#snippets from fics i'll never post

[talictries]

Oscar doesn’t clip his nails often.

Carlos knows this because when he woke up this morning, still slightly-intoxicated and feeling the beginnings of a gruelling hangover, in the mirror he saw the red, angry lines carved freshly into his back. 

He’d poked and prodded at them - the heat of them under his own perfectly-trimmed fingertips, how the lines are raised and bumpy - like a million speedbumps on an otherwise flat street.

Now they lie under his fireproofs - itchy as the sun blasts down on him, ready for FP3.

Carlos also knows Oscar’s night continued after what happened between them.

He knows this because there are purple blemishes crawling up his collarbone - marring his thick neck and the column of his throat. Lovebites so damning, so possessive, so - so obvious that the purple atop his collar sticks out like a single rose in a garden of green. Carlos knows this because the hickey’s there, that Oscar flashes around uncaring, unflinching, unabashed - weren’t left by him.

[noctisvixen]

I'm debating if I want to get into writing Hermitcraft fics to post on AO3.

Like, I write Hermitcraft fics for myself, they're super unpolished and 90% are abandoned because I know I don't have to finish them and I wanna do a different prompt. Though 7/10, I return to the older ones to add a little more to it because *brain rot*.

But like... What if I did write with the intention to post?? I have AUs that are story exclusive, where they aren't flippin animals. It'd be fun and then at least my AO3 account wouldn't just be blank.

[bragganhyl]

WIP of a whatever

kinda felt the urge to scribble something bee gee three related, we'll see if this becomes a thing or not

‘Alright, lad, like we practised.’

A boy looked up at his father, his spindly limbs trembled under his stern and yet concerned gaze. Dark brown eyes peered into his own with an intensity that could’ve burned his soul to cinders were he to fail this test.

‘My name is Bertalan, I am the son of a tanner.’

Smell of fur, smell of leather, it’s all the same in the end. A lie does not have to be the opposite of truth, when it can be a cloak woven out of it. A cloak that smells like cured leather.

‘Where are you from?’

‘Rivington, we had a workshop there until recently.’

‘Remember the accent, lad.’ The man’s voice rang with a gentle warning. The boy nodded, he’ll have to practise to keep his tongue rolling the right way. But it shouldn’t be too hard, it’s not that different from how Baldurians talk. His father straightened his back as he continued.

‘What happened?’

‘Pa couldn’t keep running it, after Ma got sick.’

‘How did she get sick?’

‘Her lungs couldn’t handle the fumes.’

Focus on the coughing, focus on the wheezing, forget all else about the curse, he guided himself, and his own voice rang deeper in his mind. Older. More resolute.

‘What of your father?’

‘He taught me what he knew then he retired,’ he looked his father straight in the eye. The words slipped from him effortlessly now. His father raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

‘Then how come you’re a hunter?’

Bertalan shrugged. ‘Have to get the skins somewhere,’ he chuckled. ‘At least, that’s how it all started, now I just hunt.’

‘What do you hunt?’

‘All manner of beasts. The stranger the better.’

‘Ever hunted a mind flayer before?’

That… that’s not the question. He’s supposed to ask about…

Bertalan stopped his line of thought before it could fully form in him. He saw this dream thousands of times, from the day his father first asked these series of questions. The answers were etched into his soul, including the ones he was about the recite next.

Trust no one, trust only in nature.

Pain shot through him, from head to toe, from a spot behind his eye along every fibre of his being. He gasped, but the only air around him was stale and reeked of something unnatural. He struggled to look, a hand came to the side of his face, trying shield his aching eye. He glimpsed glass or at least something transparent ahead of him. As he struck it, his movements felt sluggish and feeble.

Luckily for him, the strange, casket-like pod opened at the contact. Or maybe it just opened on its own. Bertalan certainly didn’t feel like he forced the thing open. He blinked once. Then again. And again. He recalled an open field, high grass, sunlight warming the back of his neck, Corvus calling out for danger. He assumed it was his quarry but… it was just a touch. Then the dream came and now… a room, constructed by something fleshy yet mechanical. The ranger’s eyes widened as the realization slowly sunk in: he was on a nautiloid.

[ovadzs]

“sportscar”-

summary: you are an endlessly talented artist/model/influencer and adored by millions of fans, but remain stubbornly single. this doesn’t stop your fans from shipping you with Lando Norris, though. So your best friend (and agent) Clara decides to set some things in motion behind your back. unfortunately, what she didn’t expect was the fact that you fucking despise that man. but it’s only a week of shooting together, for his brand and for your new song: sportscar. so, how bad can it be?

word count: 7.6k

fic content/warnings: female reader, use of you/she, enemies to lovers (one sided), hate/anger, lando is kinda ooc, kinda angsty, not properly proof read!!

author notes: hi gang!! this was SO entertaining to write but longgg and exam season is KICKING MY ASS so once i’m done i have an oscar fic waiting to write 😙 (childhood friends/lovers, fluffy and with posts etc can’t wait!!) this fic is obviously based on tate posting that INSANE video in the lando jersey omg ??? also, pink haired diva Clara might be my new reoccurring character cause i LOVE herrr !! anyway enjoy

Sometimes you forget how truly famous you are. How expansive your fanbase is. An established model, with a mass following. And now you’ve just sold out your first stadium show. You never believed in those ‘I've made it’ moments, but you were sort of feeling that way.

And you managed to do all it, somewhat on your own. Sure, you had a bit of help. People you depended on. Unwavering support from your parents, and your best friend Clara-your agent. Soulmates existed, you were sure of it. She was a great example of that, and you loved her more deeply than you thought possible. She was truly your greatest friend. You meant more like, without a partner. You were too career focused, too determined, to let a man get in your way. A liability, not worth taking. You had a cat, and a fucking massive apartment, and Clara, and a family you adored. What else did you need?

Well, the fans sure didn't feel the same. They clung onto every arm in photos, every appearance. They were desperate to see you with someone, regardless of what you wanted. They really annoyed you sometimes, but you were eternally grateful. Their choice of eligible bachelor at the moment was Lando Norris, the F1 Driver. It was no secret that you enjoyed F1, because you regularly went to watch the Miami Grand Prix, occasionally making appearances at others. And you were often sporting some orange clothes, or sometimes even Lando’s iconic neon merch. So naturally, they wanted to see you together. A definite ‘power couple.’ But funnily enough, you’d never actually met him. Your social circles seemed to refuse to overlap. Sure, he commented on some posts, and vice versa. Consistent story likes and good luck messages. You’re pretty sure he attended one of your shows last year, but you don't know for certain.

However, what you did know is that you LOVED messing with your followers. So you fished through your drafts, and found a video of you in your LN4 jersey, lip-syncing to a snippet of your upcoming song, ‘Sportscar.’ Without thinking, you hit post, grinning to yourself.

And not even a minute later, it's blown up, likes and comments flooding in. And one catches your eye, from the man himself.

‘good taste.’

You smirk slightly but don’t bother to like it, you just wait for the inevitable phone call from Clara instead.

“Okay, as your unspoken social media manager, please please PLEASE!!! warn me before you start posting crazy shit.” comes her flustered voice, her surprise etched clearly on her face through the screen.

“Sorry, I had to. The comments are just SO funny.” you admit, laughing at your fan accounts literally losing their minds. Clara’s hands are stained pink from the damp hair dye in her hair, and you cackle at how overwhelmed she looks. “I promise I'll give you at least 30 seconds of warning, next time, okay?”

She huffs. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I was going to ask this yesterday and forgot, so this is perfect. I’ve been talking to Lando’s equivalent of me, I think. I don’t really know what he does. And he was hinting how brilliant a collab would be. I didn't agree to anything,” she says hurriedly, “but it would be brilliant. For us, and for them. Just think of the publicity!” she clamours, and you hear a chaotic crash behind her.

You’ve covered this before, so that's why she asks so quickly, because she knows what's coming.

“Clara, come on. You know I don’t want to do any collabs, or anything.” you say truthfully, but she just sighs as you, exasperated.

“Look, you’re like- shockingly famous and successful. You’ve made a name for yourself, and this isn’t going to change that.” she replies, and you know she's probably right, but you just can't do it.

You crave that independence, that knowledge that you’ve never thrown names around or cozied up to anyone to chase money and fame. You worked yourself to death, sleepless nights humming to yourself, sewing outfits. So you didn’t want anyone, even Norris, putting his name near yours. You could deal with the speculation, but you weren’t about to get outshone. Watch as with each photo that dropped, you slowly becoming an extension of him. Sure, you both owned your corners of the world, neither one of you more famous than the other. If anything, you were possibly more known than him. But there was something so horrifying, about your brand slowly becoming infused with foreign faces and strangers that you don't care for. You wouldn't mind having your family or Clara or your close friends dancing with you in a music video, or posing behind you in shoots. But a cash grab, a weak attempt to rise up the charts, you refused. Maybe it was petty. Maybe you were being stupid, but you didn’t care.

“Clara, it just doesn't feel right. Sure, it fits with Sportscar, and yeah maybe the fans would love it. And I'm happy to drop the occasional video or whatever, and I wouldn't even mind meeting him, but I don't want him anywhere near my name or my brand. I don't want anyone to clarify. I’m sure he’s great, it's not personal. You can tell that to HIS Clara, yeah?” you say clearly, and you see her nod, distracted.

And even though you trust her with your life, that faraway look in her eye stresses you out. There are very few things you disagree on, and this is one of them. You both know it. And you know how easily she could make a contract, and that's it. You and Lando, official partners. Of business, obviously. But she wouldn't do that, would she?

