#vera writes

[social-mockingbird]

dangerous habits (pt. 2)

(eleventh doctor x reader)

it’s me again, your favorite procrastinating fanfiction author, (finally) doing a follow-up to dangerous habits! i am a sucker for pet names as stated previously, but i am also a sucker for using them on other people. if you are my friend and okay with it you’re getting sweet-talked out the wazoo. this is dangerous if you have male friends. we don’t talk about the times i called my crush ‘honey’.

you can read the first part here! it’s not required, but it does provide a little more context?  

author’s rec while you read: the flower garden by joe hisaishi

________

He likes to catch you off guard with them. 

Thanks to your habit of losing yourself in thought (you were in space all the time! There wasn’t a weekend you weren’t visiting a new planet! You had a lot to think about!), it was pretty easy for him to appear behind you, warm hands sliding a familiar path around your waist, chest pressing into your back. 

“Hello, dear.” 

“Darling, you’ve disappeared again.” 

“Love, what are you thinking about this time?” 

You were starting to get used to being startled, and that was a strange paradox all its own. It was the worst on his happy days, because the gentle hugs were usually accompanied by the softest kiss to the back of your neck, or your jaw, or, if he felt especially cheeky, your mouth, after he’d spun you around and made you gasp. And, as he liked to say into your skin, he’d never been happier.

So now it was time to turn the tables on him. 

The benefit to having an especially flirty sort of lover is that you were picking up quite a lot of ideas for romantic teasing. Despite the fact that he knew exactly how to push your buttons, you were learning what exactly made him click–and you were waiting for the perfect moment to use your new knowledge. (You’d tried flirting to yourself in the mirror, once, to make sure you knew what you were doing, and made yourself laugh so hard that the Doctor had come running to make sure you weren’t choking.) 

“You sure Hayao Miyazaki isn’t from here?” you ask, knee deep in endless flowers. This planet was nothing but fields and always a gentle springtime. There was a pocket storm rumbling gently in the distance. The sun was a little cooler than Earth’s, so you had the Doctor’s coat draped around your shoulders like a cape, despite the bright weather. 

“Took him here once,” the Doctor says carelessly, a flower stuck behind his ear. “I think he made a film about it later.” 

“Remind me: we’re having a movie night later,” you say, knowing he’d forget. You wade to him, stepping delicately around a rock buried in the flowers to move into his space. You grasp one of his suspenders, pulling him down a bit to your level, trying not to smile at the way his eyes widen, at the way he sputters a bit when you touch him. You smooth his hair down and slide the goggles he’d forgotten to take off out of his hair. Then, you place the flower crown you’d twisted on top of his head, giving it a pat so it would stay. He’d been so wrapped up in watching the oncoming storm that you’d had plenty of time to weave the crown behind his back. It hangs a little down over one of his ears, and he twitches his nose at the smell of the flowers, blinking, adjusting to its weight. The bright yellow of the blossoms brings out the green in his eyes. 

“You’re really handsome, sweetheart,” you say, dropping your voice an octave, and lean up to kiss his temple, right underneath the crown. “Thanks for taking me here today. I love getting to spend time with you.”  

You can see his hands fluttering at his sides out of the corner of your eye. For someone so attractively smooth, he was remarkably awkward. 

“Close your eyes, love,” you say, and when he does, you grab his face and tilt it down, pressing your lips to his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his eyelids. The storm behind you makes the breeze kick up. The Doctor shivers a little and leans into your warmth. His hands come to rest on your hips. You can feel the tremble in his fingers. 

Oh, now you knew why he did it to you. This was fun. 

His eyes flutter open, a kaleidoscope of greens and blues and grays, a little unfocused as you adjust his bow tie and straighten the collar of his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” he says, almost to himself. 

“Flustering you,” you tell him, barely speaking above a whisper, and it makes his fingers tighten on your hips. “Come here, love.”  

You can smell the rain in the air when you grab his lapels and kiss him. It mingles with the scent of the flowers. 

“This is unfair,” the Doctor groans, chasing your mouth when you pull away. You run your fingers up into his hair and the words die in his throat. 

“I’m just returning a favor, Sexy,” you say, pulling him close as the rain comes down. You hold him like you’re leading a dance, wrapping him up in your arms as thunder rolls above your heads. The flower crown drips petals onto your shoulders. Both of you look like wet cats when you finally stumble back into the TARDIS, shivering, giggling, hands full of drooping flowers and each other. 

When the Doctor sneaks up behind you and grabs your waist while you’re toweling off your hair, making you scream and laugh, the TARDIS lights glitter with amusement. 

look at this small precious bean man like what I wouldn’t give to fluster this fool--

(also, tagging @greycircles1​ because you asked me months ago if I would do a follow-up and I wanted to but couldn’t think of anything so I didn’t answer your DM and sorry about that! I hope you enjoy this :))

[rainy-pages]

and if you lose an eye

take mine

so I can see myself

just the way you do

and see

if it was all a lie

[veras1ne]

Hey there!🫧🦢

I’m starting a tag list for my fics!

If you’re interested leave me a dm, ask, reblog or comment!

