#oh god i want to write this fanfic

[randomname3]

Okay SO

Saiki k dnd headcannons GO

Kaidou obviously is the one to try to get the group into it, and tried to run a session for them, tho secretly he is scared he gets stuck as the forever dm and wants to play a pc.

Saiki agrees to join eventually, he read about the game in a book once and thought it might be interesting. He rolls a human fighter and barely makes it through one session before he walks up to kaidou amd offers to dm in his place. And saiki realises very quickly that dnd is what he was missing; he cant get spoilers to a story no one knows how it would end, not even the writers. while he can read minds he cant always predict what his players will do(especially with nendo there). The game is almost like a low stakes competition against himself, both challenging his ability to think on his toes and to prepare for the unknown. The time it takes to prepare for a session gives him easy excuse he can use once a week to avoid hanging out with the group that they respect, but i feel like saiki isnt an over prep-er(might be projecting on that one) he is the type of dm to write a few paragraphs, have some loot ready and a map or two and trust his instincts to guide him through the session. After he kicks kaidou out kaidou rolls a dark elf sorcerer and they start their main campaign.

Nendo thinks its stupid and doesn't 100% gets what is rollplaying.but i feel like the moment the dm sets the scene nendo gets really into it tho he justs desribes what he would do, so he doesn't rly have a charachter. I feel like he has instinctual grasp of the rules and always tells the others what they need to roll, much to kaidous frustration.

Chiyo hears them talking about them and asks if she can join in, plays an elf druid and tries to romance all of kaidous charachter

Teruhashi will spend a few nights conducting research and finding the perfect balance between being a roleplayer and a munchkin (the perfect player). The game is very stressfull for the first few sessions but with time as she gets comfortable with her charachter the game is almost theraputic for her, a chance to be someone else and not the perfect girl, she ugly cried in the end of their first campaign.she never rolled natural one and handles most of the partys social interactions, occasionally saiki will use his powers to get her to roll low to keep things interesting.

[spaciebabie]

springtrap but he has claws and he slowwwwwly sinks them into youi while holdoing you close purring softly hes not eveb truing ta hurt you on ourpose justtrying ta keep you as close as possible and get you ta stay put for just a few more seconds oohohohhh ohhh hospital hostpital hospital. emergency room hospital

[kittyscabin]

shows up to give you the coffinchain challenge

Please be more careful when you cross the road You’re a perfect arrangement of rickety bones

Stray cats.

Peter had always likened the apprentices to a group of stray cats, in his mind.

At first it was out of distaste. They were a nuisance; a band of drifters slinking around the alleyways, catching their quarries unaware. The quick, sharp jab of a hypodermic needle might as well have been the efficient killing bite that a cat might deliver to the throat of its prey. They worked in the shadows, occupying all of those lonely abandoned buildings and reworking them for a new, twisted purpose. 

Then, begrudgingly, he’d found himself wrapped up in Mark Hoffman. Chasing him, hunting him, hellbent on bringing him to justice, then on killing him, then on understanding him, then…

Well, Peter didn’t know what he was doing now. 

All he knew was that sitting in his apartment, in varying states of composure, were three of Jigsaw’s disciples. 

Dr. Gordon sat on his couch, eyes trained down as his hands worked on bandaging a fresh wound on the arm of his younger accomplice. Stanheight sat quietly and allowed for the medical attention with little fight. Hoffman himself sat on the floor, back leaned against the couch close to the other two. 

Peter remained standing, trying not to buckle at the absurdity of his situation. In true stray-animal nature, he had made the mistake of allowing Hoffman into his home once, twice, thrice, and now he’d come back with friends. 

‘Don’t feed the strays’, indeed. 

Accept that he did know the other two, at this point. The polite Dr. Gordon was well-spoken and direct; Peter had found him infuriating in the beginning. He was a hard man to interrogate and an even harder man to intimidate, as level and unflinching as he was. Unlike Peter, he never seemed to let his anger get the best of him, and he seemed to know that. Dr. Gordon was a man who always seemed very aware of how much more control he had in the conversation. It was enviable. 

Then there was Adam Faulkner-Stanheight. Mouthful of a name. It was strange enough for Peter to wrap his head around the fact that the kid was alive, let alone working with Jigsaw. He was angry- had more rage in his scrawny little body than what felt possible. Stupid and impulsive, Peter had found him annoying. Just a petulant adolescent who had gotten himself into bigger trouble than he yet realized. 

They’ve come a long way since then. Both apprentices had grown on him, maybe because they reminded him of himself in their amalgamate qualities. The cold, callous bluntness of the doctor. The white-hot temper of the kid. The way he had never seen the former so gentle nor the latter so complacent until now, as they patched themselves together on his bloodied furniture. 

Peter had been reluctant to welcome them all inside. It was bad enough to shelter one serial killer, but now three? It reminded him that everything he’s been doing as of late is against what he once stood for. Fuck, it would solve a hell of a lot of his own problems if he didn't care. If he’d let them all rot, make them regret thinking that Peter would risk his own hide just because he's been friendly with them. Dr. Gordon and Stanheight had seemed to understand this too. Their expressions had been apprehensive, looking ready to flee like the animals they were. Peter wonders how long ago he would have given chase. 