***

Funny, how varied your evenings were. Last night, typing away on your laptop, cosied up in bed, facetime Clara. Now, dressed in a tiny outfit and possibly too much makeup for such a dark space, catching the club lights on your belt buckle. You were in the poshest, most expensive club you could find, but the people inside didn't seem to reflect that. Rich, but dickheads. You wondered what you were doing there.

Clara was long gone, dancing under the lights nearby, twirling aimlessly with a group of people as wasted as her. You were often envious of how magnetic she was, easily drawing in people. You questioned how she was in the one in the shadows, and you were the famous one, prancing around on stage.

“HEY! Look who it is. Glad to finally meet you!” came a shockingly loud shout, right into your poor, unsuspecting ear.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter, batting away your assailant. You turn, expecting a crazed fan, but you’re surprised to see an offended Formula One driver instead.

“Oh. Oh! Lando, hey. Sorry about that.” you reply, dropping your raised arm. He comes too close to you again, shouting back into your ear.

“It’s okay!!!!!!” he bellows, and you have to resist the urge to hit him again. He’s slurring his words slightly, and you’re almost surprised he's still standing.

“Can you maybe, not? Shout in my ear, I mean. I can hear you.” you say matter of factly, suddenly feeling much more sober. You always got more irritable when you had something to drink, and right now Lando was getting on your last nerve, even if you’d literally just met.

“Oh yeah, sorry mate. I like your outfit, shame you’re not wearing my top though.” he says simply, swaying embarrassingly to the music. You smile at him gently, trying to stop your skin from crawling. It wasn't his fault, but you seriously didn't want to be there anymore. Maybe it was something about him being such a mystery, or some wild speculation. Him, being right there, barely thinking straight, was not what you wanted to see. You didn't even know why you'd come. You always hated clubs, the music was always too loud and you preferred dancing when you knew the choreography.

“Well, thanks. Didn’t feel like being a highlighter tonight though,” you joke, but it doesn't land. Probably because your arms are folded and your voice is deadly serious.

“Huh.” he says, clearly put off. “Thought you were a fan.” he mutters, rolling his eyes at you. And maybe he's joking too, but the tension isn't right, so you just roll your eyes back at him, and he stiffens.

This was not how you imagined meeting him for the first time. It was almost weird, how dry the air was between you. You just, didnt mind him? He’d annoyed you a bit, sure, but that was forgivable. But there was no excitement, no tension, nothing.

“Do you want to dance, or something?” he asks suddenly, watching you eye up the door.

You pause, trying to be polite. “Sorry, I’m actually exhausted. I promise I'm not usually this tense, really. I’m just going to go home, but I need to let my friend know. The pink haired one, there. You see her?” you point, grinning at her as she points back between you and Lando, but you subtly shake your head at her. You hope he doesn't notice, but unfortunately for you, he does.

He straightens up by you, scowling a bit. “Yeah, whatever. I’ll see you around then, maybe.” he says firmly, and you just nod reassuringly. You let Clara know you’re leaving and she quickly hugs you goodbye as you make your way to the door.

As soon as you step out, and the cool night breeze hits your face, you immediately feel so much better. You almost want to apologise to Lando,since he was clearly just loud and irritatingly happy, but it's too late.

“Hey, wait up!!”

Maybe it isn't too late.

“Huh, Lando? What are you doing out here?” you ask, and he pauses for breath.

“I felt like maybe it was awkward back there? Like I was annoying you or something, and I wanted to apologise, in case I did something.” he says, still hiccuping slightly.

You laugh, it coming out colder than you intended. Like you were laughing at his average apology.

“No, it’s fine.” you say firmly, smiling gently now.

He nods, unconvinced. “So, why’d you shake your head, when fucking Pinkie-Pie in there asked about me?” he replies, sounding sort of angry. You can tell he didn't mean to offend you, but your jaw slackens.

“She prefers other animated characters. Starfire, at least. Although her personal favourite is being compared to Granmamare from Ponyo. However, her name works just fine. Clara.” you say decidedly, giving him one last chance, before you actually do get annoyed.

“Don’t know it, sorry. But hey, that's Clara, huh? She’s been in contact with my agent a lot recently, right?” he replies.

Thankful he dropped the head shake, you nod. “Yeah, but I don’t do collabs.” you murmur, still not warming up to him.

He seems to feel the same. “What, not good enough for you?” he replies snarkily, sneering at you.

“What? Of course not.” you fire back, earnestly, but he’s clearly got that into his head.

“One look at me, and you tell Clara it's not happening. One shake of the head,yeah? Not worth the time, yeah?” he continues, and hitting him crosses your mind for a second time.

“Oh, get over it! It’s not about you. You’re too loud, and too drunk. I don’t even know you, what are you doing right now? Coming up with another bullshit apology? I told you I was tired, how egotistical can you be?” you shriek, and it all comes spilling out of you.

You rarely take your anger out on anyone, but here he is. A drunk, angry, confused, Lando, who keeps fucking looking at you like you’re some elitist snob, like he isn’t filthy rich too. An easy easy target.

“Fucking hell, I chased after you because I DID want to get to know you, and thought I’d blown it just cause you’re in a bad mood. But no, turns out you’re just, mean? I’m not egotistical, just aware. Don’t try and act like I’m wrong.” he calls back, matching your volume.

You scoff loudly, stomping towards him. The air isn't dry now, it's full of venom and anger. Also, you’re freezing, and he’s evidently warm from his flushed face and the way you can feel his hot breath and the heat radiating from his body.

“I’m not mean, dickhead. You called MY best friend Pinkie-pie!!” you protest, and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you realise you’re definitely drunker than you thought.

He laughs at you, and you lose it.

“You know what, you’re right. I don’t do collabs, like ever. But I was close to thinking about reaching out to you. I thought you’d be cool, or whatever. And instead you're just a little boy, who can’t handle alcohol and bellows in people’s ear. You’re obnoxious!!” you shout, your faces practically touching.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head.

“No, no I’m not done!!” you continue, spinning away from him, laughing. “Yeah, maybe it was bullshit. I’m not tired. You just made me irritated. Like, those two lines of talking with you dampened my fucking mood. But you know what? What if I was just tired? Tired, and drunk, and walking home. And you were going to come over and what? Hound me for answers about some weird gesture I did to my friend. Call me an angry, mean, antisocial bitch?” you ask, letting all your emotions fly out viciously from your hoarse throat.

He’s visibly hurt, but also visibly impressed. He just blinks, unsure of what to do next.

“Soooo, Mr Norris. No, I will not be seeing you around, maybe. Thank fuck we aren’t collaborating together, huh? It would've been a nightmare.”

“A trainwreck.” he agrees, clearly bemused.

“Wow, glad we finally agreed on something!” you say sarcastically, turning around to begin your walk home. But you pause, flipping him off first, and you stare at him long enough to see him return the favour. And the only thing you can think to do, to essentially get the last word, is to stick your tongue out at him.

And then he's blinking again, surprised, and you speed off before you see any other of his facial expressions.

“For the record, I didn't call you a bitch.” he calls out, but you keep your finger firmly extended in the air.

***

The next day flies by, but you spend almost all of it in bed, replaying the night before. His stupid, smug, face. You actually start to hate him more now. Who was he, to think he had some claim to getting to know you?

What a pathetic little man.

You were desperate to ramble about your interaction with Clara, but she was knocked out, you presumed. She hadn’t been online for almost 18 hours.

So when her little icon changes from an offputting grey to vivid green, you grin, eagerly calling her.

“Oh my GOD Clara. He was not what I was expecting at all! Insufferable, really. I’ve been thinking about how I dodged a bullet, and I’m so seriously grateful I can avoid him indefinitely now. Might have to burn my merch.” you joke loudly, properly waking her up.

She freezes, guilt clouding her whole face. And then she bursts into the loudest fit of giggles you’ve heard in a while.

“What if I told you you didn’t dodge that bullet, like, at all? And at 10am tomorrow you have a shoot with him? Wearing his brand?” she stammers, still giggling and you feel a laugh bubble in your throat.

But when she looks at you, suddenly deadly serious, that laugh sours and viciously burns you. And you've never wanted anything more than to strangle her. So you hang up instead.

CLARA:

im sorry

lol

not that sorry

no wait yes i am

i shouldnt of gone behind ur back like that, ofc

but im not sorry that lando is an asshole

can i come watch pls

YOU:

stfu

ur lucky i havent fired you

wait

why havent i fired u yet ??

consider this a formal warning

CLARA:

hes hot tho

YOU:

??

this is ur boss

what r u talking about

CLARA:

lando ?

liek sure maybe hes annoying asf but

like***

you’ll defo look good together

YOU:

idk what ur talking about

hes not even the best looking driver on the grid

also hes punching

CLARA:

its just a shoot babe ur not betrothed

btw the contract goes both ways

ur not just modelling for him

YOU:

whatthefuckdoumean

??

clara

what did u do

…

clara this is ur boss

reply immediately

CLARA:

“boy dont make me choose”

guess whos playing said ‘boy’ in the sportscar mv

thank me later???

YOU:

oh my

please be joking

have u READ??? those lyrics

ur taking the mick

im going to kill you

this actually cant be happening

has HE READ THOSE LYRICS?

oh my god

cnacnel

abort immediately

CLARA:

10am tomorrow

ill send u the address later

enjoy x

btw u legally have to go

like u might get sued if u dont

not might, will. please go!!

YOU:

i want u on the set for sportscar too

CLARA:

umm, why? as your intimacy co-ordinator

hah im SO funny

YOU:

no

so i can run u over

you can admire him up close as you both become speedbumps

that wasnt funny btw

***

You barely sleep, and when the sun rolls into your room, you sigh, waving it away. Doomsday is a mere few hours away, and you can’t get his stupid fucking face out of your head. You actually hate him. Truly, hate him. And you hate hating people, so this really isn’t ideal.

