don’t squirm at his yucky pictures. you don’t even kick him out, just drop him off at the gas station.

> you’re not really his type, but you’re fascinating

> he’s gotta get you home to meet his brothers

> so he pops your tires when you go inside- all four

> when you come back out Drayton is cursing him out and smacking him upside the head

> he makes him take you back to the house to rest up while he gets you tires

> of course he intends for Bubba to kill you

> but Nubbins doesn’t pass the message along, because he’s Nubbins

> “Here Bubba! I made us a new friend!”

> you shyly greet him, but he’s an oddly calming presence

> let’s be honest you’ve gotta be okay with a lot fast to like the Sawyers

> so maybe you’re just in denial about the material

> but you tell him you like his mask- and you do

> he obviously worked really hard on getting the makeup just right- and it compliments his suit

> he stares at you a long while before taking your hand and giving you a grand tour

> well, more a tour of his favorite spots

> the chicken coup, a patch of wildflowers out back, and his room full of trinkets collected from victims

> you’re strangely enamored by this big, quiet man

> and you don’t get the sense you’re allowed to leave

> especially when Drayton comes home and goes on and on about witnesses

> but you didn’t really even have an end goal in mind on your road trip anyways

> and now you’ve got Bubba to protect you

> maybe it’s not so bad, stuck with those weirdos

[miyukisu]

Mega Masterlist .ᐟ ❤︎ | Temporary collection of all my works arranged by fandom (will organize it better once there's more content) - count : 31

Fandoms incl: Blue Lock, Bungo Stray Dogs, Jujutsu Kaisen, Haikyuu, Kaiju No. 8, Ace of Diamond, Obey Me, Wind Breaker, Tougen Anki, +

N/SFW content is marked with !!!

╰ kinktober '24 masterlist | doing trends masterlist | more to come... last updated: jan 27, 2025

HEADCANONS

Awaken, My Love - Multiple !!! ╰ Ever since you two got together, he discovered some of the things that he's actually really really into

NSFW Alphabet Karasu Tabito Edition !!!

NSFW Alphabet Sae Itoshi Edition !!!

DRABBLES

Kaiser picks off food on your plate sometimes - Michael Kaiser

Biting Karasu's Biceps - Karasu Tabito

ONE SHOTS

Take a Bite, Chew Me Up - Shidou Ryusei !!! ╰ making bets about aphrodisiacs working or not (2.7k wc)

A Trace of Body Paint - Shidou Ryusei !!! ╰ He's learning anatomy for his art class—you'll help him, right? (3.1k wc)

Between Me and You - Michael Kaiser !!! ╰ While your other friends are enjoying themselves on your little camping trip, you and Kaiser were secretly fucking around (3k wc)

On the Bridge - Karasu Tabito ╰ You and Karasu Tabito talk one morning on a long and winding bridge...

If You're Down, Boy - Karasu Tabito !!! ╰ Karasu thinks you've got quite a mouth on you—time for him to show you what he can do with his too and make you shut up (3k wc)

Breakfast in Bed - Sae Itoshi !!!╰ Trouble in paradise? Well, Sae has an early morning treat for you to fix that (2.5k wc)

ONE SHOTS

Need Your Lips On Mine - Dazai Osamu !!! ╰ You'd think he'd be more enthusiastic to get his hands on you because of the whole 'secret relationship' thing, but maybe it's time to turn the tables (2.3k wc)

ONE SHOTS

Better Bite the Bullet - Iwaizumi Hajime !!! ╰ He's just trying to be a good best friend by teaching you a useful skill in life... blowjobs (2k wc)

HEADCANONS

Doing Trends: Gym Encounters ╰ "Babe, what would you do if a girl approached you at the gym?"

ONE SHOTS

All Over Me - Toji Fushiguro !!! ╰ Amidst the cruelty of the world, he's your therapy

There Ain't No Man Like You - Toji Fushiguro !!! ╰ People normally talk it out when they have a feud with someone, but you two? You decide to bury the hatchet by showering together (2.2k wc)

Getting Hot in Here - Sukuna Ryomen !!! ╰ things get hot 'n' heavy in the sauna (1.3k wc)

Talk Like That - Hiromi Higuruma !!! ╰ Who would have thought that your quiet and stoic boss had such a dirty side to him? (2.7 wc)

Took Me For a Ride - Geto Suguru !!! ╰ It's raining pretty hard outside—good thing there are more ways than one when it comes to warming yourselves up... (1.6k wc)

ONE SHOTS

No Matter What - Umemiya Hajime ╰ If Umemiya Hajime promises you something—best believe he's keeping it (1.3k wc)

ONE SHOTS

On Camera - Narumi Gen !!! ╰ You just love teasing your best friend—even better now that he's frustrated and can only see you through a screen (2.1 wc)

I Might Bite - Hoshina Soshiro !!! ╰ Resorting to dirty measures like biting your superior during sparring usually doesn't end without you having a taste of your own medicine... (2.6k wc)

DRABBLES

Making Lucifer some Hell's Coffee... - Lucifer

HEADCANONS

Boyfriend Headcanons (Oni Agency Ver.) !!!

HEADCANONS

SFW Alphabet Miyuki Kazuya Edition

General Miyuki Headcanons (1)

DRABBLES

He doesn't realize it yet, but he's kinda clingy... - Miyuki Kazuya

Older Boyfriend Thoughts - 1 !!!

Older Boyfriend Thoughts - 2 !!!

When you buy a plushie of him...

Not-so-innocent shower time...

Phone Sex Drabble... !!!

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

[atlaswav]

ACE! ➷

INFO: 3246 words, oikawa x fem! reader, olympics au, timeskip SYNOPSIS: In the heat of the competition, you find more enemies in the Olympic dining hall, rivalling for the last infamous chocolate muffin, the social media sensation. WARNINGS: none. AUTHOR'S NOTE: i wrote this ages ago when the Olympics were still happening and just finished it so uh....... ANYWAY!!! this is my attempt at a crackfic because it makes sense. Writing quality and pacing may be off sorry BUT IT COUNTS RIGHT watch this flop because the haikyuu fandom is dead

There are few things left in this world that still hold unequivocal beauty. Few things can exist with such suffering and turmoil. Few things, too, could quell this hopelessness, and in sleepless nights, scrolling on your phone with blue light illuminating the room in eerie shadow, you’d come to see the legendary Olympic chocolate muffin as one of these beautiful things.

The night was quiet, and the dining hall was almost empty as you walked up to the dessert stand. 

There was one muffin left,  molten chocolate glowing under the warm lamplight, oozing with liquid bliss, illuminated in a halo of gold.

But where there is beauty, there is also ugliness. There was someone in the way of your pursuit of enlightenment. You could only dream of the bliss of sweet chocolate ganache dissolving on your tongue with angelic grace, only imagine the taste it would leave lingering in your mouth. But now – as womankind may always find – there was a man in your way.

“Excuse me.”

“Huh?”

As he turns around, your heart drops into your stomach. The giant of a man lays his hands on the muffin in front of you. All hope you had for humanity diminished in one touch. 

“...that was mine.” you mumble. 

The shuffling of sandals on the ground echoes through the empty dining hall. His gaze awkwardly flits between you and the muffin. 

“...Sorry? Finders keepers??” He replies in the same language – almost perfect English. He shrugs. A giant movement. He was taller than you’d have liked, towering over you as you attempted to argue for custody of the muffin.  It didn’t help that his dark brown eyes seemed to glint with challenge, and you felt yourself indignantly rise up to this unspoken provocation.

“What happened to chivalry?”

“Guess its dead, sweet heart.”

“You’re not even gonna attempt to be a gentleman?”

“You’re not ladylike, so I won’t be a gentleman.”

“So you’re admitting you’re a douche.”

“At least I’m a douche with a muffin.”

You sigh dejectedly. First, your first loss in the preliminary games – crushing, really, losing by two points – second, the massive specimen of a man standing in front of you with his hands on your consolation prize.

This was going to be your last straw.

Well, at least the asshole was handsome. The ‘Argentina’ scribed on his uniform, however, didn’t make sense. He looked Asian, and yet he spoke English fluently. He was confusing, but one thing you knew for sure was that all those guys on the Argentinian men’s team were jerks, based on the few of them that snickered at your team as you exited the stadium following your loss in the prelims. 

“Fuck you. I hope you lose your next match.”

“Oh–”

You storm away before he can get another word in.

This was your first encounter with Tōru Oikawa. Maybe an overreaction, but you really didn’t care.

The following day, your warmup is interrupted as the Argentinian men's team decide to enter your warmup stadium, raucous and impossible to miss. 

“Do they have the wrong court, or something?” your coach murmurs, tearing his attention away from the practice game. 

“Oh! It’s you!” a distinctive voice calls. 

You turn from your rally – a mistake – and see the handsome thief from the day before staring at you, carrying a sports bag, wearing a light blue jacket with a white stripe down the sleeve. So he was an Argentinian player. Why was he here, though?

“Wait! Ball!”

You turn back to your rally just in time to get hit in the face with a volleyball, nose aching, eyes bleary with tears, reality tilting on its axis as you fall on your hands.

“Hey! What are you guys doing here?” the coach yells, distinct through the cacophony.

“This is our court, isn’t it?” the thief says. His voice is smooth like honey – like a liar. 

“No, It’s ours until noon.” 

“Is it not a quarter to noon?” 

“Exactly, so get out. You’ve already injured one of my star players.” He swears in Japanese, and you hear the thief snicker, saying something back. Is he Japanese?

You don’t know what happens next, except being hoisted up, braced on someone’s arms and being sat on a bench. Someone hands you a tissue for your watering eyes, and you feel a biting cold on your nose, wincing as someone gives you an ice pack to hold to your face. 

“I always hated those Argentinian volleyball players. So cocky.” your teammate says. 

“Their captain is a handful. I wouldn’t want that bastard on the Japanese team either.” your coach echoes. 

So he was their captain. And Japanese. And an asshole.

How dare he? 

This is how you, in your head, earn the right to one of Oikawa’s apologies – how you find him in the cafeteria once again, nose lightly bandaged, lined up for dinner, and are intent on getting a “sorry” from his perpetually smiling lips. 

“Oh, you.”

His lips twitch into a half grimace, half smile. “Me.”

“Are you going to apologise?”

“I – for what?”

“Are you being stupid, or an asshole right now?”

“Neither. I don’t see what I need to apologise for.”

You mutter something under your breath about “Stupid, hot Argentinian volleyball players.” 