I love having frequent visitors and I’m also one who regularly misses out on fics because Im either not on tumblr or don’t check it regularly so if that sounds like you and your like to read more of what I write let me know!!

If there’s something specific you’d like to be tagged for let me know too! If you choose this I’d strongly advise for you to go look at who I write for which is conveniently placed here!

Like, right here, in front of you, just click on whatever word is underlined because for some reason that’s how tumblr works ❤️🕊️

[saintlynomenclature]

VERA. MY DARLING. MY DOVE. MY MUSE. MY LITTLE PETAL.

tell me everything about “under cotton and calicos”

BAHAHAHA so, essentially, alex is lawyer-ing it up in nyc and his new neighbor has a very cute little calico cat who likes to jump over to his balcony. they pass notes back and forth about her tenacious wandering. i actually wrote most of what i do have on a flight, and this was brainstormed in the brownstone. here’s a silly fun snippet:

The calico’s tail swishes, ears flexing as it meanders closer across his railing; the railing that is five stories above the ground, holy fuck, Alex cannot watch this.

He reaches out a hand, making the little tsking noise with his tongue that he’s heard other people do. Alex has never had a cat or a dog. He has no clue what the fuck he’s doing. “C’mere, sweetheart, you’re making me nervous.”

Curiously, the calico comes closer, lowering its head to sniff at Alex’s fingers. Whatever assessment it makes seems to be in his favor as it pushes its face into his palm, heterochromatic eyes closing in contentment.

For a moment, his worry fades away. So fucking cute. Then Alex remembers why he reached out in the first place and slowly comes closer, giving the cat chin scratches all the while. It starts to purr just as he picks it up, holding it close against his faded Georgetown crewneck. It spooks just a bit, staring up at him with wide, betrayed eyes before it reevaluates and starts purring again, pushing its head into his chest.

“I don’t think cats are supposed to be this friendly,” he murmurs to himself, rebalancing his arms to hold it in one. It’s happy to soak up the attention, not squirming much as he uses his newly freed hand to read the tag on its collar.

The etching shines: Elizabeth. Who the fuck names their cat Elizabeth?

[vaamins]

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who just couldn’t stop turning his eyes towards you during class. watching your furrowed bros in thought of something Yaga said. he couldn’t care less though. he thinks you look beautiful deep in thought.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who constantly yaps about you to suguru and shoko who tell him to shut up whenever ( he never listens though ) but he continues to go on a rant about how your the most perfect person he’s ever seen, he’s ever known.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who is somehow stuttering mess whenever you speak to him. finding himself tripping over his words like a lovesick Highschool girl. his mind races in thought of trying to impress you with witty jokes.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who later regrets ever saying anything when he revisits your conversations. groaning into his pillow as a light blush dusts his cheeks at the image of you laughing at his joke.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who personally helps you in mastering your CT. who can’t bare to watch suguru try help you. ever since he found you training with suguru, he finds himself annoyed at the very thought of someone else touching you. his fists clenching as he sees suguru swiftly save you from falling, a dashing smile on his face.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who subtly tries to show you his feelings through heartfelt gifts. an expensive bouquet of pink roses ( your favourite, though you never told him, he found out through shoko but insisted he just guessed correctly to further impress you ) or even small treats after a mission.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who loves seeing you happy after beating him in a game at the arcade you and your friends usually go to after school ( even though your horrible bad at the game, he doesn’t ever want to see you sad over losing )

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who only ever realises he likes you when Yaga brings it up. his teacher commenting that he bets you’ve taken up satoru’s mind from the amount of times he’s caught him staring at you.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who rushes out the class at his newfound discovery, his heart beating aggressively against the cage of bones in his chest.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who promises to tell you the next day. planning a great confession. he has what he says noted down on pen and paper, perfecting it so he won’t mess up ( but he has a slight inking he will. you’ve only ever been the one person to make satoru stumble over his words and forget them mid sentence )

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who stays up that night. unable to find respite in sleep, he stares at the ceiling mulling over thoughts of what may happen tomorrow after he does what he plans.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who prays that you feel the same for him all throughout the night and through the morning classes. so much so that suguru is cackling in laughter after satoru tells him what he’s been doing for the last few hours.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who waits for you after your mission at the steps to the school his feet aimlessly kicking at stray rocks on the ground, his white hair flying in the breeze.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who finally lets out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding in when he sees you emerge from the many steps, your feet light on the ground so much so that if anyone were not blessed with the six eyes like him, they wouldn’t have even heard you.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who is silent for s long time, studying the face he’s come to adore and love so much. you stare up at him, confused and waiting, a stray hair lies on your cheek and he thinks he’s never seen you more beautiful looking than now.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who blurts out his feelings in one go, blushing red by the end of it, his eyes burning behind his black sunglasses.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who waits for what you say, only to be taken aback when he finds you laughing at him. endless amount of giggles escaping your pretty lips, hes beyond confused ( he didn’t expect you to start laughing )

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who turns away, slightly saddened that you didn’t return his feelings before you pull him into you, leaning up to kiss him lightly on the lips. your soft lips slightly grazing his cheek as you pulls away, he sees the blush rising from your neck to your face.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who is shocked when you admit to liking him back before you run away, further into the school and to the dorms he presumes.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who’s feet are stuck to ground. he is in shock, he thinks. beyond bewildered and oh so so ecstatic.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who’s fingers lightly graze his keeps, wishing he could stand in this moment forever. to forever ingrain the feeling of the almost bursting of his heart and the rush through his veins.

