#so i used the time to write fic instead.

[hannie-dul-set]

gonna post heartbeat conquest update tonight 😞😞😞 i managed to write while at work but i got punched in the face with thesis work this evening 😞😞😞.

[keferon]

OKAY OH MY GOD THIS FIC IS GREAT I HAVE ONLY READ THREE AND A HALF CHAPTERS AND IM ALREADY IN LOVE

I originally wanted to make both of these pieces in color but I’m gonna be honest I have no fucking idea how to draw Ricochet…he is described as black and red and…mmhhmmm does he have canonical (canonical for this fic I mean) design? Do I need to design him myself? Idk I’ll figure this out later

[chaoticas-hell]

Sometimes I want a beta reader for some of my fics but then I remember how insane I sound during my writing process and before editing and I dont want people to see traces of that. But then bc I'm insane, my insanity slips into my writing anyways and having someone who wasnt driven to madness by their own poor decision making would be greatly appreciated

[waytooinvested]

How it feels diving into the vast Supercorp tag on AO3 trying to decide what to read next. You're all just too good.

[narugen]

hoshimina beach date….. please let them rest 😭🙏

(related art)

[fearandhatred]

you knew it still hurts underneath my scars // from when they pulled me apart. - hoax, taylor swift

[pa-pa-plasma]

you just made the scientific discovery of the century & you want to tell everyone & your kids are first on that list but you can't find them. you manage to get a hold of your daughter & she says everything is fine but her voice gets tight when you try to mention your work & she sucks in a breath & says she won't keep you from it any longer than she already has & doesn't say bye as she hangs up the phone. you have a sinking feeling in your gut & you really want to get back to what you were doing but. something's wrong. where are your kids. why was your daughter not surprised when you told her. why was she so quick to hang up on you. your husband has the same type of mind & that's probably why neither of you can ignore this odd turn of events & so you decide to track them down. the research can wait. after all, the spook got away somehow afterwards. it's not like you have anything to go through but data & recordings.

[scionshtola]

FFXIVWrite2024 Prompt 9 - Lend an Ear

characters: Corisande Ymir, D'alia Liveq rating: G | word count: 436 words notes: just a little thing for the Cori and D'alia Fast and Furious universe 😂ty @lavampira for letting me borrow D'alia!

It was late when Corisande finally closed the hood of her car. The garage door had already been rolled down, and it seemed all the other mechanics and drivers had gone home for the night. They glanced at the clock on the far wall, and winced at the time—they’d meant to be home hours ago, in time to have dinner with Y’shtola.

They quickly cleaned up their area—and themself—and were heading for the light switch when movement in their periphery caught their eye. They stepped back, glancing down the rows of cars, and saw a rosy tail flicking in annoyance. Corisande suppressed a chuckle, and changed direction, making their way toward the muttered curses that accompanied the movement. 

As she came upon the car, the tail flicked again, and now she could see its owner, bent over the exposed engine as she reached for something inside. 

“Maybe that will do it,” D’alia said to herself as she stood, wiping her hands on a cloth. Her eyes fell on Corisande as she turned, and widened in surprise. “Cori! You’re still here?”

“Just on my way out,” Corisande answered, and then gestured at D’alia’s car. It was a sleek thing, black and shining, the very opposite of Corisande’s pink convertible, and yet it perfectly matched the mechanic, with her black shirt sleeves rolled to her elbows, revealing her tattooed forearms. “Your car giving you problems? Anything I can help with?”

D’alia furrowed her brow as she thought, and then shrugged. “It…sounds weird.”

She looked slightly embarrassed to have so little information, but Corisande only nodded. They’d both worked together at Stephanivien’s garage for long enough that Corisande knew it as well as D’alia did: sometimes, it just sounds weird.

“Mind if I take a listen? I’ve got good ears,” she said, tapping one of her long ears. 

D’alia nodded, and reached into her car to start it. Corisande let it run for a minute, listening intently—she could definitely hear what D’alia meant by “weird,” but she needed just a little longer to suss out the problem. When it finally clicked, she gestured for D’alia to shut the car off, and reached for D’alia’s tools. She waited for her nod of permission, and then ducked under the hood, tinkering until she was satisfied.

When Corisande straightened, D’alia started the car once more and grinned at the immediately apparent difference. “You saved me a couple hours’ headache. Coffee’s on me tomorrow—and I’ll bring one for Shtola, since I held you up.”

