#unedited so this sucks

[hoshinasblade]

there's this wonderful excerpt from ocean vuong's book and i am always amazed with how much war is used as a metaphor for love (and grief and heartbreak and loss).

anyway heartbroken! hoshina soshiro headcanon that no one in his life - not his friends, not okonogi, not captain ashiro, and definitely not his annoying brother - dared to utter your name within ten feet of the third division's vice-captain after your breakup with him. it came to the point that he had to assure everyone that it is fine - he is fine - but even that was not enough to convince anyone that hoshina had moved on.

and maybe hoshina really just had not moved on, but he would rather get eaten alive by a kaiju than admit that.

so he continues to bury himself in paperwork, have even volunteered to mentor the rookies in the force. months passed, and everyone acts as if you were never a part of his life - your name a banned word whenever hoshina is present. you might as well be the female version of voldemort, she-who-must-not-be-named.

everyone's efforts to erase your name from hoshina's vocabulary is futile though. what does it matter when he says your name in his sleep every night anyway?

[television-overload]

The Most Popular Man in D.C.

(X-Files Fanfic)

[read on AO3]

-.-.-

In the months after Scully is returned from her abduction, Mulder starts getting catcalled on the street on an almost daily basis. At first, he doesn't think much of it, but after a few weeks, he finds it odd enough to mention to her.

She walks into the basement to find him putting pins in a map of D.C., hunched over his desk in concentration.

"Mulder?" she asks with an amused look on her face, paused in the doorway with her eyebrow arched.

With a brief glance up at her, he asks, "Scully, do you think I'm attractive?" Her hand almost slips off the door handle.

Her mouth falls open to answer, but she has no clue what words might come out. What is it he's wanting her to say? He doesn't look like he's joking. In fact, he looks deadly serious.

"I–"

"I just mean, if you saw me on the street, would you—you know—whistle at me?"

His question startles a chuckle from her throat, loosening her tongue. "Whistle?" She stares at him incredulously. Where is this coming from?

"Yeah," he says. "Whistle, wave, shower me with unsolicited compliments?"

Normally, she might laugh, assuming this to be one of the goofy bits he does when he's in a good mood, but something genuinely seems to be concerning him.

"Why do you ask?" she says, brows furrowing as she enters the room fully, shutting the door behind her.

He puts another pin on the map, near the grocery store she knows he goes to near his apartment in Alexandria.

"Scully, in the last month or so, I've been catcalled by random women nearly every day, all over D.C." he begins. "On my run, at the gym, even once when I went to pick up more fish food at the pet store. All over."

"Catcalled, Mulder?" she asks.

"Yes!"

"Is that so unusual?"

His brows slant in clear concern. He needs her reassurance.

"Look, you're a... not wholly unattractive guy," she starts cautiously. "And these places—the gym, the park where you run... You'd be covered in sweat, wearing that— that sleeveless Knicks shirt you have..." She trails off, blushing profusely and hoping her hair conceals it.

"But, the PET store, Scully," he insists, thankfully too worked up to notice her pink cheeks. He gestures wildly at the map before him. "All of these pins are places where I remember it happening. All in the last month."

Oh boy. "Putting that eidetic memory to good use, I see," she says. She surveys his slightly manic appearance, gauging how worried she needs to be about his state of mind.

"There's a clear concentration in certain areas," he says, ignoring her comment. "Look: about four blocks from my apartment, see? There's a cluster of them, all near this corner."

She looks where he is pointing, and indeed, there are six pins huddled close to each other while others are more spread out.

"Do you have a theory?" she can't believe she asks.

"I was hoping you would," he says, a little defeated.

Well, if she's not about to be dragged into a wild goose chase investigation based on some theory he's concocted, then she's back to finding this entire situation hilarious again. "Why should I have a theory?" she asks, suppressing a smile as she crosses her arms and looks up at him.

"I don't know," he says, shrugging awkwardly. "You're a... a woman."

She rolls her eyes. "Thank you for noticing."

"No, but maybe you have some insight. A different perspective."

"Some kind of womanly intuition?" she asks doubtfully, challengingly.

"Well, yeah."

She purses her lips. She has no immediate answer for him, so the office falls silent. He slumps back into his chair, looking far more bedraggled than he ought to at just past 8:00 am.

No, Mulder, she doesn't have some insider secret about the female mind to explain this so-called phenomenon away, but... Man, that is a lot of pins on the map. All in the last month, he says?

Why are her toes tapping incessantly on the floor beneath the desk?

"Mulder," she starts, hardly believing the words that are about to come out of her mouth. "If you're that worried about it, maybe we should go check out some of these areas of concentration."

He looks up at her, just as surprised to hear the suggestion come from her lips.

"Really?"

She wants to roll her eyes again, but there's a knot of something she refuses to acknowledge as jealousy in her chest that prevents her from doing so.

"Only if you're that concerned," she says, hoping she sounds firm and not at all interested in why her partner is getting hit on by women left and right.

He fumbles his way to his feet, stabbing himself in the palm with a pin accidentally in the process. He curses under his breath and shakes his hand out while eagerly shoving his arm in his jacket sleeve. "Okay," he says. "I think we should start by my gym, that's where it happens the most."

"Fine," she agrees stiffly, trying not to picture him breathless after a workout and surrounded by his loving admirers.

She drives, because she needs something to do with her hands. He navigates. It's his steps they're retracing, after all. He knows best what direction they need to head in.

They park on the street, exiting the car and getting a feel of their surroundings.

"There's my gym," he points out. She's not exactly sure what they're looking for, but she keeps her eyes peeled all the same.

After a few minutes spent wandering near the entrance, she's about to call it quits, but then a muscular little brunette calls out from across the street, grinning from ear to ear as she shouts, "Woo! I'd pay your dry cleaning bill just to watch you work out in that suit, handsome!"

Before either of them has time to respond, or even come to terms with what just happened, the woman disappears into a storefront. A yoga studio, Scully deduces from the sign out front.

"See?" Mulder says, swinging his hand out toward the other side of the street. The suddenness of his speech startles her out of her tense posture, and she forces her shoulders to relax.

