yurishippingolympics | YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024

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bonus round

YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024 - BONUS ROUND 2

For this bonus round, the prompts will all be dialogue!

This will be somewhat similar to "Adopt a Line" threads on older writing forums. For prompts, post a line or lines of dialogue. For fills, post something that uses the dialogue, or is inspired by the dialogue. Your prompt can be any length, from one line to an entire conversation.

This round will end on June 16th.

Fills can be in any format, and you can fill your teammates prompts, but you cannot fill your own prompt.

You can post as many fills and as many prompts as you want!

for your prompt post title, please use the following format:

PROMPT: TEAM [TEAM NAME]

for your fill post title, please use the following format:

FILL: TEAM [TEAM NAME]

POINTS - BONUS ROUNDS
For prompts: 10 points each (maximum of 150 prompt points per team per round)
For fills:
First 4 fills by any member of your team: 100 points each
Fills 5-10: 50 points each
Fills 11-20: 40 points each
Fills 21-50: 30 points each
Fills 51+: 25 points each

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

“I love you, but if love is all we have then we’re not going to make it.”

ship: l'arachel/eirika (fe8)

The installation of the bunk bed had proven a particularly arduous quest, but L’Arachel could not find it in her to regret it for even a moment. Were she to be faced with a horde of disapproving Uncles, armed with petty quibbles of space, and logistics and 'please, niece, who is going to sleep on the bottom bunk?'s, she would’ve sallied forth for the glory of two-fold bowers all the same.

Now, all that was left to complete her victory - already so perfect! - was to elicit Eirika’s awe-struck approval at the sight. There was little doubt in the Peerless Princess’ mind that she would be just as astonished by the novelty, the innovation of such a design! As a woman of noble breeding, she too must be acquainted with those solitudinous nights; those long and empty hours where it swiftly became clear that the world had departed with all its trifles and daylit joys. She too L’Arachel was certain, as she always was, had sampled the hollow silence of a castle’s walls, had been struck with the profound realisation that she had never been more completely and entirely alone.

Those long evenings had never affrighted the young princess, of course. It had just been so very quiet, was all. And L’Arachel loathed nothing quite so much as she loathed silence. Fortunate indeed, then, that here was a pallative for those isolated ills!

Having swept her darling friend towards their sleeping quarters, L’Arachel suddenly paused, hand resting against the sleek oak of her bedroom door. She turned: the very picture of solemnity.

‘Now, Eirika, you must vow to me that you will not exclaim in shock, no matter how delighted you are. I have procured a wonder so startling, so marvellous!-’ Her eyes had started to sparkle, already conjuring images of her closest friend’s reaction to the sight awaiting her, almost too much to bear! Composing herself, she turned from the door with a huff, taking ahold of her beloved house guest’s hand. The surprisingly soft contours of her palm pressed into the silk of L’Arachel’s gloves, rumpling the fabric into an impression of her grip, and so very warm.

‘What you are about to witness is so inutterably brilliant, that even I was struck speechless at the first glimpse, so please, be prepared.’

A giggle, and then a sharp inhale met her arched brows. This was only marginally a laughing matter, and L’Arachel would have due diligence paid to it!

‘Yes, of course L’Arachel.’

‘You have made ready?’

‘As much as I’ll ever be.’

Well that sorted it: Eirika’s willpower was second to none. Steadfast as ever! Truly, the Princess of Rausten’s ability to select only the finest of bosom-companions was unimpeachable. Allowing herself a moment of self-congratulation, she turned back to the door, and flung it open with a crash.

A view of L’Arachel’s bedchambers emerged in all its opulent glory. To the left, her trusty staff reclined against a stretch of pale green wall; its transparent end bright as a daisy’s heart, glimmering with a sheen that could have only been exacted by hours of scrupulous attention and hearty helpings of varnish. And lo, to its left, there resided a finely wrought vanity, its edges spilling over with the instruments of this brilliant art: various fine handkerchiefs, sparkling polish in small containers, and a few trailing ribbons. To the right, a wardrobe divulged a host of white and gold, all fluttering finery and elegant gloves, and, most significantly, sleepwear! But, the pièce de résistance, which left all the rest to shame, was placed at the far end of the room, facing a window which framed a view of Rausten’s coast: the bunk-bed.

Satisfied with the tour she had provided of her lodgings, L’Arachel paused before the bed. Now, here was a dilemma. Certainly, there may have been worse, but no plight had felt more pressing than this! How were they to rest until the matter of who was to assume the lofty height of the topmost bower was resolved? It was impossible. This would require at the very least an hour of deliberation; perhaps she ought to summon Rennac as an adjudicator…?

Oh, oh! It seemed that Eirika had already assumed the bottom bunk. Her hair fanned over her shoulder against the pillow as she pulled the duvet aside, and clambered in. It was a brilliant, horizon-melting blue, streaming over the whites of her borrowed pyjamas like rivulets of a mountain spring. She looked like a painting, the sort of tapestry meant to be hung in the great hall.

‘It is your room, L’Arachel, I couldn’t take your spot.’ The noblewoman murmured, ebullent with all the goodness possibly afforded to a mere mortal. Blinking once, and then twice, L’Arachel smiled.

‘Ah! Astutely judged, I am eternally grateful for you gift in leadership.’

And truly, for L’Arachel always spoke truth, she was. There were few who the great princess would condescend to obey, and Eirika was one of those fortunate number. It was not a privilege she bestowed lightly.

‘Are you ready for bed?’ Eirika asked. Ah, she had been so caught in the matter of who would sleep where, that L’Arachel hadn’t moved from her spot before her darling Eirika! How, by Latona's staff, had she forgotten herself so?

‘Certainly. I feel myself dangling on the precipice of slumber’ L’Arachel said, clambering her way to the top bunk. ‘Good night, Eirika.’

‘Goodnight, L’Arachel.’ A voice from beneath her floated upwards, delicate and slow with sleep. It was a rare sound; Eirika’s voice unguarded, and unguided by the demands of her position. The flush that pinkened the cheeks of Rausten’s finest was merely testament to the prodigy of this occurrence, of course.

They had shared quarters in Rausten during the war - but never since, not until this very moment, and the sudden change had imbued L’Arachel with a rather unbecoming shiftiness. The Princess turned onto one side, and then the other. She tried her back. She stifled her face in her pillow. Beneath her, Eirika was silent.