“That’d be great, because I’m definitely telling her you’re the reason I’m late,” Corisande joked, smiling when D’alia laughed. 

[pheonix-inside]

I have this vague idea in my head of like. Post the end of btsv - let's say there's a happy ending and everything's fine - Miles and Gwen get together. Bc I like them and I think that's gonna happen anyway.

However, you see, I am a multishipper. And I like polyam ships. And I like Miles and Hobie as well.

So let's say Gwen and Miles are together and very much love each other, their relationship is good probably not without bumps but not strained or anything. But Miles also, unbeknownst to himself, develops a crush on Hobie. But he also doesn't even realize he likes dudes. So he's just super oblivious to it. So let's say the first person to notice his crush is actually Gwen.

Bc my brain is providing me with a vague ass fic idea of Gwen trying to gently push Miles to realize he likes Hobie, while also still y'know wanting to date him herself.

Bc how funny would it be for her to say at some point "hey if you liked someone else and wanted to be with them I'm willing to try you dating them and me bc that's a thing" and him being very confused bc "where did that come from??? like ok cool great I'll remember that but huh???"

Especially if she eventually just starts trying to get them together. I feel like the idea of a girl trying to set her boyfriend up with one of their mutual good (if not best) friends is a funny concept, and with them would be super funny.

[mossterunderthebed]

[witchysniffles]

cause and effect

So this started because I was inspired by @snezus-christ-risen's tags on this fantastic fic about what if W/anda's spell had left A/gatha with a photic reflex, you know, as a little treat. This was meant to be a short little thing as a break from a couple of longer projects, but well, here we are.

A (somewhat) canon compliant rewrite of the end of ep. 1 ft. photic A/gatha (and a little bit of implied snzfucker R/io, but I feel like that goes without saying at this point). 2.3k words.

CW for canon-typical violence/knife-use and brief mentions of blood.

Please don't reblog to non-kink blogs!

The last thing Agatha remembered—or rather, the first thing she was aware of—was Rio’s voice.

There are two Jane Does in this case, and you know her name. Now what’s yours?

It was torturously slow and horribly unpleasant at first, like dipping her toes into a freezing lake. Nearly every part of her was screaming for her to stop, but there was Rio’s voice urging her on, pushing her to keep going, and even though she knew she should hate her—even if she couldn’t quite remember why yet—she couldn’t come up with a reason not to trust her. And so she dove head first into that frigid water until she found herself gasping and clawing her way back to the surface. The world around her was blurring, fading in and out of focus, and then suddenly everything was still.

The second things she noticed simultaneously as she settled back into herself and opened her eyes were that she was standing in her living room—or rather, what her living room would look like if she had suddenly decided to start a true crime podcast—and that she was completely fucking naked.

The third thing that she became aware of as she turned towards the bright sunlight streaming in through the open window behind her was that she quite suddenly really needed to—

“HhEITSHhiu!”

The first sneeze tore out of her faster than she could prepare for it, and it was followed immediately by another rapid, burning build-up that she managed to catch against her open palm. “HehT’TSH! Ugh, fuck!”

She ran through a quick check of her body: no congestion, no fever, no watery eyes or wheezy breath or anything else to indicate that that was anything other than a random sneeze. Annoying, sure, but otherwise inconsequential, and frankly she had much bigger things to worry about.

Like the fact that the Darkhold was gone.

And even more pressingly, for the first time in her whole life, Agatha couldn’t even feel her own magic. For as long as she could remember, it had always been there, humming and swirling beneath her skin with an energy all its own, but a halfhearted attempt at the most basic of light spells proved what she already knew in her bones: the Darkhold was gone, and it had taken every ounce of her power with it.

Rage and terror burned in her chest in equal measure, and she screamed into the stillness of the air. There was no one around to hear, and it didn’t really make her feel any better, but it felt better than doing nothing.

She snatched a robe off a hook by the stairs and slipped it on as she started for the basement door. She knew exactly what she was going to find—or rather, what she was missing—at the bottom of the steps, but it still set a sick feeling rolling in the pit of her stomach when she saw not a trace of magic, not a single spellbook or grimoire, not even a rune. She stared in disbelief at the laundry setup and the hot water heater and the tool shelves covered in a thick layer of dust that almost made her nose tickle again just by looking at it.