"I give her points for creativity," she says, marching primly back to the car and throwing the driver's side door open.

The next place they drive is the grocery store, just a stone's throw away from his apartment building. Once again, she parks, and they wander about, but this time, their fellow pedestrians are blissfully silent. She looks around. There's the grocery store. Beside it, a pawn shop. On the other side, a place selling herbal supplements... and possibly also other "herbal" remedies. RadioShack across the street. Not much going on at—she checks her watch—8:47 am.

"Notice anything unusual?" she asks, watching as an older couple hobbles into the grocery store arm-in-arm.

His shoulders lift in a shrug. "It's quieter than usual," he says. "I'm not usually here this early on a week day."

She nods. This stop might have been a bust, but at least she didn't have to hear another cheesy one-liner directed at Mulder.

They're not so lucky at the next, and—she decides—final stop.

About a block down from the coffee shop in Georgetown that he frequents when he has to wake her at an ungodly hour, two women loiter outside a shop advertising high-quality tattoos and piercings. One takes a drag from her cigarette, then calls out, "Let's see a smile on those pouty lips!" The other woman chuckles, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

Mulder gives an awkward smile and nod in their direction, and Scully promptly grabs him by the arm, ushering him hurriedly back to the car.

She stews in silence on the drive back to the Hoover building. She knows she has no right to do so, and yet...

"You see what I mean, Scully?" he asks. "You gotta agree that something's unusual."

Does she? He's an attractive man. YES, okay, she's attracted to him. Can she fault other women for noticing? Maybe they could do to keep their mouths shut and leave him alone, sure, but wouldn't most men kill to have that kind of attention given to them?

"I don't know," she answers, her hands gripping the wheel.

"I'm serious. I've lived here for years, and this has never happened before. Then all of a sudden..."

"You're reading too much into it," she snaps. Then, softening her tone, "I mean, if they won't leave you alone, tell them to back off. Tell them you're an FBI agent and can arrest them for harrassment."

"Scully..."

"It's not an X-File, Mulder," she says decisively. "We've missed enough work as it is. Just forget about it."

His jaw shifts like he's about to argue her point, but instead he says the words she's always longed to hear from him.

"You're probably right."

-.-.-

She tries to forget about it.

On Thursday, he cheekily informs her that he had been called a "handsome devil" that morning while stopping by the bank. Friday, the descriptive term is decidedly less work-friendly, but he saunters in looking quite pleased with himself.

Gee, she sure is glad she told him not to worry about all the attention he's getting. Now, he actually seems to be enjoying it.

The weekend can't come soon enough. At 5:00 on the dot, she bids goodbye to his boyish smile and wishes him a good weekend. At home, she finishes off half a bottle of wine and watches some trashy reality TV until it's bedtime, and she promptly passes out.

-.-.-

Saturday, she wakes up feeling stupid. After popping a few advil, she deep cleans her kitchen, tossing out the now empty bottle of wine and even dusting on top of her cabinets, a task that requires standing precariously on the countertop with a featherduster in hand.

As the clock ticks closer to noon, though, she begrudgingly pulls herself away from her work and readies herself for her afternoon commitment with her sister. On the way to Melissa's dumpy—temporary—apartment, she picks up lunch from her favorite Chinese place. It's been months since Melissa came to town. She's not the kind to stay put in one place for long. If Scully hadn't been abducted, or whatever it was that happened to her, Missy wouldn't have been there in the first place.

The apartment is one she'd found on short notice when she heard what had happened, and came to support their mother throughout the ordeal. It pays by the month, and has a serious ant problem in the kitchen, but otherwise isn't the absolute worst living situation Scully could fathom. She liked having her sister nearby, even if it was only for a while.

Now, the ceaseless call of adventure summons Melissa once more, and it is time to go. Scully had promised to help her pack her things this weekend, and now the day is here.

"You sure you don't want to stay?" she asks, loathing how the sentence makes her sound like her 15 year old self when Missy had first left home for her first (and only) year of college.

"You don't need me, Dana," her sister says. "Besides, you know I can only handle so much of Mom telling me what I should be doing with my life."

"She means well," Scully assures her.

"I know she does," Missy says with a smile. "And I know you're no stranger to doing the complete opposite of what she tells you, too."

Scully breathes out a laugh.

"Come on, help me take these boxes down to the moving truck." Melissa shucks her jacket off, tying it around her waist in preparation for the physical labor it would take to carry multiple loads of boxes down four flights of stairs. One of the worst features of this apartment building is it's permanently broken elevator. Moving in must have been a nightmare.

Bending to pick up her first box, Scully catches a glimpse of something on Missy's right wrist, visible now that her jacket has come off.

"What's that?" she asks, brows furrowing.

"Hmm?" her sister asks. Her eyes follow Dana's to the marking on her skin on the underside of her arm. "Oh, I got that while you were in the hospital. You're like 90% of my impulse control, Dana."

Her teasing tone does not negate the heaviness that comes from mentioning that horrific time for her family. That time when she was all but lost to all those who knew her.

"What is it?" she asks.

Missy sets her box back down, and Scully does the same. "Check it out," she says, drawing closer so Scully can see.

On her wrist is a small cross tattoo, remarkably similar in shape and size to the cross Scully wears around her neck.

Strange. She's fairly certain Melissa hasn't been to mass in years, much to their mother's chagrin.

"Why?" she asks, genuine confusion lacing her voice.

"Don't go all 'Mom' on me, Dane," Missy jokes, smacking her in the shoulder. "It's just a tattoo."

Scully shakes her head. "No, I mean, why that? Why a cross?"

"Oh." Melissa looks down at her wrist in thought, then back up at Dana. "It just... seemed to be the thing to do."

"Something to remember me by?" Scully tries to joke, though she's aware of how morbid that sounds, to live to see the way her sister planned to memorialize her.

"Actually, no," Melissa corrects. "It was your partner."

Huh?

"Mulder?" Scully asks, wondering how on earth her necklace—the symbol of Christianity—relates to her unbelieving partner.

"Yeah, it was— Look, it's not really my place to tell, but I saw the way he relied on that necklace of yours for strength while you were gone. Not once did I see him take it off. It was like, if he didn't let go of it, then he wasn't letting go of you. I admire that."