LOVESICK SATORU GOJO! who finally realises how lovesick he is for you.

© VAAMINS 24  .ᐟ  do not copy, repost or plagiarise my works.

[metamorphesque]

Brief Poems, Vera Pavlova

[mournfulroses]

Vladimir Nabokov, from a letter featured in Letters to Vera published in 2014

[lutzlig]

Stardew valley mod concept art from aaaaaages ago... set sometime after apollo justice... cruelly abandoned due to uni stress.... featuring phoenix (jodi) pre and post the return of edgeworth (kent)...

[asoftepiloguemylove]

Laura Gilpin The Two-Headed Calf // Linda Pastan Why Are Your Poems so Dark? // Margaret Atwood Shapechangers In Winter // @/doeantlers (twitter) // Vladimir Nabokov Letters to Vera // Ada Limón Dead Stars // @xshayarsha

[hedwig221b]

The desire to write is crawling towards me with menace and ferity

ABO au, rare omega Stiles starving for freedom, alpha Derek who has to pick him a mate but loses his mind from how much he wants to keep him instead

Oracle!Stiles, Bodyguard!Derek with secret identity, touch-starved prickly Stiles who doesn't trust anyone and Derek who realises he has to fight hard to earn that trust bc that's his mate, not to mention he has to kidnap him

JANE FUCKING EYRE AU WITH WEREWOLVES AND PLOT TWISTS

mail order bride au, historical (i think, perhaps even deeply historical... like tribes and stuff, think Daenerys and Khal Drogo vibes (I haven't watched GoT so it's just vibes)); also a lot of people asked me to write sterek wedding and I think I can fit it here cause, you know, bride and stuff, but it's gonna be written my way so...

I genuinely do not know what is coming next, cause I wanna write everything all at once and I have a vacation in July, and I have to read an English version of Jane Eyre and that bitch is thicc... But be assured, whatever comes next is gonna be so good...

[social-mockingbird]

sunlight eyes

(an Obiyuki Cowboy Bebop AU)

obiyuki bingo 2023, yeehaw! this is my first time participating, and I’m really excited to see all of the entries and post my own! this particular fic is based on the finale of cowboy bebop (with some changes, obviously) because apparently I like sadness. it was hilarious to see the similarities between the two shows: namely the existentialism and tendency towards poetic monologues, except it’s hopeful in AnS and sad in CBB. go figure. enjoy!

________

Zen’s eyes were dead before the rest of him was, and he was pointing a gun at her.

“You didn’t come because of the rain?” Her hands were in her pockets in a deliberate act of nonchalance. They were also the only part of her that was shaking.

“I was supposed to kill you,” Zen said, steady in his aim. “That day, if I had killed you, I would have been free.”

“So why didn’t you?” Shirayuki could feel her composure slipping. Zen’s eyes were so dark, devoid of anything human. Once they’d been brighter than the summer skies. She’d lain under their gaze and flown. “Why did you choose to be chased, Zen, it doesn’t make sense.”

“Why did you love me?”

“What?”

The gun was rattling. “Why did you love me?”

Shirayuki couldn’t breathe. She’d waited for him that day, waited and let herself cry, letting the thunder mingle with her sobs, and she’d wondered then if there had ever been any love in his eyes, or if it was just the thrill of illegality. She’d been poisoned by him. She’d fallen in love with an illusion, and now she was terrified of waking up.

Zen had put down his gun. His hands were on her shoulders. He was embracing her, fingers in her hair, breath on her neck. She couldn’t move a muscle.

“Let’s just run away somewhere,” Zen said in her ear, and his voice was warm on her skin. “Just the two of us. Escape this world—go where no one else is. Fly away with me, Shirayuki. Please. It’ll be like a dream.”

Something deep in Shirayuki’s chest snapped. She could feel her feet on the ground, solid on the wet gravel. She could feel how his hands were clenched behind her back, not touching her despite his loving embrace. He was almost falling into her, heavy, trapping her in place.

And yet, if she opened her mouth, she knew she’d say yes. ___

There was a time when the smoke would have bothered her lungs, when she would have hated the acrid taste on her tongue, when she would have stolen the smokes from her friends’ fingers and crushed them under her boots. Shirayuki had been a healer, and she’d believed in the sanctity of the body.

But now she breathed in the nicotine with a straight face, reveling in the calm it brought her thudding heart.

The year was 2071, and it was always raining. Someone poked her arm.

“Thinking too much, cowgirl?”

“Not thinking at all.” White hair in an arc of blood. Birds like reapers carrying his soul away in their wake. Blue eyes turning to glass.

“Then what’s that frown for?”