Also, ‘sportscar’ is kind of insane, by your standards. Unhinged, maybe. You didn't even WANT to make a music video for it, but they are sort of your thing. So you thought something cool, you driving around or something. A strategic orange car (again, you enjoyed messing with fans.) but you hadn't thought about having really anyone else but you. It was an awkward video to film with anyone, sure. And you weren’t exactly, not awkward?

You raise your head from your pillow, just to throw it straight back down, exasperated. A shoot, you could get through, just. But some of the lyrics, the general impression of the song? Even you wouldn't be able to pass that off as a little joke, that was actually crazy. What was Clara THINKING? You curse her again, for the millionth time that day, and you watch the clock tick. Until you seriously do have to get up.

She’d instructed you to come with no makeup, nothing. Just show up, and his stylists would take care of the rest. The silence, the lights, flashes would all be bearable. But posing with him, fake-smiling at him? Definitely a challenge. You actually felt the life being sucked out of you at the thought. So you breathe, cracking a grin, and you let your face get used to it. Since you’d be plastering that all day.

***

The studio is nice. Modern. Not too big, but not cramped either. Plenty of make-up artists, hair stylists, designers flit around, but you aren't claustrophobic. That is until he walks in, and then suddenly the walls collapse on you.

He grins straight at you, overly cheerily, and you instinctively scowl back. Oops. Good start. In response he mimes like he’s just been shot, deeply wounded, on the brink of death. You just shake your head, rolling your eyes at his immaturity. That practiced smile, immediately disappearing.

About half an hour later, you’re both dressed and ready. You sport a more subtle LN4 themed outfit, with small details sewn throughout your matching top and bottom half. He’s wearing a more masculine outfit, in a darker colour, but you both look incredibly harmonious. And surprisingly, you realise Clara is right. You actually do sort of look brilliant together. Shame he’s so fucking annoying.

The photographer seems blissfully unaware of how much you detest the man to your right. Either he’s an idiot, or you’re an incredible actor. You assume it’s a bit of both.

So when he asks you to sit on a block beside Lando, and rest your head carefully on his chest, you almost start a riot.

Lando winks at you, and you swear you might just kill him, right there on camera. But you just breathe, not looking at him any longer, and you smile gently for the flash in front of you.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks, murmuring into your ear. It's an improvement from when he deafened you, but you hate how close he is.

“Immensely so.” you hiss back, and he laughs at you bitterly.

So you decide to ram your pretty large heel straight into his foot, bitterly. And although he doesn't yelp, like you hoped, he grimaces and you feel him stiffen. Good enough.

“Sorry, are you uncomfortable? You sure look uncomfortable.” you whisper back, and you watch his bared teeth shift into a dazzling smile. ANd you realise Clara is right, yet again. A theme you were not liking. But admittedly, he was attractive. And that just made you even more annoyed.

The rest of the day went by about the same. You basically either looked like you wanted to die, or you wanted him to die, until you heard the click. Then you were smiling, like you actually didn’t mind staring at him warmly as the photographer walked around you.

Then came an unexpected brief- just talk naturally. Candids, they wanted. So they positioned you next to each other, spread out on the same sleek couch, your legs occupying the same small space, and told you to have a conversation.

You had nothing you wanted to say to him, so you waited for him to speak first. So he did.

“You truly are a professional, huh?” he comments, a permanent gleam in his eyes.

“Can’t say the same for you. I wouldn’t quit your day job.” you snap back, absent-mindedly.

“Wasn’t going to. I love racing.” he replies, shrugging, and you decide to give him a moment of respite from your disgusting looks and harsh words.

“Okay, that's common ground. Let's talk about it, alright? That way he’ll get his photos, and I can get out of here.” you say firmly, and he cocks his head to the side, staring at you inquisitively.

“Alright. Sure. So, what’s your favourite race you’ve been to?” he asks, and you pause.

“Miami, last year, was pretty good.” you admit, forgetting one crucial detail about that race.

He didn't, though. His eyebrows shoot up, hidden behind his curly hair.

“Are you kidding? My first race win, and that’s your favourite. And I thought you HATED me! Hah.” he laughs, triumphantly, and you groan.

“Shut up. And I didn’t hate you then. Cause I didn't know you then.” you say slowly, not realising how truly harsh your words are.

“You don’t even know me, now.” he replies, not missing a beat.

“I know enough.” you shoot back simply, but he just shakes his head at you, exasperated.

“You really don’t. Come on, you could give me another chance.” he mutters, and you hum back at him.

“Yeah, I could. But I pay a lot of attention to first impressions.” you fire back, and he smiles slightly.

“Pretty sure you flipped me off and then stuck your tongue out at me all in the space of two seconds, and I don’t hate you, so?” he sighs, and you just roll your eyes at him, suppressing your own smile.

‘I don't hate you, so.’

You think deeply, ignoring him getting up. Ignoring the photographer packing up. It isn’t until Lando sticks his calloused hand directly above you, helping you up, that you realise you’re finally done. How relieving.

And you take it gracefully, hoisting yourself up. But you just can’t help it. His smirking face. So you yank him backwards, throwing him back onto the couch, and you burst into laughter. The only genuine smile you’ve shown all day. And then you hear it, and you freeze. That stupid click.

And you see that idiot photographer, his face literally beaming. Like he’s just won the lottery. And as you admire the bewildered expression on Lando's face, you realise he has. It’s a great shot.

***

And two days later, your end of the bargain is over. You don’t give Clara any updates. You refuse. She doesn’t deserve the drama. All you tell her is that he’s as annoying as you expected, and you still truly loathe him, but you like his team. And it's funny, making fun of him. You tell her you preferred the Quadrant half of the deal, since you met the designer. How you thought she would love her. And how much you hate her for what’s happening at the weekend.

That’s when he messages you.

LANDO:

so

whats sportscar actually about?

me??

YOU:

ew no

i thought i blocked u??

get out my dms

LANDO:

harhar

seriously

drop those lyrics

YOU:

you don’t like surprises?

LANDO:

no,i do, but i see the way u look at me when i mention it

like u wanna scratch my eyes out

so go on

YOU:

u asked for it

*photo

LANDO:

oh

i see

that will be fun

YOU:

careful

or i actually will block u

LANDO:

no u wont

your fans will notice

and then u cant randomly drop references of me anymore

which u clearly love to do

YOU:

“harhar”

goodbye lando

LANDO:

see u soon

YOU:

unfortunately

***

The weekend came too soon. No one knew just how much content you and Lando were about to drop. You’d agreed to drop the music video simultaneously with his new collection, so the explosion happened once, and you could face the aftermath together.

And this time, when you arrived at your own studio, your own set, you felt much more relaxed, even though the filming was much more daunting. This was your team. Photos of you and them scattered around. Your favourite director, waving at you. Costumes and lights and greenscreens. Your name, on a door. Clara’s, beside yours. So when he walks in, scouring the scene, your stomach sours. You’d almost forgotten he was coming, to disrupt the peace.

“So, your turf, huh?” he announces, reading your mind.

“Yup. You ever been in a music video before, Norris?” you ask, arms folded.

“Nope.” he replies honestly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. And for a moment, a tiny moment, you think he might just be a little bit nervous.

“Well, you’ll be fine, I'm sure. I said Clara could look after you. She’s more of a fan than I am.” you joke, signalling her over.

She practically skips over, grinning at you. “She’s lying. Not a clue who you are, really. She’ll never drag me to a stupid race. I just called you hot once. To annoy her, may I add. Alright ‘boy’, let's go.” she says rapidly, but choosing to drag the word ‘boy’ heavily, glaring at you.

“Hey, Pinkie-pie. I was looking forward to meeting you, truly. I would've introduced myself the other night, but we all know how that went.” he replies, mimicking her dramatic tone, and she laughs at him. And you hate that they immediately fit together, really well. There's no fire in his eyes when he looks at her, only light.

And she drags him away, so you sidle up to your director. Bardia smiles at you.

“I must admit, I was surprised that you brought Lando here. I didn’t realise you were actually together, I thought it was a big joke.” he huffs, and you stare at him, absolutely horrified.

“Please, never say that again. Lando and I are NOT together- that would be- actually-” you begin, trying not to gag. You’re glad disgust is your main emotion, because for a brief moment you were worried there. That maybe you didn’t hate him anymore. But with what you feel at that suggestion, you’re reassured that you do still detest that man.

He looks at you, confused. “You know we’re filming for ‘sportscar,’ today. Yes? As in, this song.” he begins, playing it from the speakers. And when you watch Lando hear it for the first time and his breath hitches, you find yourself pausing too.

“Yes, I know. Don’t remind me. Clara was an idiot. But seriously, we’re just acquaintances.” you stress, trying not to listen to your own voice.

He scoffs. “Fine, I’ll cut out some of the ideas I had. They definitely won't work if you don't get along, but you’ll have to act like you’re together, alright?”

You blink and nod, trying not to think of what ideas he was thinking of.

***

You love Bardia’s vision, as usual, and paired with Brett’s styling, you both look admittedly phenomenal. And other than a brief moment, when you accidentally exploded at him for getting in your way (you said a lot of things that were unbelievably cruel), it goes quite well. Although, after your outburst, he seemed to shrink a bit. He didn’t argue back, just listened to instructions. Pulled faces when you needed him to. And honestly? You liked him more like that. You were just happy to be almost done with him.

A lot of it was solo work, or you and a few backup dancers. So you made an effort to not watch him and Clara joke off set, laughing to each other. You just focused on the carefully curated choreography, satisfied when you hit each beat. But because you weren't looking at him, you didn't see him looking at you. Staring. His laughs to Clara were absent-minded. He focused entirely on each move you made, admiring your determination. Your subtle skill.