“What was that?”

“Move up. You’re holding up the line.”

He shuffles forward, but turns around again to continue your exchange. “It’s not my fault you were too slow.”

“Which incident are you talking about? The muffin, or today?”

“The muffin, obviously. What, like it's my fault you lost concentration?”

“Mother–”

“Hey, can you guys quit arguing and move along? You’re holding everyone up.”

You both shut up and collect your dinner, parting with scalding glances toward each other. 

“...you okay?”

“Does it look like it?”

“Is it that Argentinian captain again?”

You groan, stabbing your lukewarm mashed potatoes with your spoon. “I hate him.”

Your teammate casts you a sidelong glance. “Okay, whatever you say.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Your third encounter with the Argentinian captain is when you file into the stadium, teeming with people decked out in red and white, to watch a preliminary game of the Japanese men’s team – your competing country. You’d been scouted for their women's team, but you were never able to witness the men’s team in action, only heard about their strengths. 

“What the hell?” 

You turn, and behind you is Oikawa. He wears a cap with a sports logo on it, and sunglasses that are almost comically large. You find it within yourself to resist a howling laugh. 

“What? Why are you here?” you ask – slightly too loudly, as people cast their attention toward you. He shrinks down in his seat in embarrassment. 

“I’m scouting the enemy, of course. What, are you stalking me or something?” he mumbles, glaring at you past the rims of his sunglasses. 

You scoff. “Of course not. I’m watching my country play, obviously.”

“Really? You’re Japanese?”

“I’m a citizen. Aren’t you?”

He crosses his arms, huffing. “And I thought I’d tanned when I was in Brazil.”

You scoff at his childishness. “Brazil? Why aren’t you playing for Japan?”

“I need to crush them.”

You let out a barking laugh at his antics. “Really? You have vendettas that need fulfilling?”

“Don’t laugh, you’re drawing attention.” he sighs, leaning forward as if passing on some great generational secret. “But yes. I do.”

“I can’t begin to imagine who could ever be your enemy.”

“Well I sure can.”

This man has to be a social experiment. “That was sarcasm, captain.”

He pouts, and you turn straight ahead for the national anthems to play and the first serve. 

The first server is the Japanese setter, Kageyama. The stadium’s volume seems to drop slightly as he prepares to serve, making the impact of the ball with his hand even louder than it would’ve been. The ball hits the other team with frightening speed, ricocheting from their libero’s arms into the spectator’s stands. 

The Japanese supporters begin to cheer, and you applaud with them, before you hear a scoff from behind you. 

“What, is he one of the guys you need revenge on, or something?”

He turns away, but you see his pout. 

You laugh. “Afraid he’s better than you?”

“Of course not. I’m better.”

“Hey, you know what, why don’t we switch seats?” Oikawa’s teammate suggests from beside him. The captain looks completely betrayed at his teammate’s suggestion, but he can’t rebuke before the teammate gets up, crossing the stands. 

You decide it’d be fun to mess with him, so you comply. 

But you don’t forget that he owes you an apology. Two. You’re not growing fond of him, either. 

The crowd erupts into cheers as Japan scores another point, and you applaud with them, but Oikawa only sinks further into his seat – now beside you – narrowing his eyes and lowering his sunglasses on his nose, only to glare at the court. 

“What?”

“I hate that guy.”

“Who?”

“The one who just scored.”

“...Ushijima? Why?” 

“I hate him.”

“...sure you do. Should I ask who else you hate, or will we be here all day?”

He ends up listing every wrong Ushijima had done to him since middle school, going on an angry rant about how he failed to bring his high school team to victory because of Kageyama. You can see his inferiority complex showing by the end of this. By the end, the game had reached the second set that Japan was also about to win. 

“...Okay, wow, a lot to process.”

“So yes, I have a vendetta. Thought you should know.”

“That was a really big dump on some stranger you haven’t even known for a week.”

“You asked.”

“No, not really.”

He rolls his eyes, and you both go back to watching the game. What you don’t realise is that he’s smiling. 

And despite himself, he is clutching the edge of his seat as Japan gets to the game point in the third set, locked in a deuce with their opponents. The score climbs higher and higher, neither team willing to let up. 

“Oh my God, I’m going to throw up.” you groan, watching the next server prepare. 

“Want a throwup bag?”

“You look like you could use one too.”

“I’m not nervous, unlike you.”

“I can see the sweat on your shorts. You’re not subtle when you wipe your hands on them.”

“Damn you–”

“Shut up, they just served.”

Maybe it's the adrenaline running high from the match, or from the ceaseless energy of the spectators, but you both nearly cry in relief when Japan finally pulls away from the deuce, securing the game. Despite his grudge for the entire Japanese team, it seems, he pulls you into a side embrace as you both cheer. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be ‘scouting the enemy’?” you say through laughter. 

“I am. This is all a disguise.”

You roll your eyes, but as you begin to file out of the stadium with the rest of the stadium, he decides to linger, signalling to a man on the Japanese team – tall, muscular, handsome, spiky brown hair.

“Really? Leaving just like that?”

“I have a friend on that team.”

“You?” 

“Shut up.”

You shrug, smiling as you turn to leave. “Bye then, muffin thief.”

“That’s Toru Oikawa, to you.” 

“Muffin thief,” you call over your shoulder as you disappear into the crowd. 

“Oikawa.” 

“Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s eye twitches, but he grins nonetheless, pulling Oikawa into a hug. “Was that your girlfriend?”

“What? Huh? Really? Is that the first question you ask me after so many years?”

“Nah, she probably isn’t. She’s too pretty for you.”

“Mean.”

But nothing had changed, and he was grateful. 

It’s only late into the night with the fan whirring beside his bed that he can’t help but think about the prospect of you as his girlfriend. He was truly delusional. Especially since he somehow reached the conclusion that he wouldn’t mind it if you just so happened to fall to his charms and confess his love. He’d expect that much, at least.

You barely remember your fourth encounter, but it’s during your final game of the preliminary matches – the one that you have to win, else be cut from the competition. 

You could think of no moment more stressful than serving at a time when you were at game point for the fifth time, and your opponents were creeping up behind you, waiting to snatch the game from you with one mistake. 

It was deafening, the way the spectators roared as you prepared to serve. 

You wished they’d all go quiet. 

The whistle blew, and you let your serve fly, watching as it barely skimmed the net, landing in their court just short of the metre line. 

Your teammates cheer, patting you on the back, but you don’t hear them. 

This is when your coach calls a time out. 

You stand to the side, breathing deeply, the air thick with noise and sweat and air so hot it becomes suffocating around your skin. 

Distantly, the buzzer sounds for the end of time out, and you return to the service line, drowning your thoughts in the noise. 

“Don’t lose concentration!” you hear from the stands behind you. Despite it all, you turn around, searching for the heckler. 

Oikawa sits in the row closest to the front, having lost the cap and sunglasses, waving his arms like a madman. 

“What the fuck,” you mumble to yourself. 

“Look closely!”

“I’m losing concentration because of you, you absolute –”

Then the whistle blows for you to serve, and you abruptly turn back to the game, the insult dying on your tongue. 

What did he mean by ‘pay attention’? He’d just broken the laser focus you were in, and now you didn’t know where you were going to serve. 

Except, there was a massive hole in the opponent’s defence. 

They were now accustomed to your short serves that just landed within the metre line. 

You make a mental note to thank Oikawa if your serve went in, and slam your serve so hard that their defence has no time to register the change. 

Your serve lands on the line, nearly out of bounds. 

Your team sighs in relief, finally pulling ahead of the deuce, securing the match. 

“Japan takes the win! That’s their star player for you, landing service aces all across the court!”

“I told you!” you hear from behind again. 

You turn around, meeting his eyes. 

His smile is endearing. Dimples, and his nose slightly scrunched. It’s contagious. 

You smile back, waving, then become crushed underneath the weight of your team as they jump onto you, screaming and laughing and crying. 

He helped you make it to the finals, and somehow, it was better than an apology. 

The fifth time you meet – and one of the last – you’re, once again, in the cafeteria, craving molten bliss in the form of one of those chocolate muffins. You hope the Gods have heard your prayers, and that there would still be some left, even at this late hour. 

“Oh, you’re here?”

“Yeah, why are you?”

“Is that the first thing you wanna say to me?”

“...yes, why would it be any other way?”

He smiles, rubbing the back of his head. Averting your eyes. “Muffin?”

“Huh?”

“This was the last one.”

“Are you okay?”

“What?”

“What have you done with Oikawa? This isn’t the whiny, vengeful guy I know.”

“And you’ve known me for, what, a week?”

You shrug, snatching the muffin from his hands before he changes his mind. “Thanks.”

He sighs. Sits down at one of the tables. You follow suit. 

“So, why Argentina?”

“Really?”

“What? It’s awkward with silence.”

“...I looked up to Jose Blanco.”

“That’s surprisingly sweet.”

“Hey, I can be sweet.”

“I wasn’t talking about you, I was talking about the muffin.”

“..Oh.”

“Sorry. You’re alright too, I guess.”

He pouts, but you can’t care less as you bite into the muffin, savouring the chocolate as it melts onto your tongue. 

“Thanks, by the way.”

“Huh?”

“For today. Game point.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Shut up and take my thanks.”

“Alright, fine, fine.” He tilts his head, watching you with his sharp eyes. “You didn’t need my help though. You were good enough on your own.”

“Thanks.”

Quiet lapses in the empty dining hall as you sit, the rows and rows of chairs and tables almost eerie in the dark. 

“Well, I’m going to bed. Too tired after today.”

“Rest up, you deserve it.”

“Seriously, you need to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“This niceness. It’s off putting.”

“I can be nice.”

“No, you can’t. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Fine, I won’t.”

“...right. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

The night carries a chill in it, a cold bliss as the breeze brushes against your skin. Nostalgic, with the moonlight’s glow. 

Oikawa regretted many things. Many of those included not working hard enough, not being fast enough, not being strong enough, but that night, he regretted his cowardice. 

The sixth and final time you meet is after his finals game. You barely see each other after your late night encounter at the dining hall, and you’re both too busy with training now that you’d both qualified. After being knocked out of the competition in the running for second place and barely winning your third place match, your team is exhausted, and your spirits are still high. 

The air of the Olympic village is thick with lethargy and simultaneously the buzz of relief and excitement, cheering echoing across courtyards and buildings. You mill about the front entrance, watching people come and go, waiting for him. You don’t know why, but you feel obligated to congratulate him, your heart still spiralling with the spirit of the stadium. 