‘Eirika…?’

Not a sound.

‘Eirika… Hey, are you asleep yet?’

A shuffling, and the sounds of covers rustling.

‘Me neither. It seems the fates have conspired against an easy slumber. Would you like to hear a ballad I’ve been composing? I am certain it will lull the both of us to sleep. It’s about the adventures of a Beautiful, Peerless Princess of Beauty, and the most wonderful, noble heroine. Here, I’ll begin: Once upon a time…’

Edited 2024-06-05 17:47 (UTC)

pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall

fandom: RWBY

characters: winter schnee, cinder fall

word count: 527

extra tags: atlas academy au, technically canon divergence??

“Where are you going?”

Winter packs like she’s been given thirty seconds to dismantle her entire life. She doesn’t even glance up at Cinder when she says, “Sister’s concert.”

Cinder frowns. This is more of a habitual thing, since Winter can’t see her. “You have a sister?”

Winter snorts. “Where have you been? Everyone on Remnant knows I have a sister. She’s the heir to the g-ddamn company.”

“How old is she?”

“Thirteen,” she says bluntly.

“Oh.”

Winter shoves a handful of her shirts into a suitcase that looks like it’s already about to explode. “Precisely. I promised her I’d go to all of her concerts, so. I’m packing.”

“You need your entire wardrobe for, what, a weekend?”

“My father will exploit every chance he can to show me off to potential suitors,” she mutters. “I need to be prepared for every eventuality.”

It’s this that gets her to work up the courage to actually come inside the bedroom. Part of her is convinced she’ll sneeze and accidentally set fire to Winter’s entire life in one go, but somehow this strikes her as more important. “Like, every eventuality?”

Winter nods grimly.

“I thought your sister was the heir?”

“Well, I haven’t exactly — told him I’m joining the military yet,” she says, suddenly sounding small. “Weiss knows. It’s not ideal, but we’re going to make it work.”

Right. Cinder bites down on her lip, determined to push it out of her mind. She makes a habit of forgetting that their time together is limited. It’s the only moment of weakness she allows herself. She leans over her shoulder, peering down at the suitcase she’s trying to force shut. “I don’t think your shithead dad is going to make you trek through the wilderness, to be honest with you. You probably don’t need the snow boots.”

“You don’t know him, do you?” Winter says, but there’s something tight in her voice that indicates she’s rethinking her packing strategy, just a little.

Cinder reaches over and opens the suitcase again, inspecting the contents over her shoulder. “How many days are you going to be gone?”

“Three.” She smiles, a little triumphantly. It shouldn’t be attractive. “It would have been two weeks if I didn’t threaten him with the General.”

Cinder hates the General, but tactfully avoids bringing it up in most conversations. There’s a lot of things she’s willing to do for Winter, it turns out. “Two weeks for a concert, huh?”

Winter leans into her, sighing. “He just might be the worst man on Remnant.”

“I can think of worse,” Cinder says, looping her arms around her waist. I’ve killed worse. Following that train of thought — and just to make Winter laugh, because she has no interest in being arrested for murder before she finishes her education — she adds, “I can kill him for you. If you want.”

It has the desired effect. Winter tilts her head back onto her shoulder, and she’s never felt better about being tall in her life. “I’d appreciate that, but I don’t think it would go down well with the rest of society.”

“It’d make a great headline, though.”

“It would,” she smiles.

Ship: OC/OC

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

Night falls over the camp, leaving everything lit by torches. It is by this firelight that Acantha makes her way out of the camp, Evadne beside her as always, and advances north. This way lies the Draxi camp, though that is not her destination. Instead, she is heading for the woods that lie between the two camps. There she will meet with Eoforhild of the Draxi. Arranging this meeting was the product of several sleepless nights, and tonight will be another one, but if she can achieve what she wants, then it will all have been worth it. She and Eoforhild are likeminded on one crucial point; the need for peace. Neither the Draxi nor the Aeliae can keep going like this. They on the ground see it, even if those in charge don’t. And so, she and Eoforhild, as two figures who have gained a certain notoriety, have agreed to meet. They will each be accompanied by one other person, in case of deception.

She steps into the clearing, Evadne at her side, and is greeted by the sight of two other women. One, tall, broad, and dark-haired, she knows to be Eoforhild. The other, smaller in proportions than Eoforhild, though clearly strong, and with vibrant red hair, is a stranger to her.

“Hello,” Acantha greets them both. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“Not at all,” Eoforhild replies, “We’ve only been here a few minutes.” She gestures, with one gauntleted hand, to the other woman, “This is Wulfgifu.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” Acantha makes her own introduction in turn. “This is Evadne.”

“Good, good. Now then,” Eoforhild claps her hands together, gauntlets clanging disconcertingly, “Let’s get down to business.”

“Let’s.”

“I have a proposition for you, but you may not like it.” Eoforhild’s tone is grave, and Acantha wonders how bad this proposition is.

Still. “Tell me.”

“Marry me.”

Evadne gasps in horror beside her, but Acantha herself is simply running through what this would mean. A marriage between the two women who have all but become emblems of their respective armies might well force the peace issue, it is true. It would also be an immense risk. Then again, so is all of this.

Eoforhild seems to take her silence and Evadne’s evident horror as refusal, and jumps to explain herself. “If you don’t want to you don’t have to, of course. I’d never force you. I just thought, politically speaking-”

Acantha cuts her off. “I understand. I’d be willing.”

“You would? Truly?”

Acantha tilts her head up to look the other woman in the eye. She cannot be allowed to think that Acantha is anything other than completely serious. “Yes.”

Her attention is so focused on Eoforhild that she doesn’t notice what Evadne is doing, and the same is true of Eoforhild’s focus on her. Luckily for them both, Wulfgifu does notice. They both spin around to the sight of Wulfgifu tackling Evadne down, from where she had been stood behind Eoforhild, with a knife drawn.

Acantha feels her heart sink. “Eva,” she begins, unable to not still address her with that fond nickname, “What are you doing?”

“I won’t let you do this, Acan,” Evadne replies, voice aflame with anger,“You are betraying both yourself and the Aeliae. I am willing for peace, but not like this! It should be negotiated, we should get the upper hand we deserve. What are you thinking? Have you even for a second considered what people will think of you?”