“Obi, stop.” Shirayuki dodged his prodding finger, almost stepping out from under the wing of the ship into the pouring rain.

It was raining then, too. Hazy like a nightmare.

In response, Obi slung a blanket over her shoulders. His hands were warm even through the fabric. He never could seem to lash back out at her. 

“You’ll catch a cold like that,” he said, grinning as Shirayuki fumbled with the blanket and draped it over her arms like a cape. “Mitsuhide’s making breakfast.”

“Eggs again?”

“It’s all we’ve got, so don’t complain,” Mitsuhide yelled from somewhere inside the ship. How he’d heard Shirayuki from that far was a mystery. Maybe he was running on autopilot.

Obi’s skin had the same greyish shadow as Shirayuki’s did in the overcast light, but there was still a rosy undertone to his face that hadn’t been there in a long time. She’d never admit it did her good to see some color in his cheeks. Obi had been fresh out of snark and sarcasm lately since his last impromptu trip, and it had bothered her more than she’d like to admit to see him looking so serious.

“I’m not going to leave again,” Obi said quietly.

“Huh?” Shirayuki turned, finally looking him in the eye. Gold was so different than blue.

“My memory came back.”

Shirayuki blinked. “I thought it wasn’t going to. Obi, you hit your head so hard.”

Blood on the pavement, blood on her hands. She’d screamed his name when he wouldn’t wake up. That day he’d promised to tell her where he was going every time he left—and for someone so secretive, he’d never broken that promise.

“Nothing good came of it,” Obi laughed, bitterness on his tongue. “There was nowhere for me to return to. Torou’s long gone. I can never be Nanaki again. This—you were the only thing I could return to.”

“Obi, wait—”

“Let me finish, please.” Obi, usually so deferent to her, was facing her with thunder in his eyes. Shirayuki closed her mouth.

“You’re leaving. I can see it in your eyes. That mess with Zen and with Izana is getting to you, and you’re going to leave, and knowing you, you’re going to do it when I can’t go after you.”

Shirayuki dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it under her boot to avoid looking at him.

“You’re going to do something hopelessly noble and horrifically stupid and I—Shirayuki, I can’t lose you.”

“You wouldn’t be losing me, Obi, I’m not going there to die.”

“Zen’s gone,” Obi said quietly. “Isn’t he?”

He was falling like a trapeze artist without a net, boots sliding on the rain-slick rooftop. She’d felt something tear in her throat when she screamed and she scraped her hands and knees when she fell beside him, cradling his body in her arms, hoping there was still light in his eyes, shaking him, praying. Why couldn’t she stop crying?

“Izana’s men killed him,” Shirayuki was able to say, wondering vaguely why her cheeks were wet. “I have to go after him. He can’t keep doing this to people, it’s not right. He killed his own brother because of me.” “This is…a dream?”

Zen pulled her close, blood-spattered hands clutching her lapels. He was so heavy in her arms.

She hated herself for lying to Obi. There was nothing noble about what she planned to do. Izana had killed Zen, and there was a hole in her heart that needed fixing.

His gaze was far away, and he was smiling, looking through her.

“Yeah,” she’d choked. “Just a dream.”

There was one other thing she couldn’t tell Obi. She prayed he couldn’t see it in her face.

“Food’s getting cold,” Mitsuhide shouted from inside, and Shirayuki got caught up in racing Obi for breakfast, glad she didn’t have to keep fielding his questions. There would be time enough to answer all of his questions if she was right. And if she wasn’t, well…he could find the answers on his own.

____

It was quiet on the ship when Shirayuki left her room. They were drifting gently through space, sleeping with the stars, and she took advantage of the silence, sneaking to the dock. The tiny exploration ship sagged a bit, but it would do.

She heard the click before Obi stepped out of the darkness, pointing his pistol at her.

“Where are you going?”

Shirayuki lifted her hands, pivoting to face him. She hadn’t noticed him in the shadows.

“Where are you going?” Obi repeated. He was close to her now, gun lowered to her belly. She knew it was just a way to get her to talk. He’d told her the day he boarded the Bebop that hurting her was never something he planned to do. She’d taken it as a joke then, but he’d kept his promise. Obi never seemed to break his word. Unlike her.

“You told me once,” Obi said, resting the gun gently against Shirayuki’s stomach, flicking the safety on, “that the past didn’t matter.”

“I don’t care what your real name is,” Shirayuki had grumbled, the softness of her hands contrasting with her sharp tone. “I don’t care what you did before. Can you just stop letting your past rule you? It doesn’t matter. In the end it’s just a stepping stone. And no one dwells on those.”

Obi looked at the girl bandaging his arm, feeling her warm fingers on his skin, and wondered why there were tears standing in her eyes.

Shirayuki nodded.

“Then why are you so tied to yours?” Obi had lowered the gun now, and was almost leaning into her space, nose inches from hers.

“I’m not,” she protested. “I have to go, Obi, please—”

Obi grabbed her arms, not hurting her, but keeping her in place. “I never thought I’d see the day you went for revenge, Shirayuki. If I know you, that’s not what this is, despite what you want me to think. Please don’t lie to me.”

