#tendershippingweek2021

[codedredalert]

it's an old story - that tale about falling in love with your reflection

[millenniumringg]

Tendershipping Week Day 4: Holy

Final goodbyes :(

[my-lovely-sketches]

Happy Tendershipping/Gemshipping Week - Day 5: Spirit 

I ended up going back to Tendershipping with this prompt,  I just adore these two~~~

[bakawitch]

Tendershipping Week - Day 5: Spirt

This week me and my sister decided to have a Ghilbi Studio marathon so say hello to the new Spirited Away au which got inspired by that! I decided to recreate that one scene at the end where Kohaku and Chihiro say goodbye to each other. I also tried extremely hard to replecate the movies art style. I struggled so damn much with the colours on this one... But yeah, instead of Japan the whole thing happens in Egypt and instead of a river spirit, Bakura is a mountain spirit in the form of a snake who once saved Ryou from a cave in when he was younger.

[tendershippingweek]

DAY 4: HOLY

[max-strahan17]

Sorry, I posted this one a day late, I was very busy. But I made it yesterday at like midnight.

Day 1: Memory

[foreveratem]

when you are with me

summary:

i am holy.

...

Ryou writes poems in his spare time.

a @tendershippingweek ficlet. 300 words. read on ao3.

--

When you are with me, I am holy.

Ryou writes poems in his spare time. When the line comes, he is unsure if it is a title or if it belongs in verse.

He is certain of his muse, unchanging and clinging sticky-sweet to his mind in each word written.

Bakura visits when he wants to. He picks the lock on the window and climbs in with ease, his silhouette in the night a sigh of relief on Ryou’s lips. When they lock eyes, Bakura releases the harshness of everyday countenance, and they are alone.

It is in the quiet of Ryou’s bedroom that Bakura has these gentle moments, where he looks at Ryou with such softness it rivals the pale skin of his belly, where all else falls away in the hush of sleep that sweeps up the world that is not them.

Ryou holds these moments close to his chest. He soaks Bakura in, basks in his calloused fingertips and nicotine breath. He watches with rapt attention each time Bakura graces a beer bottle with his lips and laughs his coarse, high laugh, hoards each of these memories like it’s a precious currency, for it is.

In the daytime, there are harsh grips and cold shoulders, for the light strips them of all that is private, threatens to bleed violence through every whisper shared.

They wait each day so they may come together beneath the moon’s reverent glow, and when the time comes, Ryou takes with abandon. In turn, Bakura pulls him apart and cleaves him together in his own image. They take and shift and change, and rest in the embrace of truth.

Tonight, homework is swept to the floor, and Bakura meets him beneath warm blankets.

I breathe air from your lips, and I am whole.

[magioftheseas]

Tendershipping Week Ficlets #6

For @tendershippingweek

Day 6: Tomb

I intended this to kind of be a continuation of Day 5, but yeah.

He wakes up on a cold, unfamiliar stone. It’s almost completely dark, with faint illumination from windows high up. Ryou nearly wheezes on the particles of dust fluttering about, wrapping his arms around himself as he shuddered. A deep chill permeated the area and the stench—

It smells like death.

“Aah, finally awake?” a deep voice drawls from the darkness behind him. “You slept like the dead, landlord.”

A low wicked chuckle at its own joke and Ryou fought back another shiver.

“...Baku...” He swallowed. “Bakura, right? You sound different than usual.”

“Not like you, you mean.”

Truth be told, even when using his body, Bakura doesn’t sound much like him. There’s always been a different cadence, a raspier growl in the voice. Almost as though Bakura could never relax. Never let his guard down.

A trapped animal turned aggressive...but with malice that has spanned millennia.

He shakily pushes himself to his feet, trying desperately to avoid stumbling over himself. He still ends up needing to steady on the stone wall. It’s like ice against his hands, so sharp that it stings. Like knives to the flesh.

“This...” Ryou swallowed again, and he knows in his heart of hearts, “This is a tomb.”

An agreeable hum. Something creeps closer—no. Someone is creeping closer.

“Is this where you died?” he guesses, and he gets laughter so shrill and vicious that he almost cowers.

“As if I’d get a tomb to myself,” is spat into his ear. Bakura is close, breath hot and heavy with loathing. “I would have simply been left in the sand to rot. Places like this...aren’t they so wretched? To feel so self-important as to demand housing even when you’re dead. It’s disgusting, isn’t it?”