Bardia always shot in chronological order, so you were fucking finally nearing the end of the song, and your torture could end. So when you catch Clara staring at you wide-eyed as he tells her his plans for the outro, you realise this was going to become an actual nightmare.

A train wreck, as someone you know would say.

She rushes over to you as you sip on some water, trying to avoid eye contact with Lando.

“You’re about to blow up again.” she announces, a disgusting smile stretching up her face.

“What.” you say sullenly.

“How comfortable are you sitting on Lando’s lap?” she asks wickedly, and your jaw drops.

“Um, that isn’t happening?” you reply quickly.

“Well, you wrote it in. ‘We can share one seat,’ and all that.” she sings, and you drop your head into your hands.

“No, I refuse to do that.” you respond, shrugging.

“Huh, Lando said you’d refuse. Funny, knows you better than you think.”

“No, he just knows I hate him.” you mutter, shaking your head profusely.

“I don’t think it's that. He thinks you’re scared of him. That you don’t want to be too close to him, but not because you hate him. He’s very cocky, I’ll admit that.” she says, shrugging back.

“You’re JOKING. He doesn’t think it's that, trust me.” you shriek back, and she nods sarcastically.

“I think I’ve spoken to him more in the last half an hour than you have, well, ever. He definitely thinks you’re into him.” she laughs, and you get very very angry again.

“Well, he can fuck off. Fucking idiot. Tell Bardia I want this done, so let's hurry up.” you mumble, and Clara runs off. And across the room, you meet his stare, and you shake your head incredulously at him. He just blinks back.

***

“How come you’re looking at me so funny?” he asks, sitting comfortably in the driver's seat of the car they’d rolled onto set.

While you were dancing, they’d done some outdoor scenes with him, and you’d heard him rambling about the drifting he’d done, grinning about the car. He did look like he belonged behind the wheel -in all fairness.

“Because Clara told me about your stupid ideas.” you mutter, ignoring the confusion on his face as you clamber over the gap between the passenger seat.

“Um, okay. This is new. What ideas?” he asks, shifting uncomfortably as you climb onto him, trying to hide your awkwardness.

“That I was into you.” you huff, resting your hands on his shoulders.

“I didn't say that, but you are literally all over me.” he responds, sitting up straighter. He gently lifts your legs, giving him space to move to get comfortable, and you pretend to ignore how his hands burn your bare skin.

“Oh, come on.” you say, turning to face him. But the genuine innocence on his face is so believable you actually realise what happened.

Clara was SO lucky they had started recording. You’d never hated her so much as you did right now.

His comment earlier about you being a professional was absolutely correct though, and you were proving it. You sang along quietly, so quietly that Lando was probably the only person who could hear you, but it kept you on beat.

And every word you moved, leaned, gestured. To anyone watching, it would seem like you belong there, your limbs intertwined with his. That he isn’t making you uncomfortable, no, merely the opposite. That you dont want anything more than to get away from him, the skin to skin contact actually driving you insane. And with each thought, with each shiver, you press further into him, feeling the music. It was your song, after all. Clara was right, you had written this in. And as much as you despise her, that snake, you are absolutely loving the bizarre look you are getting from Lando. He has a cap on, that matched your top, and that was very lucky for him. Because he was, like you’d said, NOT a professional. His obvious confusion, and the way he kept looking away from you, was hilarious. So you pull down his cap, so it almost completely covers his face, meaning his curls poke out the back.

“Stop blushing, Norris. And stop looking like you want to run away. I’m trying my very best to act like I don't want to throw up right now, please do the same.” you whisper, your lips grazing his ear.

He doesn’t respond, but he reacts instead. He throws the cap off his head, as if to prove to you he isn’t flushed, but you’re not very convinced.

“Brilliant. We got exactly what we needed. I can’t think of a better scene for the outro, really. You should pay Clara for her originality, alongside her services. IF I’m not careful, she’ll be taking my job soon.” jokes Bardia, and if looks could kill, the one you shoot Clara would’ve had her dead instantly.

You practically leap off Lando, like he was burning you, and you charge straight for her.

“You need to fuck off, Clara.” you say, seething.

You very very rarely argue, and you’ve never been so mad at her, so this was new. This hostility. Between her and Lando, you couldn’t tell who was worse.

She looks taken aback. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I was just, I thought it was funny. I was going to tell him to change his plan, but he had a vision by then, and you’d already got on set-” she starts, but you just shake your head at her.

“Cut the bullshit apology. You’ve been such a pain about this whole thing. I let it go, that you even did this, and I shouldn’t have. But I did, because I love you. And every fucking day that I spent angry, and irritable, and stressed, I tried to not blame you. I think that's why I hated him so much. Because I just didn't want to be mad at you, because I NEED YOU. You’ve always been there. One of the few people I trust with my life. And you stabbed me in the fucking back. And here I am, anxious and angry and way out of my depth, and then you pulled out the knife, just to stab me again. But yeah, hope that was real fucking funny.” you shout, ignoring her cringing eyes and the sudden silence of the room.

“Leave Pinkie-Pie alone, yeah? Come on, let's get some water or something.” comes a voice, and a hand on your shoulder. And why he thought you’d want to talk to him, of all fucking people, is absurd.

“Her name is Clara. You two aren’t friends, unless you’re part of some fucking club to piss me off, maybe? I do not need you wading in here, okay? Leave me the fuck alone. We’re done, contracts over. Video launches in a week, and that's it. Never have to speak to each other again, Norris. Let's start now. Get out of here, please.” you snarl, not looking him in the eyes.

You pause.

“Actually, no. I’ll leave. You two can have a chat or something, maybe about how else you can go behind my back, and how you can then make me want to shoot myself!” you shout, shrugging, looking from Clara to Lando. And you turn and storm out, practically running home.

***

Its ‘sportscar’ release day. You've seen the video. It was actually great. And setting the emotions aside, the ending made sense. But you can't really watch it, past the first minute, without wanting to scream. So you don’t.

The fans however? They go mental. Like, inconsolable. Losing their minds.

Comments flood in, endless. All the same, your name and Landos. A few, about the song being great. A few, crediting the designers of Lando’s new merch, but it's a few. And it's exactly what you knew was going to happen, that you were so upset by.

Everyone, violent and relentless.

‘‘The way they look at each other!”

“this is an insane hard launch omfgg??”

“wait , r they actually together?”

“I KNEW IT.”

“Lando, one chance please.”

“They look so good together”

“i just died omfg”

Millions. Literally millions of comments all like that. And you hate it, that you were so not in control of this. That now, everyone thought you were dating a man you didn't even like. Someone who had made last week one of the hardest of your life. Every comment, a reminder of Clara, laughing. But you didn’t want to let everyone view you like this. So you had to do something.

Photos, videos. Of you and Lando, at each other's throats. Your arguments. Someone had even managed to get a video of you from that night when you first met. So you made a somewhat innocent photo dump, throwing in the occasional fight. In a way that genuinely presented you both as insufferable.

Your caption was harsh, but honest. “Crazy couple of weeks. Nice to meet Norris finally, but didn’t expect him to be so annoying!!. Anyway, hope you all like ‘sportscar!’ thanks everyone xx” @landonorris

He commented almost immediately.

“yeh, crazy is a good word. thanks for the new experience. sorry for being such a pain in the ass.”

It was sad. Not even that flippant. And you almost, almost, felt bad. Your anger, maybe misplaced. But, he was still undeniably annoying. Regardless if he deserved your wrath or not, that was still true. It always was going to be.

But someone who definitely DID deserve your anger was Clara. You hadn’t spoken since, which was shockingly unusual for you two. But you were hurting, and she still hadn’t really apologised.

CLARA:

hi! i know you probably dont want to talk, but can u open the door? can we talk anyway?

You huff, and get up. Classic. She hated knocking, never did. She just came in. She literally had a key.

You open the door, to see her sad face. Red, probably from exhaustion. She didn't cry often.

“Come in.”

And she does, sitting on your sofa.

“Look, I’m so so sorry. Like really. I just, I didn’t think about how you were feeling. I just thought about the numbers. And, you know, you. I thought that maybe you only hated him so much because you liked him, and you were scared. It wouldn’t be the first time. And, look, I know this is awful of me, but you know I’ve always loved meddling. And I didn’t say it back, but I love you too. Always. You’re literally my sister, and I don't know what I’d do without you. I mean, this week nearly killed me. I know forgiving me won't be easy, but I didn't have malicious intentions. Yeah, maybe I thought it would be humorous. I didn't think you really hated him that much, that you'd say yes just to prove him wrong.That's unlike you, really. I was surprised.” she explains, her voice cracking.

“I just, the fans, you know. They wanted it so badly. It seemed almost unreal. I don’t know, I just thought you were making a big deal out of nothing. And although I could totally see how and why he pissed you off, he was more tolerable than I was expecting. “ she finishes shakily, and you really stare at her.

Her bloodshot eyes. Her messy pink hair, plaited lazily. Still dressed in her favourite pyjamas, like she came here in a frenzy. Like this was eating her up. And you just couldn’t. You just couldn’t let this ruin you.

So you hug her tightly, feeling her melt into your shoulder.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m okay. We’ll be okay.” you murmur reassuringly. And you realise that you will be, definitely.

“You didn't give me 30 seconds, by the way. Again. Before you posted that clear hatepost.” she mutters, her voice muffled.

You laugh. “Yep, sorry. The shipping was annoying. Thought that might make them back off.”