Hoffman had spoken, then. 

“I didn’t-” His voice was shot and exhausted. “I didn’t know where else to go, Strahm.” 

And just like that, Peter took them in. Those words were all it took. Hoffman limped inside on a bad leg and described some sort of police-raid, premature. John Kramer and Amanda Young hadn’t even been there, so it had just been the trio, and they were forced to flee. Unable to go far on foot in their current state, Hoffman had brought his injured companions here. To Peter. 

Why did that make something strange stir within him? 

The three of them were soaked to the bone from the rain. Peter watched Hoffman sluggishly attempt to remain alert, but every so often his head would lull and come to rest against the soft thigh of Dr. Gordon. If the doctor noticed it, he didn't say a word as he continued to diligently work. He looked tired. Stanheight was putting on the best brave face he could manage, but Peter’s keen eyes caught his shoulders trembling, only eased when Gordon’s hand came to rest on one and rubbed gently. They all looked so tired. 

Unable to watch any longer, Peter finally broke the silence. 

“So why are you still doing this?” It took everything in him to not fidget idly as he spoke, brows furrowed at the three men. 

All eyes were on him quite suddenly, sharp as they regarded him. Three clever pairs of observant eyes that all screamed out ‘I know more than I’m letting on' to Peter. He held their gazes, muscled arms crossed over his chest. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” He scoffed, lip curling. “What’s the point of doing the old man's dirty work when he just lets things like this happen to you?” 

Silence.

Hoffman broke first. He laughed, eyes closing as he rested more fully against the couch. It was good-natured but ultimately dismissive. 

Dr. Gordon frowned at Peter, one brow quirked as if he had asked them something incredibly naive. Like he expected Peter to know already. 

Stanheight didn't react. Not outwardly, anyways. He only stared, something new and strange glittering in his eyes that Peter couldn't place.

“What,” Peter grit his teeth, an edge to his voice. Less of a question and more of a prompt. 

“Nothing, nothing. Apologies, Mr. Strahm.” Gordon sighed, turning his attention back to his handiwork. He appeared to nearly be done with the worst of Stanheight’s injuries now. “It’s just… not that simple.”

“Not exactly the kinda job you can put your two weeks in for.” Hoffman corroborated, a smirk tugging at his full lips. 

Peter felt his face burn hot, and he huffed in frustration. “You fucking- Don’t play dumb. Don’t act like it’s a stupid question. I’ll throw you back out onto the fucking curb.” He jabbed a finger at Hoffman in particular, who for his part did indeed shut his mouth. “You listening? Good. What I’m saying is that John Kramer is one demented old man. What is actually stopping you?” 

This time, the quiet was punctuated by Hoffman and Gordon exchanging an uncomfortable glance. After a moment, Hoffman shrugged and ran one hand through his damp, messy hair. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of, uh, checks ‘n balances.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow skeptically. Hoffman continued. 

“Information is power, etcetera. Kramer keeps basically everything on a need-to-know basis. Including, I dunno, who you’re workin’ with half the time. Hell,” He rolled his eyes, and lazily raised a hand behind his head to pat Gordon’s arm. The doctor made an annoyed noise in response, shifting away from him. “He only told me about these lovebirds when he needed help lookin’ after ‘em.” 

“I’m still mad about missing out on a trip to Mexico.” Stanheight quipped. His voice was softer than normal, but Peter supposed it was a good sign that he was speaking at all. He wasn’t used to the younger man being so quiet. 

Gordon straightened up a moment later, gently patting down the new bandages and brushing some of the hair from Stanheight’s face. “There you go.” He sighed. The warmth in his tone was so palpable that Peter had the distinct feeling it wasn’t meant for his ears. Despite being in his own apartment, he somehow felt he was intruding. “Get comfortable, alright?” 

Peter watched as Stanheight pulled himself to his feet, stopping short just a little ways away from him with an awkward shuffle. Gordon patted his thigh and spoke his next words like they took all of his energy to say. 

“Your turn.” He didn’t even bother to look at Hoffman. The detective grinned anyways, wasting no time in clamoring up into Gordon’s personal space and slinging his leg across the man’s lap. Gordon shook his head disdainfully, but carefully began rolling back Hoffman’s torn pant leg anyways. 

Peter guessed he wasn’t the only one that Hoffman lived to irritate.

“Christ, Mark.” Gordon sucked in a sharp breath, and Peter’s shoulders stiffened as he took a step forward to look. His stomach sank despite himself; from where he was standing Hoffman’s calf looked like a bloody mess. Peter’s a man who’s seen more gore in his line of work than anyone should hope to see in their lifetime, and yet here he is, staring in alarm. It was unlike him, and woefully he could only attribute his own uneasiness to the owner of the calf. 

As if he could read his mind, Hoffman looked up towards Peter. “Hey, it’s just-” He winced, hissing in pain as Gordon began to clean the wound. “It’s no big deal- no bullet inside. Just grazed me.” 

“You were shot?” Peter balked.

“Grazed,” Hoffman corrected. 