You vividly recall his plays, the way he moved as if the world made space for him, the efficacy of his movements and the focus in his eyes that had Japan by the neck. 

“Oh, it’s you.”

“It’s me.”

“Did you watch my game?”

“I did. Congrats.”

He smiles, and your heart melts a little. “Thanks.”

You smile back, and quiet fills the space between you once again. 

“Are you staying in Japan for a bit after the games?”

“I’m planning to.”

“That’s good.”

“Are you? I mean, you live here, but–yeah. We should play together”

“What?”

“I could set for you?”

You burst out laughing, hunching over, and don’t see as Oikawa's face flushes profusely. 

“Sure. I’d love to see you try to pick up one of my serves too.”

“Wanna bet? I could easily pick up every one of your serves.”

“Sure, pretty boy.”

“No aces, you owe me another muffin.”

“Huh? How does that work?”

“Figure it out, loser.”

You indignantly narrow your eyes, crossing your arms. “And if I do score an ace on you?”

“You get a muffin.” 

You roll your eyes at his childlike antics. “Sure. Just make sure you’re ready to go bankrupt.”

You wake the next morning to your team manager banging on your door, slamming it open, and shoving her phone in your face. You blink blearily, abruptly pulled from senseless dreams and the warmth of sleep to a grainy photo of the unmistakable tall, broad shouldered figure of Oikawa, and you beside him, laughing together. 

“Care to explain? Why are there dating rumours? What do you think you’re doing?”

You grumble, turning over. For now, you’d relish in your dreams of a certain volleyball player and glorious chocolate muffins. 

written by @atlaswav , published 28th of January 2025

[xxsycamore]

2024 WRITING SUMMARY!

Thank you for your love and support! I had an amazing writing year once again, and it wouldn't have been the same without you! ❤

First of all, here's the year in banners collage! Check last year's one here. I really like looking at all of them put together! 🥺

Total Word Count: 106,847

total works: 111

of which drabbles/headcanons: 80 (72%) of which requested: 77 (69%) of which nsft: 31 (28%) of which featuring Napoleon: 19 (17%) of which ikevamp: 30 (27%) of which ikepri: 27 (24%) of which ikevil: 18 (16%)

total characters written: 62

of which first-time: 13

new fandoms: 0

challenges hosted: 3

extra (nsft under the cut):

places where characters had sex: bed, bed, bed, beach chair, bathtub, floor, kitchen of an abandoned base of a criminal group, beach, car, icecream booth, porn set, toilet stall, bedroom chair, bed, opera house, bed, bed, bed, laboratory, bed, bed, secluded corner at a party, garden, balcony, secluded corner at a party, throne, in the air, hedge maze, floor, secluded corner at a party, bathtub, balcony, desk

And finally...

One sentence (or more) from each work (sans ficlets/headcanons) of 2024! (be warned: some of those are from NSFW fics!)

I decided to leave out the titles, but don’t hesitate to ask if any caught your attention and you want to check out the whole thing! <3

Still pouting because he's unfairly knightly as if he wasn't being a big tease just a second ago, you sink deeper into the soft embrace of the duvet, losing the inner fight too soon and letting yourself be pampered.

Scien makes a small sound of approval, a quiet purr almost, the barely visible bulge of his tongue moving from one side of his mouth to the other all but telling of how he savors the piece of chocolate.

"What are you sounding so scared for?? Are you planning to turn down my proposal? Napoleon? Napoleon???"

"I'm joking, sorry. The others said I should joke more often... something about being able to keep a straight face."

"Pancakes again? I'm starting to get tired of this. You got something else for me, Sebastian?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm your little bunny in heat. I'm beginning you to finally, finally take me."

"In case what? In case you take it a little too far in role-playing? In case you go down on me and the words mon empereur leave your lips?"

"Maybe I just ate something funny at lunch? You know how it is with Sebas and his fusion cuisine, always trying to live up to everyone's taste, haha…"

It's another beautiful day of your life in 19th century Paris, in the neat little mansion up the hill that you call home, just you and your lover and your 8 housemates who are reincarnated vampires and your sugar daddy landlord whose wealth you all live off of.

"I think you're okay, Nunuche. You can be dressed in more skimpy things around me, you know? Or you can discard them altogether if that's more comfortable for you. It's not like I haven't- Ouch!"

Your plea falls on deaf ears for the duration of the task, but the Jin Grandet you know won't just ignore an undressing request like that.

Your new tactic is silence, and it never works on him, but you're prone to making the same mistakes again and again and he likes that about you.

A show like that is best watched with a glass in hand, as much as he hates sounding like a certain information broker with a penchant for hedonism. 

At least it's not doves taking flight or anything else alive, but that doesn't make the contents of his inner pockets less bewildering as he takes the items out on the counter one by one.

After spending a good time admiring the tan line left by a thin strap and how it sealed their memory, seriously rivaling his awfully temporary in comparison lovemarks, he is no longer holding a grudge against non-nudity.

He places his hands on the steering wheel to get a better feeling of it, marine blue eyes sparkling with the wonder of a child receiving a shiny new toy on Christmas morning.

The sounds of the crowd outside are a backdrop to Ellis' soft whispers, a sharp contrast between the intimacy and the reminder of where you are. 

The last thought lingering in your mind before you orgasm is that there simply can't be any co-star of his that has ever had to fake this.

Your gaze moves from Liam's pretty lips curling in a small laughter as he conversates with Harrison, to Harrison stretching out while he listens; to Elbert's tall frame as he looks out the window next to them, to Alfons staring at him, putting one leg over the other as he stirs the steamy liquid in his cup.

Without your favorite attic slash club room, you have to make do with your…what, super comfy bed covered with many pillows and the plushies he bought you? Seems like a bargain.

No, you should be thankful for having been given this chance at all - to Elbert for agreeing, and mostly to Alfons, who put the wicked plan together.

It's like diving into the unknown; both for you and for him, almost in a manner that is special to you, to have another first together, to share the feeling of this discovery. 

"I swear, this has nothing to do with you, Harry. I too like to drink strawberry milk sometimes, okay? It's as simple as that! I wanted to drink some so I got myself some. It was my strawberry milk. It wasn't strawberry milk I left for you because I'm too shy to tell you I got you a gift! Jeez!"

The weapon entrusted to you - now that you recognize the pillow as such - has to act as a shield first, as you barely react fast enough to block an upcoming attack from your eccentric boyfriend.

A sense of belonging overcomes you, strongly, as if you can make Napoleon melt into your chest if you hold him like that just a little longer.

It's even more obscene when Roger smooths down your dress, letting it conceal the sight, before giving your ass a little pat.

Yet there it is, standing in your peripheral vision; the wooden cradle he presented you with tonight, just a couple of days after you first mentioned the peculiar piece of furniture.

"Their feet will be… about thiiis small," you lift your hand in the air just enough for Luke to see the measurement you draw using your thumb and index finger.

But knowing Victor and his penchant for dramatizing things, it's no wonder why you're readily brushing it off as nothing now, as you make your way into the dimly-lit ballroom.

More than for his country, it's dulcet et decorum to live for MC - in the same way that more than the bunch of rowdy residents downstairs', it's important to ensure MC's good time. So here he is.

[exocynraku]

13 + warrior cats for the ask game!!

13: worst blorbofication not sure if this question is asking for the worst of the fandoms blorbofication or MY worst blorboficaiton but i'm going to go with mine and its . brokenstar . hes one of the Worst-er villains in the series imo because of his whole sending children to war thing but there's something about that and his whole character thats just so interesting to me you don't know who your mom is, your adopted mom doesn't really care about you, your dad is part kittypet which means you are as well which is supposedly 'bad'. you are labelled as 'broken' even as a child. your siblings, who potentially could've been the two to save you from your future fate are dead, killed as a punishment from starclan. starclan killed them. starclan must want you dead aswell. you spend your entire childhood. you want to prove yourself to starclan, you want to prove yourself to your mysterious mother, and so you want to be strong. you want to be as strong as possible, and work your way up the ranks-- but your mentor is too 'weak' and 'pathetic' to train you, so you go to your father, the only cat you have now for training instead. your father becomes leader, with the weak little white cat as deputy. he dies, and then it's the flirty fox's turn, the one distracting your father. distracting him from training you. she dies, and then finally, it's your turn. but this isn't what you want. you want to lead, you don't want to be led. and how long it is going to take for your father to die? and what do you owe to him, why should you serve him like a pet at all? he may have trained you, but it's the least he could've done. he didn't take care of you when you were a kitten or tell you about your mother or anything like that! so you kill him, because YOU want to be the strongest and now you are. you have so, so much power. and you see starclan. you see the ones who wanted you dead, suddenly congratulating you for what you've done. and it feels good. you've proven yourself to them. though, something's happening. new kits are being born. they're playing in camp, smiling and giggling. you never did that. when was the last time you smiled? their mothers love them. yours never did. if you were never allowed to be happy, then why should they? so you train them, and maybe there's a few.... casualties... along a the way, but now they're just as strong as you are! and the weak, the old decrepit weak, just like your old mentor. why should they stay here? they never did anything for you, just as your mentor did. so you exile them. and now you are even stronger. though, there's someone getting in the way. the medicine cat. who you look... oddly similar to. but that doesn't matter. you pin a murder on her, and have her exiled. and now all of your problems are fine, yes? for a little bit, maybe, but then you go and try to attack thunderclan, and-- oh. it's that medicine cat you exiled. your surprise holds you back, allowing her the chance to, in one swipe, strip everything and anything away from you. it's quiet now. a dreary old den you lay in, guarded by cats you've never met. the wretched smell of thunderclan coats your nose. the medicine cats comes and sits with you. she feeds you something, they don't taste very good. you start to feel weaker. this isn't what you want. you want to be strong. you start to go numb, feel smaller than you were. but this isn't what you want. none of this is what you want. why can't you just what what you want? your life is being stripped from you. that's not how this was supposed to be. you were supposed to be leader, forever. leader, forever? that's a childs fantasy.

[rin-fukuroi]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤. 𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 [𝐃𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐧𝐠]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Honkai: Star Rail

Pairings: Dan Heng x fem!reader

Warnings: school AU, just fluff.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. Eve - 遊生夢死

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

I usually don't like to write smth like this, but I made an exception by writing this work once as a bday present for my dear friend. I still think I'm not very good at feeling this character, but I hope it's not too noticeable XD

You remember exactly when it started. You remember perfectly well when your life became so unstable and restless, but happy and saturated, as if filled with bright colors for the first time.