Acantha locks eyes with Eoforhild again as she speaks, willing her to understand the intent behind her words. “She speaks some sense, unfortunately. I do have my reputation to consider.” Her voice is unnaturally calm, she can tell, cold like a frozen over river.

“An understandable issue.” Eoforhild replies, and she begins to feel some trace of relief. “I have a few proposals, in that case. First, kill her.”

Ah.

So it has come to this. The two of them, who have been each other’s closest companions since girlhood, now sitting at either side of this insurmountable divide.

“You wouldn’t, Acan. You’ve always been so forgiving,” Evadne sounds so confident in this statement, and Acantha turns to her, and watches her face fall. She doesn’t know what look is on her own face, but clearly it is enough to convince Evadne that she, in fact, would.

“I’ve forgiven you a lot, Eva,” she says, still with that same icy calm. “But this is too much.”

It is then that she moves. Evadne is a competent fighter, but Acantha is better by far, standing a league above. Perhaps more so than Evadne knows. She doesn’t think Evadne has seen her in her most ruthless moments on the battlefield.

It is the work of minutes to overpower Evadne, and she drives her knife, with precision into her heart. She looks up at Eoforhild, still knelt over Evadne’s body.

Eoforhild places a sympathetic hand on her arm, and a moment passes in silence.

Ship: Mayu Nekoyashiki/Yuki (Wonderful Precure)

eirichel!!! this is an absolute delight, your voice for L’Arachel is perfection 👌

OMG YOUR PROFILE PIC IS SO CUTE! and YAYYY EIRICHEL!!!! they mean so much to me, I'm glad you enjoyed it 🥺!!! the prompt was super cute and made me think of them immediately

“Her?” Kitty gasps, slamming her jaw shut with her free hand. She still gets shot a dirty look by the Secretary of State’s niece’s cousin’s boyfriend’s daughter or something like that.

Q’s sigh is tinny in her ear.

“Yes, Kitty. Her.”

“But s-she’s so… she’s so pretty and gorgeous and she looks so smart too and she’s nothing like President Lim, who’s a stone-cold bitch! Ah, Q, don’t tell anyone I said that!”
Q’s sigh in response feels like it could shake the floor from across the line.

“Said what?” he asks and Kitty breathes a sigh of relief. “But for the record, it might do you some good to not talk shit about your boss.”

“I know, I know,” she says, exasperated. She tries, she really does, but President Lim has a way of taking all her boundaries and pressing against them like a boxer thrown across the ropes. “I’ll… work on it.”

“Good. For starters, let’s actually focus on your task of protecting the president’s daughter rather than stalking her?”

Right. Right. Guarding the president’s daughter who also happens to be the most gorgeous person in the room, scratch that–the most gorgeous person Kitty has ever seen.

“I’m gonna go talk to her.”

“Kitty–”

“Hi!” she says, sliding onto the barstool next to her. Yuri glances up over the rim of her glass like a fly’s landed on the counter. “I’m Kitty. What’s your name?”

Yuri sips on her straw like she’s contemplating responding.

“Yuri,” she says finally. She sticks out one hand in a greeting and because Kitty is a completely sane and normal individual, she shakes it instead of imploding it on the spot.

“Your dress looks amazing on you. Are you alone?”

Well, that’s one way of assessing the target’s surroundings. Q’s groan is unnecessarily loud in her ear.

“Remember, you’re supposed to protect the president’s daughter, not seduce her,” he hisses over the line.

Yuri tips her head.

“Did you hear something?” she asks, leaning in closer. Oh god, Kitty is not going to survive this night. If she doesn’t die from cuteness exposure, President Lim will murder her herself for just looking at her daughter.

“Nope! I mean, yes, it must be the music! Hahahaha, I love this song,” Kitty prattles on with absolutely no awareness of the soundtrack. Yuri finally pulls back and cocks her head to listen.

“... you love Baby by Justin Bieber?”

Oh god. Kitty’s adding a new cause of death to the list: social suicide.

“Hahaha, I mean who doesn’t? It’s such… a classic!” She clasps her hands together and prays to god that Yuri buys it.

Whether she believes it or not, Yuri eventually lets the matter drop, like water slipping out of her hands.

“Remind me to show you actually good music sometime,” she says off-handedly before jumping straight off the topic. Sometime? When is sometime? Can Kitty get a time, date and place to pencil into her non-existent calendar? “What brings you to today’s banquet? Stuffy parents? Dragged along by an annoying boyfriend? Curiosity?”

Kitty blinks. She had a whole alibi memorized at the beginning of the night–a full dossier really–but her mind goes blank at the sound of the pounding music and the dizzying lights. And Yuri, of course. It’s probably just Yuri.

She throws her training out the window and starts at the top of the list.

“Um no! No, my parents didn’t drag me here–my dad used to make me stay in rather than go out when I was a kid. And no, I don’t have any girlfriend to drag me out to fancy parties. Not right now, at least.”

“Real smooth,” Q mutters. Kitty does not appreciate the unsolicited commentary. She fishes in her mind for information about whatever the fuck was the purpose of President Lim’s most recent banquet.

“P-Peace is what brought me here today! Yeah, I just love peace so much, so I’m here. Because everyone here loves peace too. Yep, yep!”
It’s over for her. Kitty’s jumped off the deep end. Scratch that, she’s twenty thousand leagues under the sea, crawling on the floor with other ocean scum.

Thankfully, Yuri looks more amused than perturbed.

“The banquet today is about ending world hunger, Kitty,” she snickers. Kitty would very much like to eviscerate on the spot.

“Right,” she says, swinging her hand back and forth like it’ll somehow make her thoughts flow faster. God, that’s actually the opposite of what she needs. She needs her somersaulting brain to slow down, if anything.

“Hey, stick out your hand real fast,” Yuri says, rolling up her sleeves. Kitty blinks at her.

“What?”

“Come on, just do it!”

She eventually sighs and complies, at which point Yuri slips an arm into her dress. What the fuck plays like a tape left on loop in her mind.

Kitty swears she’s not gonna scream, she’s not gonna scream, she’s not gonna–

“Huh,” Yuri says. She throws a knife on the counter between them and it clatters loudly against the marble. “Well, that’s not very peaceful.”

Ah. That wasn’t in the mission description.

“I can explain,” Kitty stammers frantically. This isn’t even about losing the prettiest girl in the world anymore. This is about losing her job. “I’m Secret Service! Your mom asked me to look out for you.”