She was about to storm back upstairs when a small squeak from behind a bin labeled ‘Holiday Table Settings’—ugh—caught her attention. Señor Scratchy hopped out into the open, and Agatha felt a rush of relief at seeing him safe. She swept him up and knelt on the cold basement floor, nuzzling her face against his soft fur.

“I got mugged, mister,” she murmured. “She took every little bit of power I had and left me with household appliances. We gotta get back on top.” She kept her fingers moving in the rabbit’s thick fluff as she let her gaze wander around the basement. It was all so pedestrian, and so fucking dusty. Would it have killed Agnes to have picked up a rag at any point in the last…however long it had been?

Señor Scratchy, for his part, seemed more than happy to stay in Agatha’s arms as long as she’d have him, and right now, Agatha wanted nothing more than to just hold him until she could convince herself this was all just a horrible dream. The only problem was that even without actively disturbing any of the dust around her, her nose was starting to itch in earnest, so she scooped the rabbit up as she got to her feet and hurried up the basement steps before things could get any worse.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust from the dim light of the basement to the sunlight streaming into hallway. “HE’TSschiu—‘TSCH!” Agatha had barely even felt the sneezes come on this time, and she cursed under her breath as she recovered. Whatever kept making her do that, it was getting really old, really fast.

Startled by the noise, Señor Scratchy started wiggling to get free and Agatha leaned down to set him on the floor.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “Who needs you anyway?”

She scrubbed her wrist under her nose and started to make her way towards the kitchen to see what Agnes had in the way of real food when a flash of movement outside caught her attention. She couldn’t tell at first what—or who—it was, but she stiffened in place and waited, her whole body on high alert, until everything suddenly happened all at once.

One second, it was deadly calm, and then the next, the front door crashed open and flew off its hinges. Sunlight flooded into the dim interior, and Agatha barely had time to get a hand up before her traitorous fucking nose picked that moment to start burning again. She sneezed twice into her cupped palm, and she had no time to recover before she was blasted backwards by a gust of wind that knocked her into the wall and sent her tumbling onto the floor.

Agatha looked up, and there she was, stalking into Agatha’s house like she fucking owned the place, dressed all in black with a murderous look on her face that should not be making Agatha’s insides stir the way that it did. There were a thousand thoughts and feelings boiling inside of Agatha as she got to her feet, but before she could even think about a next move, another strong gust knocked her back into the wall, and then Rio was on her, knife unsheathed and held at her throat, Agatha’s trembling hands on Rio’s wrist the only thing keeping it from slicing her open.

“I’ve missed you,” Rio said playfully.

“I hate you,” Agatha spat back.

 “How long has it been, Agatha?”

“Not sure,” Agatha said. Her eyes flitted from the knife to Rio’s face and back again. Every inch of her felt raw and exposed; she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt quite so powerless in her life.

“Since you acquired the Darkhold? You hid behind all that dark magic?” Rio’s voice was shaking, and if Agatha didn’t know better, she’d swear there was a glassy sheen over those brown eyes boring into her. “But then you lost it, and now…” Rio gripped the knife’s hilt with her second hand, and pressed the tip of it into the skin at the base of Agatha’s throat. “Touch.” Agatha winced at the sting of it as it bit in, and bared her teeth as she felt a trickle of blood run down her chest. “You’re vulnerable.”

There were tears burning hot in Agatha’s eyes, and she was hyperaware of the quiver in her voice as she spat out “Only physically.”

In one sharp movement, Agatha grabbed Rio by the hair to wrench her head to the side. They wrestled for control of the knife until Agatha managed to get it stabbed into the wall. Rio grinned hungrily at her, and Agatha let out a mirthless laugh. In another lifetime, this might have had a very different ending, but in this one, Rio’s hand tightened around Agatha’s neck, and the next thing Agatha knew, she was thrown towards the kitchen, crash landing on the floor with a groan.

Rio retrieved her knife out of the drywall and whipped it at Agatha, who managed to deflect it off the back of a displaced sheet tray. It hit the floor, and in the mad scramble for it, Agatha found herself in the path of a long shaft of sunlight that made her eyes burn and—oh fuck not now!