Scully still doesn't understand. "So, the tattoo..."

"Is a reminder to have hope," Melissa finishes. "To have that same belief in others that Fox had for you, even when things looked hopeless and we almost gave up."

Scully's heart twists painfully.

This marking on her sister's body is tangible proof of what Scully has known all along:

That her partner is something special. That his uncommon belief in the unbelievable leaves an impact, not just on her, but on others whom he interacts with.

She still finds it hard to fathom that there had been weeks and months where Mulder was out there, spending time with her mother and sister while she was missing, or lying comatose on a hospital bed.

"When you came back, and when you got better, I knew it was him that saved you," Missy says softly, as if she can hear her thoughts and doesn't want to disrupt them. "I know it's him."

Her sister's piercing eyes meet hers seriously, and she turns away, lifting the box back into her arms to serve as a distraction.

"We don't want to keep the movers waiting," she says, forcing her thoughts away from Mulder. Away from the dangerous thoughts that had filled her head all week.

Missy's eyes brighten, and she grins.

"Don't keep him waiting," she warns.

-.-.-

Scully hands her sister the last of the boxes, and Missy stands up in the back of the truck, brushing the dust off her hands with a satisfied sigh.

"That's the last of it," she says proudly. "Oh, wait—"

She turns quickly, rummaging through a few boxes before triumphantly extracting a small piece of paper.

"Here, give that back to Fox, will you?" she says, handing it to Scully.

"What's this?" she asks, turning the glossy paper in hand to look at it properly.

In her hand, she holds a photo of Mulder from one of the times he'd been locked up on trespassing charges that ultimately wouldn't hold. He'd gotten a kick out of getting his mugshot taken, and so had requested a copy of it upon his release, and the small sheriff's department in Idaho had granted his wish.

But why did Melissa have it?

"I stole it from his apartment," she says, answering her unspoken question. "Made some copies, spread them around."

"You— you did what with them?"

"Just gave them to some friends," she says, smirking as she plops down on the edge of the truck bed. "You know I make friends wherever I go."

"Yeah, but why?"

The conspiratorial smile on her sister's face comes straight out of their childhood.

"Has Fox been getting an unusual amount of attention when walking around D.C. lately?" she asks nonchalantly, concealing a wider grin.

"Missy, you didn't!" Scully says, her jaw dropping.

"You didn't see him, Dane! He needed a pick-me-up!" Melissa raises her hands in defense, smiling at her sister's reaction.

Scully scoffs, but only to prevent a burst of astonished laughter from escaping. "A pick-me-up, not someone to pick him up," she says in as chastising a voice as she can manage.

Only Melissa would do something like this. She should have known.

"So it did work after all," Missy surmises. "Good. He needed a confidence boost. Has his ego inflated terribly?"

This time, Scully does laugh. "Sure, maybe after he got over the paranoia of suddenly being the most popular man in Washington, D.C."

"I guess it would come as a shock," Missy says, eyes bright with mirth.

Scully smacks her sister in the arm. "He was convinced it was some kind of conspiracy!"

"Oh, well," Missy says. "The real conspiracy is how you won't hit on that man yourself."

She's going to miss her sister, she reminds herself. Just be glad she's been in town this long.

Nope. She still wants to throttle her.

She shakes her head.

"Melissa..."

-.-.-

The compliments—because Scully refuses to call them catcalls—continue for the next few months, though with decreasing frequency.

After thinking it over for the weekend, she decides not to tell him. Maybe some day, years from now, when they can laugh about it.

For now, she lets other women say her thoughts aloud, and delights in the way his cheeks turn rosy when she's with him to hear their cheesy pick-up lines.

She wonders how she didn't notice before, the way these women look just like people Melissa would hang around with. Choker necklaces around their necks, Doc Martin shoes... Mulder was onto something with his map. The gym: across the street from a yoga studio that Missy had gone to a few times. The herbal supplement place, one that Missy had definitely stopped by on occasion. The tattoo parlor. Self-explanatory.

Now that she's in on the secret, whenever it happens, it's like Missy is there for a second. It makes her feel less far away. She thinks of these women being handed a photocopied flyer with Mulder's face on it, and wonders what on earth Missy had specifically told them to do.

Whatever it was, it had been effective.

Funny. She never really pictured introducing her sister to her partner, but now she wonders how she didn't see it before. She's glad Missy stepped in to look after him while she was gone, even if it involved a prank of questionable taste. She wouldn't have expected any less from her sister. And maybe that was just what Mulder needed.

She tells him at the funeral.

It's too early to find the humor in it, like she'd hoped they would someday. But his lips do curl into a small smile. Remembering.

It still happens on occasion after that. And when it does, Mulder takes Scully's hand and whispers, "See? She's never really gone."

Melissa Scully had left her mark on Washington, D.C., even in the short time she'd been there. She left her mark on Mulder in the same way.

Years down the line, when the number of Mulder's admirers has dwindled to one, Scully lies awake, picturing his face as he whispered sweet words to her. His constant. His touchstone.

"You were right, Missy," she breathes into the still air of her lonely apartment. Sometimes it feels haunted by her ghost. Tonight, that brings her comfort. "You were right."

She thinks she hears the echo of a sultry whistle.

-.-.-

Tagging: @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @teenie-xf

[ellsieee]

I think a compilation of Jaemin and Nami eating ramen for 3 minutes is a good way to celebrate the Blue Boys Part 2 announcement.

Between their chemistry, the desire, the sounds, and the mukbang, Jaemin and Nami's kiss scenes are hotter than a lot of actual nc scenes.

Then in contrast, we have Jaemin being the cutest thing.

I wish they had included this in the actual episode instead of cutting to Sol's jealous bitch face. Jaemin acts like he's annoyed with that little nose scrunch, but his happy smile says otherwise. I can't wait for June.