Yuri groans as she sticks her hand out, palm-up. Kitty goes frantically fishing in her tiny hand-purse for her wallet.

“Again? I told Mom, for the last time, that I am perfectly capable of protecting myself!”

Kitty finally finds her ID tucked into the back of her wallet and slaps it into Yuri’s waiting palm. Because she’s a professional, she doesn’t melt on the spot at the skin contact.

Yuri squints at the plastic.

“Katherine?” she reads. Kitty groans in lieu of a proper response.

“Please. Just call me Kitty.”

“Alright,” Yuri sighs. “I like it. Kitty’s cute.” For one fleeting, delusional second, Kitty allows herself to believe that she isn’t talking about her name.

“Well, this has been fun,” Yuri says suddenly, tapping her empty glass against the table. When did she even drink it all? “But I’m getting out of here.”

Kitty gapes at her like a fish out of water.

“But–you can’t go! My orders were to–”

“Let me rephrase that,” Yuri says, leaning back down onto the counter to look her in the eye. “I’m leaving this stuffy ballroom, are you coming with me or not?”

Kitty wonders when the lump in her throat became too big to swallow.

“As your handler, I have to say this is unprofessional,” Q whispers and she jumps at the sudden noise. Kitty almost forgot he was on the line. “But as your best friend, I say go for it, girl!!”

Yuri tosses her head back and laughs. Kitty thinks it’s a beautiful thing and she’s not even sure if she’s referring to the sight or the sound.

“Come on, don’t you wanna get out of here?”

Kitty nods, smiles and takes her hand.

Luck and Ludo from Tiger Tiger!

Edited 2024-06-06 03:16 (UTC)

FILL: Team Anime/Manga
SHIP: Minako/An [Sailor Moon]
WORDS: 165

In response to: “You are a bad person.”

TW: Mentions of attempted murder

NOTES: This piece is based in my Sailor Moon Rewrite Project! It’s mostly the same regarding An, she’s still a silly alien girl, but Minako has different lore behind her. I hope that’s alright!
Also this takes place during a rewritten Makai Tree arc!

“You’re a bad person.” An couldn’t hold herself back. Minako, the girl she’d grown so close to, was Sailor Venus. She had been trying to kill her this entire time, even before they met. An’s entire way of being was in jeopardy. No, her life was at stake.
And the girl she had fallen in love with wanted to take it all away.
“Trust me, I am well aware.” Minako responded, matching An’s stare. Then, she wilted.
“I- I didn’t know that was you An-“
“I DON’T CARE!” An gripped her hair, pulling on it to restrain herself.
“WE’RE STRUGGLING! ALL WE WANT IS THE ENERGY WE NEED TO LIVE! THAT’S NOT WORTH KILLING US OVER!”
“An-“
“NO! NO TRYING TO JUSTIFY YOURSELF! I LOVE YOU MINA! THIS ISN’T FAIR!”
A sob escaped An’s lips as she balled up her fists, clumping up her hair in her hands.
“I just want to love you! That’s all I want! All you want is to kill me!”

Ship: Misa Amane/Rem (Death Note)
Warnings: this fill is entirely about compulsive heterosexuality! I don't have much experience with it in real life so please feel free to tell me if something is inaccurate or stereotypical. Also, canon-typical passive suicidality.

"God damn it, Rem," Misa muttered, scooping up the last of the sand. "God damn it."

Rem was sitting in the corner. It was a little funny, to be honest — Misa had grown up on stories of scary, menacing Shinigami, but she'd never been able to be afraid of Rem. Especially not when she'd made the eye trade for the first time, smiling at Death and watching as he — no, she — gazed back down with something like sorrow. And something like fear.

Misa understood why, after Rem explained to her how Gelus had saved her that time. Must have hurt Rem to see the girl her friend had saved throwing away half the life she'd been given just for her own selfish needs. Not that Misa regretted it. Every second she breathed these days was borrowed time; it was only fair to return some to the universe once in a while.

Apparently Rem disagreed.

"God damn it," Misa repeated numbly. She'd collected enough sand in a cosmetic tissue to press it on one of Rem's many weeping wounds; she watched in morbid fascination as it transmuted into sponge and then into what passed as flesh.

"Are you unhappy, Misa?"

"Yes! I mean, no! I mean—" Misa cut herself off with a groan. "It's just — ugh. Why did you have to do that?!"

"I told you," Rem said. "I have feelings for you."

"Yeah, but you said you had them for Light too, and I don't see you dying for him," Misa pointed out. "I even asked you to! Remember?"

Rem looked away, then hissed in a breath.

"Don't move your head," Misa snapped, "I told you how bandages work already!"

"Sorry, I forgot," Rem said. If not for the faint wisp of irony in her voice, Misa might have believed her. "Shinigami are not often injured."

Right. They just healed with their magic stuff or they straight-up died instead. God, Misa wished humans worked that way.

She had enough sand again. "Tilt your chin up a little," Misa instructed, before touching the new tissue to Rem's neck.

It was weird, seeing Rem like this. Misa had always called the shots when it came to the two of them, and Rem had never complained, but that didn't mean she was used to being face-to-face with Rem; usually Rem towered over her, like a protective arch that also happened to be alive. Misa had gotten used to having her as a shield. Had taken it for granted.

No, that wasn't it — it was more like Rem was an extension of Misa. Or acted like it. Misa had never thought much about throwing herself in danger because she knew Rem would have her back, but also because she didn't really care that much if she died or not, and — and she'd thought the same thing about Rem, hadn't she? That it didn't matter if Rem died because it didn't matter if Misa died. It had seemed like airtight logic about an hour ago.

Now Rem was hurt. Rem could have died, like for real died, and what would Misa have done then? Just kept wandering around, severed of the first real connection she'd ever had since her parents left?

A voice in her head pointed out that Rem was also, possibly, the only real connection Misa had had since her parents left.

She drowned that out with some internal scream-singing. That wasn't true! She had Light! Light loved her!

"Misa," Rem said softly, and Misa realized that Rem's wound had long since sealed back up. She was looking down at Misa, eyes like liquid gold, and if Misa looked too long she would start crying or something so she stared down at her own cool goth shoes instead.

Rem's breath ghosted over her face like a cool wind. Shinigami didn't need to breathe.