Agatha stopped dead. Her hand was already curled around the blade of the knife, and she gasped, not entirely sure if it was from the pain or just her breath hitching in the split second before she—“Hh’ETSH! hEH’YSHeu—‘EHSHhiew!”

“Huh.” Rio stopped and seemed to study Agatha’s burning face, looking from her to the window behind her and back again. “Well that’s new.”

Before Agatha could collect herself any further, Rio surged forward and grabbed both her knife and Agatha’s face, her hand under Agatha’s jaw, her nails pressing nearly hard enough to draw blood. She pulled Agatha back up and they hit the wall again, except this time there was no knife between them. It was a familiar enough position that Agatha couldn’t tell if the shaky little breath that slipped past her parted lips was from fear, fury, arousal, or a heady combination of all three.

Rio was so close, and she pressed even closer as she placed the tip of her knife against the side of Agatha’s nose, tracing the shape of it with the point of the blade, lightly enough to almost tickle.

Arousal was definitely winning out now, but that realization just made her angrier.

“That Scarlet Bitch really did a number on you, huh?” The point of the knife slid upwards to the top of Agatha’s nose right between her eyes, where Rio used it to draw out a gossamer-thin tendril of red magic that glimmered and twisted in the air for just a moment before it snapped back and disappeared against Agatha’s skin. It left a cold, tickly feeling deep in her sinuses, but she’d be damned if she let Rio see that.

“Hmm,” Rio mused. “Effective, but the work itself is clunky. I’m not surprised it’s got some lasting physical effects.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Agatha snapped.

Rio raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

Without breaking eye contact or her grip on Agatha’s face, Rio sheathed her knife and thrust her free hand out to the side. A sudden burst of wind forced the dining room curtains open. As bright rays of midmorning sunlight streamed into the room, Agatha felt that infuriating itch flare deep in her nose again. It happened so fast she didn’t have time to even try to cover—not that Rio would have let her—and with her back quite literally against the wall and Rio still holding her in place, she was powerless as her breath hitched, her eyes fell shut, and—“EH’TSCHhu—‘TSHEW! Hh-ITSHU!”

“Oh, bless you,” Rio purred. “Did that make it a little more clear?”

Of course just trapping Agatha’s mind and stealing her power wasn’t enough. No, Wanda’s shoddy spellwork just had to leave her with a fucking sneeze reflex, and a damn sensitive one at that.

Agatha kept her eyes closed a little longer than was strictly necessary. She could feel Rio’s gaze on her, burning hot enough to make her flush. Rio finally let go of her jaw and traced a finger lightly down the side of Agatha’s nose. It wrinkled involuntarily and Rio chuckled.

“It’s cute,” she said. “Shame we couldn’t have some more fun with that.”

“Did you come here for a reason,” Agatha snapped, “or are you just trying to be a cunt?”

Rio scoffed and shook her head incredulously. “You should consider yourself lucky I’m the one that found you,” she said. “You’ve lost your shield. And now any witch with a beating heart and a score to settle could track you down. In fact, I’d wager there are probably some on their way here already.”

Agatha’s blood ran cold. “You don’t mean—”

“The Salem Seven,” Rio confirmed with a nod. “I expect you’ll see them at sundown.” She looked down and took Agatha’s bloody hand in her own, her fingers far too soft for the message she was delivering. “After all these centuries, Agatha Harkness will finally meet her end. Ugh, it really warms the heart.”

“You don’t have a heart,” Agatha snapped.

“Yes, I do.” Rio squeezed her hand, and stared intensely into Agatha’s eyes. “It’s black. And it beats for you.”

She raised Agatha’s hand to her mouth and licked it, dragging the flat of her tongue up Agatha’s palm without breaking eye contact. The moment she released it, Agatha snatched it back like she’d been burned. She didn’t have to look to know the cut had disappeared.

Rio shouldered past her with a wry chuckle and paused in the space where Agatha’s front door had been. She glanced down at the debris on the floor and then back at Agatha.

“Te veo,” she said softly before stepping through the doorway.

Agatha took a moment to collect herself—let her eyes fall shut and took a deep breath in and out—in an attempt to calm her racing heart and stormy mind. It didn’t do much good, and before she could think better of it, she scrambled towards the doorway, not even thinking about how bright it was outside until it was too late.

“Heh’ETSCHhiu! God f-fuh-fucking da—AT’TYSHieu!”