[kray-zay]

prowls earthspark design hurts my brain, it has literally no flow his head pice has all these random features that don't fit together at all, it Dosn’t convey anything about his character and just looks clustered

I tried to make some basic edits because he has been driving me insane ever since I saw him

the head pice looks like it 5 different head pices mushed together

his design doesn't even convey anything about his character he kinda looks like a monkey, and with the mix of round and sharp shapes and their placement if I was told to guess this character personality without knowing prowl I say young Rebellious and possibly playful, he so miss matched he gives off the vibes of a character who would be chaotic, but that's clearly not what they were going for

character designs should be able to wordlessly convey some aspects of the character to the audience and if it can't do that or convey somthing completely opisite than it fails as a character design

[lilliesinthevalley]

listen. stsg and watching their kids grow up and thinking about how each other would have loved them so much. satoru goes to megumi’s school, sweet-talks the parents of those bullies he beat up out of legal recourse, and thinks suguru would have known what to do with all that spiky hair, the righteous fire that burns so damn bright underneath. suguru lets nanako and mimiko drag him to candy shops. he can’t bring himself to order anything sweet, already sick on sugar at thoughts of satoru delighting at splitting stacks of crepes and cups of ice cream with them. idk just something something they match each other so perfectly and they would have been such good parents something something. idk

[celestialspritz]

sims 2 + relight + rtgi + reshade = low poly cinema

[beyourownanchor6]

inspiration saturday

thanks for the tags loves @hippolotamus @daffi-990 @spotsandsocks 🩵

—posting this as a lil early bday treat for my beloved spotty @spotsandsocks 😘 and in the hopes it inspires some writing beans so i can finish it in the morning 🥲 (i’ll get it to you soon as i can love!! <333)

“Hey Eddie, what do you think about this?”

Buck plopped down next to him, one leg on either side of the bench, Eddie trying not to notice how closely it pressed their legs together. He flipped through his pages, showing Eddie a few of the table set up designs he’d mocked up. Eddie looked it over, glancing around them as he tried to envision things. Like Buck’s writing, the drawing was a little chaotic, little hearts drawn around them with eyes and happy faces.

Eddie looked up to him with a raised brow, Buck smiling sheepishly, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

“I uh, like to doodle when I can’t focus. My sister said I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.”

Eddie smiled over to Buck, brushing a finger across one of the heart drawings.

A clearing of throats had them both turning wide eyed to his sisters, Adriana and Sophia fixing them with pointed looks.

“How about asking the bride what she thinks about her wedding layout instead of her brother?” Sophia questioned, Adriana snickering next to her, elbowing their sister.

“Uh,” Buck laughed nervously, Eddie refraining from reaching a hand over to squeeze his arm in comfort. Buck cleared his throat then, blues catching on Eddie before he grabbed his clipboard, lifting it up for his sisters to see.

Adriana and Sophia looked it over, mumbling things as they went, using their unspoken language to point things out.

“Yep, that’s looks great Buck. You’re the best.” Adriana handed the clipboard back to him, Buck sheepishly taking it and turning back to face the table. His sisters looked between the two of them then, Eddie rolling his eyes as he shooed them away.

He didn’t care if it was his sister’s wedding week or not; surely, they had somewhere else to be, right?

tags: @loserdiaz @redlightsandicedtea @honestlydarkprincess @monsterrae1 @onward--upward @barbiediaz @buddierights @eddiebabygirldiaz @jacksadventuresinwriting @cowboydiazes @elvensorceress @wh0re-behavi0r @thewolvesof1998 @disasterbuckdiaz @spaceprincessem @wikiangela @wildlife4life

[carcarrot]

idk what happened but my brain is finally working again so now im back to writing stuff or at least finally writing letterboxd reviews. for those of you that caare

[writer-and-artist27]

Tumblr Story: Another Day

Note: For @partialdignity and @lunarimpact. I love you both lots. 

Had to include a song too. With translated lyrics used in the story proper.

-----------------------

“Gifts for Rem and Sayo… peanut butter cookies went well, but what else could I bake…? Peanut butter bread? Snickerdoodle cookies? But we’re running low on shortening… maybe a tiramisu…? But then I gotta worry about the coffee liquor…”

Miss Vy muttered to herself while flipping through pages, the spine of the cookbook in her hands barely creaking in response to her skimming. The soft lighting of the surprisingly empty Dining Hall just accentuated the odd sight of her pacing back and forth between the counters. It was peculiar enough to make Holmes tempted to laugh out loud from his place in the hallway threshold if not for the curiosity tugging at the back of his mind. After all, the sleep schedule the late Dr. Roman had reinforced through the old Servant guard and fellow Masters was hard to ignore. The young Miss Vy was nothing if not hardworking, and the last thing anyone needed was for her to fall over dead from overwork like King Gilgamesh had back in Uruk during the Babylonia Singularity.

And yet Holmes could not deny the sheer timing.

Tick tick, the nearby clock overhead went, its face reading 4:30 am. A time that was far too early for a young, dear Master like his Miss Vy to be awake. Before her Master peers and the fellow kitchen staff of Servants, even. 

Even if there was a part of him that doubted what he in particular could do in convincing the young woman otherwise — the kind words were always more up Watson’s line of work — but watching her mutter to herself could only go so far. 

So, he made a decision to step forward and clear his throat.

“Miss Vy?”

The young woman turned away from her page flipping at the sound of her name, big brown eyes wide behind the lenses of her glasses once she got a good look at who had interrupted her train of thought. A few hairs fell out of her messily made ponytail to brush the back of her neck. “…Holmes?” A worried pitch echoes in her voice as she lowers her recipe book. Baking Yesteryear stands out from the covers in glistening blue lettering before the book is laid against a nearby table, hiding the rest from view. “What are you doing awake? It’s way too early.”

“Isn’t that my line, my dear?” Holmes ignores the urge to bring out his pipe, walking closer and crossing his arms. “I’m a Servant and Chaldea’s Administrative Advisor. You, on the other hand, my dear, are one of our only Masters, and the one most prone to pushing herself beyond her limits — I do not need my deduction skills to know you shouldn’t be out of bed this early yourself.”

As expected, Vy flushes pink, wilting a little past the soft blue pajamas and matching frilly polka-dotted apron as she fumbles with her hands. Pressing both index fingers together in front of her chest, she ducks her head. “…ouldn’t sleep.”