"I just don't get it," Misa said, stepping away.

Did Rem look disappointed? No, of course not. "What is there to not 'get'?"

"If you really l— had feelings for me then shouldn't you be dead?" Misa's eyeliner suddenly felt scratchy on her face. "And besides, you said you didn't. You said it was a, a desire to protect or something. Not love. You promised." She paused. "And I don't need protecting from that jerk L! I'm not a child, you know," she added, because it felt like the right place for some outrage.

Rem's gaze was steady and almost fond. If Misa looked into that sunbeam she thought she would burn to death. "Well, since I'm female, what I feel for you can't be love. That is how the Shinigami King defines it." She inclined her head slightly. Misa took a moment to be proud of her handiwork; Rem's neck had already healed very nicely. "I also assume that's the only reason I am not dead right now. If I had thought about it in terms of saving Light Yagami, I may have dissolved completely. There would not be enough of me for you to save."

"I didn't save you, you limped to my room," Misa retorted.

"I knocked," Rem countered. "You let me in."

"Yeah, well—"

"And I was not planning to come back to life," Rem continued. She was smiling a little. "You were the one who said, and I quote, 'Rem you fucking idiot this is totally fixable give me five seconds—'"

"I get it!" Misa shouted. "I just…" She ran through the contents of the conversation as fast as she could. "Wait. Are you telling me that you're alive because the Shinigami King doesn't know what lesbians are?"

"Lesbians?" Rem asked.

"Oh my God," Misa said, nearly abandoning her task of sweeping up sand to bury her head in her hands. "I. Okay. Rem. So, most humans on Earth are like, straight, right? Women who love men and men who love women. Like me. I love Light."

"Right," Rem said.

"But there's like, some people who like the same gender. Like, women who love women and men who love men. Like, uh, Ryuzaki, I mean L. And Hideki Ryuga. And then I think some people love both? And some people just don't, at all? I don't know! My parents didn't really tell me anything about it!"

"And 'lesbians' are?"

"Oh, right. They're women who love women."

"Ah. And you think I am…" Rem tilted her head. "That makes a lot of sense."

Misa's laugh bordered on hysterical. "Yeah, I dunno, maybe!" She was tied to a God of Death who almost died for her. Because she was in love with Misa. Like, genuinely in love. Fuck. Fuck!

Like, it shouldn't affect much, right? Because Misa didn't like her back. This was just the Higuchi situation all over again, even though it was completely different because this was Rem who they were talking about, Rem who had been with Misa from the beginning and who Misa had taught how to pet a cat and who had combed her hair — but that wasn't important. Because Misa was straight. Totally. She was great at fantasizing about boys after only a little bit of practice, and she really did want Light to pay attention to her and like, live with him and do his laundry and his cooking and whatever. Pre-Kira Misa would probably have dreams other than being a housewife, but all now-Misa wanted was for Light to like her, because then he'd never go away like her parents did! And there would be a point to living again! Yeah! That was romantic, wasn't it?

Also he was like, pretty or whatever. And that was important. Girls liked when boys were pretty.

Yeah.

Yeah! Okay! Yeah! Misa was straight after all! Not that there had ever been any doubt!

"This is a grave oversight," Rem was mumbling to herself. "We should update the rulebooks."

"I mean it's a good thing the Shinigami King is homophobic if it saved your life," Misa pointed out.

"I suppose," Rem said. She wasn't watching Misa anymore, Misa noticed. Was it possible for Shinigami to look awkward? "But that means… you were right."

"I'm always right," Misa said automatically. "Wait, what?"

"I have feelings for both you and Light Yagami," Rem explained. "I knew that what I felt for you could not be love, because we are both female, and so I classified it under a nebulous 'feeling' instead. And I also do care for Light Yagami, because… well. He is only eighteen, after all. And his death would mean your destruction."

Misa wasn't sure how she felt about equating those two things, Light's death and her subsequent effectively-also-death, like that. Then again, she was the one who'd told Rem that in the first place.

"But now that I know what you've told me — it's still not love," Rem continued. "What I feel for Yagami. But for you…"

Misa's chest hurt. Maybe she was having a heart attack. Maybe Light had finally decided to get rid of her? No, Light wouldn't do that, he loved her. Maybe Ryuzaki had decided to test the Death Note after all — no. No, Ryuzaki was dead. Maybe—

It had been forty seconds and she still wasn't dead. Ugh. "You promised," she said, hating how much she sounded like a little kid still. "In the bathroom. You said you didn't—"

"I said I didn't think I loved you," Rem said.

"I know. And you followed me into death because I needed you." Misa suddenly felt like crying. "What do you think love is?"

There was a very long silence.

"I'm sorry, Misa," Rem whispered at last.

"What are you sorry for?" Misa wiped at her eyeliner. It felt wrong being dressed up when it was just the two of them. "Love is — is beautiful. It's the only thing worth dying for."

"Then I failed," Rem said. "I'm not dead, am I?"

"No," Misa said. "You're not."

"Misa, would you look at me?"

Misa did, finally.

She had called Rem ugly once, when she hadn't remembered her. She tried desperately now to hold that memory in her head, to remember that this was a Shinigami and spongy and skeletal and hulking and Misa should be scared of her, should not care, should be running—

Rem's eyes were soft. The purple streaks in her hair glowed in the light.

"I'm glad you're not dead," Misa said.

It felt like a confession. It felt like she was betraying herself.

Rem turned her hand — claw — up, and didn't otherwise move.

Misa reached for her.

Their fingers met, and Rem smiled.

Ship: OC/OC
Words: 764
Notes: Step 1: Do not under any circumstances allow the girl you like to find out that you have a crush on her. Step 2: ??? Step 3: Relationship.

---

"Parker. Parker." He's standing in line for lunch and poking at his phone, but that's his problem, not mine. I grab his wrist and tug. "I need you. Outside. Now."

"Jeez, Em," he complains, but he lets me pull him down the hallway and out the door. Once we're finally safe out of earshot, I round on him.

"It's about the situation," I say. "With the person."

"You mean Kayl-"

"Not here!" I look around. Nobody is close enough to notice, but still. "Yes. That situation, with that person. There's been a development."

"Oh, nice! I like developments."

"Not a good development!"

"Oh. Niceness revoked."

I roll my eyes. "Please take this seriously. I may have committed a slight breach of security."

"Very not nice."