She sighs. “You don’t know your fans at all, do you? They think you rejected him, or something. Or you’re keeping it a secret. Or it was a joke, to cause drama. But most of them just think you’re madly in love, so. This isn’t going away. I’m sorry.”

***

Miami weekend. Upcoming anniversary of your favourite race, was how Lando was thinking of it. And you were coming. You’d been spotted around, a week early. Lando was also here early, because he loved Miami too.

You didn’t know that, though. So you weren’t expecting to bump into him in the city, surrounded by people in the busy street right by the track.

“Oh. Lando. Hi.” you say briskly, trying to walk on, but he stops you.

“Coming for the race? I’m going to win again, you know. Unless that would annoy you.” he replies, smiling weakly, but you know he doesn't mean it. That comment clearly hurt.

“Yeah, I am. Have your new hoodie in my bag, if you don’t mind me wearing it.”

He shrugs. “Of course not. Assuming Pinkie-Pie isn’t with you, I can get you into the garage, if you want.”

You pause. “No, don’t worry. And, you know I only posted that to try and shut up some of the fans. I didn't mean it.”

“Yeah, you did. It's okay. And I’m assuming you don't want to be seen with me then? All these fans, taking photos. Sorry. I’ll let you go now.” he nods, and he drops your hand. You hadn’t even realised he was holding it.

Shit, that wasn’t going to help, was it? Suddenly, you're hyperaware of everyone. Cameras, fans laughing and pointing, waiting for Lando to sign caps, or for a photo with you.

“You know, I’m sorry we can’t be friends. You know, maybe if we’d met differently. If we weren't stuck doing those stupid shoots. If we’d met, like here. Naturally. If the fans hadn’t built us into something. I don't know.” you mumble, thinking, and turning away.

“Well, I realised I didn’t want to be friends, like after we first met too.”

That takes you by surprise.

“Huh, was it the head shake? Or the middle finger? Or calling us an inevitable nightmare?” you ask, teasing. You walk back towards him, interested in what he was going to reply.

He shakes his head. “No, I meant I didn't want to be friends.” he responds, lowering his voice.

Oh.

And before you have time to figure out what to say back, or if you can run away, he looks directly at you.

“You know what? Fuck it.” he mutters, and then he’s right there. His face, right against yours. But he doesn’t move, just stares at you expectantly.

“Tell me not to. Push me away. Hiss in my face, tell me how fucking annoying I am. How much you hate me. Say it, right now, and I’ll fuck off. Genuinely, you’ll never see me again, like you wanted.” he whispers, daring you.

And you look at him, dead in the eyes. Admiring his curly hair, and the slight nervousness etched on his smile. And your heart is beating so loudly, it drowns out all the things you could say to him. So you say nothing.

And that's what he wanted. His lips crash onto yours, and your hands snake around his neck and into the bottom of his hair, while he wraps himself around you. You can feel him grinning against your mouth, and you pull away to laugh at him, and he laughs with you.

And he seems a lot less annoying when you go back to kiss him again.

[introboy]

So so excited to share my @mcytblrholidayexchange gift for @follow-the-compass-home! My concept was to combine a bunch of prompts together into one AU.

The premise is a modern-fantasy roommate situation where Tango, Bdubs, and Etho live together in an apartment. The only issue is that none of them are human, but they're all trying desperately to blend in, even though they don't really understand humanity as a concept.

More information can be found below the cut, and an introductory fic snippet can be found here (x)!

Downstairs Neighbors AU

Prompts used as inspiration:

Focus on Tango, Etho, and Bdubs

Include Boatem

Story told from Grian's perspective

Hybrid/inhuman AU

Angst with a happy ending

Emphasis on character dynamics

Here's a summary!!!

Tango, Etho, and Bdubs found each other by looking for roommates on Craigslist. They live in a 4-bedroom apartment together.

Tango is a spirit who wanted to interact with the world in a physical sense, so he built himself a body. He's basically just a ghost possessing an android (but unlike ghosts, he was never alive; he came into being as a fully-formed spirit). He doesn't adhere to normal bodily necessities like food, water, or sleep, which is convenient but also heavily concerning from an outsider's perspective.

Etho is a specific kind of shapeshifter called a mimic. He doesn't have a true form, but can copy the shape and mannerisms of most living creatures. The only constant across all of his appearances is a scarred left eye and white hair. Unfortunately, it takes practice to nail specific species characteristics, so he often forgets what he's supposed to look like and falls into uncanny valley. He wears a mask to cover his more noticable facial slipups.

Bdubs is some sort of plant creature (he doesn't really understand it himself). He has a perfect internal clock and sleeps, without fail, for 12 hours every night. He spends a lot of time in the unoccupied bedroom-- he uses it as a makeshift greenhouse, and it's filled with grow lights and humidifiers. He loves taking care of houseplants, but it's also a cover for him to spend time under the grow lights. Without enough light & water he gets lethargic.

Bdubs, Etho, and Tango, henceforth referred to as BET, all assume that the others are human. But since none of them know how to act human, they continuously pick up stranger and stranger habits from each other.

BET are close friends with Impulse & Skizzleman, who live together across the hall. Their upstairs neighbors are Grian, Pearl, Mumbo, and Scar, who are also besties with Imp & Skizz. BET and Boatem don't know each other well, but Grian especially thinks his neighbors are really odd.

Like BET, Grian is not human, and neither are the rest of his roommates. But they all know about each other, and Grian especially is really good at knowing how to act natural in public places. He's an avian shapeshifter, who can take the form of either a scarlet macaw or a human. Unlike Etho, both forms come equally naturally to Grian, and the shapeshifting process is a lot easier for him.

(Imp & Skizz are not human either-- they are a demon and an angel respectively. But, like Grian, they're really good at blending in when in public.)

One day, Grian gets injured on a flight and accidentally ends up on BET's balcony instead of his own. He's too disoriented to shift back into his human form or fly away, so Bdubs and Etho find him outside their door. Tango calls Impulse over in the hopes that he knows how to fix the random-injured-parrot crisis, but the only result is that Grian and Impulse start to truly take note of how strange their neighbors' living situation is. Incidents like the one pictured above arise (i.e. everyone finding out that there is not a singular scrap of food to be found in the entire apartment).

Ok that's all the rambling I'll do in this post, but I hope you enjoyed! Happy holidays!!

[shouyuus]

zoro + moss :3

send me a character + a word (any word) and i'll try to post a snippet of a wip/abandoned fic that i have in my drafts for them containing/relating to that word!

YAS I KNEW I COULD COUNT ON U TO COME THRU W THE ZORO PROMPT hehehe; this is a snippet from a fic where zosan are arguing bc zoro and u r both bad at realizing ur into each other and sanji and nami have haD ENOUGH:

working title: behind closed doors

Down on the lower deck, Sanji is cracking open a new pack of cigarettes.

“I’m tellin’ you man, just tell her.”

“Why would I do that when I know she hates me?”

“For the last time, fam — she does not hate you.”

“Yeah, she does.”

Sanji throws up his hands as Zoro takes a long breath and readjusts his grip on a wooden practice sword.

“Fine, how do you know?” Sanji asks, lighting up and taking a long drag.

“Oh — I don’t know —” Zoro huffs as he swings the practice sword down with perhaps a bit more vigor than perfectly necessary, “She never looks at me, she always leaves the room right after I walk in, the last time we were in the same space together, she finished half the entire bottle of bootleg whiskey we got and spent the rest of the night throwing up —”

“Mate — mate — I know you know nothing about women but that doesn’t mean she hates you.”

Zoro whips the wooden sword around so that the tip rests just below Sanji’s chin, the blade pointed up as Zoro scowls.

“I don’t remember asking you for advice.”

Sanji gapes at him for a second longer before falling back half a step with a defeated sigh, taking another puff of his smoke.

“Fine, mosshead— I’ll leave you to your —” he waves at Zoro’s sullied shirt and the belt of three swords leaning against the wall.

[daemonbrain]

Jaime Lannister x targaryen!reader | A Snippet

a/n: Posting this to hold myself accountable because the fic has been sitting in my drafts since February 1st... she's at 18k words y'all...

edit: fully posted here

cw: none, reader is Aerys's daughter, set in 281 A.C.

As the summer weather had finally chosen to grace the Crownlands with it's presence, Viserys had taken to playing his new favorite game ‘maid in the tower’ with you and your knight. Jaime would take on the role of barbarian keeping you captive while Viserys the Valiant (a name he fashioned himself) would come to your rescue. You couldn’t count how many times you cringed and winced when Viserys would wack Jaime at full strength, with a wooden training sword your knight had thought was a brilliant idea to give him. His teeny cords of muscle working hard under the strain of the surprisingly intensive game. The two of you might’ve been creating the next Dragon Knight with all the running and hitting and whatever else it is warriors do.

Thankfully, Jaime took each strike in stride, barely budging before finding some way to send your little brother running. Jaime prowled around you, making a point of goading the poor boy on.

“I guess you don’t actually want to save the princess… I wonder what I'll do with her?” Jaime shouted.

You had gasped in feigned shock, voice taking on a disbelieving tone. “Never monster! Viserys the Valiant will rescue me!”

Once your little brother had retrieved his oaken weapon -which Jaime had thrown into a bush- his face was one of determination. He charged Jaime with an unprecedented speed and swung hard. The Lannister met him halfway with a grunt, taken off guard by the surprise attack. Wood clashed against wood, Viserys relentless in his attempts to win the game while your knight met each blow with a single handed grip on his play-sword.

“I’ll keep her forever, locked away in my tower.”

“No! She-” another hit, “-is MY sister!”

It had been hours of this running around and the air turned more suffocating the higher the sun climbed, the heat had caused for sweat to pool uncomfortably under your heavy layers. You were dead sure if you suggested going inside before your brother could win, he would pitch a fit.