One look. Two words that planted a feeling in your chest that could be awakened by a man who barely decided to take the first step, which he will never regret.

✧ ✧ ✧

Thoughtlessly tracing the margins in your notebook with a pencil, you get bored, yawning quietly at the last desk in the middle row. The office is filled with the tired voice of the teacher and the quiet whisper of your classmates, who can't wait to go home. Raindrops patter softly on the windows, making you even more sleepy.

Today is your birthday. How ironic that it was on this day that the sky cried from the moment you stepped outside the school.

At least you'll be able to come home soon and get some sleep.

Your gaze lazily rose to the gray clouds. For some reason, no one around seemed to care about writing a synopsis or the raging elements outside the window. This day could have been much more intense if you had friends, right? Perhaps so. But you've always been comfortable being alone. Being alone also has its charms. You are always focused on your own thoughts, not filling your head with unnecessary meaningless chatter. Yes, from the outside, friendly communication really looked quite fun, but is it really necessary if now it seems to you that everything is in its place?

You sigh softly, about to return to your notes, when your gaze catches on another bored figure by the window. Exactly. There was always someone in the class who seemed like a kind of kindred spirit to you. For sure, Dan Heng thought about his life the same way you did. You've never seen him smiling cheerfully in the company of classmates. His gaze is just as extinguished, directed at the gloomy sky. Funny… You didn't pay much attention to him, but whenever this guy came into your field of vision, he looked like your reflection.

Although you can't even remember what his voice sounds like.

This does not mean that you never had the desire to talk to him, but you often found him reading another book or leaving school alone with headphones on. Perhaps these are just excuses for your self-doubt, but you sincerely believed that your company would be superfluous for him. Dan Heng always looks so cold, detached, but he doesn't seem to be bothered by the lack of any connection with society.

Just like you.

Hmm… if you think about it, he could have been quite popular with girls if he had been more sociable. His hair always looks so well groomed. Slightly curly short black strands gently shimmer even in the dim sunlight, barely breaking through dense clouds, contrasting against the background of bright turquoise eyes. Aristocratically pale skin and pleasant facial features. Yes, Dan Heng can definitely be called handsome. Maybe he's even your type.

Although, how do you know what your taste in guys is, because you've never fallen in love.

But when those expressive sea-green eyes meet yours, for some reason my heart feels so restless in my chest. Is it out of fear that you seem to have been staring at Dan Heng for a while so obviously that you even managed to get his attention? Yes, but… it was like there was something else.

You look away, burying your face even more in the palm of your hand propping up your head, turning back to your notebook. It was probably the first time you made eye contact with him. What is this feeling? Somehow… It's restless.

You flinch when you finally hear the loud sound of a life-saving bell, knocking you out of your embarrassing thoughts. It must have been so long since you talked to anyone but your parents that even such a small thing could throw you into confusion.

You hurriedly gather your things from the table, scooping them into a bag before heading for the exit, following the crowd that has already managed to run out into the corridor, when a strange hand of the man behind lands on your desk, enclosing you between his body and a chair.

«Wh-what?..»

You turn around uncertainly, facing the chest of a guy with an indifferent expression on his face. The fright on your face is gradually replaced by complete puzzlement.

— D-Dan Heng? Something happened? — has your voice always sounded so quiet or just this time?

— Did you bring an umbrella today?

— Huh? An umbrella? — your eyes widen with even more shock when two things put you in a stupor at once. This is a Tribute to Heng. He's talking to you right now. And asks… About the umbrella?! You're hardly sure you've ever heard his voice, but what he said now seems absolutely absurd.

— It's raining outside. I saw you looking out the window and thought you might not have brought an umbrella.

— Oh, that's right… Um… — you're nervously going over all the memories in your head up to the moment you left the house. And really…

Your thoughtful look, replaced by confusion, said more to Dan Heng than your tongue was able to utter now.

— We live not far from each other. I spend.

✧ ✧ ✧

«What's going on?!»

You awkwardly huddle with a silent classmate under an umbrella as you walk steadily in complete silence to the sound of raindrops hitting the asphalt. There are so many questions in your head that you would like to ask, but for some reason the words get stuck deep in your throat. How the hell does he know where you live? Why did I come up to you with such a strange offer in the first place? Why today?

There must have been some truth in the rumors that Dan Heng was a strange guy who didn't walk around the classroom quietly enough.

You give the guy short glances, having time to notice how calm he looks in such a situation. The same as always. You also notice how his shoulder gets wet from the incessant rain while he holds an umbrella over your figure, which is moving further away from him.

How embarrassing is this… You are gradually approaching Dan Heng, feeling the heat tingle your cheeks even under the cool breeze. It's just to avoid feeling guilty. No more than that.

The longer the silence hung over you, the more clearly your heart was throbbing somewhere in your ears, making you even more nervous. Are you so uncomfortable just because it's practically a stranger to you, or is it because it's Dan Heng?

Your eyes light up when the fence of your house is visible on the horizon. You can finally get through this stress alone.

— Um… we're here.

You both stop, and a short sigh leaves Dan Heng's chest, giving you an unreadable look from top to bottom. You've never thought about how much taller he is than you, but now it seemed like you were nothing more than a scared kitten cowering at his feet.

— Yes. Then… Till tomorrow.

Dan Heng's lips pursed up, and his gaze was blunted somewhere in the asphalt under his feet, which made you relax a little. Ah… he's probably embarrassed too, because you really look alike. It is unlikely that Dan Heng is used to communicating with anyone. He gives the impression of a man who voluntarily chose solitude, but for some reason he exudes sadness, the nature of which you cannot understand. You wanted to ask why he decided to accompany you, why today… But you just nod, grabbing the strap of your bag, hurriedly running to the door.

— Y/N!

For some reason, you were almost sure that this was not the end. Exactly… It wasn't sadness.

You turn around, meeting Dan Heng's furrowed brows, flushed cheeks and sparkling turquoise eyes as he tightens his grip on the umbrella in his hand, looking at you, seeming to carefully consider what he wants to say.

— Happy birthday…

— Huh? — it seemed to you that your heart turned over in your chest, pausing for those few moments that felt like an eternity while you stared into Dan Heng's deep eyes. In these quiet waves, which shimmer with soft ripples in his eyes, you can read tenderness, awe, which creep through your body with a tremor that you have never felt before. Your stomach is cramping with an unpleasant, but such a warm feeling that makes you even more nervous. It's all like a fever attack that will kill you if you don't hide behind your door right now.

You open your lips, whispering your answer, which probably only the rain hitting the roof of your house has heard.

— Thank you…

But Dan Heng heard you. That's probably why he hurried to turn around and head home as soon as possible, in order to hide the way the corners of his lips lifted in a soft smile under a wet umbrella.

[asgardianhobbit98]

Four for Valentine: Week 2 "The Letter"

Fandom: The Hobbit

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield / Reader

Characters: Dwalin, Thorin, Gender Neutral Reader

Important Tags: written from Dwalin's POV, romance, angst, death, alcohol consumption, grief, love, redemption, healing

Words: 1146

Summary: When Dwalin attempts to heal his grief after the Battle of Five Armies, his finds himself not just grieving Thorin but also his sibling. But in the depth of night, ghosts come to life, and Dwalin finds that the letters are more healing than he originally thought. (I really meant for this to be fluffy but then my brain made it bittersweet instead because apparently angst is all I can manage today)

Written for my "Four for Valentine" event 🩷

My dearest y/n.

They are calling it the Battle of Five Armies: a Historic event, it seems. I certainly won’t be forgetting it. And I will make damned sure no Dwarf ever forgets it either. Just like I am making sure that no Dwarf ever forgets Smaug’s taking of the Lonely Mountain. Two points of important Dwarven history… and two moments in my life I would rather forget than remember. But it is crucial I don’t forget. If people remember it feels like people also remember you. Both of you.

My brother said writing down feelings is better than cutting down Orc filth. I still disagree. But I can’t deny that it helped me greatly when I lost you. It will certainly help me greatly now that I have lost him.

I loved you. You were my sibling, how could I not? But even if you had not been my family, I think the two of us would have gotten along well. You were funny in a way I didn’t really get, but which others seemed to find endearing. Thorin certainly found it endearing. More than he dared admit.

You see, I found a letter of his in his belongings. I didn’t mean to rummage through his things. It fell out when I was moving it. So don’t come yelling at me from the rocks now! And I only read it because it was addressed to you.

I hadn’t read your name in so very long. Maybe it was the already present grief, but I suddenly grieved you once more. I had to. Because when I read his letter to you, I saw the life you could have had if I had just been quicker in getting to you. That damned dragon!

He is dead now. Smaug. Revenge didn’t taste as sweet as I thought.

You would have had a life with Thorin. I know it. Because he wrote so. He loved you. Dwarves only love once. He was more devastated than he admitted to any of us. I knew he slipped away from us for a long time after the fall of Erebor. I knew he grew quiet. Distant. I never in a million years thought it was because of you too. I thought his family, his people… And here I was grieving you in front of him, burdening him with my own shite.

Yet, he never once said a word. He simply supported me.

He loved you.

You could have been his. He could have been yours.

Maybe this is for the better after all. If you had been here, you would have had to grieve him. The loss of Thorin is one I do not know how to handle.

I wish you were here to help me.

Perhaps the two of you are there in the afterlife, living among the rocks of Erebor, reunited at last.

Stupid.

Dwalin put the pen down and crumpled the letter in his hands with a little more force than necessary. He threw it aside where he watched it land among all the other attempts. Alone in a room in Erebor, finally home, Dwalin thought he might find some solace in a successful quest. But everything felt wrong.

With a sigh, he moved over to his bed and simply… drank himself to sleep, like he usually did. It helped with the nightmares, it helped with the grief, and it put him right to sleep. It was a win win, really.

Balin hated watching him do it, but Balin wasn’t around at the moment. He was on his way to Moria to continue furthering their people’s wealth; to try and retake the mountain. Meanwhile, Dwalin was still stuck in the past, in his grief… doing nothing with his life… or so he thought, at least.

…

As the darkness engulfed him, a restless sleep devouring Dwalin, he found that the alcohol actually did very little to help him. Rather than steering him onto a path of just dark, dreamless sleep, Dwalin found himself suddenly standing in his room.

Actually, that wasn’t the best description on where Dwalin found himself. He was in his room, yes, but he was sort of… standing by his bed, watching himself sleep.