The body pressing against his is just as hot, hot enough to be sweltering especially with the force of his anger, his hate...

“Wouldn’t it be better if everyone allowed themselves to be consumed?”

Ryou inhaled. His throat burned but from the dust. He turns, and all he can make out are violet eyes.

“I...”

I’m not sure...how to answer. If I were to say that everyone deserves respect even after they’ve died, would that make you angry? Truth be told... I feel like there’s more to it. Sometimes...

Sometimes he had dreamed of death. Of fire, of screams, of hatred, of pain—dreams that would eventually shove him out into the cold. Like an unwanted child watching the door slam shut.

Right now, I...

“Even death couldn’t bring you peace,” he murmurs, and Bakura stiffens.

I’m just worried about you.

It’s still so dark, but Bakura’s cheek is warm under his hand. The skin is rough, too, as if it had been scarred. It feels as though it must have been such a painful wound. Just the idea of suffering that much brings Ryou to tears.

“I want to help you,” he whispered. “I do. I really, truly do. Bakura... I don’t...want you to suffer anymore.”

A hand clamps around his throat.

“Pathetic,” is hissed through teeth, but—Ryou can still breathe. And he does so. Even in his tomb, he breathes.

“That’s fine. Even of you disdain me, it doesn’t change a thing.”

[hakaibunshi]

Flowers on the Beach.

YuGiOh DM || post-canon, canon-divergence || !consider the tags

A little story about shared spaces, self-acknowledgment, overcoming differences, and finding ultimate solutions— Not a romantic love story.

He walked through the narrow corridor, where everything posits a bitter ending. Darkest shadows meet at the point where wall and floor run together, smudging the edge, making it hard to keep balance. And the ceiling too secrets heavy tar from start to end, a dreadful gook so carking it pulls down on him, further, further, further with every step but never enough to — he knows this by now — swallow him. He trod through this shaft without the fear of being squashed, yet not without fear. This time he perceived a menacing hunch in his nape, the idea of leaving something behind.

>> read on AO3

[codedredalert]

and in the darkness bind them

In Millenium World, Bakura was banished to the Shadow Realm.  In Dark Side of Dimensions, Ryou was banished to the Kingdom of Darkness.  He should be dead.  They both should be dead. 

(What if Yami Bakura had saved Ryou in DSOD like how Atem saved Jou, and gets to live in Ryou's head again.)

(494 words) (read on ao3) 

tags: spoilers for DSOD, tendershipping/ bkbk, mortal terror, the inherent eroticism of parallels and partial reincarnation of two halves of the same soul

.

.

The city is dark, but Ryou has never been afraid of the dark.

(A thief in a time before electric light hopes the night is moonless.) 

(A boy with a taste for bloody horror reads by torch under the covers.) 

(In the dark, we can't be certain we are alone. For some, this is comfort.)

Aigami and the man holding the Ring had wished him suffering and death and meant it. And then they had sent him here, so he knows this place is meant to kill him, and make him suffer before it does.

The landscape mishmash of Domino with Cairo and London is surreal but makes sense, with what Aigami said about memory. There are many things Ryou does not want to remember, but he wants to die even less. 

He tries to remember. 

===/\===

The Shadows will steal everything from you if your will wavers even for a moment. Bakura knows this intimately, but his self was forged in bloodier fires than most and had stood millennia against the same darkness that drove men mad in bare minutes. So when he loses the Game and the Pharoah sunders him from Zorc's power and casts him out of the Ring, he rages and he laughs and knows he will find his way back. Somehow he will. He always did. The Shadows held no terror for him. 

(A boy from a condemned people sought refuge in darkness untouched by soldiers' torchlight.)

(A boy with no greed inside him took up the cursed dark with his mind untouched.)

Time does not pass truly in the Shadows, so he does not really know how long it has been. It is always eternity.

So, after eternity, he felt light flare in the distance, going gentle but slow into the good night. And he thought: ah, opportunity.

He does not think about eternities of darkness lifting like air flooding into a sealed tomb. Or the rightness of ba and ka united once more. Or how a soul missing so many splinters yearns desperately to be whole. 

Given light, some things crumble to dust and some return to life. 

===/\===

The world of memory becomes ever smaller, and his thoughts dissolve into incoherent fear as he watches it fade. He had begged for his life but there was no one here to plead with now. 