To make things worse, Jaime was amused by the way Viserys lunged at him. He seethes not being able to land a hit on the knight almost ten years his elder, and Jaime seemed content to bask in the humidity and sweat, but you certainly weren’t.

“Boys! While I appreciate the vigor which you both have on my behalf, why don’t we all just make peace? Lunch sounds a lot better than beating each other with sticks, and it’s dreadful out here. Any longer and i'll melt into a puddle.”

The both of them didn’t spare you a glance as they continued. 

“No! I don’t want to go inside, I want to win!” Viserys yelled furiously, still on the attack. Dodging a particularly forceful jab, Jaime caused your brother to stumble forward as he sidesteps him. An a-ha came from the knight as he evaded yet again.

“I would sooner risk my honor protecting you then let you go free, princess.” Jaime said, wholly absorbed in his villainous role.

“What honor?! You’re meant to be a barbarian!” You exclaimed.

The Lannister dividers are by @targaryen-dynasty!

[hemi-demi]

Protocol day! I get to yap ❤️

Magnus Protocol Episode 32 spoilers below cut, as well as mild spoilers for my own fic "I am Here":

Ok, so this is just a personal kicking my feet giddy as shit moment for me, let me indulge.

I loved loved loved this episode. While I'm not 100% how this case fits into the narrative (aside from the parallels of someone identifying with a building as the same as how the custodian became one with the Hilltop Center) I'm clearly just a sucker for "buildings that hate you."

But like... y'all, I was trying not to cry. Just like look at this.

Transcripts from episode:

Y'ALL. I am so unwell. It's Martin Norris reading this statement. I got to hear him say the words, exactly how I heard them in my head. Like...I'm just beside myself. This was so lovely.

Snippet from my fic "I am Here":

I can't tell you how much I was just fucking vibrating listening to this episode. The statement was beautifully written and played with themes I clearly adore, AND I got to hear this. There's other lines that killed me, but I'm getting deeper into spoilers at that point, so I'll stop there.

Just, ough. I'm so happy. I'm curious what inspired this statement in particular, as well! I wouldn't be surprised if the game Control and the Oldest House was a part of it, considering it's overall inspirations to Protocol; with its brutalist architecture that actively attacks the player. Although the game Kitty Horrorshow's Anatomy was a big inspiration for my own fic, which I highly recommend folks play. One of my favorite gaming experiences.

Ok, other stuff this episode! I'll probably update my other post about this, but one of the last lines from Alice is further backing up my "Luke isn't human/is a doppelganger" theory. I'm curious to see how it goes.

Colin's flesh showing up randomly is fascinating, and reminds me of this line from TMA ep65 Binary

So this feels as if the body can't entirely integrate. Too fleshy. Maybe a part of Colin is fighting to sever himself from Freddy as he can never fully become one with it, or maybe it just can't digest him properly. The presence of teeth also reminded me of a teratoma tumor as well.

Ok, I think that's all the yapping I have in me. I loved this episode so much, for very personal reasons that probably only matter to me, but I'm allowed that dammit, lol.

[willownwisp]

ree's leon valentine's day advent <3

hi everyone. <3 as the leon kennedy fluff truther, i'm making an advent for valentine's day because pookie deserves so much love! everyday, i'll be posting a fic ranging from nsfw/sfw fluff for babu leon, i'll be putting out the scenarios and snippets below if y'all are interested. author's note: i've been meaning to put this out like a week ago when i finally figured out the problem w my account as to why tumblr wasn't letting me reply to comments :( but sadly, college got me so head empty. anyway, i've already got 2 days worth of fics already finished so i hope y'all can give me a read. <3

FEBRUARY 8 𖹭 nice legs, daisy dukes. (vendetta!leon x fem!reader) Leon feels like a creep, fuck that. He definitely looks like a creep. Thirty-six year old in all of his 5'11 glory standing outside his girlfriend's college leant against his Ducati like a dick, carrying a box of those, instagrammable pastries you always like to look at. It doesn't hurt to be sweet. Not when you walk — run, at the sight of him in your preppy mini dress, highlighting those long, long legs. Nothing is sweeter, especially when it's wrapped around him.

FEBRUARY 9 𖹭 starry skies, blue eyes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Stars dot stygian skies, the night is young, the moon is high. Leon's heart soars with your every laughter. The way your eyes close and your nose scrunches. God he was so in love with you, he could forgive the fact that the tent should have been up hours ago before night. You swear you remember your knots from your wide-eyed Girl Scout days, and he swears these silly moments with you are what makes life bearable.

FEBRUARY 10 𖹭 cold woes. (re4r!leon x fem!reader) Leon S. Kennedy. The apple of his instructors' eyes (and yours), he's a top graduate in the Police Academy for fuck's sake. He's decimated hordes of zombies in his first day as a rookie cop. Endured military training in the middle of nowhere, he's saved the President's daughter. He doesn't get sick. Only that he does catch a cold at the expense of prioritizing you, his clumsy girlfriend, who forgot to wear a jacket on a camping trip, offering his warm clothes to you. He doesn't regret it, he likes taking care of you, but there's something adorable about your sheepish apologies as you wait on him. He could get used to being babied. FEBRUARY 11 𖹭 love on me. (di!leon x fem!reader) As much as Leon loves the sun, the beaches, the tropics. Oh what he would give to become a beach bum in his next life instead of being smacked by bioweapons day in, night out, and being a good bitch to good ol' U.S of A. Unfortunately, after the events of Alcatraz, maybe he's had enough of the sea for now. He gives himself a pat on the back, takes out a chunk of his savings to go to Japan because you've been eyeing it. You said you were interested in the food, culture, and sights. So why in the world were you dragging him to a love hotel? FEBRUARY 12 𖹭 fill up your cup. (re6!leon x fem!reader) He feels himself spiraling recently, turning to the bottle because a glass is never troubled by his woes. He breaks them of course, can't help it, seems like his life is doomed to him breaking in the end. Fragments of glass scatters on the floor, vodka spills on the floor splashes it around like his grief because his body can only take so much. You arrive as he tries to pick them up, attempts to pick himself up. You whisper assurance, he doesn't deserve it. The way you look at him ardently, the gentleness that is your existence. You empty out his pain, and fill it with love. FEBRUARY 13 𖹭 the thrill, the love. (damnation!leon x fem!reader) He wills his old Yamaha to go faster. Your dainty arms clinging to him, the softness of your touch as his speed breaks the sound barrier. What started as mere curiosity turns into rituals. Secrets that only the both of you know. He knocks on your door at midnight, drives you around town. He scolds you every time your arm breaks free, throwing them to the wind. You don't care, you love the thrill, you love him. Leon admits that there is something alluring to the thrill of the chase. Perhaps that's why he's spent his years chasing Ada, but with you it was different. FEBRUARY 14 𖹭 kiss it better. (di!leon x fem!reader) Leon is a man full of stories, his pain, his peace, his fears, his needs. There is more to him than just being a formidable weapon against bioterrorism. He never was a weapon, just a flesh and blood human, and in his mortality there are scars. Deep within him, and littered in his skin. You kiss the faded slash on his hand, he tells you how he'd got it from when Ashley Graham had tried to stab him under the influence of the plaga. You kiss it again, and what he doesn't tell you is the wave of warmth that washes his entire being, it tugs on his very soul. You kiss the scars because it's there, because it's him, and in his reverie, he thinks you truly are his person.

[mint-fixates]

If you've been following my concept for an AU where Bill isn't evil, you'll know I've been planning to write a fanfic about it. I plan on posting an actual multichapter AU fic on AO3 eventually, but here's a snippet from one of the early chapters for now because I'm drunk and haven't decided I hate it yet

"Well, children, I think it's finally time I introduce you to my husband."

Mabel's eyes widened. "Ohmygosh, Grunkle Ford, you have a HUSBAND?!"

Dipper furrowed his brows. "Our parents never mentioned you being married..."

"Yes, well," Ford cleared his throat, eyes darting around, "The family doesn't exactly... Know. Well, aside from my brother, Stanley, who I'll also be introducing you to fairly soon."

"Grunkle Ford, do you really think the rest of the family would judge you for liking guys?" Mabel raised an eyebrow, "I like guys and girls, and no one cares!"

Ford shook his head. "Oh, no, that's not why I- you know what? It'll be easier to explain once you've met him."

He led them to his room. Mabel was bouncing in place with anticipation, while Dipper was looking at his great uncle skeptically. Why all the secrecy?

Ford knocked on the bedroom door. "Bill, are you in there? I'd like to introduce you to the kids!"

"Ugh, FINALLY! I was going insane hiding in this damn room all day. Well, more insane than usual, haha!" a chipper, pitchy voice said on the other side of the door.

The door opened to reveal... A floating yellow triangle. He had one eye, a bowtie, and a top hat. He was holding two small sacks, both seemingly made from the skin of some indeterminate creature.

"Hiya, mini-Pines! Name's Bill Cipher," he tossed each of them a bag, "A little something to welcome you in!"

Dipper had several questions, but was currently stunned into silence. He opened his bag curiously, fighting the urge to throw it down the hallway when he saw its contents: teeth. The "present" prompted a whole new series of questions: What kind of teeth even are these? How did he get them? Why did he think that this was an appropriate gift for children?

"Woah..." Mabel said as she rifled through her bag, "Are you, like, the reverse tooth fairy? Do I owe you money now?"

Bill laughed. "Nah, these are on the house, kid!"

Dipper cleared his throat, finally finding his voice. "Uh... Great Uncle Bill? Can I ask you a few things?"

Bill shrugged. "Sure, Dip, whatcha got?"