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in a quick-rising frustration. Hoffman was impossible. 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Gordon’s voice was little more than a growl as he spoke through gritted teeth. “You took an unnecessary risk. Do you think I enjoy patching you back together? Honestly, if I didn't know any better I’d assume you were trying to get your sorry self killed.” 

Dr. Gordon’s tone left the detective bristling. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.” He scoffed. “Hell, I don’t bother you when you’re workin’ in the sickbay. Why don't you just- fuck!” 

Hoffman yelped at the unceremonious splash of disinfectant. Gordon gave him the sort of well-practiced fake smile that only a doctor could.

“My bad,” he murmured, unapologetic. 

Peter decided he’d seen enough. He turned on his heel and walked into the kitchen, telling himself that he was just stepping aside to get ice in case the doctor needed some. He knew it wasn't the truth, though; he scolded himself quietly as he leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his graying hair. 

The truth was that he couldn't keep standing there, staring at Hoffman’s leg injury. 

It’s ironic, because it feels like not too long ago that Peter would have done anything to put a bullet in Hoffman. Now the thought makes him feel… queasy. And a bit confused. 

Peter found himself comparing the apprentices to strays again.

He couldn’t get the image of roadkill splattered on the side of the highway out of his head. 

From what he knew of John Kramer and his cult, the apprentices were expendable parts. It doesn't even sound like they can trust each other half the time. One wrong move or fatal mistake would be all it took. Peter wasn't even sure how long it would take him to know something had happened. 

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps so quiet that he knew exactly who they belonged to before turning around. Stanheight stood at the entryway of his bare-bones kitchen, watching him. He’s probably spent the least amount of time alone with him. 

“What is it?” Peter’s frown deepened.

The kid didn't answer immediately, instead coming to lean against the wall beside him. He was quiet for a moment, and then shrugged. 

“Wanted to check on you, I guess.” He answered simply. 

“Check on me? In what way do I need checking on?” Raising a brow, Peter gestured towards the living room. “Look at you three, for fuck’s sake.” 

Stanheight held his hands up defensively. “Hey, hey, I just- I get it, alright?”

Peter didn't know what that meant. He stared down at the shorter man, scowl ever-present, silently prodding him to elaborate. Stanheight’s expression was… almost sympathetic, but his eyes had that same strange look from before: the one that Peter couldn't place. 

The kid was easy to underestimate, Peter knew it from his file and from his current involvement. He wasn't about to make that mistake with him. 

“Sucks, doesn't it?” Stanheight finally said. He was muttering now, glancing once over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. “One thing to know what they're doing and another to see them come back with blood and bits of their skin hanging off.”

Peter felt his stomach turn. “No,” he lied. “If Hoffman’s gonna be reckless and get himself killed then so be it.” 

“No matter what you or anyone else thinks, I’m not stupid.” Stanheight laughed dryly. “You don't gotta lie to me, okay? I’m on team Peter here.” 

“Are we forgetting that you’re one of ‘them’ too?” Peter steeled his gaze, unamused. 

Stanheight grimaced. “I mean- kind of. Not really.”

“‘Not really?’ What’s that mean?” 

“I- like- like I’m with them but I’m not one of them. Old Johnny-boy has never and will never give a shit about me. Not exactly in the running to be his heir or whatever the others think will happen.” Stanheight huffed, rolling his eyes as he explained. “Pretty sure he wouldn't even notice if I went missing if it weren't for the pictures ‘n schedules I go and get for him.”

Peter is quiet for a moment. 

“Why stick around?” He asked softly, already knowing the answer. 

The kid just snorted in lieu of answering, and the two fell into silence once more for a couple of seconds. 

“Glad that Mark has you.” Stanheight suddenly murmured, thoughtful. 

“He does not ‘have me’.” 

“Maybe you can knock some sense into him.” 

Peter scoffed, looking elsewhere. “You’re frustrating, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” Stanheight laughed, “I’m not kidding, though. It always freaks me out how Mark gets when he’s like…” 

Raising a brow, Peter waited for him to sort out his thoughts. 

“Like, when he gets hurt, right? He just- just runs off. Or he’ll go and get hammered on the other side of town and when we find him he’s a mess.” 

At that, Peter’s shoulders went rigid. He was aware of Mark’s habits, his unhealthy coping mechanism. He hadn't thought about who else might know, how deeply it might run. He hadn't thought about how often Mark must be alone. 

When he looked back at Stanheight, he realized the kid was staring at him intently. There was concern in his expression, but also something fierce. 

“John’s really messed him up. Worse than he was before all of this.” His voice was low, almost cautious. “All of them. Lawrence, Mark, Mandy, none of them deserve this. You know that, right?”

Peter’s mouth felt dry. “I…” 

Straightening up again, Stanheight stepped closer to Peter. Before he could see it coming, a smaller hand took his own and held it, inspecting it. “I think Mark needs you.” He said, “maybe all of us do. So you gotta take care of yourself too.” 

Something confused seemed to bloom in his chest then, an uncertain warmth that he could feel rise up to his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he couldn't decide on anything to say. 

“Just think about it, ‘kay?” Stanheight let go of his hand again and started to leave the kitchen, pausing for just a moment to look back at him. “Oh, one more thing.” 