Holmes pretends he didn’t hear that mumble, approaching the nearest Dining Hall counter with a quiet hum. “What was that, dear?”

A Muu answers his initial inquiry, Vy fidgeting in place as her hand approaches the cookbook she put down. “Couldn’t sleep,” she repeated, a bit louder. “Thought of cooking Rem and Sayo some breakfast.”

No wonder. “…you’re not on scheduled duty for breakfast, dear,” Holmes said in a softer voice, hopefully to calm whatever nerves she was feeling. “You could’ve gotten some more rest.”

The last thing Holmes expected within his calculations was for a tiny scoff to come out of Vy’s lips. In any other circumstance, it could’ve resembled a cough, or even a sarcastic clearing of her throat, but for someone so bright like Miss Vy to scoff…

Well.

“I wish it was a little easier said than done, rest,” Vy elaborated, turning away from him to open her cookbook again. The title of Candle Salad was all Holmes could see past the counter before Vy flipped the pages backwards, her nose wrinkling to match the thoughtful crease of her brow. “But when I know my friends have seen shit like I have on this journey, if not more, I’d rather use this nervous energy for something productive, Holmes.”

Something. It was such a vague word, but the underlying meaning was there, so Holmes considered. 

“…Which is all fine and fair, my dear, but you don’t have to push yourself in the name of someone else. Especially when your fellow Masters have made it clear they do not plan to leave you, just as much as myself and all the other Servants can say the same.”

Vy had turned to face a nearby cupboard when he had said the words, freezing right before she had gotten a grip on the first measuring cup she saw inside. Her left hand twitched from where it hovered over the cup, lotus Command Seals glowing faintly against the back of her knuckles before she lowered it with a tinier sigh. Holmes couldn’t help but notice how she wasn’t turning around to meet his eye. “…Was I that easy to read?”

“Very much so.” He decided to take a risk and lean forward to rest his arms on the nearest counter, smiling as gently as he could once Vy focused one side eye on him past her hair. “And even as Chaldea’s Administrative Advisor, I can speak as your Servant, my dear, when reminding you that you shouldn’t worry so much.”

To his growing relief and surprise, Vy slowly nodded her head, another Muu leaving her lips with the motion. “I-I know that. I know. But…” she gulped a visible lump down, glancing elsewhere before tentatively reaching for a large mixing bowl. “As the World’s Greatest Detective, Holmes, I think you should know just as much as I do that we can’t predict how the journey is going to end. And whether we’ll all be there to see it.”

Holmes felt himself twitch, the sensation of ice water from Reichenbach Falls creeping up his spine for a moment, no thanks to the intensity of the emotion. 

What Miss Vy had said — it was a conclusion that he knew through cold, embittered logic without emotion, no matter how much luck and careful planning had allowed three of Chaldea’s Masters to survive this far. Still, to hear such a deduction from his own dear, his darling Master, made him unconsciously bite down on the inside of his cheek. “Miss Vy…”

“I-It’s why I’m awake, to be honest.” Vy doesn’t look at him once she pulls out a small satchel of sugar, tearing it open and pouring it into the bowl she chose to use with the nearby carton of milk and eggs that had been conveniently pulled out of the fridge prior to Holmes making his presence clear. “I know everyone doesn’t want to leave, but… but the Mages Association made it clear before the Bleaching that there was no say. What I had to say didn’t matter to them. The Lostbelts didn’t care either, and the Crypters just have so much…” Vy clicks her tongue, biting out, “bullshit,” before shaking her head. “And considering how Rem and Sayo felt about Britain when we had to investigate London, my dreams have certainly started helping me better understand them now.”

“Miss Vy, that’s…”

Holmes lurched back once Vy cracked open an egg, tossed its shell into a nearby trash can, then went on to bump her forehead into the counter. No. She didn’t just bump it.

From his vantage point, it looked like Vy had intentionally hit herself with the counter. 

“I-I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but basically, there’s so much going on right now! Way too much going on!” Vy raises her head and slaps her cheeks with both hands, making a louder Muu noise under her breath. “The last thing I want is to see my friends be sad before the end! My stress could go die in a pit, anyway! The negative memories last so much longer, but happiness is just fleeting while being meaningful! And, and I’d rather create a fleeting, good memory than leave them with more scars after all that we’ve seen together! It’s the least I can do now!” Vy turns on her heel then, giving him a wry yet innocent smile while holding up a whisk. “So if it means I’m up early to try making blueberry pancakes, I wanna try!”

Holmes blinked. For a moment, just that moment, the dim lighting of the Dining Hall caught on the lenses of Vy’s glasses, making her brown eyes appear overbright and glassy, and he gulped. 

“…Then as your Ruler, my dear, may I help?” Holmes carefully takes off his coat to hang over the back of a nearby chair, walking around the counter to roll up the sleeves on his arms. “While I may not be as good as Watson, I can at least assist you, whether in baking or playing the violin.”

“...Violin? Violin?!” All of a sudden, Vy turns to him with blinding starlight in her brown irises, the new brown galaxies in her eyes promising a completely different idea than the incomplete batter sitting in front of her. Hm? “Holmes!”

“Y-Yes, my dear?”

“How do you feel about morning songs?!”

“...Pardon?”

-----------------------

Fujino and Archer EMIYA are staring holes into his back, Holmes can feel it. Nonetheless, even with his coat stashed away on that other chair and his arms bare, he still held up the bow of his trusty Stradivari violin to point towards the ceiling. The song his dear was thinking of was certainly one he couldn’t imagine Watson listening to back in his days alive, but if the warmth of his Stradivari’s chinrest against his neck was any indication, Miss Vy certainly had her heart in the right place. 

Just like she always did. She always would.

Goodness — Holmes knew from simple deduction, with full confidence, that in spite of all her previous rambling, Vy would always have her friends and family at heart. 

All it took was predicting when Misses Rem and Sayo would walk into the Dining Hall, and once he saw approaching heads of red and blue, he merely winked at his dear to start the stove.

Holmes pressed his bow to the violin strings to start playing, and even with the sizzle of pancake batter mixed with confused voices filling the back of his ears, what mattered was the warm high pitched voice singing along with his Stradivari in well-meaning Japanese.