He clasps his hands over his racing heart, the beat reassuring and terrifying because the next might not come. His heart might not be there. His hands might not be there. His fingertips brush the scar on his left hand and he prays to any god that would have him: 

          I don't want to die.

          I don't want to die.

          Please, save me.

A pale hand emerges from the encroaching dark. It is palm up, an offer, and in its centre is the same scar. It is not salvation, only survival. Survival and a promise to never be alone in the dark.

Ryou takes it. 

===/\===

(read on ao3) 

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[millenniumringg]

Tendershipping Week Day 1: Memory

[my-lovely-sketches]

Happy Tendershipping/Gemshipping Week - Day 7: Partner

My last one! Decided to make this prompt ‘Partner’ cuz I still luv the idea Bakura asking Ryou to help him build the diorama for the last arc, and both working on it together~~~

Thank you again @tendershippingweek for hosting this week for them! And to everyone who could contribute, there are some amazing artwork and fanfics (which I a can not wait to read)! *cheers*

[bakawitch]

Tendershipping Week - Day 7: Future

I originally had a wedding picture planned for this, but my dumbass laptop got my setches corrupted somehow... So have this post-apocalyptic world instead! In this world Zorc has successfuly been resurected and now it’s up to his previous hosts to free the Pharaoh’s soul and use it to destroy Zorc’s spirit once and for all! They travel around a world corrupted by Darkness and try to avoid people infested with Zorc’s influence. At first they were unwilling partners but over time they grew close with each other. And at this point they pretty much have an “I’d die for you” and “not if I die for you first” dynamic going on.

[yuusaris]

Tendershipping Week Day 2 - Control [Doll House]

@tendershippingweek

She's done folks, she's done, DollyFic is D O N E I hope you enjoy it.

Read on AO3 [https://archiveofourown.org/works/32559964]

Ryou doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’d woken up on top of his bathroom countertop.

His legs had folded neatly beneath him, only dressed in his undergarments. A shopping bag had been freshly emptied onto the sink countertop and more garments were hanging nearby. Hands that were not his wrapped around his waist, threading buttons through a very expensive-looking regency shirt.

The Spirit of the Millennium Ring was behind him, smiling from behind the mirror.

He'd wanted to demand answers but his mouth didn’t open. Ryou struggled to control his own limbs. He couldn't move. In the mirror, Ryou’s face was blank. His eyes were glossy and near lifeless, encased in the same stiff trance as the rest of his body.

“Good evening, Landlord,” The Spirit whispered in a low and cheerful voice into Ryou’s ear. Hot breath had slipped from The Spirits mouth and over Ryous skin - real lungs breathing real air. How it was possible, Ryou didn’t fathom.

The Spirit gazed into the mirror as he spoke, his eyes locking with Ryou’s blank expression. “Ready to play?”

Ryou couldn’t answer, of course. His body was hoisted into the air and carried into his own bedroom. A new laced comforter was draped on top of his bed. Ryou's eyes gazed emptily at a mirror set up across from the bed, watching himself descend onto the sheets.

Remembering what happened before he woke up in the bathroom is foggy, like seeing through salt water. He tries to unlock those parts of himself, but he can’t even close his eyes to concentrate.

“You only see what I let you see,” The Spirit says, putting a hand over Ryou’s eyes and closing his lids. The darkness helps Ryou remember the past 24 hours with clarity. The sensation of cloth beneath his fingertips, ripping off price tags, paying with cash. Coming home and laying out the millennium eye and then the rod in a pattern, spiritually connecting them to the other items nearby. He remembers The Spirit manifesting a second body, remembers watching it vanish when he let go of Ryou's arm, then reappear when he grabbed it again.

The hand comes off and it all fades - Ryou only sees the ceiling now.

With his mind still reeling from the information of The Spirits shopping spree, he’s sent into a brief shock when he feels a hand on his bare leg. His stiff body doesn’t follow suit of his own reflexes, however.

With an unsettling casualness, The Spirit bends his leg and something runs up Ryou’s skin. Sheer and velvet soft, it comes up to his mid-thigh and gently clamps down when The Spirits fingers slip out of the cuff. His other leg is grabbed, subjected to the same. His hips are lifted for him with one hand, another running the pants up his body, before settling around his waist with a snap.