Rio was nowhere to be seen, but there was a part of Agatha swore she could almost hear her teasing laughter on the breeze. With a frustrated growl, Agatha turned and stalked back into her house. First order of business before fleeing the vengeance seekers: find some goddamn sunglasses until the last of this cursed fucking spell was out of her system.

[lizstiel]

Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table eating meatloaf when it all sort of hits – and he’s desperate to remember it exactly how it happened.

With his fork raised halfway to his mouth, a dollop of meat and sauce perched precariously on the tines, his eyes wandered over to where Cas stood by the sink in a pair of ratty pajama bottoms and one of Dean’s old t-shirts. (One of Dean’s old t-shirts, because once Cas gets his shoulders into them they never really sit the same way.)

He’s got soap up to his elbows, scrubbing methodically at the dishes Dean just dirtied, his brow a taught, concentrated line. He’s bringing the same kind of meticulous focus to the dishes that he used to bring to leading the armies of Heaven; that singular kind of attention, both unnerving and admirable. (Dean had once tried to explain that he didn’t need to wash them quite so vigorously, to which Cas had deadpanned, “Do you know how many food particles remain on the dishes you wash, Dean?” It quickly became his job, after that.)

It’s early July. About 6:30pm. The window over the sink is cracked, and the front door is wide open, letting the sound of cicadas and crickets drift in with the summer breeze. The sun’s starting to set behind the field, casting the world in that particular orange glow that has always made something in Dean ache. In the other room, the record player Sam got them for Christmas plays a beat up Janis Joplin record he’d found at a secondhand store in town. The opening chords of Me and Bobby McGee have just started, and the cicadas are humming, and the crickets are singing, and the sun is setting, and Cas is standing in old pajamas washing dishes Dean just used to make them dinner and –

Cas tilts his head.

This isn’t revolutionary. He does it a lot. A very ingrained behavior, some might say. But he isn’t confused, he’s reacting. To the song. He doesn’t react to music the way Dean wants him to, never has, but in his own way, it’s almost like he’s leaning closer to hear it. An infinitesimal thing. The smallest gesture. The corner of his mouth twitches, and Dean has never loved him more than he does at this moment: backlit by a summer sunset in their house in the middle of nowhere, hand washing dishes and listening to Janis Joplin.

Cas turns when the sound of Dean’s fork clattering on the plate sounds, but Dean just scoops him into his arms, chases any worries away with a kiss, and then another, and then one more for good measure. Cas laughs against his mouth, desperately trying to keep his soapy arms away from Dean’s dry clothes. “Dean,” he chides, squirming and chuckling, trying to extract himself from Dean’s grip. “I’m not finished.”

“I’ll get ‘em tomorrow,” Dean promises, peppering sweet little kisses down the line of Cas' throat. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. It tickles all the way down. “Love you so much,” he says, because he wants to. Because he’s so full with it he’s overflowing. Because if he doesn’t tell him right now, in this moment, and every moment after this one, he might die. He needs him to know. It’s vital that he knows.

Cas’ laughter warms, and he slides one soapy hand to the back of Dean’s neck, eyebrows raised in challenge when he shudders at the sensation. When Dean doesn’t immediately shoo him away, he slides the other soapy hand up Dean’s arm. “Dean?” He’s not worried, the timber of his voice is honey-smooth and light, but he’s confused. Not that Dean doesn’t tell him often, and loudly, how much he loves him, but to be fair this did kind of come from nowhere, so he understands. It’s just much too much. It’s not enough and it’s everything. It’s everything in the world Dean has ever wanted.

Janis Joplin is singing freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose, and Dean’s arms are loose around Cas’ waist, and he loves him, god he loves him so much, so he kisses him on one corner of the mouth, and then the other. Janis says, nothin’, don’t mean nothin’ hon’ if it ain’t free, no, no – and he rocks their bodies together, slow, to the beat of the music. Cas’ arms come to wind around his neck automatically, and his smile starts to sprawl into something reserved for only the really good moments. Wide and gummy and for Dean – and feelin’ good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues. He presses his forehead to Cas’ and they just sort of sway there like that, smiling at each other like this might be the last chance they ever get.