“What is it?” Peter’s voice was hoarse. 

Stanheight gave him a grin that didn't meet his eyes. “Welcome to the family.” 

Then he was gone, Peter’s protest to that statement dying on his lips, and Peter was left to think on everything he said. 

Hoffman needing him. Hoffman hiding himself away in dark corners to nurse his wounds. Improperly set bones and too much bandage. 

Stray cats.

Peter’s family used to have cats. His sister’s cat had been an old, white, raggedy thing that she named Alfredo. When Alfredo passed away, he had hidden under the bed and refused to come out. Peter thinks he remembers reading somewhere that pets do that on purpose, so their humans don't have to see them die, but it's been years and his animal knowledge is limited. 

Peter wondered how hard it is to socialize a stray cat. To reintroduce it to domesticity. 

He stepped out of the kitchen, lingering at the entryway, and watched the apprentices from where he stood. Gordon seemed to have finished with Hoffman’s leg, speaking to him in a quieter tone than before. To his surprise, Hoffman looked like he was listening. Stanheight was on the couch with them now, leaning his head onto Gordon’s shoulder. 

Peter found that he wished he could freeze this moment with the three of them in it. The bubble of safety that was his living room felt far away from everything Jigsaw. Maybe they were always meant to be here, on soft furniture, and not crouching amongst rusted pipes and jagged metal. 

Tamed. Domesticated. 

He sighed through his nose and walked around the couch, three sets of clever eyes on him again as he caught their attention. Now that he was there, he could see that Dr. Gordon had just begun to wrap up Hoffman’s leg and he silently motioned to ask for the gauze, kneeling down between them.

Understanding the gesture, Gordon handed it over, smiling at Peter warmly enough to raise his body temperature by a degree. 

“Strahm-” Hoffman started, bewildered, but Peter simply began wrapping his leg neatly. 

“Shut up.” He grunted. “Let me help you, stupid.”

[dootznbootz]

Deeply fucking sorry to the anons who asked for Wips and snippets for taking so long. I'm still working on them AND my other Wips and ADHD is kicking my ass so here's some random food. I hope to give y'all hearty meals soon.

Beggar OdyPen angst. Sappy, scrappy, and crappy as usual :P

Water Son saves his dipshit dad.

And of course...

"My Wife is a bitch and I love her so much."

(no, she doesn't in any way hate Helen. She loves her cousin and deeply cares for her. They were best friends growing up in my writing. She's just a bit snooty and arrogant (Likeminded. hubris is a flaw of hers as well), especially about weaving and Helen's style has always been "loud and flashy". And while Penelope's is "attention grabbing" as well, she's very detail-orientated and very thoughtful about colors and what fits together. Helen's style is a bit of her trying to have attention away from her physical looks. Kind of to have folks see her more for her CHOICES in how she looks instead of just seeing her face, even if said choices are a bit "tacky".

"Look at what I'm wearing, not me. I CHOOSE these clothes. I DESIGNED them. They're MINE."

Penelope, looking at Helen's weaving: "You know, Iris will want her rainbow back... And she'll want the colors put back in the right order." Helen: "Says the girl who puts into her weavings every frog, fish, flower, blade of grass, cloud, leaf, tree, hill-" Penelope: "Okay, fuck off. ರ_ರ I'm taking the red thread as I need it and there better be enough of it."

it's unedited af but yeah, food. Mwah. I love you all.

[smeowchi]

I forgot this was a draft I wrote at like 4am when I was trying to sleep but got possessed by this thought. Not even gonna fix up the writing, I'm just gonna post this as-is kdhgksdh Radar once attended one of the New Order's meetings and eventually, somehow, he brought up the shipping stuff on the internet. This shifted into a rabbit hole of how - much like irl - people have made fanart and fanfics and had shipping wars over them. The entire room slowly went more and more ballistic as they heard about the shit people say abt them.

I refuse to believe this didn't happen. It's canon to me for reasons that are 95% for the sillies.

[bennydunbar]

bro ngl tumblr is way more fun than twitter, twt is one of my first social medias and honestly no wonder my head was so goopy

[app1es0uce]

Okay- the community has spoken that Trans Telemachus is very much being supported here and a fun possible head cannon for a lot of people

But the question is, is Telemachus Trans fem or Trans masc??

(I’ve seen a lot of votes for Trans masc and Odysseus fucking up the sirens for misgendering his son. But I’ve also seen arguments for Trans fem Telemachus as when Odysseus comes home, she comes out to her dad)

[tgshydestan]

tgs is set in 1885 coca cola was made in 1886

it is perfectly logical to assume that, in a years time (in the tgs universe), coca cola could be invented

another fun fact: the original recipe had c0ca1ne in it

therefore, we can assume that it is entirely possible for the entire building to become hopped up on c0ca1ne by drinking coca cola

chaos

[totheidiot]

thy evil spirit

that short tiny moment from julius caesar act 4 scene 3 where the ghost of caesar shows up and tells brutus that he will meet him at philippi. but make it about light and L where L's ghost visits light in the morning of january 28, before the warehouse scene. enjoy :D

fandom: death note

word count: 1,410 words .