Why had she loved Zen so much?

“You’re right, it’s not for revenge.” Shirayuki was desperate now. She could feel her heart beating, her pulse picking up, and it was getting harder to tamp down. “I have to go, Obi, I have to see if-if he really loved me and if I loved him and if it was worth it.” She broke his gaze and looked at her feet. “I have to see if he’s worth dying for.” Her voice was too shaky and quiet for her liking. “He decided I was and I want to return the favor.”

Obi felt cold. “You—that’s not something you repay, Shirayuki. Death doesn’t have to be life for life, especially when the person who died for you didn’t really love you in the first place.”

That’s what Obi wanted to say. He wanted to shake Shirayuki, wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t throw her life away. That Zen had loved the game of her hatred for Izana more than he’d loved her. That he’d loved defying Izana by being with her. That Zen died because Izana didn’t forgive betrayal, and his revenge was vicious. Obi knew enough after talking to Mitsuhide, and everything else he’d figured out on his own.

But he didn’t.

Obi instead put his hands on Shirayuki’s shoulders and pulled her into his arms.

Weightless on his feet, sunlight in his eyes. Obi was light in every sense of the word.

Shirayuki snaked her fingers around Obi’s waist, burying her face in his neck. It was all she could do. It hurt to hold him but she wasn’t letting go.

When he put his hands on her shoulders, she didn’t feel like she was being weighed down, only filled up. “This isn’t something you solve by dying,” Obi said in her ear. “You’re gonna carry that weight of feeling like you don’t understand and don’t deserve someone’s sacrifice, and that’s okay. He wanted you to live, Shirayuki—I want you to live.” Obi held her tighter. “And if that means carrying the weight with you, say the word. But please don’t go down this path. Don’t die for someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

Shirayuki stiffened and Obi was terrified she’d been offended.

“I’m not going there to die, Obi,” she said, almost too quietly for him to hear. She slid her hands up his back, over the planes of his shoulders. Obi shivered, just a little. “I’m going there to find out if I’m really alive.”

Obi leaned back and looked her in the eyes.

“Well, now, if that isn’t the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, laughing a little, raising an eyebrow, and then Shirayuki was pulling him forward with her hands in his hair, and Obi couldn’t remember anything else he’d planned to say because Shirayuki’s mouth was the softest thing he’d ever tasted. She kissed him long and sweet, letting him hold her waist and press into her, and Obi tried his hardest not to think about how much this felt like a goodbye.

Shirayuki pulled back first, hands gentle on the back of Obi’s neck, a little dazed. She hadn’t really thought before kissing Obi and now she couldn’t think at all.

Why had she loved Zen?

Obi was leaning down, chasing her mouth, and she tilted up into him, closing her eyes. She felt tears on her cheeks and realized they weren’t hers, and her hands went to Obi’s face, cupped his jaw, wiped his tears with her thumbs. Zen kissed her like a guilty man and held her like a dragon.

Obi was oh-so-gently stroking her sides with his thumbs, and through his tears was able to smile into her mouth when it made her gasp.

Obi made her feel like she was flying, and like she’d have somewhere to land.

Obi said her name and ran a hand into her hair.

It was so hard to figure out why she’d loved Zen.

Resting her head on his shoulder, reveling in his warmth, Shirayuki felt safe and contented. It was so easy to love Obi. “I’ve never carried anything, Obi,” Shirayuki said, under her breath, half-hoping he couldn’t hear. “Not really. Not with you around.”

She hadn’t loved Zen. She couldn’t. Not really.

She was never meant to.

“Then don’t. Live with me.”

Shirayuki pressed her lips to his cheeks, one after the other, kissing away the still-present tears.

“I still have to fight Izana,” she told him, and Obi nodded once.

“Don’t you dare do it without me.”

____

The elevator door opened and Shirayuki charged out, red hair and a spray of bullets, and Izana’s men dropped like dolls onto the slick linoleum. The main doors opened when she slammed into them, driving her shoulder into the curving floral dragons that embossed the wood. The roof exploded. Shirayuki flung up her arms and dove for the ground, debris raining down on her from above. She could hear Izana’s footsteps on the great stairs at the front of the room. She stood and shook herself, ears ringing, as Izana descended under the newly revealed night sky.

“I told you before, Shirayuki,” Izana said, pulling two silver katanas from a sheath on his back, “Zen’s death meant yours was next.”

“And if I return the favor?”

Clack-clack-clack went her pistol as she reloaded it. Izana quirked a brow.

“Either way, Zen doomed you to die. This was your destiny from the beginning.”

“Zen’s death has nothing to do with me anymore.” Shirayuki took aim, closed an eye. “Let’s end it all.”

“As you wish.”

She moved before he did, boots clattering halfway up the stairwell, bullets clashing with Izana’s blades. Shirayuki swooped under, shooting a katana out of Izana’s hand as he swiped at her, slicing her thigh, her side. Izana’s hand came down on her gun as hers grasped the handle of his sword, and they were locked, arms shuddering as they fought for control.

“You don’t control me,” Shirayuki growled. “You never did.”