It was a weird position to be in, and for a long time, Dwalin did nothing but stare at himself.

Had he died?

Was this the afterlife?

But no, he was breathing… Snoring, actually. It was a rather pitiful sight.

There was a strange humming in the background. As if someone was singing, but it wasn’t one person. It was a vibration so loud it sounded like a thousand people humming. It was peaceful, almost recognizable. As if Dwalin had always heard it in the background whilst walking in the mountain, or out and about.

But he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

The humming was interrupted by a little shuffle in the room behind him. He turned, finding it rather difficult and slow to do so, and watched…

You.

And Thorin.

Both of you looked ten times better than you’d ever done alive, warm peaceful looks on your faces at all times. The two of you were picking up Dwalin’s attempts at writing a letter to you, reading them with your heads held together, arms locked in a loving touch…

“Y/N?” Dwalin asked, staring at his sibling with pure… shock. And Thorin, his king… “Thorin?”

Both of you looked up at him. But it was you who answered Dwalin: “I like your letters. They make me happy.”

Dwalin must have looked quite dumb as he simply stared in shock, because suddenly you began to chuckle. That chuckle… He’d missed it.

“My dear Dwalin,” Thorin said, “you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Both of you chuckled a bit at this.

“You both are…”

“Dead,” you finished for him. “Yes, quite. But that doesn’t mean we’ve left you.”

Thorin nodded along. “We’re always with you. In the rocks that make up your home. In your memories. And we’ll be waiting. Until you’re ready.”

You smiled. Thorin smiled.

…

And far too soon did that ‘dream’ end because suddenly Dwalin woke up with a start in his bed, looking around the room, searching…

He pushed away the bottle of alcohol. His heart lighter, and went back over to the crumpled up drafts of a letter.

Okay… he thought to himself… I’ll keep writing if it makes you two so damn happy.

Chuckling for the first time in a long, long time, he wrote at least twenty long letters in the candlelight, telling the both of you everything that he wanted to. Because he missed you both, and he loved you. And if you two really did read his letters, then he was going to keep at it until he was sure you both knew just how much you meant to him.

tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @nowandthane if you'd like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know!

reblog and comment = love and support 🥰

[le-monchou]

what once was, now is || k project

anna struggles to fill mikoto's shoes. yata and kusanagi attempt to help out. || word count: 251 words || hello gays and guys and others, im back in this hole after 8 years, i hope you like my writing. find my cringy mikoto suoh fic titled tasukete ageru on quotev and tell me it sucks lmao i wrote that in 2019 and then rewrote it in 2021.

the city outside is too vibrant for anna's tastes, but the bar inside is far too quiet for her. not right now, when mikoto's loss is still fresh and bleeding, despite the crown firmly affixed on her head. and maybe this is how mikoto felt when he was eighteen and unsure, and despite having izumo and tatara, he stood alone.

anna doesn't like the feeling of being alone. the sound of footsteps behind her makes her turn around to find yata waiting patiently, and for once, his voice is quiet. gentle, like she was seven and terrified of everyone who wasn't red like they were. "dinner time, anna."

she knows what she has to do, but her feet refuse to move, firmly affixed to the cement of the terrace, and somehow far below her, a car honks. the world continues on without the people who were her whole world. "i can't move." she whispers. "the red is too strong."

"and we're here. we'll help keep you safe." misaki responds, and somehow, anna's heart breaks further, because how have they been dealing with their youngest succeeding mikoto? how could she have been so selfish? "and you can take your time, anna. mikoto-san's right there behind you, and we're behind the both of you."

through tears resting heavily on her lashes, anna sees misaki's red shine bright for the frst time in a long time, and she sniffles as her feet finally move, and suddenly, the bar doesn't seem far too quiet anymore.

massive thanks to @kresurrectionfest for organising something like this!! im rewriting all my drafts to keep this fandom going little by little haha

[edanfig]

I will be the first to say that the Grishaverse has its flaws. There are many problems with it but my main criticism is with the fandom. Especially the ones on booktok/bookstagram that always are like “my least favorites trope is when the fem!mc loses her powers in the end” and I look in the comments and see people saying “Omg like Alina”.

It doesn’t make any sense to me, I feel like I’ve seen that trope in less than 5 books, but maybe I’m wrong. However, Alina losing her power totally makes sense in the book. She doesn’t even want the power, her whole thought process is “means justify the end”. She says multiple times after the first few chapters in the Little Palace that she doesn’t like being a Grisha. It wasn’t healthy for her and she wasn’t thriving; hell, the people there didn’t even like her. Alina gathered all the power from the amplifiers to take down the Darkling, and it was said multiple times by her mentors that the power she was gaining was unnatural.

Her gathering of the amplifiers was breaking the natural order of things and creating rifts that we later see in KoS/RoW. Alina’s powers wiping themselves out after she strained herself and fixing the problem that was breaking the natural order makes so much sense. Her powers getting rid of themselves was restoring the world to what it was supposed to be.

Also people act like Alina was upset that she lost her power, and while I think she mourned the power she’d gained in that time, she wasn’t too sad. She enjoyed it because she could live a peaceful life with Mal, doing what she wanted, free from the constraints and stress from politics and dealing with life and death.

Certain people were just completely making things up about how Alina was feeling, forgetting she was a child who liked the idea of being a Grisha. After she got a taste of what it was like, and the stress (mental and physical) that came with it, she hated it. She hated when she became a saint because people were treating her like a thing not a person. Alina did everything she did to do what was right and when she was done went to the peaceful life she craved with Mal. And for some reason people interpret this as “Leigh didn’t want Alina to be happy” when you can clearly see she’s happier living a quiet life.

[cycat-carisi]

Commitment

Pairing: Trevor x Nicky (1x06 Pete's Wife)

Summary/A/N: In 2x22 (The Heir) Trevor mentioned that he almost moved in with a woman, but that she wanted him to commit. In 1x06 (Pete's Wife), Trevor gets Sam to look up Nicky, a woman he thought could have been "the one". I said, why not make them the same person and explore the moment that T-Money bailed on his own happiness. You know, because why not sprinkle a little more angst into this fandom :)

Tags/warnings: Cussing

Words: 1094

Additional note: I kinda feel like Trevor's unfinished business has to do with his commitment, accepting that money doesn't define his worth and having someone actually love him in return. So, I kind of want to make this into an H-Money series and weave in cannon moments plus steer these two in the right direction towards each other.

AO3: link (or below the cut!)

“Why so mopey, bro?” exclaims Chet, half-drank beer in his hand.

Trevor’s frown deepens as he plunks himself down on Ari’s expensive sofa.

“Yeah, dude. Who shit in your cornflakes?” chimes David Woodstone, swigging back his own chilled can of alcohol. “Thought you were having Nicky over tonight.”

Ari pipes up next as he saunters towards his friends. “Trouble in paradise, my man?”

Trevor releases a sigh. His voice quiets. “I think it may be over, guys.”

A collective gasp resonates through the lavish apartment.

~

“You taste scrumptious, sweetheart,” Trevor coos between kisses to his girlfriend’s neck. He feels her hum with affection against him.

“Babe,” Nicky begins, her voice tender and sweet. “What are we? I mean, we’ve been on and off for the better part of a year. I love being with you, but this whole arrangement where one of us comes over, we spend time together, and then one of us leaves again just doesn’t feel right anymore. I want us to be more than that. Being with you feels right, Trev.”

Trevor’s stomach drops. His whole body freezes. Is she saying what he thinks she’s saying? He props himself up on an elbow to meet her gaze. “What do you mean, Nicky?”

She must sense his unease because Nicky’s expression drops as she answers. “I mean, I want to have a proper relationship with you. I want to take this,” her fingertips graze his bare chest before pulling back to her own, “to the next level.”

“Like move in together?” Panic begins to set in. Trevor’s voice raises an octave.

“Well, maybe,” she keeps her voice soft, “but maybe more than just that? Maybe we can make our commitment to one another clear.”

Trevor’s brain stalls. Commitment. One simple word yet so many implications. So much weight behind its meaning. He adores Nicky, but does he love her? Does Trevor even know what love feels like? Does she love him? Is that what this is about?

His silence must have gone on for just a little too long. Nicky’s shoulders droop, and a defeated frown creeps its way onto her features. “Never mind,” she sighs, moving to get up.

“Nick, wait!” exclaims Trevor. And the look of hope that lights up her face as she turns around shatters Trevor’s heart. He tries to play it cool like he always does. “You know me, babe! I...I don’t deal well with all this intimate stuff.” Somehow, those are the only words he can think of.

A tear. It appears there in the corner of her eye, but she refuses to let it slip out. Nicky puts a hand up. “Save it, Lefkowitz. I should have known better than to push you towards this. I should know that you’re not that kind of guy.”

It’s like a hot iron rod is being driven through his chest, yet Trevor does nothing as he watches her dress, gather her belongings from the drawer he lets her use, and leaves.

~

Trevor’s head hangs between his shoulders as he leans forward on the sofa. “I royally fucked up.”

“Dude,” David preaches from beside Trevor, “chicks think that they can just tell their men what to do. Take away our autonomy.”

“But I really–” Trevor shifts, reaching into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I picked this up on the way here.” It’s then that Trevor reveals the small velvet box.

“Holy shit, bro!” gasps Chet.

“No fucking way!” shouts David.

Ari’s eyes widen into saucers.

Trevor holds the open box in his palm; its contents glitter in the afternoon light.

Sure, he gets invited to all the parties. Sure, he likes to splurge on a nice suit every once in a while. But the truth is, Trevor is not rich like Ari or David. Instead, he works hard and pays his rent, but while desperately tries to fit in with his friends’ lavish lifestyles, Trevor just isn’t really there yet.

So, the rock in his hand isn’t huge or overly expensive, but maybe, just maybe, it would be enough.

“Are you insane?!?!” Ari exclaims as if this must surely be some kind of prank.

“Bro, you are so whipped!” David gargles out a laugh, which sparks Ari to join in. Chet just stares, dumbfounded.

Trevor’s eyes dart between his friends, forcing a smile and a laugh amidst his confusion.

“You’re not serious, are you?” chides Ari, his words making a pit form in Trevor’s stomach.

When Trevor doesn’t answer, Ari just scoffs. “Trev, engagement spells the end of all fun.”

“No bro-nights. No drinking. No exclusive parties,” adds David.