The ice-cold water from the faucet dripped on the basin in a methodical fashion. Light turned the faucet to the right, increasing the rush of water as he looked into the bathroom mirror. His reflection stared back at him: he took a moment to study himself as he gripped the edge of the sink. All was in order, it appeared. His hair was neat and his suit tidy, an apathetic expression on his face. As neutral as he seemed outwardly, on the inside, he thought he was the happiest man alive.

Today, it ends. He would win. He was sure of it. Every detail of his plan was absolutely perfect, he couldn't fail this. He would achieve what he wanted so many years ago, ever since he was seventeen years old. Perhaps he wanted this for much longer, even before he had found that notebook on the ground. Perhaps he had always wanted to be God.

His victory was so close, he could taste it. Unlike L, Light had never been one for sweets but now, his victory tasted so sweet and saccharine on his tongue. Light had never tasted something so perfect and divine. Oh, he could barely wait and he was so damn close. All of his life was leading up to this day: 1.28, 1 P.M. Victory belonged to him and very few things could stop his final accession.

With his right hand, he pulled at his sleeve, revealing his watch. His gaze turned to the time: it was a few minutes after ten in the morning. In about ten minutes, he would have to meet with the rest of the Task Force. But until then, he needed a moment alone. Just a moment to himself. Being alone had been such a privilege for him for so long. Just a moment alone in this bathroom, standing before the sink with his hands gripping the marble, looking to the mirror as the water fell from the faucet.

Cupping his hands underneath the tap, cold rushing water fell to his outstretched palms. He began to splash it on his face, closing his eyes. It felt like his skin was burning as the freezing water made contact with his face. Opening his eyes and turning off the tap, he let out a labored breath. Light's hand returned back to the edge of the sink as he stared right at the mirror. As he had turned off the faucet, stopping the sound of rushing water, the bathroom was completely silent. The silence was stifling, all that was left was him.

Water droplets clung to his skin and Light watched as they dripped back to the sink. He was oddly fixated on that methodical motion, watching water drop to the sink one drop at a time. Swallowing hard, he raised his head, expecting to see only his face staring back but when had his solitude ever been long-lasting?

L. Light could recognize his face anywhere: that familiar outline of his face, those black eyes, dark unkempt hair. Light's grip on the sink tightened and his eyes widened, his breath quickening. Through the reflection of the bathroom mirror on the wall, he could see that L seemed to be standing just behind him. Light instinctively turned his head, taking his eyes off of the mirror. No one was behind him, he was alone in the bathroom. He made himself look back at the mirror and there L was in the reflection. Standing with his hands inside his pockets, looking at Light with sharp eyes and a neutral expression.

Though Light was shaken up in the midst of L – after all, it wasn't everyday where you were faced with your dead rival – Light wasn't as surprised as he should be. For you see, this wasn't the first time he had seen him or felt his presence in this odd hallucination-like state, following L's death. Sometimes, amidst a crowd, Light might catch a glimpse of his face, so unmistakable that he just couldn't dismiss it as a misunderstanding or a trick of the light. Some nights, Light could wake up in the dead of night randomly and in his half-asleep daze, eyes half-lidded, he might find L lying next to him in his bed. Light never let himself think about it too deeply. Even after death, L was such a pain.

"Thy evil spirit, Kira."

With a start, Light stared at L through the reflection. Though Light had seen him countless times, this was the first time he had heard L speak in this state. Light hadn't heard that voice in four years and he was surprised to find that it was exactly as he had remembered. Even after four years, Light's memory of his voice hadn't failed him.

Light parted his lips, not knowing what to do. He closed his eyes, opening them again. L's face was still staring straight at him through the reflection of the mirror. It appeared that L only existed in the plane of that bathroom mirror as there was no one standing behind Light right now. "Why are you here?" Light asked, trying to sound as contained as possible. However shocked he was, he couldn't let it show.

L opened his mouth again and without taking a pause, he replied to him immediately. His voice was completely flat, not a single emotion at all. His face was the same. "To tell you that you'll be seeing me at the docks."

Light furrowed his eyebrows, what did that mean? Damn L, even in death, he was trying to confuse him. Just as infuriating as well. He sucked in a breath through his teeth as his grip on the sink loosened. "Well, then I'll see you again?"

"Yes," was L's simple reply. Then, a nod of his head. "At the docks."

Light let out a breath as he stared straight into L's face. Staring into the face of a dead man, the dead man in question stared back at him. That very face, it would forever be stuck in the age of twenty-five. Light reached out his right hand, unclenching the edge of the sink as he began to raise it. He touched the glass of the mirror, his fingertips meeting with the outline of L's face. What he felt was not skin but cold and unforgiving glass. L made no reaction at such a gesture, all he did was stare. For a moment, Light just traced over the reflection of L's face, his lips softly parted as he felt a pit in his stomach. Finally, Light spoke again, his lips moving to produce sound. "Then I'll see you at the docks."