Izana stepped back suddenly, reclaiming his sword, pushing her gun back into her hands.

“Then show me.”

Izana’s sword was a silver arc spinning towards her gut, and Shirayuki fired, knowing she wouldn’t be able to get out of the way, watching the bullet gleam, dreamlike, watching it find the mark.

Izana fell.

His sword stopped inches from her stomach.

Obi was holding the blade of the katana in a gloved hand, turning it in the air, flinging it far. His fingers were cut and bleeding and they were both alive.

Izana coughed, once, and quit breathing.

Then Obi was wrapped around her and Shirayuki went limp in his arms. ____

The first rays of dawn made the courtyard blindingly bright. Izana’s men watched the figure stagger out from the wreckage, raising guns and swords.

Obi set Shirayuki down and kissed her cheek, lowering his stance, prepared to run. He was holding Izana’s swords. Shirayuki raised her arm, pointing at Izana’s men, fingers in the shape of a gun. The smile came easily to her face now. It was so easy to smile when there was nothing weighing you down.

“Bang.”

And they charged.

--------

@snowwhite-andtheknight

[rainy-pages]

I dream about them often. My ideal partner. They only find me in dreams and they never look the same. But they look at me the same.

Those soft eyes hold me like I'm the greatest think in the world. He holds my hand and orders my coffee. She hands me the remote from the coffee table and tells me my favorite show is on. I tell him there's a sale at his favorites store. I get her bag ready when she's running late to work.

Domestic things. That's all we do in my dreams. Maybe it's our dreams.

I kiss them on the cheek like they're real. I've always hoped they are. I hope I find them soon.

[dk-thrive]

My diaries are letters from my former self to my future self. My poems are replies to those letters.

— Vera Pavlova, "Heaven Is Not Verbose: A Notebook." Translated by Steven Seymour. (via Poetry Foundation)

[wreckedandpolemic]

rollercoaster kinda rush - matty healy

in which you and matty take your daughters to the fair. part of the white and gold universe and promptober75 2024. 1703 words.

warnings: very brief mentions of parental fuckery wrt disordered eating, otherwise fluffy and sweet!

Your shoes sink into the muddy grass, and you curse yourself for picking out heeled boots this morning. Alanis is chattering away to Matty, clinging to him with one hand and munching candyfloss with the other. Most of your attention is focused on Fiona, who seems never more than a few seconds away from chaos; you’ve already had to reel her away from taking her own eye out on more than a few festival booths. Somehow, you’re following your nine-year-old daughter’s lead as she drags your husband by the arm past food stalls and dunk tanks and petting zoos until she comes to a stop in front of the tiny, rickety little rollercoaster.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Matty says, turning to you in desperation when Alanis looks at him pleadingly. “Sweetheart, that thing does not look safe.”

“But it looks funnn,” she whines, attempting futilely to pull him towards it.

You glance over at the ride; he’s right, it doesn’t look particularly safe, but all the kids coming off it are glowing with joy as they chatter away with their parents. Your hand shoots out to catch Fiona’s shoulder when she moves to dart off again. “Not a chance, Fiona June. You’re not tall enough, you’d just fall straight back out,” you tell her. She frowns, and you can sense a tantrum coming on. “Take her on it, and I’ll find something the twins can actually go on. Don’t be a shitebag, Matthew,” you chide, and he scowls playfully.

“Hey! You said we’re not allowed to say that! That’s not fair!” pouts Fiona, kicking at muddy grass. Vera jolts out of the way to avoid the splatter, scowling and rearing back to shove her sister.

Jesus. Every so often, you remember that they outnumber you, and you need to intervene before they realise it too. You crouch so you’re eye level with Fiona, careful not to let the hem of your coat brush the ground. “You can have a special chance to say it if you call your dad one, okay?” you grin, the expression on her face comically thrilled. “Just not too loud, alright?”

“Mummy says you’re a shitebag,” Fiona recites dutifully, to the giggles of your other two girls.

Matty gives a long-suffering sigh. “I heard, thank you, baba. Christ, I’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?” He squeezes Alanis’ shoulder, shaking his head fondly. “Alright, Lani, c’mon. But you gotta promise to visit me in hospital when this thing knocks me out, okay?” he says, scooping her up amid giggles and depositing her on his shoulders.

You watch them wander up to the ride with a soft smile on your face, turning to Vera as they disappear inside. Matty huffs as he joins the back of the queue, wincing when Alanis tugs on his hair. “Sweetheart, I’m already balding, I’d like to hang onto what hair I have left,” he chides, and she giggles out an apology.

You grab Fiona’s hand, swinging it playfully. “Should we go and find another ride? Vi, do you fancy another go on the teacups?”

Vera shakes her head, pointing at the cart slowly creeping up the track. Fuck, it really does look rickety. “No, I wanna watch Dad being a shitebag,” she giggles. You fight to conceal your laugh as a cough, and she rolls her eyes, looking so much like you with the movement that your heart catches a little in your throat. “If she gets to say it, so do I,” she scoffs, and you kind of can’t fault her logic.