Cas says – “I love you, Dean,” just as Janis is singing, you know feelin’ good was good enough for me – and it occurs to Dean that he’s dancing in the kitchen with the love of his life. He thinks back to the longest, loneliest nights he spent staring up at the night sky, believing wholly he’d die bloody and alone on the backend of some random hunt, and how the smallest (but loudest) part of him had wished for exactly this. For someone to hold him and see him and dance in the kitchen with him, barefoot and covered in soap.

He kisses the tip of Cas’ nose, the lines under his eyes. Doesn’t realize he’s crying until Cas is wiping tears away with the pads of his thumbs and soothing hands through his hair. He’s crying, too. Laughing and crying and telling Dean he loves him, he loves him so much, he’s loved him from the first moment he saw him.

It settles in Dean then – really settles deep, and true, and good – that he was meant for this. He wasn’t born to be a weapon. Wasn’t born to be a son, or a father, or a brother. Wasn’t born to save the world or to end it – was just meant to dance. His arms were meant to hold. To sway them both around the cheap linoleum floor, to sling low around Cas’ waist and spin them both ‘til they were dizzy with it.

They laugh and kiss and Janis is saying – good enough for me and Bobby McGee – and Dean is thinking – Yeah. Yeah, it really is.

[undertale-fic-librarby]

Melatonin

A FluffyNight drabble to celebrate reaching 50 followers on this account. It's pretty short & not beta read, but I think it's alright for being written in one sitting. Happy reading!

Beep! Beep! Beep! The sound of Ccino's alarm forced him awake, pulling him out of the pleasant dreams he had been having. Even now, Ccino could feel them slipping from his skull, leaving him wondering what exactly he had been dreaming about.

The continued beeping of his alarm pulled him from his thoughts & Ccino groaned, pushing his face into his pillow. Blindly reaching for it, Ccino attempted to turn it off without looking, knocking his hand against the other things on the nightstand before finally managing to push the button to silence it.

Blissful quiet filled the room as Ccino felt Nightmare shift next to him. Arms wrapped around him & pulled him close, holding Ccino close to Nightmare. Ccino smiled sleepily, turning on his side so he faced towards the other. He hummed quietly as he observed Nightmare looking back at him with a lidded socket, an annoyed expression on his face.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Whispering so as to not ruin the atmosphere, Ccino questioned worriedly. Nightmare shook his head & moved slowly, readjusting them both until they were situated comfortably against each other.

Ccino smiled wider & closed his sockets, holding the other in his arms. Together in each other's arms, they both quietly drifted back to sleep.

Bonus scene!

A shrill beeping jolted them both back awake, causing Ccino to jump in Nightmare's arms. Grumbling to himself, he slowly sat up & reached over to the alarm, shutting it off.

Sitting up properly, Ccino stretched his arms above his head & groaned as he heard his joints pop, rubbing the bottom of his sockets with one hand. Picking up his phone & turning it on, his sockets widened in shock as he let out a loud, "Shoot!"

Scrambling & throwing the blanket off of himself, Ccino barely noticed as Nightmare sat up in alarm. "Is everything alright?" Ccino stammered out a reply, mild panic in his voice as he began changing out of his pajamas.

"Everything's fine! We just overslept a bit!" Relaxing slightly, Nightmare observed as Ccino got ready for the day, rushing around quickly so he wouldn't be later than he already was. If he concentrated, he could swear that he heard the meows of hungry cats impatiently calling for their breakfast.

Hastily walking over to Nightmare, having gotten dressed quickly, Ccino leaned over & placed a chaste kiss against his lovers cheek, smiling. "Love you, see you later!" With that he exited the room, leaving Nightmare sitting alone on the bed with only a warm imprint of where Ccino laid as company.

[vexcraft]

something that genuinely changed fic writing for good for me and made things so much easier was realizing that you can just write That One Scene. that one scene from something bigger you keep rotating in your head over and over? you can write that. you don't have all the plot and stuff around it worked out? you're not sure you'll ever figure out the full plot? or there isn't really any plot but it feels like there should be? doesn't matter, you can write just that one scene. add some subtle context if you feel like it to explain the story a little. or don't! make it a series of separate scenes within a story if you want to. that scene that lives rent-free in your head can be written (and posted!) just as it is, it doesn't need a big story around it if you don't feel like it

[lunarharp]

qifrey's birthday and silly stuff

[fleetingpetal]