“Where shall we go? Let's go anywhere! Wonderful and slow, On our journey! Even if we think about it, there are things we doesn't understand — Let's just ask the wind!” 

Even if he had to keep his eyes closed, the slow rise of clapping from the growing throng of Servants — his comrades around him — made him play his Stradivari all the more passionately. 

“Well, I wonder if I forgot something? A skillet to pack in my bag I'll put this and that Hey, soft lubricant, One dream to add to my Sierra cup Everyone gather together, A warm fire awaits!”

The Stradivari strings hum happily with his dear’s voice, and Holmes couldn’t help but wonder past his bow if Misses Rem and Sayo were enjoying the performance.

The smell of cooking pancakes was sweet enough as is.

“Let's go — one, two, three, four! Let's walk with you from here! Listen to the voice of your heart From the place you arrived Draw the best here We're still on the road! Look, lucky, lucky, lucky! A small step! Lucky, lucky, what should I bring? More lucky, lucky, lucky, the tip of the wind Lucky, lucky ,the journey continues~!”

The soft clatter of a plate being placed at his side and a happy squee of “Good morning, beloved friends! I bring songs with Holmes and pancakes!” from his Master proved at least today, out of all other days, would be a happier one. 

At the bare minimum, the pure surprised looks on Misses Rem and Sayo’s faces would certainly be a picture to place in a photo album.

[malachitezmeyka]

Maybe it's just me and my overinvestment in this show but Gülfem's expression and that little sigh she does in this scene just screams "I have been kneeling here holding this heavy ass kaftan for the better half of a minute, if you don't take it from me in the next five seconds I will not wait until episode 139 to stab you" 😂

[bloodcounts]

Spring sneaks up on Amy before she knows it- time moves so much more differently to her, she barely noticed the slow progression from fall to winter. Flowers are budding on the leaves, and new life grows from the dirt beneath her windowsill. The sunlight is warm and inviting, under any other circumstance, Amy would throw on one of her sundresses, grab a parasol and sit outside with a book. Or she’d go for a walk and talk with Jessica as she did.

Except, this isn’t ‘any other circumstance.’ She’s been stuck inside for days now, while her cohort, Jay, carries around a camera with him and films everything he does. Amy wonders if he takes it into the bathroom with him. Not that she’s been paying attention, as much as she should be in this situation. Her mind wanders back to the woods where she awoke. Jay had been the one to find her on the side of the road, looking confused and out of it. She didn’t understand what was happening to her then. She still doesn’t. With each new piece of information that she receives it only leaves her more lost than before. Jay says he empathizes with her completely.

She had been a scatterbrain since then, even though her memory was usually much stronger than that. She could recall her childhood memories with ease where others could not, now she can barely remember what she ate yesterday or what day of the month it is.

Hearing the hotel door open, Amy whips around from the window. Jay is holding his camera in one hand and carrying his keys and a small takeout bag with the other. He shuts the door behind him and looks up at her.

“It’s just me.”

“Did you see him out there?”

“Who, Alex?” Jay moves further into the room and places the bag on the small table. “If I did, we would be leaving immediately.”

Amy shoulders drop. Based on everything Jay had shown her on his YouTube channel, she shouldn’t feel disappointed. The camera never lies, only people, Alex had told her once. If all the videos were true, then Alex is not the person he used to be, or who she thought he was. She tried to tell this to Jay, who, in response, had only said that people can still lie through video through manipulation of footage. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Alex had never been violent, sure, he had his flaws; but no one is perfect, and he isn’t that guy.

It's that… thing. That faceless monster that had been haunting him. It had to be that. Whatever it is, it caused Alex to lose his mind and hurt others. Amy is sure he didn’t mean it, because Alex wouldn’t do that. She’s sure of it, it has to be that monster. It’s controlling him, somehow. It can’t be anything else.

“-my. Amy? Hey!”

Amy blinks a few times, then narrows her eyes as she focuses. “What?” She mumbles.

“You zoned out again.” Another side effect of… whatever happened to her. It’s the reason why her days often go by so quickly most of the time.

Amy shakes her head. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I picked up some food.” His arm gestures over to the bag. Amy’s nose picks up the familiar scent of Chinese. Jay moves over to his laptop to plug his camera in and sift through the footage. Jay takes extra care not to show Amy when he films, to keep her safe. If Alex knew she is with him, then who knows how far he’d go just to find her again… and what he’d do to Jay when he did. At the very least, Jay can prolong the reveal. Keeping Amy out of sight for as long as he can is what matters the most.

Amy moves over to the bag and pulls out the food cartons, as well as a black plastic container. There’s a pair of chopsticks and plastic utensils, as well. She searches the bag a little more and finds a fortune cookie, but there is no second container.

“You didn’t get any for yourself?” Amy looks over to him. Jay shrugs.

“Not really big on Chinese food myself. Besides, you really haven’t been eating a whole lot these past days.”

“You sound like Alex. That just means you haven’t it had it done right. When someone makes Chinese food right, that’s when you can never go back.” Amy tells him as she moves over to grab her mini table, she places her eating utensils and tin on it, then moves back for the cartons.

“Hey, what’s todays date?” Amy has lost track of all the days. She didn’t have her phone on her person, either. Jay didn’t want to risk returning to her place in case Alex was staking it out.

“Uh,” Jay checks his laptop’s date, “April fourth, why?”

Amy freezes. That’s why today felt a little different. She felt as though she were forgetting something important, and it was this. His birthday. She takes a seat on her bed, hands flopping onto her lap. Back when things were okay, she and Alex would meet up for the day regardless of anything else. The two of them would go out to a little bakery in Rosswood and buy a dozen cupcakes for themselves, chocolate and red velvet (Alex would always tease her and say that red velvet is just dyed chocolate. She knows this, but she likes feeling fancy!); they were delicate and airy, fluffy cream spread thick between layers and dolloped artfully on top. and they would walk some distance up a trail, past Rosswood park, for a little picnic. That must be why the outdoors is calling her name, and why she’s craving the soft breezes and gentle grass blades under her fingertips.