Anyway, she’s right, and you can vaguely make out the shape of your husband and eldest daughter on the coaster. And, fuck, are they right at the front?! Alanis is practically bouncing in the seat, and Matty is white-knuckling the lap bar. You know that his teeth are gritted to keep a scream from bubbling free as the coaster dips down the track. It’s rattling concerningly, but the pure glee on your daughter’s face is reassuring.

Matty’s face is grey when they emerge, and you laugh. “Was that fun?” you tease.

“No,” he deadpans in the same instant that Alanis yells can we go again?! Matty scoops her up, plops her back on his shoulders. “Why don’t we find something a bit calmer?” he says, shuddering a little.

“Bo-ring,” scoffs Fiona, but she’s happy enough to link arms with Vera and skip off. It works for you, too — Vera reins her in when she tries to wander out of your eyesight. There’s a little apple-bobbing stand nearby, and Alanis points at a comically large stuffed panda and insists she has to win it.

Matty looks at you imploringly, and you shrug. “You just paid for me to get my hair blown out. Can’t waste your money, can I?” you smirk, and he rolls his eyes and sets Alanis down. He pays the vendor for two turns, grimacing as he leans down to the barrel. Alanis giggles, happily dipping her face into the icy-cold water, and you try not to grimace at the thought of what else has been in it. But then, it gives you an excuse to slather Matty in skincare once the girls have gone to bed, and he’s so sweet when you get to baby him. 

Vera looks how you feel, and in the split-second you take your eyes off Fiona, she’s crept behind Matty and her hand is hovering over the back of his head. Her eyes light up with mischief when you grin and nod, identical smirks on your and Vera’s faces as she dunks Matty’s whole head into the water. You cackle as he comes up coughing and spluttering, wiping his eyes and catching Fiona as she tries to dart off. “You think that’s funny, do you, missy?” he mock-scowls, shaking his head like a wet dog and flicking water all over her as she shrieks in delight.

“Yes,” she giggles, squealing as Matty grabs her and flips her upside down, pretending to shake her down until she gasps out, “Sorry!” and laughs breathlessly. You smile to yourself, something warm and soft flickering to life in your chest. Even after nearly ten years, you’re always sure to catch onto these moments, let yourself fill with gratitude for the family you’ve built yourself, so analogous from your own upbringing. The sound of Fiona’s wild laughter draws you out of your reverie, suddenly conscious that she’s drawing stares. Fuck ‘em. You’ve never attempted to stifle your daughters�� fun for appearances’ sake, and you aren’t about to start. Matty could probably buy and sell any one of them, anyway.

Alanis, with her head submerged in the water, is blissfully unaware of what’s going on around her, coming up victorious with a shiny, red apple clutched between her teeth. “I won!” she shouts, muffled through the fruit.

“What’d you win, sweetheart?” you ask. “Oh, baby, don’t eat… that,” you sigh defeatedly as Alanis crunches away on the apple. You try not to think about how it’s been marinating in strangers’ spit for hours on end.

“Good for her immune system,” Matty shrugs, and you can only shake your head fondly. The vendor hands Alanis a comically large stuffed panda that you can already see Vera eyeing jealously as her sister struggles to fit it in her arms.

Matty, in his almost annoyingly perfect way, seems to have anticipated this, pulling them along to a set of simpler carnival games and buys the twins five turns each. Then another five. Eventually, they manage to defeat the coconut shy, Fiona coming away with a jellyfish she inexplicably names Mike, and Vera with a pink dragon (she offers you a haughty I haven’t decided yet when you ask its name). Of course, Matty ends up saddled with the jellyfish when Fiona runs off again, and you laugh as you fall into step beside him. Resting your head on his shoulder, you let him tuck you under his arm and soak up the heat of his body. “You know they aren’t going to let us put these in the boot, right?”

Nodding, Matty chuckles. “I’ve been playing Jenga in my head for the past fifteen minutes.”

“Could always leave Fiona behind,” you joke. “I feel like she’d thrive in the circus.”

“Oh, yeah,” Matty agrees. “She’s already asked me if she can start gymnastics.” You run through their weeks in your head, wondering if you could squeeze it in around Alanis’ drama club and Vera’s violin lessons and Fiona’s football.

Alanis grabs your hand and tugs on your arm. “Mum,” she whines. “I’m hungry.” She’s clutching her stomach dramatically, hunched over and groaning theatrically despite the full roast dinner you ate less than two hours ago. You look down at her, then realise what she’s spotted.

You scoop her up, hyper-conscious as her little chin digs into your shoulder of the fact that it won’t be long before you can’t hold her like this, so you squeeze her tight even as she squirms in protest. “Are you hungry for candyfloss, by any chance, bug?”

“Maaaybe,” she mumbles into your hair, and you and Matty share a grin over her head.