L only gave a shrug of his shoulders in reply. He did not disappear immediately, instead only staring back at Light. Where was L, in which plane did he exist? Light watched as L began to reach out his hand also and slowly, it appeared to meet the glass. Light couldn't help but produce a small choking sound as he saw that L's fingertips met where Light's were. What separated them was seemingly just glass but Light knew better, there was no point in believing otherwise. They were worlds apart, literally. L was dead and Light was so alive. It was all Light's fault.

"Now that I understand," Light spoke, his voice strained and low. He looked to the side, not being able to look at L. "You can go now. You ill spirit, I wish we could have talked more."

When Light looked back at the mirror, L was gone, his fingertips were hovering over nothing. It was as if L had never been here at all. With a sigh, Light withdrew his hands and stood upright. That was a moment of weakness, he couldn't afford something like that. He needed to forget about it, forget what L had told him, forget how their fingertips connected together. There was no point in focusing on whatever that interaction was. Forget about the docks, whatever that means. L was dead and he was alive, and he would be alive for a long time. Light had won while L had lost. Light and L had parted their ways a long time ago, there would be no meeting between them. He pulled at his tie, adjusting his clothes as he looked back at the mirror with a stoic expression on his face. He had more pressing matters to deal with. 

[the-other-starstruck]

got the entire first chapter of lucios route written down!! editing it now :)

im formatting it fanfic style but keeping the writing style (as best i can) and keeping as much of the canon writing as i see fit.

im using my mc samsin in it because i didnt want to put (mc) or (y/n) cause it just pulls me out of the narrative entirely. plus i can make more dialogue and interactions with personality rather than milktoast mc only there to showcase the characters personalities.

[inkameswetrust]

The Window Sill

Pairing: James Diamond x Kendall Knight Characters: James Diamond, (The Mention Of) Brooke Diamond, Kendall Knight, Jennifer Knight Content Warnings: Fluff, BL, SFW, James actually kissing someone after successfully flirting with them for once (Except for Big Time Halloween, that episode was peak.)

Word Count: 2,038

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Once again, the sun descends over the horizon—the sky stirring with pinks, purples, and oranges. The faint, yellowing glint of the evening sun shone through Kendall's bedroom window. He flopped onto his bed and laid on his back as boredom swept over his sunken body like a hurricane. The occasional breeze crept in, whistling and whispering to the tune of its own melody.

Kendall turned his head to the side and saw the sun casting its dim glow on the tuning pegs of his acoustic guitar. He knit his brows at the sight of a slip of folded ivory paper subdued within the fretboard. "That's weird..." Kendall mumbled to himself as he rolled out of bed and shuffled toward his guitar.

He carefully retrieved the paper from the fretboard, making sure to not elicit any disruptive sounds from the strings. Kendall unfolded the paper and let his eyes wander from word to word as he skimmed the note addressed to him.

To my favorite songbird,

Don't think I don't hear you

humming Boyquake songs

in second period!

                     —J ♡

Kendall found a solid silver guitar pick attached to the end of the note with the letter K engraved in cornflower blue. A crooked grin accompanied the coo in Kendall's voice as his heart swelled from the sincerity of James' gesture. He hurried to his bedroom door, glancing in both directions before closing it shut. Kendall then took his guitar from its stand and carried it to his bed.

He sat down with the guitar carefully situated atop his lap, twisting the tuning pegs to match his ideal sound. After tuning his guitar to the key of A and fastening a capo onto the second fret, he began strumming with the progression of four chords. The pick in Kendall's hand slid over each string like a sailboat drifting over a passing wave.

"Forgive me, I'm trying to find my calling. I'm calling at night." Kendall began, singing moderately quietly to not alert anyone's attention, "I don't mean to be a bother, but have you seen this girl?"

Kendall continued to strum, the melodic sound of his strings increasing their volume as he tightened his grip on the pick. He nodded his head to the rhythm, his bangs and dolphin gray beanie shifting. Kendall's checkered bracelets circled his wrist and bounced atop his forearm as his hand rose and fell alongside the strings.

"She's been running through my dreams, and it's driving me crazy, it seems." Kendall continued, his voice rising and his eyes fluttering shut while his senses were overcome with symphonic bliss, "I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

Kendall hums the rest of the melody, his voice guiding his guitar to a quiet cadence. He gave a few final strums until the echoing sound of the melody rang through the room like the chime of a bell. Kendall sat there for a moment, his eyes glancing over his guitar as he pondered his thoughts.

"I thought you said you didn't sing." A familiar voice called out from behind.

Kendall's shoulders jolted upward in surprise before he cocked his head back to meet James' gaze. He saw James leaning his elbows onto his window sill, his adoring smile acting as a signal asking for entry.

"James!" Kendall cried out as he hurried over to the window sill, throwing his arms around James' neck and pulling him in for a tight hug. "Careful," James warned as he jolted back, "I haven't made it inside yet."

"Sorry." Kendall chuckled as he loosened his grip on James and stepped back to give him space to enter. James climbed over the window sill and planted his feet on the carpet of Kendall's bedroom.

"So I take it you got my note?" James inquired, dusting himself off and striding toward Kendall, "What do you think? Pretty cool, right?"

"Well..." Kendall began, cocking his brow and wearing a playful grin, "I won't lie, I love it. But how'd you even get that pick for me?"