Ari seizes the opportunity to continue. “You’ll just be dragged into the world of domesticity. Dinners with her friends and her family. Wedding planning. Then come the kids. Diapers. Being forced to stay home all the time. Not to mention that she won’t want you working in the city away from her. She’ll force you to take a safe job in the burbs and isolate you even more from us. I mean, we’re chick magnets, so she’d obviously be jealous all the time.”

The pit in Trevor’s stomach grows; it’s heavy and pushes acid into his throat. The question he had earlier resurfaces in his brain. Does he love Nicky? Is she the one? But would she try to change him or stop him from doing the things he enjoys? He is still young, with so much life to live and so many things to tick off his bucket list. But then, why had he just gone out and bought a ring?

��Trev, buddy,” Ari says, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder and shaking Trevor from his thoughts.

Trevor gazes upwards, finding David as the one about to speak. “She’s probably got the plans for your future already mapped out.”

“Dave’s right,” Ari interjects. “You’re blinded by shiny stones and what-ifs. You’ve only been hooking up for the last year. Are you really ready to give all this”, he gestures around the room, “up for one person who probably wants to dictate the rest of your life? You need to look out for you, pal.”

His brow furrows as Trevor glances around absently.

Trevor always felt like he was going to be something. A few more promotions, and he would be raking in the dough. Then it would be him in a penthouse like Ari’s. Him hosting parties on a yacht. Him being able to afford Nicky the life she deserves. But right now, he couldn’t stop himself from living and enjoying the life that would get him there.

Not yet at least.

Feedback is loved ♥

[faksyan]

12/16/19 :3

ooohh boyy that got really long. lots of mgs rambles under the cut. thanks for the ask!!! very slight nsfw mention in the second one, nothing major.

12) the unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

I'll be honest I'm actually still familiar with some of the games only on surface-level (fake fan I know), and I don't think I have anyone like that from those I know well.

Well, Paz, but I talked about her a bit in the last ask already. She is full of rage and loneliness and gets just a glimpse of real affection and friendship and I find a lot of these themes very compelling. And I guess all the women in general, because fandom spaces usually gravitate towards men, and with mgs it's even less surprising. I really, really like Eva in Snake Eater, but that's mostly due to my own interpretation rather than the writing. I feel like her understanding of love must be really interesting as someone who was taught to pretend/actually feel on some level love on command, and I also think it's interesting that she was the one The Boss opened to. I really wish so many mgs women's traits weren't so tightly linked with romance, man. Quiet is also so cool, but she too suffers from being reduced to just that.

I really like The Boss, she's such a interesting contradiction - cold and strict, but also full of love for the while world and ready to give everything she has to make it just that much better. I would love to see in more detail things about her and Sorrow, an actual game with her as a protagonist would be awesome. Strangelove's tapes in pw are absolutely fascinating as well, the one where she's talking to Joy's ai almost made me cry, and she generally has some pretty interesting take on some things. I really liked the part where she talks about how ai would be an amalgamation of people's consciousness rather than of individual's in the future, because that put into words part of why I hate ai-generated images and text that people call art.

16) you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

Well, I can get people liking anything on account of different tastes, so this is more about popular takes I don't really get because of how different my reading of canon is, I guess? Like the idea of bbkaz being abusive to a point where Kaz was having a horrible terrible time every day at every corner. I've seen it in some fics, and kind of get where people go with it, but I think Kaz "almost blew himself up with a grenade so he wouldn't be taken prisoner" Miller would rather die than be treated like shit. He would blow up their shared tent if it ever came to it ya feel me. He is too proud and too impulsive and too much of everything. They respected and listened to each other and I'd say a lot of their issues were kind of more subtle? in a way. What they had definitely wasn't healthy in many aspects, but it was in ways where they both could ignore/didn't feel were that bad at the moment, that type of thing.

I read through almost the entirety of ocelhira tag on ao3, and i could write a whole list of stuff about them that I personally see differently as that part of the fandom. I'm very picky when it comes to them, in no way those are bad, and I've /seen/ them being executed in a way I enjoyed, I just don't really get them. The main things I don't really see are, as follows:

That they hate each other (next to zero basis of that before the ending of v, and even this can be argued about.)

They would punch each other on the first meeting or shortly after (never seen either of them as people who would resort to violence in a more business-like setting. because that's how I see them approach what they have. Ocelot mainly uses violence in specific scenarios like interrogations and is good at controlling his emotions. Kaz is impulsive but he is a businessman to the bone. Maybe he'd punch Ocelot at some point but definitely not early on. I feel like the main instigator of random CQC is Snake after all, and without him they would figure things out differently.)

They would fuck on the first meeting or shortly after (Ocelot is weird about intimacy and doesn't trust anyone and is a spy who's probably never had friends or lovers, in any meaningful sence of the words. Also he's on aroace spectrum to me. I don't think Kaz would have sex with a person he genuinely despises even if he found them appealing, out of sheer stubbornness. If he hates a person he hates them, same reason why I don't think bbkaz would work in any way past v. Even if Kaz tried to hook up with Ocelot in the beginning, he would probably kill him for a mere insinuation. Give me the intricate details of getting to know a person and figuring shit out, they had nine whole years.)

There's probably more, but this is getting like. super long sorry my bad. And sorry so much of it is about ships, the platonic tags are barren as a desert I gotta write and draw some myself✌️

19) you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

Vocelot a bit maybe (not necessarily romantic or sexual) because the whole concept of them having a close relationship could go a very fucked-up route (like a bit more than the average mgs level). Not really ashamed, that's why I like it, it has a sort of a Hannigram feel to it. Even in case where they genuinely care about each other, there are still some weird power dynamics and mind games and codependency. I just generally find ideas of brainwashing really unsettling.

Also I really like Huey as a character. am I allowed to say that. am I getting fed to the bears. I can and will elaborate at some point, I just really like characters who are unredeemable impossible hypocrites (hey, that's part of why I'm a Kaz Miller fan) and Huey is just. vastly misunderstood when it comes to what caused him to spiral, none of which helps his case but it's INTERESTING. Instead he's just being reduced to a punching bag without taking a look at what exactly led up to it all. Grantedly, I don't think Kojima thought about it that deeply at all, but it came out as a vivid critique of how society and especially military treats men who are disabled/not "masculine" enough/can't stand up for themselves. to me. and I like that.

[yeahgen]

5,10,15,20

15 questions about mun’s taste in muses.

5. who is / was your favourite muse of all time to play?

wow you can't make me choose favorites like that im gonna piss eiden off and say it's aury just because

(but all swordboys are good swordboys)

10. if you play original muses with canon roots ( like oc siblings, coworkers, etc. ) or someone who’s been either just a name or a few lines of dialogue in canon, how do you build that character? do you pick the muse first and build from there, or do you need have the muse ready in your head and only then pick the connection, or a combination of the two?

considering the only fandom OC i've played so far is a flaming chicken idk if i'm the best to answer this question lololol

but i can talk about small side characters, which are a guilty pleasure for me because i can draw inferences from their (limited) canon appearances and play with headcanons from thereon. i think that's why i like TKRB muses so much, because they give you that freedom to explore. and it's fun if they have some interaction with the main cast too because you can build off of what little you know to create potential "canons" that fit.

....on that note this just reminded me i really wanted to RP mizuiro kojima from BLEACH once

15. which muses of yours have currently very dead fandoms?

they're all kinda quiet i guess? uhhh maybe kino no tabi???

TKRB is alive and well in japan (they just celebrated their 10-year anniversary of game launch) and the rest are all OCs or doing fine

20. ___________________

gri where r my toppers >:(

[neighborlywelcome]

Hi, I saw some of your other matchups for tadc and decided to do this for myself! I will say very quickly that I'm not comfortable being paired with Jax.

Currently I'm questioning my sexuality and I'm okay with being paired with any character, my gender I'm also questioning right now but currently I use she/they! My personality is basically at first I'm very quiet maybe saying one or two things but when I open up to people I become very loud and make a lot of jokes, I try to be as kind as possible (like if I make a somewhat rude joke I almost immediately ask if it's okay after), can be very chaotic, very caring, and somewhat on the more sus side. The best way to describe my appearance is like with Ramona Flowers often I dye my hair new colors (though not as extreme with me waiting till it's faded or a few months later), I have a lot of freckles all over my body, I try to have a goth/emo look, and I have a few very small scars. I'm very creative writing fanfiction, drawing, and trying to make my own series, other then those I love learning about old fandom stuff and reading as well, I also really like learning about lore of different games but I'm not really a massive gamer, I also have a massive passion for theater! I'm an Aries as well and also have a lot of plushies that I sleep with every night!

For my partner I look for someone who can be there no matter what, someone to help remind me that I'm loved, someone who I can joke around with and just be there with. The love langue's I look for a partner are words of affirmation and physical touch, while the ones I myself have are words of affirmation and quality time. My fave date is something quiet like going to see a movie or going to eat out at a small hometown restaurant!

I hope this is good and thanks in advance! Also have an amazing day/night!

Hi and thank you for your request! I hope you have a good day/night as well!

YOUR MATCHUP IS…

GANGLE!!!

You and Gangle would be a great match! You're both compassionate and caring, and not to mention creative. You would get along well and Gangle would be enamored by your unique personality and tastes, like your cool, colorful hair (even if she has a hard time admitting this because of how shy she is)!

You're both very quiet upon first meeting each other, which Gangle finds very comforting. I don't think she'd like if someone was very loud and excited with her from the get-go. You both take your time getting to know one another to open up to each other, and afterwards you're surely inseparable!

Gangle appreciates your kindness, and once she's comfortable with you, would love your jokes! She'll even reciprocate eventually with her own humor every once and a while. And when she's more open she would likewise tell you how happy you make her and how much she loves how caring you are.

Gangle loves drawing and writing and everything in between, especially when it's related to fandoms! She would love to share her works with you and vice versa, and would love to listen to your thoughts and opinions on any kind of lore. Creativity is very important to her, so suffice it to say it's one of her favorite parts about you. (And your love for theatre is also really cute given that's Gangle's theme.)

She would also love going on quiet, romantic dates with you whether that's walks around town or eating at small restaurants. She seems like a "watch a movie with snacks on the couch" kind of gal if you ever feel like staying indoors too. But anything you want to do is fine with her as long as she's in your company... and it isn't anything too loud or scary lol.

One of her favorite activities, though, is cuddling with her ribbons all wrapped around you since she knows how much you love physical affection. Plus, with all the plushies on your bed, she thinks it makes it the perfect cozy spot to relax and hang out together!