“Then we’d better get you some, Lani-girl. Can’t have you wasting away like this,” Matty says, shouting for Fiona as you sit at a picnic bench with your other two daughters. He returns with three thankfully-identical sticks of candyfloss, sharing them out and smiling imploringly at Alanis until she tears off a piece and hands it to him with a sigh. “D’you want a piece, darling?” You think about refusing the treat, thinking of sugar-sticky fingers and teeth glued together. But then you think of your own mother, how you never saw her eat more than a few bites at once, her constant insistence that she was full and watching her figure, how fucking long it took you to enjoy food again after moving out. There’s not a chance in hell you’ll let that happen to your girls, so you smile, open your mouth, let your husband feed you spun sugar. And as the sweet taste melts on your tongue and your eldest daughter groans gross, you don’t regret a thing.

[vaamins]

i like to think that after gojo’s fight with toji back in his high school days, when he first encountered the sorcerer killer and almost succumbed to his wounds and died that he still has a little scar on his forehead from toji’s first attack.

it’s not large, no. it’s barely visible, having blended into his skin over the years but sometimes, at night, when he’s asleep and still and the moonlight shines on his face you could see the faint outline of it.

it’s so small but it holds the memory of so much and you can’t help but brush your fingers over it. satoru stirs, his eyes moving beneath the lids, his brows furrow in his dream.

sometimes, when satoru stands in the mirror fixing his hair he can see it and he is drowned in memories of everything he lost after that horrible day. the day his youth forever ended. like a fairytale come to s close he was left with the bittersweet ending.

and when you notice he’s staring at himself, his blue eyes lost in thought you would hold his face in your hands and kiss the scar softly hoping all your love would be passed through just that one touch and that despite his loss, you would always stay there, by his side.

© VAAMINS 24  .ᐟ  do not copy, repost or plagiarise my works.

[alohaasaloevera]

guys I’m honestly happy that klance didn’t become canon because I love how as a collective group of people we utilize our right to explore what could have been and create the most smoking hot scenarios ever and yes I obviously wanted more of their friendship growing into this bond stronger than anything else in the universe especially since Voltron has teamwork and family as one of their main lessons but that’s more of a development issue all around…ok besides that there’s something about klance where it provides this PERFECT environment for shippers to inhabit and FEAST upon. With klance, there’s a solid, engaging dynamic between the two set up, which is this weird one-sided rivalry that stems from Lance’s insecurity and his need to prove himself of his worth and Keith literally being one of the best pilots for his age but since they’re flung into space and chosen to become child soldiers in this 10,000 year old intergalactic war so they have to work as a team which surprise surprise forces them to put aside their differences and work as a team which is shown a bunch when Keith needs to become a leader and Lance steps up as his right hand and and they have some kinda tender moments that won’t definitely drive shippers into a shipping craze (or worse) SO YEAH you could see why people loved it with all the classic tropes and mutual growth all that schmooze (ALSO THEY KNEW EACHOTHER BEFORE THE MAIN PLOT??? Well maybe not like friends or even acquaintances probably BUT HELLO?????? EVEN MORE SHIT TO EXPAND ON????), and they share multiple scenes that could be interpreted as romantic but there’s no explicit romance. This environment is fucking dripping drenched flash flooded cornered by 1000ft tsunamis in all directions with potential for shipping, so when people saw this relationship between two bros with this sort of homoerotic (IM JOKING. Kinda.) unresolved tension towards each other and the POTENTIAL for a good slow burn rivals to friends to lovers, it was to no one’s surprise that they went APESHIT. Klancers made countless different ways where they get together whether it be pre-Kerberos, post-gettingthefuckoutofearth, the start of the show, the end of the show, after the end of the show, right smack in the middle, anywhere, anytime, for who the fuck knows why just ANY REASON DAMN IT it doesn’t really matter because people were pumping out fanfiction or fan art or any fan media of klance faster than I spit out a raw baby carrot after chewing it for one second and now we’re all wallowing about how it should have been KICK but the thing is that if VLD did KICK all the way to Altea, the production of these beautiful stories that so many people have and still are coming up with about klance kissing in midst of a battle, helping each other with their crippling nightmares, smiling for the stars or some other sad premise, and whatever is nestled in his pulse…just like uhhh the amount of fics like these that go into great detail about Keith and Lance in these random situations that end up with them getting together being produced would go down to some degree because of the fact that if the people’s beloved sharpshooter and samurai had ended up together like we had wanted, and the majority was satisfied with the ending the creators had given, people would have shifted from writing about “How could Lance and Keith get together?” to writing about “What could Lance and Keith do now that they’re together?” And like. There’s nothing wrong with that honestly I would be HYPED if klance was ever canon but there is profound beauty in the way the community is able to create more from less and turn a show that went to shit in the last few seasons shine even brighter than it did at its prime. Like I wouldn’t trade my favorite fics 4 anything.

—

Ok another little thing I’m going to put here: With Klance, all I wanted was for them to be great friends 😭😭😭. I tend to prefer klance becoming canon in later seasons or at the end or even an open ending with no confirmed romantic relationships because I am a sucker for character development and the idea of Keith and Lance both harboring these feelings that at first are just admiration and respect but then escalate to yearning for one another or becoming close friends at the end of the show and getting to imagine anything I want post canon is EVERYTHING if you give me S7 Garrison klance I’ll keel over and thank you like I was a second away from dying of thirst and your gift was a truck load of water