Just before leaving, Alex would insist on taking photos with his polaroid, and she would become camera shy. She’s not used to being the center of attention. But whenever she’s with Alex, it becomes inevitable.

It's not that she hates the attention per say, she always managed to attract people to her just by being herself. Alex would say it’s because she’s a star and other people could see that. Amy would call him nuts for it, because she was pretty sure it was just him trying to compliment her. Regardless, she’s content with a quiet life, earning her degree in education and going on to become a teacher. She thought it was funny, how she wanted a more reserved life whereas Alex wanted one in the limelight. He dreamed of the day he could walk on the red carpet for one of his films, be nominated for awards, give speeches.

Her vision blurs, and her eyes sting, yet she refuses to cry. Now’s not the time for that, it does nothing in this situation. And yet-

“Maybe I will try some Chinese food.” Jay’s voice abruptly cuts her thoughts, she almost the awkward tinge in his voice. “There’s a lot of footage I need to rewatch, may as well try to eat something now before I forget.” As he’s had the habit of doing ever since he began this investigation. Amy has to nag him to take care of himself (and she's impressed he hasn't keeled over from lack of sleep or proper eating.)

Amy looks up at him, unsure if she heard correctly. She grabs one of the cartons and opens it, revealing golden yellow rice with fried vegetables within. She glances at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. This is a different branch than what I had years ago. Who knows,” Jay shrugs, “Maybe it’ll be cooked right.”

Grabbing a spoon, Amy places it in the carton and hands it to Jay. Jay looks at the rice and shuffles the spoon around it. Grabbing a fair amount on his spoon, he takes a bite and chews for a minute. Then he swallows. He looks back down at the rice, his eyebrows raise.

“It’s not bad.”

Amy smiles a bit. “Told you.”

---

Later, while Jay was in the bathroom, Amy remembers the fortune cookie in the bag. Lifting from her bed, she makes toward the bag and grabs the cookie. She unwraps it, breaks the cookie in half (while making sure to get a bite in, just to taste it), pulls out the paper and reads it to herself:

‘Trust your friends, but keep your eyes open.’

Amy’s stomach doesn’t sit well the rest of the day.

[waywardsalt]

uuuhhhhh wrote a segment of the ganonbeck thing on my phone (this whole thing isnt written on my phone i just have future scenes hashed out on phone) so i figured id share it for: giving a snippet of it bc why not, and to maybe get some feedback on writing ganondorf and the specific concept he talks about?

(this isnt indicatives of the whole fic just a scene delving into ganondorf’s personal conflicts and a little bit of worldbuilding or something. would appreciate some feedback or tips or whatever on this since im not sure if. i wrote this idea well. also hope its generally interesting/fun to read)

[honestlyvan]

Me, a person who doesn’t like it when characters are mean, listening to my villain fan friends talk

[chocum]

P POWER !

— “that pussy got power” feat. shiu kong, kento nanami, toji fushiguro, satoru gojo, suguru geto, & choso kamo.

WARNINGS. fem reader (she/her), recording, overstim, shower sex, choking, eye contact, spit, slaps, threesome, anal, oral (m+f) needy men. note i hope you all are doing well. p power came on when i was On my way! to work (literally like half of it was written while i was on the clock lol) and then this was born — i basically just took a lyric i think best described them from the song. this was more fun than i thought it would be and ill prob do it again for a diff song. anyways, feedback + reblogs are greatly appreciated ty and enjoyyy!! unedited bc we poured up for the 4th n im a little tipsy ( ｡ •̀ ᵕ •́ ｡)

SHIU KONG — “SHE WANNA GO VIRAL, KEEP FUCKIN’ FOR HOURS”

“look so pretty for the camera baby, look at you” shiu slowly moves to bring his phone closer to where his thick cock burrows and disappears in your struggling pussy— crying and creaming porcelain white around his length, messy. “so full, but she keeps begging for more. squeezing me so tight, how fuckin’ greedy”

he always fills you up so well— massaging your silky walls, his leaky cock curving languidly, kissing your spot with each stupidly slow stroke.

shiu loves to “take his time” with you. loves to just lazily push his hips up, roll them against yours, skin melding, creating delicious friction. it doesn’t take much with you. his cock was made for you after all— perfectly molds your pussy, hugging him with your gummy walls.

“know you wanna show out for the camera baby, cum again f’me. show ‘em how good you are. cmon baby juuuust like that.” you let out a soft, helpless whimper, feeling the heat of embarrassment surge across your cheeks like a wildfire, consuming you, spreading with a prickly intensity that makes your skin flush, your heart racing as he talks you through it, coaxing you closer and closer.

then you’re babbling broken cries of his name over and over and over as you cum around him again, your cunt sucking another load from him too, he never leaves you behind.

he keeps his phone focused on how you milk him dry, sliding out slowly, lewdly, with a throaty “fuck” before stuffing his fingers in your achy pussy making you jump, overstimulation tickling up your spine, “don’t let me out, can’t let all your hard work go to waste, now can we?”

KENTO NANAMI — “SHE WET IN THE SHOWER, THAT PSSY GET LOUDER”

nanami’s eyes sweetly dive into yours, intimately. his broad hands stretching across the curve of your neck as the warm water crashes against his back, cascading, stinging where you dig your nails into his flexed muscles, leaving angry red slashes.

“fuck. gonna cum if you keep looking up at me so desperately like that, honey.”

the sound of skin against skin gets lost in the heavy downpour of the shower, each drop drumming against the tilled walls, but nanami manages to pull out sweet, sweet moans from deep in your throat— cutting through the cacophony, clear and unmistakable, filthy. they pound through his ears, making his cock throb in your wet, sloppy fucking pussy.

“stick—” he grunts, “stick that fucking tongue out”

you nod with a docile tilt of your head like a little doll, your eyes pools of sincerity— obediently letting your tongue fall out of your mouth. he’s leaning over, his body bending slightly as he tilts his head downward to let spit form and fall from innetween his lips onto your tongue, mixing with droplets of steamy water as it glides down your throat.