[colibritas]

syzygy

pairing: bobby marks x f!detective (camilla reyes) (past) (listen. i know.)

word count: 1,738 words | rating: T, brief mentions of alcohol ig?

summary: The detective goes on a walk and stumbles upon a memory. (post book 3 Bobby route - vague spoilers ahead!)

author’s note: i have no words and no excuses but i think it would be neat if they get some closure B) i literally can’t believe my first fic for this fandom heavily focuses on bobby marks, don’t look at me

read on ao3!

There’s a weathered old wooden bench near the cliffs at the lighthouse, where the stars shine brightly on clear nights, and the breeze coasting in from the ocean is cold but smells like salt and memory.

Camilla doesn’t pass it often, these days. The nostalgic ache it stirs in her tastes like cheap rum and cheap promises, makes her feel a little too hollow.

She’s not totally sure what brings her there tonight. She knows she shouldn’t be wandering the shaded paths of Wayhaven alone at night, with her blood calling like a siren song to every Trapper and toothed creature in a hundred miles.

But there’s always been an itch in her soul, compels her to wander to ease the stirring. Walking a beat used to help, particularly at night when she had Tina’s laughter to keep her company.

Now, the shadows are no longer friends to shelter her, but the promise of some new horror to steal her away. There is no laughter to keep her company, just the whisper of the wind and the way her skin prickles at the groaning of the trees.

The waves lapping along the shore still her mind with a static fuzz, and the night is quiet and velvet. It’s late summer, the perfect time for a near-midnight walk, and the dying embers of the season are pleasant to warm herself to even though clouds cover the blanket of stars. A soft summer storm had swept through earlier that day, and the air is fresh and verdant with the ghost of it, grass and earth damp beneath her shoes. As she approaches the bend where the bench looks out over the waterline she slows, seeing a worried figure seated there, hunched over.

The smart thing would be to turn and walk away before they notice her, and she nearly does before she catches a glimpse of caramel-coloured hair dripping with silver in the faint moonlight. It would still be the smart thing to turn and walk away; now more than ever, maybe.

“Bobby?”

He spins to face her, coiled like a spring as he leaps to his feet. Tense, anticipatory. She raises both hands like a white flag. “Just me. Didn’t want to sneak up on you. Is that pepper spray in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?”

Camilla nods at where his hand hovers not too far from his belt.

He settles back into a more Bobby-like cadence and forcibly relaxes. “I’m always happy to see you, angel,” he drawls. It’s not very convincing. Even through the dim light she can see the shimmer of tension in his fingers. “You just caught me by surprise, is all.”

Slowly, she steps toward him, still keeping her hands raised at first, but lowering them as he eases his own arms down at his sides, looking a little less like he’s going to snap and blast pepper spray in her eyes. His gaze is unfocused in a way she’s not used to, no longer liquid and confident. She approaches like she might a wounded animal before settling down on one edge of the bench. He sits at the other, and a thick, heavy quiet settles on its haunches between them.

And, eventually, once the blanketing silence grows too oppressive in the warm night:

“I don’t think I’ve seen you here since we broke up,” he says, voice a little too loud, a little too strained against the darkness.

“Because I haven’t been,” Camilla mumbles. “Figured you’d probably not want me skulking around if you decided to bring a new partner here.”

He goes a bit quiet, at that. “C’mon, Camilla,” he mutters. “This was our spot.”

The tide rolls in. It smells like summer. Reminds her of warm, sloppy kisses at the tail end of summer break, the wooden slats of this weathered old bench uncomfortable under the heels of her palms, and the first time he said he loved her. She’d believed him, then.

The ache gnaws at her.

“You still come out here often?” She asks, instead of saying the thing she really wants to say. She’s not sure if she wants the answer to this question, either, now that she thinks about it, but it’s already out of her mouth and she can’t take it back. Maybe she’ll get lucky and he’ll deflect it with some sort of flirtation or angle, anyway, like he always does.

“Yeah. When I need to think,” he says instead, the moonlight softening him, fuzzing his edges.

She bites back the short reply at the tip of her tongue. He doesn’t deserve her scorn, not when he says something genuine for once. Something in her, the ungenerous part that’s still a little raw, reminds her that he’s often used his own vulnerability as the scalpel to cut her open in the past. It’s long past the time when she should have stopped falling for it, but she still does every time. Hook, line, sinker.

“What were you thinking about?”

“How fucked up it’s all gotten,” he says with a strained laugh. “I mean, Jesus. You ever see all of this coming?”

“Shit, Bobby. If I saw half of this coming I’d’ve bought several lottery tickets by now. I’d be relaxing on a beach somewhere, with a margarita in each hand and not a care in the world.”

“I hope one of the margaritas would be for me?”

“Not a chance, get your own damn margaritas.”

They both chuckle a little, soft and quiet. It’s easy, until it hurts. Their laughter trails off into silence.

The waves against the beach. Kisses that tasted like cheap rum and empty promises. The ache gnaws her hollow, licks the meat off her bones.

She tucks her knees up to her chest and leans back. The wooden planks dig into her spine, but it feels real and not like the haze of memory.

“If I asked you something right now, would you tell me the truth?” She whispers into the breeze. Almost hoping the wind will catch her voice and toss it high above their heads where no-one will hear it.

Bobby hesitates. “At this point, angel, I don’t think you’d believe me if I lied.”

“Did you love me?”

“Camilla,” he says, sounding strangled. He forces a laugh. “I don’t think anyone could’ve grown up with you and not fallen in love with you.”

She squeezes her eyes shut. The truth from him hurts more than the lies, sometimes.

And, quieter, he says: “Of course I love you. —Loved.”

“Then why—”

“I don’t know,” he lies.

They quiet, that silence sitting hunched between them still.

He bridges it first. Stretches a hand across the ten inches of eternity between them; she sees the movement from the corner of her eye. He’d never been one for romantic gestures, when they were together. It was all— pageantry, ego-stroking. And she (fatherless, motherless) had devoured every morsel of attention like oxygen to a flame even if she knew deep down it didn’t mean to him what it did to her.

Hook, line, sinker. She closes the space, brushes her knuckles against his, and he interlaces their fingers. The summer air is warm, but his hand is cold. There’s a tremble to the pulse she can feel thrumming in his wrist, like a hummingbird heart.

“It’s too late for us, isn’t it?” He mumbles.

Camilla gives his hand a squeeze. Years ago, she might have felt a spark of hope at their interlocked fingers, the way his hand warms at her touch.

“I think that ship has sailed.” She turns to give him a small smile. There’s no spark of hope there anymore, just a used-to-be. A sigh runs ragged over his lips. He looks… tired, actually. A little worn. Not quite as coiffed and shining as he usually is, though he still strikes a handsome silhouette with the faded moonlight casting him in soft, luminescent edges.

“Yeah, I thought so.” He hesitates. “Are you… happy?”

Camilla thinks of warm brown eyes, honey-sweet, filling her mouth with poetry.

“Yeah,” she says.

“Even with the world going crazy and knowing there are monsters out there that want to kill you? With the danger?”

“The world was already crazy, and I was already in danger. Have you seen my car?”

He grimaces. “I try not to. You can hear it before you see it, anyway, so you can just scrunch your eyes closed and—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” She can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. “Some part of me honestly still feels like… like I’m going to wake up tomorrow and none of it will be real. But yeah. I’m happy. I don’t have to do it alone, you know?”

When he falls silent, she nudges herself across the gap, until their knees touch, their shoulders bump together. “And you don’t, either.”

He sighs, releases her hand so he can stretch an arm around her shoulder. It’s a move he’s made before, sitting here on this bench, but it doesn’t feel the same. None of the fire, like whiskey burning a trail down your throat. None of the heavy-lidded gazes. She’s surprised to find that it doesn’t hurt. It almost feels… comfortable, this time. She’ll always love him, too, a part of her recognizes—but not the way she used to.

“I don’t, huh? You think you can get me the number of any of those sexy agents, then?”

“Ugh, you suck.” Camilla swats at his knee playfully, no real bite to her words. He laughs in response.

His arm pulls a little closer around her shoulders, and he points up at the sky. “Hey, look.”

The clouds have parted, and above them the sky glitters like a gown studded with so many diamonds. When she hastens a careful glance up at him, he’s smiling. A small smile, relaxed, not the usual suggestive smirk she’s grown used to. She feels her face light with a smile, too, and it feels a bit like forgiveness.

The stars shine down on them and the waves crash, but the air tastes like rain and summer, like damp grass and fragrant earth. It’s not the same as it was because they’re not the same as they were, and it’s… good. At least in this moment, the ache she’d grown used to feels like the dull twinge of a broken bone healing.

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober day 6:

"Do or die, you'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart."

Recording | made to watch | "it should have been me"

Fandom: Voltron (Canon Divergence? Altered Universe? AU?)

Prompts used: All

This is not the continuation! I didn't know I was gonna do a cont. When I made my list, and I just think the prompts are better on the other day I chose so apologies. Anywho, these are like, classic tropes so lets hope I can do it justice! Its longer I think, I went a little wild, and as always apparently, the timeline is wibbly wobbly… so yeah. 

TW for torture! 

…

Lance is almost positive his life is a cosmic joke or something. 

There is absolutely no way, his luck is this bad, by accident. There's no way. There has to be some being out there with his voodoo doll, just going fricken ham. In space must just have gotten him closer and put the being in some angry mode, because these life and death situations are driving him insane. 

But this time there's a kicker, it's not just his life in danger, but they've taken the whole team, with the Castle- and the Alteans- nowhere in sight. Lance- if he has to, he's been dealing with it long enough he supposed- can handle anything towards him, but bring in the people he cares about and well, you've signed your death wish. 

He couldn't even tell you exactly what happened, one minute they're exploring a planet, and the next he's waking up strapped to a table, a screen of sorts showing the unconscious faces of his four teammates, trapped somewhere else. He knew this was a Quiznaking stupidly dangerous situation, and that whatever was to come was gonna suck. 

As he shuffles against his bindings and takes in what he can see of the room, the door opens as the faces on the screen begin to stir and Lance tenses up, face going carefully blank. 

"It's as I thought, your stamina is higher than the others." It's a strange opening line, but Lance can roll with it, just don't let the team know this is affecting him and maybe they'll get out of this. The alien- not a Galra- is tall and lanky, with five arms- though three of them are resting behind his back in a casual stance- and goggle covering where Lance assumes his eyes are, his mouth splits his face. 