"I... look. It's possible I had written her name in my notebook. Several times."

He raises his eyebrows.

"Several dozen times."

He raises his eyebrows even further.

"Okay I don't know how many times! A lot of times! However many times you can fit on a page! And I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings and she walked past my desk and she just! Stared! She just stared at it! And then she stared at me! And then she walked away without saying anything!"

"Are you sure she actually read it? Maybe she thought you were writing about a different K-"

"Do not."

"A different person whose name starts with K. There are plenty of names that start with K, right?"

"Then why would she stare at me? It's too late. It's all over. She knows."

"And that's bad because?"

"She knows I'm gay," I hiss. "She knows I like her."

"An understandable issue. I have a few proposals, in that case. First, kill her."

"What?!"

He grins. "It's an elegant solution, right? She's gone, she can't know anything anymore because she's dead, and plus you won't be burdened by liking her! Of course, you might have some other different problems, but you won't have this problem."

"I can't believe I actually came to you looking for-"

"Second," he cuts me off, "hitchhike across the country and start a new life in Los Angeles. She'll never know what happened to you! Problem solved. Third-"

"Okay, okay, I get it!"

"-you concoct an elaborate lie in which the two of us have discovered we're both actually bisexual and now we're dating. Unfortunately I'm not going to help you do that. Fourth, you could be honest with her about your feelings."

"We’ve been over this! She's-"

"She's dated a guy. That doesn't mean she's straight. And she's cool with me and I'm a gay trans freak, so a lesbian's not going to freak her out either. What's the worst thing that can happen?"

"She tells me to get lost."

"Exactly! She tells you she's not interested, and you go from not dating her to not dating her. So if you think about it, you have nothing to lose!"

"That's not how it works!"

"That's exactly how it works."

"So what do I do, just go up to her like, 'hey, I have no idea if you’re into girls, want to find out with me?' "

"That would be cute."

"That would be stupid! And what if she is into girls, but I say something dumb, and she decides she's not into me specifically? There's all kinds of possibilities you're not even thinking about. This is - stop laughing! Nothing about this situation is funny!"

He does not stop laughing. "Or - Fifth option, you could just turn around."

"Turn around? What the hell kind of advice is that?" My voice is rising now, but I don’t care. "I'm supposed to, what, just walk away? Pretend none of this ever happened? Ignore my feelings and act like I’m somehow not completely gay for-"

I feel a hand tap my shoulder.

I shriek.

"Hey."

It's her. My adrenaline does not stop spiking. It starts spiking even harder.

"Hi! Kayla! I - I didn’t hear you behind me!"

"I figured," she says. "Anyway, Emily, I was wondering if... you know... I wanted to ask whether... uh, if you wanted to hang out at my place later today? If you're interested. But like. No pressure."

I have bluescreened. My brain is dead. I am running on autopilot. "Okay."

"Okay."

"Okay!"

"Anyway," she says, "you can meet me here after school, I guess? So, uh... see you then?"

"Yes! I'll see you then too!"

We just stare at each other.

"Right! Well. Bye?" She doesn't wait for my response before walking away.

I turn back to Parker.

"Don't even start."

Ship: OC/OC

Words: 817

This is chapter 2 out of 4 in a series! AO3 for all chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463

Previous chapter: https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=309358#cmt309358

THE SECOND DAY

The girl was called Hyacinth.

Hyacinth wrapped Antigone in fabric to protect her from the dawning sun as they traveled. It was the first time she could remember being out in the daylight without burning alive, and though she welcomed it, the thought that the flick of a cloth would be all it took to plunge her back into that Hell kept her tense the whole ride.

Though she kept quiet, Hyacinth filled the silence. She was a merchant, traveling to collect exotic treasures to sell at a price befitting the effort of bringing them home: fabrics in rare, bright colors, the seeds of fruits and vegetables too fickle to make the journey in their fully-realized forms, strange metalwork contraptions intended for restraining a demon, glittering jewels and sweet honey and rich oil and wines the likes of which Antigone was sure she hadn’t drank when she still could–and now, her.

“Not that you’ll be sold,” Hyacinth was quick to assure her, “Rather, your knowledge.”

Antigone’s voice came muffled through her protective covering. “My knowledge?”

“Why, who better to teach the secrets of the creatures of the night than one such creature herself? What you have is priceless, you know. You could find yourself training royal guards back home, a pretty penny indeed. All yours, of course. I’d not take from one who has nothing.”

The cloth rustled threateningly around Antigone as she dared to curl up. “I don’t care for guards.”

“Then you will tell me all you know, and I will sell your knowledge in your place,” Hyacinth amended. “You will make me your pupil, and in turn, I will care for your every need. You needn’t so much as look at anyone you disdain.” When Antigone did not answer, she continued: “Linen and lambs’ blood, it all awaits you when we arrive home.”

Antigone did not have much in the way of knowledge, and without revealing that, she couldn’t know whether a mere demonstration of her hunting methods was what Hyacinth valued so highly, or whether she expected something more.

But Antigone was no mindless animal. She waited until dusk, when Hyacinth broke for camp and announced they were done traveling for the night. “I’ll admit, I’ve never felt so safe. Wolves would think twice rather than attack a vampyre and her companion.”

“Companion,” Antigone echoed under her breath. She shrugged off the fabric, emerging into the night. “I must hunt.”

“There’s no need.” Hyacinth took her hand once more, soft fingers curling over sharp claws, and led her to the mule at the wagon’s front. “Barosus won’t mind much, I imagine, so long as you’re gentle and leave her enough for tomorrow’s journey.”

Antigone had risked her life for less. One could never know how fiercely a sheep would be guarded, or if a lone night-wandering child would be missed. Humans could be fiercely protective of such things, and often woke in the night. Yet here this merchant was, offering her own blood and her steed’s all in the span of two nights.

“Thank you.” The words felt foreign on her tongue. She expected that if Hyacinth’s treatment did not change, they would quickly become routine.

Hyacinth rewarded her with a glowing smile. “It wouldn’t do to keep my vampyre unfed, now would it?”

As she drank from the mule, which only stepped nervously in protest, Hyacinth set up camp. There was only one mat, but Antigone did not mind. She had never used one, and welcomed soft earth over the floor of the cage she’d been trapped in over the past years.

“Come,” Hyacinth called when she finished, patting the mat.