Ford gave his nephew a knowing smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Actually, Dipper, I probably have most of the answers you're looking for written down already. I interviewed him extensively once he got here. Where did I put that old journal...?"

[emsprovisions]

Happy Wednesday everyone! Today's a bit of a crazy day but I'll try and make a post about fandom memories soon! It is the cutest idea and I love it. This is a bit from the Carlos fic I've been working on, that was originally supposed to be about Carlos confronting his religious trauma, but this fic is taking me on a ride in multiple directions and I am really loving playing with it so far! So please enjoy this lengthy snippet! 💕

“Hey, babe,” TK smiles, looking at Carlos like he hung the sun, the moon, and the stars. “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” Carlos smiles. “It’s a nice day. Do y’all want to eat outside?”

“Yes!” Jonah practically vibrates in his shoes where he stands at TK’s side. “Please, Carlos!”

Carlos laughs, “alright, buddy, hang on, I just need to go grab a few things from my desk.”

A moment later, Carlos returns, placing the standard issue, white Stetson onto Jonah’s head instead of his own. The too-big hat falls over Jonah’s eyes, making him break out into a fit of giggles as he pushes it up his head. Carlos and TK smile at his immeasurable joy and lead him back the way they came, to the elevator. 

“What’s on tap for lunch today?” Carlos asks, leaning against a wall in the elevator as he and TK watch Jonah crouch low to the floor on the ride down before he jumps as high as he can as it lurches to a stop. 

“I took the leftover brisket from the other night and made sandwiches,” TK says. “There’s steak fries too.”

“Well that sounds amazing, babe,” Carlos smiles at his husband as the elevator dings and the doors seamlessly slide open, a blast of cool air from the foyer chasing them inside. 

He almost misses it as they step out into the high-eighty degree weather that can only be described as a Texas spring day in early March.

They haven’t had Jonah in their custody for too long yet. Carlos’s sick leave after he was shot taking down his father’s killer ended over a month ago. He still has a hard time chewing the unsavory former Chief Bridges’s name in his mouth. 

He’d been his father’s friend. A coworker for the better part of thirty-something years. A confidant most likely. The same man to take Carlos under his wing and march him in his father’s footsteps. 

But Carlos is doing better now. 

He has a therapist. He’s more open with his mom these days. He has TK to lean on. And he has Sam too, when he needs someone who gets it on the very same level as him. He has a fantastic support group, and with it, TK’s mentioned he’s noticed a bit of the Carlos he’d fallen in love with creeping back in. 

“You’re smiling again, baby,” TK says softly, just for Carlos to hear as they claim a picnic table under some shady trees to eat their lunch. 

“I’m happy to see you,” Carlos shrugs with a smile. 

“I’m happy to see you too,” TK’s own smile grows, love twinkling in his eyes. 

Carlos wonders sometimes if he’s dreaming up this perfect life, but he’d once told TK in front of all the people they both know and love that TK is the dream he’s never allowed himself to have. He’s allowing himself to have it now, he thinks, this life full of love for his husband and for Jonah.

Thank you for the tags @thisbuildinghasfeelings @paperstorm @lemonlyman-dotcom @everlastingday @futures-tense @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @nisbanisba @carlossreaders @bonheur-cafe @alrightbuckaroo

No pressure tags @whatsintheboxmh @ironheartwriter @carlos-in-glasses @heartstringsduet @tellmegoodbye @eclectic-sassycoweyes @butchreyes @lightningboltreader @henrygrass @rangersoup @chicgeekgirl89 @decafdino @captain-gillian @nancys-braids @welcometololaland + Open tag 🏷

[butmakeitgayblog]

cruel intentions anon here 🥹 can u share something with us? like a small snippet or a scene you've scraped or idk just some ideas? I've read the fic twice but I fear I'm fr addicted to them 😭

Well I'll admit I don't have too much since I've started focusing on only one project at a time, but I have a bit of a oneshot that goes with this pic

Set a few weeks after the, ahem, conclusion of The Bet. Nothing smutty posted here unfortunately, but it will be. Oh it will be smutty. Clarke does not leave Lexa looking like that for no reason 😌

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're whistling.

Honest to God, actually whistling. 

A jaunty little tune devoid of melody and structure. Nothing more than a slow sling of notes that doesn't really have any direction in particular, because the point isn't the song itself. 

It's the mood.

And that mood is… happy.

So, so fucking happy. 

Terrifyingly, unmitigatedly, euphorically fucking happy.

It's weird and you hate it, and it's embarrassing to even think about, but you wouldn't trade this feeling for anything. 

And really, who could blame you. Not when life has never been this good. All rose colored glasses and kiss-filled memories that dance like bubbly champagne around the empty space in your head.

You genuinely don't think anyone has ever been as blissful in the existence of the world as you are right now when the doors of the elevator slide open, and you swagger your exceptional ass into your penthouse's bottom floor. 

You drop your purse on the bench and toss your keys on the countertop, praying it leaves a scratch for your stepmother to have a stroke over. Just for the hell of it. You undo the clip and feel your hair untwist in tousled ringlets draped sensually across your shoulders. 

You whistle a few more notes, and contemplate grabbing something to eat, before deciding there's nothing else in the world that you need.

Because you're in love. 

And it's that love that keeps you smiling as you walk down the hall, adding an extra click in your steps just to hear the crispness reverberate off the walls you don't pay for. It's that same love that makes your heart race as you slam the antique handles down and throw open the parlor doors with a flourish, lightheaded and so goddamn euphoric you would fucking hate the chipperness for them if it were anyone else.

It's that love that makes you so stupid that you don't even bother to look around before your eyes land on her. Beautiful and formidable as she stands behind the bar. Her lips purse at the shotgun bang of the doors, but she doesn't even jump, and her control next to your chaos makes you love her even more.

“Miss me?” you burst in with a deep chested purr.

Because you're in love and you love her and you absolutely want her to know it.

You just… don't know how to fucking say it.

Not yet.

Grey-green eyes widen like a warning shot, darting from you to the corner of the room and right back again, so quickly you would've missed it if you hadn't been staring quite so hard.

“Not particularly, no,” she snips in that contemptuous drawl of hers without missing a beat, and pops the cork back on a bottle of gin that costs more than your semester's tuition. 

You, belatedly, follow her eyes to the corner of the room and see your housemaid diligently running a duster across the frame of your great-grandfather's portrait. 

Fuck.

Your heart drops right down to your asshole, but you send up a silent prayer of thanks because at least you hadn't tacked on the pet name ‘lover’ like you'd been using so much as of late. 

That's been the closest you could get.

But Sherri doesn't seem to have heard you. Or at least she doesn't pay you any mind, not having paused from her work for even a fraction of a second at your grand entrance and social faux pas.

You stand frozen, staring at Lexa still working her magic behind the bar, adding a splash of something red to a drink before taking a sip and grimacing at its taste.

She smacks her lips and shakes her head and sets the drink back down like it's personally offended her. 

You frown at the whole display because you know she's not even a gin girl.

“Sherri,” she calls in that sweet little voice she reserves for the people she actually cares if they like her. 

“Yes, Miss Lexa,” your faithful maid answers, immediately stopping to look over.

Huh.

Apparently her hearing is just fine.

Delicate fingers discreetly land on your stomach as she passes, trailing down to your hips and snagging the bottom hem of your sweater, yanking just so to send you stumbling several feet away from the door and out of the way.

“You should take the evening off,” Lexa says once she's left you off-balance in her wake. “Go enjoy life for a change.”

“Oh, I don't think—” Sherry starts but cuts off at the soft tisk from Lexa's lips. 

“No. No. Now, there is simply nothing to think about, because that was not a suggestion, my chérie.”

You smile at the lilt of her teasing. Always in awe, because for the life of you, you'll never understand how she manages to be such a condescending bitch while still sounding so innocent. So warm and pleasant. 

And to be fair, it really hadn't been a suggestion. 

You stand forgotten in the late afternoon shadows and watch as she closes in on your maid like a huntress. All sculpted calves and four inch heels. Hands tucked daintily behind her back.

“But your mother—”

“Will never know,” Lexa whispers, bringing one long, sexy finger up to press against the pout of her smile. “I can keep a secret if you can…”

Sherri sighs in her defeat and shakes her head with the fondness of an exasperated mother, and you wonder if there's anyone this girl can't charm off their feet.

Lexa preens.

“Good. Now, a little birdy told me it was your birthday this weekend.” She pauses just long enough for your maid to nod in surprise. “And, well… I guess I just couldn't help myself.”

You cross your arms and make yourself comfy by settling a shoulder against the wall. More than thrilled to just sit back and take in the show as this fucking magician pulls out a bracelet from goddamn nowhere. 

She hushes the woman's flustered coughs, ignores hands slipping through greying red hair and automatic dismissals of, “no, Miss Lexa, this is—I couldn't possibly.” She soothes it all with honeyed words of reliability and sacrifice and devotion to our comfort, all while clasping the understated but opulent chain to an overworked wrist, connected to a woman who doesn't seem to quite know what to do with herself. Nimble fingers twist and turn the apparently well-thought-out gift so it lays perfectly in place, admiring her own exquisite taste in jewelry more than anything, you already know.

You wonder when the hell she got so thoughtful. 

She ushers the woman out with a firm, guiding hand to her back, mouth tipped in a demure smile as she assures her, this is exactly what she wants. 

The parlor doors close much more gently than when you'd entered through them, and she spins gracefully on her heel, looking so fucking pleased with herself.

You hold her eyes. 

Uncross your arms.

And slowly, loudly, begin to clap.

“Well aren't you made of sugar and spice and everything nice, Miss Lexa.”