James scratched the back of his neck, his smile stretching to the right side of his face as he prepared his explanation. "Well, I've been helping my mom at the office for a few nights after school." James began, stuffing his hands into his pockets, "And she so lovingly suggested I use my earnings to get you something nice."

Kendall hummed with a satisfied chuckle accompanying the lift in his voice. Nothing and no one could ever make Kendall's heart sing with such enthusiasm. Before stepping closer to James, Kendall stopped to ponder an alerting thought. "Wait... so all those nights you said you wanted to adopt a better beauty sleep schedule," Kendall wondered, "That's what you were doing?"

"Bingo," James replied heartily, slowly slinking his hands up Kendall's forearms. He'd hoped the time and effort he put into perfecting a romantic gesture for Kendall would, at the very least, impress him.

Kendall's eyes swam downward, relishing in the sight of James inching closer. He followed suit, shuffling closer and holding James' hands in his. "I gotta say, I'm a little shocked," Kendall admitted with bated breath.

"Hmm? Why's that?" James queried, his voice lowering in tone and volume. Kendall reluctantly looked up to meet James' gaze. He chuckled to himself, pondering the thoughts circling his mind in response to James' gift.

"James Diamond working? And putting in the effort to do something nice for someone else?" Kendall teased with a playful grin, "You gotta admit, that's a little strange."

"Oh yeah?" James replied exuberantly. "Then I guess I'll just have to take this back." James hurried to Kendall's bed and swiped the guitar pick from atop his blanket. He ran around the room, avoiding Kendall's grasp and keeping the pick in his hand high above his head.

"James, give that back!" Kendall cried while fruitlessly chasing James around his bedroom, "You gave that to me!"

As James pressed his back into the door of Kendall's wardrobe, he kept his arm raised and his signature cocky grin stretching ever so strongly across his face. "Oh, I'm sorry." James teased in reply, "I thought you said James Diamond doesn't do nice things for other people."

Kendall grunted in frustration as his fingers grazed over James' palm. He mentally reprimanded himself for being unable to retrieve his guitar pick despite their minimal height difference. Just as James' hand was finally starting to open up, a gentle knock was heard at Kendall's bedroom door.

"Kendall, honey!" Jennifer called out, "Are you home?"

Kendall and James both turned their heads in terror, unsure of what move to make or how to combat the possibility of getting caught. "Oh, no..." Kendall croaked breathlessly. His eyes darted across the room, desperately looking for an escape or some kind of coverup. He then noticed the wardrobe door behind James and cocked his brow at the spark of an idea.

"Quickly!" Kendall whispered worriedly, "Hide in the closet!" James swiftly turned around, opening the wardrobe doors and hiding amongst Kendall's miscellaneous clothes. Kendall was quick to shut his closet and answer the door, where he stood awkwardly in front of his mother.

"He-hey, Mom!" Kendall stammered, clumsily changing his leaning position with every fumbling word, "How's it going? How was work? Do you need anything? Did I tell you that I love you?"

Jennifer looked Kendall up and down, gazing at him with a puzzled look as she tried to decipher the nature of his awkward demeanor. "What did you do?" Jennifer questioned with folded arms.

"N-Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" Kendall replied, almost too quickly, "I'm just happy to see you... 'cause I love you so much."

After a final look of indifference, Jennifer lowered her hands to her hips, saying, "Uh-huh." Kendall stood against the doorframe with an awkward smile and an even more awkward stance, hoping and praying his mother would look the other way.

Jennifer rolled her eyes and quietly ignored whatever Kendall desperately tried hiding from her. "Anyway, I just wanted to come check on you before I start making dinner."

"Dinner! Sounds great!" Kendall replied heartily. "Why don't I come downstairs and help you?"

Before Jennifer decided to respond, she contemplated whether or not she had the energy to combat Kendall's defensive exuberance, to which she decided she did not. "Sure, why not? I'll call you downstairs when I'm ready."

"Then I will see you downstairs." Kendall chimed in response, snapping with both of his hands and pointing finger guns in his mother's direction. Jennifer stood there for a second, still stunned by the facade Kendall displayed. "Okay..." Jennifer muttered as she walked back downstairs.

Kendall slowly closed his bedroom door and pressed his back into it with a heavy sigh of relief. "Y'know, you're terrible at playing it cool," James teased as he emerged from Kendall's wardrobe, "You own a lot of flannels, by the way."

"Shut. Up." Kendall groaned as he brought his palms to his face and trudged over the carpet to James. He buried his head in the crook of James' neck and laid his head on James's shoulder, letting the embarrassment consume him entirely.

"Perhaps that was karma for insulting me earlier?" James suggested playfully, the urge to giggle overcoming him.

"I'm going to kill you." Kendall sneered, his face hidden away in the fabric of James's shirt. "Aww, love you too, buddy." James replied, hugging Kendall with one arm, "But I guess I should come back another time."

Kendall propped his head up at the notion of James finally leaving. He didn't want James to leave, but he also knew the circumstances wouldn't allow him to hide James any longer. "Yeah," Kendall sighed, "I'll call you later."