“so nasty, hm?” his tone is mean, but he’s praising you, smirking as his grip on you tightens, “my nasty, slut of a wife”

TOJI FUSHIGURO — “WE AINT SAYIN NO VOWS, SHE FUCKIN’ NO COWARD”

“c’mon doll, don’t tap out on me,” toji roughly huffs, feigning sympathy but the smirk that tugs at his scarred lips betrays him like it always does, his hands slapping against your puffy cheek— the mean impact leaving a faint stinging sensation amidst the warmth of his touch “‘m not done stuffing my pretty girl yet, cmon”

you’re so fucked out you can’t even think, limbs hanging limp in his tight, tight grasp, basically picking you up and dropping you on his thick cock as your cunt weeps for him, pooling slick he’s fucked out of you onto the velvety sheets.

even his body trembles, each trained muscle tensing beneath his scarred skin, cock twitching inside you rhythmically because it’s too much, even for him. but he ignores the creeping- painful feeling of overstimulation, hissing through clenched teeth about how you’re so “tight”, so “good for him.”

and once again, he’s cumming inside you, heavy balls slapping against your flush ass as he fucks his seed into your abused little cunt. “toji” you cry, dazed eyes looking into his, but he’s so gone, body taking over, hips still slamming into you as he groans out a breathy— needy “fuck” fingers dipping into the curve of your hips.

“i want to taste you,” he sighs, rushing to pull out before folding you over, “ ‘m not stopping till i’m covered in you, give it to me just how i like it”

CHOSO KAMO — “GET PLAY AS A PLAYER, THAT P GET DEVOURED”

“did my girl miss me, hm?” choso hums against your oozing cunt, fingers pushing your fat lips apart, his pointer and middle spreading, so he can give your pretty little clit his undivided attention, kissing, nuzzling with his nose.

he groans at the way you clench around nothing, just begging for his needy cock, words meshed and muffled against your drooling pussy, “i know she did, pretty, ‘s ok ‘m here now”

he drags his fingers to your mouth, “get ‘em wet” pushing past your puffy lips, for you to lick and suck on, not leaving until they’re dripping in your spit, before dipping into your cunt, dragging them against your silky, warm walls, blowing on your clit so gently each time you greedily buck into his palms.

“gonna give me what i want, huh?” he pauses, kiss. “gonna make a mess for me? i know you can, baby. you always do. always get so messy for me i love it”

you nod sheepishly, hands moving to card through his fluffy hair, both hands gripping onto his scalp to ground yourself and grind on his pretty face.

messily, he slobbers, lapping at your cunt, switching between soft sucks to your clit and broad slow licks, making you shudder and twitch, his arms snaking around your thighs to keep you nice and still for him to devour you.

SATORU GOJO & SUGURU GETO — “TOLD MY BROTHER SHE OURS”

“his tongue feel that good, baby? you’re slacking off. suck me like you usually do. ‘s not fair” gojo’s pouting— whining, his hands gently cradling your cheeks bringing you back to him, but your pretty eyes just keep rolling further and further back at the feeling of geto’s tongue flat against your needy cunt. sucking and spitting all over your messy pussy.

promoting gojo to huff, moving his hand to the back of your neck to start rutting into your little mouth, chest growing warm at how you gag around him, his pride growing now that you’re looking up at him, eyes watering so sweetly for him.

geto’s more mature when it comes to sharing you. just hums, pressing his cock against your puffy folds playing, tapping it against your quivering hole, groaning because you’re so messy. can’t even tell if it’s his drool of your messy slick or both.

before he sinks into your cunt, gojo mutters something your overwhelmed little brain can’t comprehend, but after some shuffling around, you feel it. one slicked-up finger slowly sinking into your ass, while geto bottoms out.

gojo gets mean when he’s jealous, but he isn’t cruel, doesn’t wanna hurt his pretty girl, so he preps your tight ass before sinking his cock inside.

you can’t fucking think, at all, brain mushy turned to goo as they both take you. spewing nothing but dirty shit, calling you all types of names, some sweet most of those from geto, but the “slut”’s and “whore”’s are all gojo. his hips sputtering, going dumb at how your tight little ass squeezes around him— he could barely move, just feels geto’s curved tip brushing against the wall that separates your two little holes.

both rutting into you like animals in heat with no regard for how sensitive you're getting, pretty tears brimming up in your eyes.

“so pretty when you take up both, baby ‘specially this little ass ‘s so tight got fucking lucky. keep fucking draining us”

[kindalikerackham]

abo intersex dean winchester.

emits alpha pheromones. john assumes he's an alpha and dean follows him. goes through his first heat in a motel room while John's off hunting. Sam stands guard for him. maybe gets his own room. maybe it even happens when Sam is running away.

-

first heat

horny. fuck a pretty beta in a bathroom what what what why do I feel worse now. get back to room. hot hot hot so hot. coffee splash holy water on face grip iron. what the fuck is going on.

slick. drips.

that isn't me this can't be me must be a curse or a ghost or.

time starts getting sticky.

wakes up later what the hell was that. I'm an alpha I'm an alpha I'm an alpha I'm an alpha. what the hell is this a fucking nest?

door opens.

one hand a grocery bag. water granola bars takeout from the dinner across the street

one hand suppressants. five finger discounted

wash out the sheets

door opens.

"fuck. take a shower next time, son" white noise "I pay for this motel room, least you can do is not leave your damn stink all over the place." white noise good boy blank stare. does he--- ?

eye contact. "must have been smokin, that omega who got you all worked up."

try to smile lips crack. cocky, remember. "yes sir"

-

daddy's perfect little soldier wants, in flashes when biology breaks through. submissive when he forgets (he never forgets) (head tilt easy access fuck that was a dream that was a dream even if the sticky floors of that bar felt real and the bar-fight bruises aches for weeks real but he was just drunk. there were no mean drunk eyes disgust no "what the fuck?"no considering, "actually, feeling a bit lonely. you know, if you wanna be my bitch, I'll even fuck a defective alpha tonight. my cock's been so neglected. even you'll have to do." fuck off)

girls to let off steam. omega once. betas betas betas no instincts just sexy lips and tits and ass

[unravelingwires]

Crunchies

Kali hummed lazily as she brought the oat bars out of the oven. They were a little extravagant, but it was good to keep treats around a hospital for the younger patients.