She pinches the sides of her skirt and fans them out, dipping into a mere suggestion of a curtsey.

You move as though to reach for her because it's been six hours too long since you've had your hands on that body, but her pleasantries drop away as she sends you a scowl and slips just out of reach. 

“Next time, have a touch more decorum when entering a room,” she sighs over the authoritative clack-clack of her heels. “I had just gotten that bracelet. Didn't even have a chance to wear it out yet.”

Ah.

Now that makes more sense.

Fuck, you love how good she is at thinking on her feet.

“No one told you to kiss her ass with jewelry, for fucks sake,” you mutter despite the efficacy of her brilliance because really, she always had to be so damn extra about everything. 

“It was all I had, and thanks to someone,” she says with a pointed edge, “I didn't exactly have time to figure out another distraction. And since I'm fairly certain she at least already knows we're sleeping together, I'd much rather stay in her good graces. I can handle losing a bracelet in exchange for…”

She trails off and vaguely gestures to the air between you. 

The thought alone of someone else knowing makes you want to vomit. 

You cross your arms tighter. 

“Why do you think that she knows?”

That evil fucking brow of her flits up when she looks at you like you're an idiot.

“Because you're not quiet, and she's not stupid, and half of Greenwich knows what you sound like when you come.”

You grit your teeth and wonder if it's worth reminding her who came on your fingers while loudly calling your name last night, but when she struts her perfectly bubble shaped ass back over to the bar, you ultimately decide that, no, it is in fact not worth it.

Apparently done with the minor complication of your eagerness and the conversion as a whole, she picks up the drink you'd all but forgotten and holds it out at arm's length, letting it dangle from the mere tips of her elegant fingers. 

“For you, my darling.”

You still haven't figured out exactly what she's playing at when she calls you that, because you know she is never sweet for nothing. You know there has to be a barb in there somewhere. Some sort of slight on your character or something. She shouldn't just call you ‘darling’ for no reason… But for the life of you, when she looks at you like this - like you're the only thing that matters in her broad and expansive world - you can't figure what it could possibly be.

“Gin and… cherries?” you ask when you take the glass and give a tiny sniff of the drink. 

She smiles indulgently and twists away to retake her place behind the bar, and suddenly her grimace from her sip before makes sense.

She hates sweet drinks.

Well.

Unless she's kissing the taste of them from your lips. 

“So is this what we're doing now?” You examine your drink closer. It doesn't look poisoned anyway. “It's this what we've become?”

She hums in question as she picks up a second shaker and stirs the contents. You watch her grab a martini glass and begin to pour her own crystal clear drink and, yes, that's much more her style.

You truly are fucking a master mixologist. Which you suppose is bound to happen considering she's been making drinks for one person or another since the tender age of thirteen…

“My kingdom for some context, darling,” she murmurs when you're too enamored to answer, popping an olive into her glass and taking a healthy sized pull, moaning at the taste.

You down half your bramble in one go and traipse yourself around the back of the bar.

Setting the drink down at her side, you put your empty hands to much better use. Drift your fingers across the soft dip of her back and trace her hips, holding her steady as you press in and drape yourself along the length of her.

“Acting like a vintage married couple,” you clarify in a whisper. You reach up and pull her hair aside to expose the delicious expanse of her neck, and you wonder in what lifetime you actually managed to do something good enough to deserve the way she tips her head to the side to give you more access. 

You mouth slow, wet kisses along the sensitive spot just behind her ear as she sighs, “Is that what this is?”

“You tell me, pretty girl.” You smile against her skin when she shudders at the name. “Waiting for me to come home to you. Having a drink ready. Did you make me a special little dinner to eat as well?”

And you're still getting used to this.

This thing with her you've been playing at for the last couple of weeks. This truce or whatever it is that leaves you so off balance you never know which end is up.

Because you've never had something like this. 

Because where you expect a scoff and a rebuff of your entire charade, she only presses harder into you with a sensual groan. Where you expect her to fling your hands away and shove you off of her entirely as she would have before, she merely sets down her glass, and kisses your lips, and covers your hands with her own.

"Not in your wildest dreams, my love," she whispers with an adoring grin, and kisses you deeper again.

[randomblogofafangirl]

Chirisu masterlist

(I'm never truly active on here... Still, feel free to say hi if wished!!)

Howdy everyone! Since I have been getting into AIB and Chirisu currently, here's the masterlist for everything I have posted under this ship!

(Updated to: 04/08/25)

All fics are readable as standalones if you wish to!

List is under the cut! Have fun reading! ＼(≧▽≦)／

crawl inside my soul (find me where the ruins remained): Arisu found Chishiya drinking alone. Drunken shenanigans ensued, and then some.

beloved stranger (familiar smile): What happened the morning after, as Chishiya and Arisu talked about their feelings (or try to, at least.)

happiness is a butterfly (but dear, you're everything I've ever wished for): Arisu's presence had slowly crept into every aspect of his life, and Chishiya didn't know what to do about it.

you spoke in warmth (and I believed): Arisu went through several different stages of grief, embarrassment and love all in one day, and Chishiya was the cause of it.

look at you (the centre of my world): Love was always about the little things, wasn't it?

grief hummed in my vein (and burnt everything in its wake): Chishiya was recruited by his father to investigate a sensitive matter related to one of his business connections. It might or might not stir up a storm in both his and Arisu's life.

toward me (where your love nestles): Arisu received a pleasant surprise from Chishiya, of all people, on White Day.

dearest (my luck is to have you): Snippets of their lives together.

in fleeting dreams (please never leave): Chishiya never stayed in his dreams. Arisu yearned for those dreams to never become true in real life.

kiss me if you dare (I don't mind): Chirisu and the Pocky Game. That's it that's the fic guys. They are embarrassing. I'm embarrassing too.

'til love gives in (between the space of our hearts): They got together in the end. Now what?

little words (that carried your love to me): Their conversations throughout the years.

i'm heavy (alone inside): Sometimes things get difficult. It's a good thing that Arisu has Chishiya.

are we smaller in another world? (are we worth the mention?): How it truly, actually started between the two of them.

i love you (and it's the truth, my dear): Chishiya just needed to be honest with himself at times.

be with me (alone with me): A peak into Chishiya's diary and his personal struggles.

you got all my love (come here, by my side): Arisu took care of Chishiya when he needed it the most.

tell me without telling me (and I'll stay, always): Chishiya tended to hide his pain, so they talked about it.

[flowersforthemachines]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Thank you @rookamell and @woundedsoul12 for tagging me <3

I'll be tagging @mythals-whore @skullypettibone and @cute-ellyna if you'd like to share something this week :)

I've done some gratuitous Bellara-posting over the last few days, so I might as well top it off with a snippet from a mid-canon Bellara/Ghilasara fic I've been nibbling at since last week. The "doing something vaguely romantic as a "practice" for Bellara's writing" set-up may be banal, but also too good to pass up on, in my opinion ^_^

#wip: flow state

“It’s a kiss scene,” Bellara blurts out. "The one I have trouble writing." “Uh-huh.” Rook closes her book and puts it aside. “What’s wrong with it?” “It’s like I can’t get a feel for it. At all.” She gets up from her chair, hoping that maybe a switch from horizontal to vertical can also become a switch from the stuck-state to a flow-state.  Doesn’t help.  Still worth trying.  “Irelin and I didn’t break up all that long ago,” she says as she paces around. “I should still remember, you know. What it’s like. But I don’t, somehow. Drawing only blanks.” Pacing gives her space to wonder why exactly she was so hesitant to ask for Rook’s help. The phrasing is all but begging for Rook to talk about her own experiences; it’s not like there’s other help she can offer. But somewhere deep down, there is a part of her that doesn’t want to think about Rook kissing other people. She doesn’t want to think about that part. “If you are out of practice, why not get some?” Rook asks.  “Where?” She blinks. “I don’t think there are places where you can get practice kisses from strangers. Well, actually, there are, maybe. But I wouldn’t know.” “Never heard about those, personally.” Rook shrugs. “But I’m right here.” 

[prettyboykatsuki]

Now that we're talking about Rin...I've reread your Shoujo fic about him like 10 times like it is one of my all time faves fr Shoujo reader and Rin are so beloved to me...I'll be very happy if you share something about them. It can be anything really I'll just take any crumbs you give me like the happiest ant to ever exist

here is a snippet of a jealousy sex fic i want to post for them whenever i get around to finishing it. rin and shoujo reader u are everything to me actually.

But the most important thing for Rin to remain sane in your relationship is a designated amount of alone time where he can monopolize you completely. He will pretend that this alone time has nothing to do with you. You haven’t noticed that it has everything to do with you for the last five years and he thinks its better that way. It was the most egregious during your university days. You were busy running your club and socializing and Rin was busy with his career. Seeing you felt like the only thing that was keeping him from losing his mind. At some point it was less of a desire and more of a base need.  Each week, he’d figure out your free time and move around everything in his schedule to make sure that he could be alone with you - emphasis on alone. Not with people, not with friends - but a chunk of time where he is completely alone with you. He’ll never tell you any of this. You shouldn’t have to know. It’s better for you to think that things just always happen to line up. He wants to see your happy little smile when you believe it’s coincidence.  ( “The universe must want to see us together, Rin-tan,” )  Rin has to see you. It’s something of a compulsion. You’re an anchor in his life, a beacon of warmth and glow for all of his doom and gloom. He’s plenty logical, and plenty capable - but he’s irritable and quick to anger by default. He needs you to give him the balance. Needs to feel the weight of your body as you stumble in his arms. Needs to look at you while you ramble on and on about something silly. Needs to feel your magnetism when you kiss his cheek and push his bangs from his eyes, when you dote on him so affectionately.