“It’s not for you?” she asked.

Hyacinth laid down on it. “There is enough room for two, if you lay close beside me.”

Antigone scoffed, but obeyed. “You wish to be informed if I attempt to leave.”

“Perhaps,” Hyacinth admitted bashfully, “My only method of keeping you here is my words. Should you forgo me, I’d at least like an opportunity to use them.”

She wrapped her arms around her, Hyacinth’s stomach pressed against Antigone’s back. “Sleep. I will not let the sun or anything else touch you.”

Antigone had never had aid before. Somehow, illogical though it was, Hyacinth’s embrace felt safer than the damp dark of a cave.

“What happens when I have nothing more to offer you?” she asked.

Hyacinth smiled against her ear. “Then you’ll have a choice. You can either stay, or go.”

It should have been harder to say than it was. She was a creature of pride. But her years in the cage had made her brittle, and she no longer had the patience for such things. “Please… don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I promise.” Antigone felt the brush of lips against her cheek. A kiss, just barely. “Rest, now.”

For the only time in her second life, she slept soundly.

SHIP: Kiriona/Nona + implied Gideon/Harrow (The Locked Tomb)

-

“I hate you,” Nona snarls, like a bad dog baring to bite. “I hate you, I hate you—”

“Hey,” says the Girl, hands raised in a half-mock surrender, “what did we say about healthily processing our emotions?”

She has the audacity to sound like lovely Pyrrha, and that is Nona’s final straw.

“I hate you!” she screams. And, because the tinies have been practicing expressing their feelings instead of having their own tantrums (not at all like Nona’s): “You make the hands feel heavy!”

“…Gwuh?” Of course she is clueless.

“You make me feel like drowning,” Nona hisses. “You make the pool go cold and my breath stops.”

The Girl from the Dream freezes like water to ice. “What?”

Nona quivers with rage. “You don’t get it, Dream Girl. Lamb Eyes. They aren’t pretty on you, by the way. Not like they are on me.”

Dream Girl is unbeautiful — washed-out skin, gaze foggy with death, her chest one gaping wound. Nona rather likes her own heart intact, her yellow gaze bright, her skin its usual warm brown. Seeing the Girl like this, inexplicably, infuriates her.

“What the fuck do you mean,” Dream Girl stresses.

“You don’t get it!” Nona repeats, an incensed shriek. Her hands tug at her hair; her eyes sting; her feet stomp-stomp-stomp. “You’ll never, ever get it.”

“Make me understand,” the Girl says. a sharp edge of desperation to her voice. “Help me.”

“You’re strangling me. You’re pulling me under. I don’t know why,” Nona whines.

“I didn’t mean to,” the Girl says, with the cracking undertone of dry tears.

“You did,” Nona asserts, “but you didn’t, too.”

The Girl stumbles on a word, a name. Her body is stiff with tension, but her pupils are wide with longing. The paleness in her gaze tries to melt away like butter.

“You knew who I am,” Nona says. “Who I was. You knew me.”

“Yeah. I thought I did.”

“No,” says Nona. “You knew me.”

The Girl looks miserable. Nona doesn’t feel bad, because the Girl fills Nona’s lungs with water the longer she looks at her. It’s becoming terribly difficult to breathe.

“Okay,” Dream Girl mumbles. And, more clearly: “I’m so bloody sorry.”

Nona’s brain flashes white-hot with agony. Blood trickles out of her nostrils.

She barely feels her body collapse around her before she’s out cold.

"Wait, you've actually been listening to me this whole time?"

"Of course. It'd be rude of me not to."

"Stop it. It's not my fault, stop yelling at me. It's not my fault that I'm ______'s child."

"You're beautiful, for a dead girl."

Ship: OC/OC

Words: 768

This is chapter 3 out of 4 in a series! AO3 for all chapters: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56401327/chapters/143310463

Previous chapter: https://yurishippingolympics.dreamwidth.org/3182.html?thread=264558#cmt264558

THE THIRD DAY

Antigone woke to a gentle shove on her shoulder, warning her of the coming dawn. She allowed herself to be wrapped in cloth once more before they set out.

“It’s a few days more travel, with some stops here and there for trade–I’ll be sure to pick up some pigs’ blood or some such for you as well. You’d do best to stay hidden when we go into town, what with your pointed fangs and cats’ eyes and the rest.” As if anticipating her answer, Hyacinth added, “I won’t go far. You’ll be able to hear my voice at all times. I’d hate to leave my wagon unguarded even if it didn’t have such precious cargo.”

She gave Antigone a friendly pat on the head before sealing that safely away, too.

“After, us three–Barosus included, of course–will board a boat and set out for home, the island Iiezvus. A couple weeks’ journey, and there we are. You’ll love it there. The beaches are even more beautiful at night, when the stars all twinkle. You can meet my family–they’ll love you, they aren’t so shallow as to scorn you for being a vampyre alone–and you can rest in a true bed.”

“With you?” Antigone asked before she could help herself.

Hyacinth’s laugh was like that of a bell. “With me. Though I’ll need to be up during the day, unlike you.”

“I could take you out in the early evening,” Antigone offered in turn. “Or the early morning, before the sun. The night is my home anywhere. When I regain my strength, I can carry you as well as the mule or better. Certainly faster.”

“Oh, my. Perhaps I could retire Barosus to the pasture and you could pull my wagon,” Hyacinth said, amused.

Antigone dared to peek out as the dark glow of the covered sun disappeared from beyond the fabric over her face. They’d entered a tunnel, it would seem.

“I often make my home in caves,” Antigone commented. Made. Before the horror of the humans. Hyacinth had shared so much of herself and her home, it felt paltry in comparison, but this was all she was. “They’re safe from daylight even if I sleep long, and I can kill and drink anything else that tries to make it its home. I could,” she amended, running a hand up her now-wizened arm. “I will again, with enough blood.”

“Then you will,” Hyacinth agreed.

A distant rumble was the only warning they had before the rocks fell.

Antigone leapt from the wagon, tackling Hyacinth from the rider’s seat to the ground. A sickening, wet crunch and a mouth-watering aroma soon followed, but it was the mule, not Hyacinth. The creature itself did not make so much as a whinny, so thorough was its demise.

The wagon’s wood, peppered with rock, splintered against Antigone. But through her weakness, she remained straight-backed, her knees and palms dug into the gravel until the tunnel was silent.