Ryou still can’t move as the Spirit gets on top to straddle him, a new piece of clothing in hand. He gently puts Ryou’s head and arms through the holes -- they slip through it easily, letting the addition hug against his back. Hands that were not his button them up to his chest. A waistcoat, maybe?

“You look... decent,” The Spirit preens, running hands up Ryou’s torso. “Why not have a look at yourself?” Ryou’s chin is grabbed and his face is turned back to the mirror.

His reflected body is dressed in a regal, outdated outfit. The cream-lace ruffles and light-blue velvet matte compliment his light skin and hair.

Ryou’s not one for mirrors. He’s embarrassed by the instinctive compulsion, too at odds with the myriad of accusations and declarations of his appearance. Whenever he looks, he hears the background whispers and sneers of his peers and family and strangers. He always got more attention for his appearance than he ever wanted. Now, though? Forced to see himself? Watching the Spirit gaze at him wearing his own face? It was strange, but --

Secretly, he’s always wanted to dress like this.

He feels….

“Handsome…” Ryou murmurs. His eyes widen as he realizes that he had spoken the word aloud. He tries to say more -- to ask the spirit why this is happening. But his face goes frigid once more.

“I didn’t quite catch that.” The Spirit asks, voice low. Ryou’s face is turned again, staring up into the dangerous eyes of his otherworldly self.

His mouth and throat relax, returning to him enough for words -- but something is wrong.

““Whhhi’m-” His tongue isn’t doing what it should be. His throat pushes a burst of air from his mouth, forcing his lips open.

“I’m-” He swallows to stave off the compulsion.

“-So-” His neck stiffens, his head suddenly as stiff as plastic. The rest of him follows suit. His last defiance is to grit his teeth through the word-

“-Handsome.”

Hearing himself, Ryou’s face flares red. The Spirit laughs after the ventriloquism is complete.

“I’m glad you approve.” The Spirit answers.

Ryou’s fingers itch. He watches The Spirit bring out a jewelry box and he can taste bitter envy on the back of his tongue. He can’t move on his own, a limp puppet, incapable of even the slightest twitch without The Spirit’s allowance. He thinks back to how quickly he had control of certain muscles, and how quickly he'd lost that control.

The Spirit holds up a stick pin and a scarf. The stick pin is small, with gorgeous opal cradled in the jaw of a skull. Macabre, but tasteful. The scarf is wrapped around Ryou’s neck and the pin is placed with care.

The Spirit’s hand leaves the scarf, taking Ryou’s, and settling his itching fingers in The Spirit’s place. His middle and forefinger bracket the stick pin and Ryou can feel the smooth fake ivory between them, the soft cotton blend pillowing his palm. The Spirit drags Ryou’s finger over the opal, over the eyeholes, over the tiny rows of teeth.

Satisfaction runs crisp and refreshing through his chest. His ribs sink into it, trying to pin the feeling of perfection in place, but it quickly skews sideways and recedes.

The Spirit eases Ryou upright so the two were torso to torso against each other: almost in an embrace due to lack of working limbs on Ryou’s part. Ryou’s head is tilted forwards, cradled in the crook of the Spirit’s neck, comfortable against The Spirits’ arm. A brush starts to waft through Ryou’s hair. The repetitive motion of it is soothing. It moves slowly, relaxing his muscles and beguiling a lull in judgement.

“You like the feel of this,” the Spirit remarks. It’s a statement, not a question. The gentle combing continues. “Just as I deserve to have a handsome doll, you deserve to be one.”

Doll?

“My favorite doll.” The Spirit says softly.

A care and gentleness warms the back of his neck and scalp. Ryou understands that he’s being emotionally manipulated. He wants to point it out, but his mouth twists into different vowels, instead. “I’m so hand-” Ryou stops his sentence with a surprised grunt as soon as he realizes what was coming out of his mouth.

The Spirit starts speaking once Ryou goes quiet. “I’ve had so many dolls - you remember how many I’ve made, don’t you?” The Spirit drops the brush. “But none of them were as good as you. ”

Despite the manipulation, this is… hardly the worst The Spirit could be doing, Ryou reminds himself. No one’s getting hurt, friend or otherwise. And The Spirit’s been rather gentlemanly about it, overall. Besides being slightly embarrassing, Ryou can’t see the harm in being well-dressed.

“No,” Ryou’s loose hair is stroked back into place. "Not like you.”

[tendershippingweek]

[max-strahan17]

4. Holy

Inspired by that one scene with the church in S5.