James nodded in response as he began to climb out through Kendall's window. He stuck one leg out past the window sill and ducked to slink the rest of his body out, but looked back at Kendall walking toward the door. James knit his brows, contemplating how to properly say goodbye before he disappeared for the night.

"Kendall!" James cried, second thoughts lacing his tone of voice. Kendall turns his head back and cocks his brow. "Yeah?" He replies while shuffling toward James, "What is it?"

James planted both hands onto the window sill, tucking one knee under his chest and planting the other on the roofing shingles. He gazed up at Kendall, his eyes glimmering in doing so. All he could think while looking at him was how he ended up being lucky enough to have Kendall in his life—to be able to cherish and adore him, even if it wasn't out loud. Just the thought of being near him was enough to make James' heart soar, and he hoped Kendall felt even somewhat similarly.

That familiar, adoring grin stretched its way across James' face, alerting Kendall of another impending romantic gesture. James raised his hand to Kendall's cheek, cupping it and pulling Kendall in for a quick goodbye kiss. The sounds of nightfall accompanied their symphony of blossoming romance with the crescendo of the evening breeze, the staccato of chirping crickets, and the arpeggio of passing vehicles.

Before Kendall could even process being kissed by James for the first time, he'd already pulled away with that stupid grin still flashing before him like the glare of the sun on your windshield.

"Say hi to Mama Knight for me," James remarked, scaling down the roof and rushing to his bike to hurry back home. Kendall stepped back from the window sill, bringing his palms to his lips and standing frozen in place with only one thought on his mind. He couldn't even bring himself to speak, he was petrified and speechless by the flourishing emotions brought about by James' kiss. Though, he'd hoped this meant there was hope for them yet.

Before Kendall could regain his composure, he heard his mother calling him from downstairs, saying, "Kendall!"

Kendall immediately snapped his head in the direction of his mother's voice. There was no way he'd be able to focus on helping her prepare dinner, but he'd be damned if he weaseled out now.

"C-Coming, Mom!" Kendall responded as he rushed out the door to face the fruit of his facade.

[friedchickenluver]

ugh, i gotta write smut…

[cleradinscloset]

tell me why i found this absolute abomination in my notes ahem

Their lips pressed together. Wills hands on Mike's neck, pulling him closer. Mikes arms around Wills waist. How did they get here? Will slips his tongue into Mike's mouth and they're making out. Needy, like they've been longing for this.

Mike wakes up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. What. The. Fuck. He looks down at Will, who was sitting up slowly, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Mike must have woken him up. He looks up to the ceiling and closes his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. That was one hell of a dream. Why would he have a dream like that? He was straight. Right? No way he liked Will. That would be-

"-Mike!" He looks down at Will who has probably been trying to get his attention. "Are you okay?" Mike nods. "Nightmare?" He shakes his head. Will looks at him, confused. "What happened? You looked kinda freaked out." Will gets up and sits on Mike's bed. "You wanna talk about it?" Will rests his hand on Mike's knee, probably for comfort. Mike tenses up. It feels like his stomach has a hundred butterflies flying around in it. And oh.

Oh.

He's in love with Will.

This is bad. What would Will think if he knew? He feels a tear run down his cheek and before he can wipe it away, Will does it for him, reaching up and wiping his tears away. He has to get out of here.

"I'm okay. I guess. I just- I'm sorry." He jumps off his bed and runs out of his bedroom, leaving will confused.

so as we can see here...it sucks. does it? i think it does. i thought id share cuz I'm prolly not gonna finish this shit anyway (unless...?) when do i ever

[biting-miguel-ohara]

NOT A REQUEST

just wanted to say that your fics are the air in my lungs, my umbrella on a rainy day, and the very heart that beats in my chest. You cooked on a cosmic scale- gay wolverine fans on tumblr will never be the same <3

Hold on— I just— I need— Just— This is—

I???? Have no words????

Thank you????

I have no idea what to say to this, honestly. I had to spend like, five minutes just staring off into space in awe

I’m genuinely so happy you love my stories so much. I’ve poured a lot of my heart into them and it makes me really happy to know that people love them

(Also, a cosmic scale???? I’m really touched you think so highly of my work 🥹)

I’m going to save this to look at whenever my imposter syndrome hits bc oh my god. This???? Means so much to me????

Like, wdym my fics are the air in your lungs???? 🥹

Anyway, I guess just thank you. Thank you for reading my stories and I’m glad they had such an impact on you

Comments and asks like this are warm bowls of soup on cold days for me. Blankets to snuggle under. Really good food when you’re hungry.

Idk, they mean a lot to me. I save all of them and keep them for when I need a boost of confidence. And you’ve definitely given me one with this

Thank you so much for stopping to leave an ask with your thoughts <3 I appreciate it more than you’ll ever know

[officially-unhinged]

Freminet is fantasy pagan and worships the Sovereigns and y'all can tear that from my cold dead hands. I mean it I'm not letting this go it brings me SO MUCH joy. It's so fucking funny too in the fic's context.

[thedeerman]

i literally can’t stop. i just wanted to make tomorrows chapter flow better i swear. bless you guys for always being glad for more content 😅