"Thanks for noticing! Yeah I run-"

"Hmm, specimen appears to be too confident still despite his many failures." It's said like Lance isn't intelligent enough to converse, and yet with enough disgust to state his disdain for him. Which, rude. 

"Rude, if you think so little of me why the quiznack did you kidnap us?" Out of the corner of his eye he watches the lips of his team move, obviously trying to get their captors attention- or telling Lance to shut up, which is usually the case. 

"Specimen Blue's memory seems to be lacking as well, further tests required." He comes to stand beside Lance's table, the screen just to the right of his shoulder, the team can probably see most of the room, but at the least all of Lance and whatever this guy plans to do. "Test number one." 

He holds up a hand, 3 of eight finger like appendages held up, before the arm disappears behind his back again. Lance wonders how dumb this guy thinks he is, but before he can open his mouth, another of his hands swings so quickly it's a blur even to Lance's eyes, and brings a tool down hard on Lance's hand. He bites his tongue, metallic taste filling his mouth, his back arches and only a cut off groan escapes. He can barely make out the faces of his team, but he can't focus on that when the Alien brings the tool down again. Lance's vision spots with how hard he works to keep quiet, but he refuses to show any more weakness, dangit.

"Well Specimen Blue?" 

It takes Lance a moment to recall what he wants, another to wonder why he should humor him, and another still to work around his bleeding buzzing tongue. 

"Three, you mierda cabeza." He gives a bloody grin, just holding himself back from spitting on the guy. He refuses to look at his hand. 

"Hm. So the Specimen simply refuses to admit to its wrongdoing. It seems to think me unintelligent, or forgetful of its failures. I will have to remind Specimen Blue, to ensure he knows his place." He turns from the table, and Lance is able to idly wonder if he's actually recording notes or not. 

His eyes find the screen again, his team is staring intently and he thinks he actually sees worry. He offers his best reassuring smile before he has to return his attention to the alien. His back is turned to Lance as he fiddles with whatever's on the floating table he's dragged closer. He's really giving off (mad) scientist vibes, and Lance realizes that this is ironically what most humans think of aliens and their interactions with humans and of course what goes on in area 51 and such. Let's just hope there's no vivisections.

"So Specimen Blue, am I to assume you don't recall the life you took? Is it of too little value for your puny brain?" Lance's eyebrows furrow at this accusation, for he remembers every life he's had to take. And every life he couldn't save. "Perhaps this will remind it." 

He turns around and bile rises in Lance's throat. On the table is a severed arm curved around the burned crisp of the remains of what looks to be a child. Lance's eyes burn, stomach churns, heart aches, but he has never seen this race of aliens before. They had not been to a planet with them, he's almost positive, and he would have remembered the death of a child. They are the hardest for him to bear. 

"Do you recall now Specimen Blue?" He caresses the charred remains and Lance swallows thickly.

"I'm sorry for your loss, but I did not take their life." His voice is steadier than he feels, though his tongue is still thick. The alien sighs, shaking his head in disappointment.

"It seems the Specimen is duller than I'd observed. Its heart will need to be examined after further tests of its brain functionality." 

"I don't know who you think I am, but I'm telling you, I did not kill that child! I'd be more than happy to track down who did dude, but this is gonna get you nowhere!" 

"I will make you remember, I will make you regret, I will make you pay, I will make you tell me who your accomplice was, and I will make you suffer as you watch them die before giving you the slowest death I can manage. Because vermin like you don't deserve to live." It's the most emotion he's heard from the scientist, but the only thing Lance takes from it is the threat to his friends. This guy is crazy, they'd need time and luck to get out of this, and Lance would do his best to give them that. His face hardens as he levels a hard stare at the alien,

"You're crazy. Give it your best shot." 

Do or Die. That's how Lance grew up. Every moment was a fight. Space had only solidified that, as it tried to wear Lance down, to force him to give up, but Lance was stubborn to his core. So many had tried, but no one could ever make him do something he didn't want to do, his heart led him, and it could not be taken. This guy could do whatever he wanted, but so long as he could keep the team safe? This guy would get nothing from him.

"Specimen persists. Test 2 commencing." 

Shiro flinches as Lance's back arches again, though his eyes never stray from the screen, if Lance had to endure then the least Shiro could do was watch and be there as best he could. The others were in similar states, eyes glued to the screen despite the twisting it caused their guts. They were great multitaskers however, each of them doing their own thing to try and escape their restraints. Shiro was honestly a little impressed that this guy had not only captured them, but managed to keep them bound this long. 

A cut off yell reaches their ears and Shiro winces as Lance bites a hole in his lip to keep the noise down. Shiro hates it, he knows what Lance is doing, how every moment he should be resting is spent sending reassuring looks towards the team, like he isn't being tortured before their eyes. Lance's hand is a mangled mess of broken bones, his bare chest is now a myriad of bruises and pinpricks from the electric rod. Blood is bubbling down from his shoulder and collar bone from precise cuts. And yet that cut off yell is the closest he's gotten to a scream.

Shiro doesn't know what he'd prefer, the sound of Lances screams forever haunting him, or these images of bloody lips and smiles as he holds it all in. He hates both options. 

Keith growls beside him, straining against his binding hard enough the raw skin beneath has begun to bleed, not that he seems to care- none of them do, it is nothing compared to Lance's injuries.

"That," he growls the next word so roughly Shiro can't even tell which expletive he used, "better pray I don't get my hands on him!" 

"You'd have to reach him before me." Pidge and Hunk speak in unison, Pidges glower never leaves the screen, and despite Hunks pallor, his eyes focus on Lance. The only time the two pairs stray, is to glance at a possible tool for their escape. Though Hunks straining muscles seem close to bursting through the restraints already. 

"Do any of you recognize this guy? There's gotta be a reason he took us." Shiro's galra arm is hot, but the restraints are holding up far too well, still he doesn't stop. 

"No. He's not a race we've come across yet." Pidge answers immediately.

"Five arms, Eight fingers on each hand, tall, large mouthed, small head, does not match any I remember." Hunk confirms, flinching as another cut is added to Lance's chest. 

"Six arms, ones on that table." Keith corrects through gritted teeth. 

"No, there's no signs suggesting another arm. And those… remains… have to be semi-recent, so there would be something. Plus, how does one arm get scorched but nothing else harmed?" Pidge has obviously been dissecting- bad choice of word- what she can of the scene before them, gathering as much info as she can. 

"But he said 'Life you took', why wouldn't he include whoever the arm belonged to?" Keith is only a third invested in the conversation, eyes watching the Aliens every move, and body continuing its struggle. 

"Cause he's a demented Quiznacker that enjoys torturing people? I don't know Keith, I'll ask him when my bayards down his throat! Aha!!" She wriggles a free wrist triumphantly, though keeps it low in case the Alien happens to glance over, though he hadn't yet.

It is short lived however, as a scream fills the space. Their eyes fly back to the screen, where Lance is trembling and straining against his bindings, a needle being pulled from his neck as he continues to scream himself hoarse. 

"Just tell me who your accomplice was, and we can hurry along to your deaths." The alien placates, looking far too pleased with Lance's pain. Whatever had been injected must be agony, they can see it in every fiber of Lance's being, how he tries to close his mouth, to bite back the scream, but can't. Tears are leaking down his face, but he manages to shake his head and even choke out a 'never' in his next yell. 

The scientist 'tsks', like Lance is a disobedient child, and Shiro's Galra arm seems to burn hotter as it finally breaks through the material holding it down. He didn't know where Lance was, but he'd find him dammit, he shouldn't be in there in the first place. Shiro was their leader, their former teacher, and most of all, this was his family, and he would not let this slide. 

"It seems Specimen Blue is a failure in all ways. I will have to move on, but first to make an example of it. It must have a heart as black as its soul after all, and I will have it in a jar, and avenge the life it took." 

"You… won't… touch… them." Shiro looks up from his task, Lance's scream has died out now, as he forces the words from a shredded throat. His pain is still obvious, but his eyes shine with something Shiro can't place. "I will… not let you… hurt them…" 

"And what will you do? Specimen Blue is nothing. It is a murderer. A failure. It will never amount to anything. It can do nothing. It can't even keep its friends from getting captured. It will die here, and so will its friends, like the life it took." 

"You won't…do quiznak…puta." Shiros eyes widen as Lance's mangled hand flings the scalpel-like tool at the Alien. His thumb is obviously broken, wrist bleeding from how tight the restraints had been during his struggles, the motion itself looked incredibly painful, but even with such obstacles, Lance threw the thing with deadly aim. The tool imbeds itself in the Aliens chest, he releases a shout as he stumbles and falls backwards, but he does not keel over like Shiro had hoped. 

His grin is bloody, and Shiro is quick to get back to work on his bindings, because of course the kill shot didn't kill the guy, when do they ever have that good of luck? He needed to get to Lance, now! 

Between the four of them they have 8/16 limbs free, but it won't be enough if they don't hurry the heck up. Shiro will not watch one of these kids die, please universe, he couldn't handle it. 

Another yell comes from the screen, Lance's free arm has been pinned with a two pronged tool, two fresh lines of blood on his upper forearm from where they'd cut him. The alien is hovering over him now, and even with his goggled covered eyes, Shiro can tell he's got a crazed air about him. Lance continues his struggle, gritted teeth and a fire in his eyes. Shiro can't see a lick of fear for the death this guy has out for him, and that alone has him breaking his final limb free. He doesn't wait, he can't, he sprints towards the only way out he sees, and he runs. Lets some instinct take him, barely registering the footsteps behind him, only thinking about-

Their heart.

They would never be the same without Lance. Shiro can see it now, snippets of a what if future. They flash across his vision bullet fast, but he gets the gist. 

They will fall apart. 

Feet hit with solid thumps, hearts beat out of chests, minds race,

'It should have been me.' 

Lance couldn't die here.

'It should have been me.' 

Not for something like this.

'It should have been me.'

Always protecting them, watching their backs, they'd be dead without him, they wouldn't be here without him, there was not a hopeful future without him.

'It should have been me!'

They burst through the first door they find, hardly registering anything, it's a dogpile, the Alien cracks beneath them but they persist. 

It's only later, as the recording plays before them, that they find the reason for their bruised knuckles and various minor injuries. It's only later, as Lance rests in a healing pod, that they are told about how the Alteans had been watching the whole time as they tried to track their location. It's only later that the beasts they unleashed on that monster are recognized as themselves. It's only later that they comprehend how far Lance will go to save them time and time again. 

Do or die, you'll never make us, because the universe will never take our heart.