OH MY GOSH YAME,,, THE 3RD STILL ISNT HERE FOR ME BUT KUNIS BDAY LETTER IS TOO CUTE I EVAPORATED INTO THIN AIR 💥💥💥 all i can think about is reader secretly giving tips to those students who ambushed him and next time they surprise him with a cake that isn't sweet and he actually likes it 💔💔 i just know you end up being popular at the akademiya solely because of kuni and people try to ask you things about him 😭😭 (i just had a sudden rush of scara love and i had to share with someone 🥹)

SUZU .. OH MY GOODNESS OKAY — first and foremost, you're very much welcome! second, i am honored and glad that you reached out to me for this bc 🥹🥹 i wanna pour my heart out in regards to the brainrot and how much i adore him and his letter so here we fucking go. welcome to another episode of ayame loves scara <3

in regards to evaporating into thin air; that is such a perfect way to describe how i felt while reading it too ;; i mentioned this in my silly lil post but i was literally smiling from ear to ear reading his letter, it's just so nice hearing he's up to his usual mundanities yet still experience something eventful in a way :') "it was so incredibly ridiculous i had to laugh" just the image of him laughing. like. genuinely laughing has me going so soft and melt into a puddle

now brainrot time ( ✧ ✧⁠)

reader, in this vision of this specific scenario, wouldn't be affiliated with the akademiya. sure, visits are quite common for you, but it's only for a certain vahumana scholar... he's been the talk of the town for a decent while, not only for his eccentric personality; but also for possessing an insight vastly different from your typical scholar. some students had the gall to examine that harsh exterior falter ever so slightly when you arrive to mainly check up on him with a meal prepared for him, heard saying such things like “you didn't have to trouble yourself.” under his breath only for you to hear all the while he's taking what you had for him that day in his hands, scurrying away in the wild whilst treating himself to the delicacy he's grown to take a liking to ( code sentence for: loves immensely ).

of course, noticing your close bond with vahumana's one and only hat guy, it prompted a few brave souls from the akademiya to approach you and inquire about your lover. some questions were a little on the nose, and you didn't hesitate to turn those questions down for both his sake and yours. mainly his.

overtime, kuni would start hearing your name echo in the halls. sometimes in the house of daena while he occupied himself with reading to pass time. more popular for your connection to him rather than something else... of course, occasional praises being sung about you would enter his earshot, but that is precisely what they should've settled on first. regardless, the first time they ( some of the students ) interrupted his peace; jumping out of a bush with a cake that, in his gaze, was sickeningly sweet as he so described. sharp eyes from one of the students was enough to alert the others that perhaps the cake they got him wasn't something he particularly liked... so, they seek who for guidance? you, of course.

encounter after another when the students spot you at puspa cafe on your own, your desire to see your lover being unceremoniously interrupted by a student or two having a few things to ask you. you admit, you found a bit of amusement in how literally everyone in the akademiya knew little to none about him. and truthfully, you felt like some divinely favored being to be able to call him your boyfriend, but you digress. his dessert preferences was something you didn't expect to be asked a day prior to his birthday, but the question wasn't unwelcome. you'd dawn on a small smile and explain to the students that he isn't so fond of sweets. sure, he'll have dessert, but they're always bitter. your excitement was unfortunately not kept at bay when the group of vahumana students brought up why they were asking. and you, naturally, tagged along with them to surprise him.

all you did was provide directions, the path he always takes to his favorite spot that he rarely ever visits unless with you tagging along or something would weigh down his mind. and for the fun of it, you made sure to remain hidden as the group jumped out of the bush with a cake that this time, was one exactly to his liking. that same laughter that erupted from him last time, as the students told you, escaped his lips again. this one seemed more... genuine, in comparison to the last one which the students explained as "feeling like they were getting spit in the face."

from his perspective, as his eyes were fixed on the matcha flavored cake presented to him, he could just about feel your presence lurking here. you're the one who's been indulging them in their meaningless questions that were only answered for the sake of knowing more, you're watching him right now, aren't you? of course you are, not when he was able to make out the little hum that was almost taken away along with the breeze and the accomplished squeal from one of the students.

just how much did you indulge them? not much he figured, but you didn't shy away from explaining his dessert preferences. typical from you, yet that laughter that escaped his lips, the slightly lighthearted snark thrown at the students standing in front of him with his favorite cake, and the acknowledgement of your presence here that slowly began to dissipate... you have some explaining to do.