“Antigone?” Hyacinth whispered under her.

“I’m alright,” she strained, collapsing onto Hyacinth’s chest. “And you?”

Hyacinth wrapped her arms around her, her breath shallow, and did not answer. Her eyes closed, and the only thing that kept Antigone from worry was the steady beat of Hyacinth’s heart against her cheek.

“Myself as well,” she said belatedly, after minutes laid so, her eyes opening. “We have to check for a way out.”

Antigone struggled to her feet, helping Hyacinth as well. She teetered to the side, keeping her weight off an ankle already swelling. “Where first?”

“There.” Antigone aided Hyacinth in walking, watching as she checked each barrier in turn. Experimental pushes did nothing, no matter which of them tried. It would have been effortless if Antigone had her strength, but it had been stolen from her by years half-starved and beaten. Even the corpses of the mule and wagon could not be recovered, only a small puddle of wine and mule’s blood leaking out from under the rocks.

“It’s no use.” Hyacinth sat with a huff.

“So you’re saying we’re trapped in here?” Antigone asked, joining her.

“I am. We’ll simply have to wait for someone to come this way.” She twirled restlessly at her hair, her words devoid of that joy they’d always held in their short time together.

It tore at Antigone’s heart to see her this way. She gathered Hyacinth up, pulling her into her lap and away from the cold ground. “You will not wait alone.”

Hyacinth offered her a smile, though it held less weight than any she’d given before. “And I’m glad for that, at least.”

Ship: Roxy/Jane (Homestuck)
Word Count: 274

You stare at the sky.

It’s cold. Snow settles on your shoulders, your hair, your face.

Your glasses rest next to you, folded up neatly, and your various computing devices are captchalogued neatly in your sylladex.

You shiver, despite yourself, and run a hand through your hair.

It’s getting long. You don’t know how to feel about that.

“Hey.”

It’s Roxy.

“Hi, Ro-Lal.”

“Janey. Can I sit?”

“Always.”

She sits down, resting her head on your shoulder.

“So. What was that back there?”

“The Jake thing? Ugh! He just. Makes me so angry. That he gets to go off frolicking with Dirk and doesn’t have to ever talk to me about anything but Dirk!” You wipe away a tear.

“Lmao. Yeah. Boys will boy, though. Or doubleyou ee the expression is.”

“Boys will be boys?”

“That’s the bitch!”

She moves a little closer. She’s warm.

“Don’t let ‘em get you down, Janey. They’re stupid.”

You blink, and it’s like the whole world… flattens.

“They’re stupid…” you pause. “This didn’t happen this way.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is where… I didn’t talk to you. I alchemised the lollipop, and then we all went trickster mode, and…”

Roxy looks at you. She blinks and her eyes are white.

“Hell yeah. Way to be a gutsy gumshoe.”

She kisses you.

“What- what was that?”

“I’ve been waiting for a chance to do that for a while.”

“Really?”

Before she can respond, you wake up.

You turn to Jake, sleeping next to you.

“I think we should get divorced.”

He wakes up, sitting upright.

“But… I thought you loved me?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “I thought so too.”

absolutely adore the careful bracketing and the way you capture the rapid-fire thinking of death note, it is so good :D! I am going to be thinking about '(It's not like Amane to not be here.) / (Kiyomi isn't worried).' for a good long while, I really like how your prose is paced :]

Ship: Sasha James/Not!Sasha (The Magnus Archives)
Notes: Season Two, before Melanie shows up

"Sasha James" tried once again to type in her password. The IT human had already left a post-it, it should be easy to input…

Another error sound.

Sasha James, without the quotes, snickered.

"Would you stop following me around," snapped "Sasha James", hitting the button with the loudspeaker and a cross through it so the Tim human wouldn't come over and try to help again.

"No can do, I'm haunting you."

"You aren't a ghost."

They'd been over this. "Sasha James" had — very patiently, she thought — explained to a sniveling, pathetic Sasha James what was going to happen to her. Put simply: The Not-Them's victims were absorbed into the Not-Them and made anonymous, the most defining parts of their personality inverted so that the Not-Them could wear them as ornaments. Sasha's lethal curiosity was replaced with mind-numbing indifference. The cataracts in her eyes were removed, so there was no more need for her ugly novelty-glasses collection. Her height — frankly ridiculously tall for a human, "Sasha" thought — was revised so she was now even shorter than the Eye's human. "Sasha" disliked this; she would much rather be able to loom, get a few fear snacks from the living humans once in a while, but such was not to be.

Anyway, of course the original flavor Sasha James was then to be devoured in an infinite loop of agony, like stretched licorice. "Sasha" had liked emphasizing that part the most. Sasha's screams had been so sweet.

Unfortunately, unlike every other human "Sasha" had been, Sasha was apparently getting used to it.

This would not be much of a problem in ordinary circumstances. "Sasha" might even have relished keeping Sasha alive as an invisible extension of her, a constant drip-feed of fear keeping her sane in the temple of the Eye — because though Sasha James liked pretending at bravery, she was merely human.

Now, though, "Sasha" wished she could just devour her victims faster. The bonus fear was truly not enough of a benefit for her to keep putting up with Sasha being the most annoying person she had ever met.

"Well" — Sasha said, drawing her attention back to their conversation — "not yet, for now I'm just interning. That's how it works, right?"

"I suppose," "Sasha" muttered. She knew what an intern was; she'd eaten one once. He'd gone down much faster. "But in that case, you should be helping me here."

"Not a chance," Sasha said, grinning. "Oh, this is the best. I knew I was right to download all those viruses on the Internet."

"You made your computer sick on purpose before you met me?!"

"Only if I got my password wrong," Sasha countered. "Which I wouldn't." Her grin widened. "What, are you jealous I didn't do it for you?"

"We do not get jealous." This was a lie in every sense, but so was "Sasha"'s existence, so what did it matter?

"Ooh, we! Tell me more about your cult of evil person-replacing torturers, please."

"No."

"Ugh."

"For someone who is a disciple of the Eye," "Sasha" remarked, "you are awful at finding information."

"How dare you! I'm great at it! I've hacked into hospitals before, you know!" Sasha scowled. "And there you go with the Eye thing again. Is this, like, a religious thing for you? Am I actually a ghost after all? Is this Hell?"

"What is it your authors say?" "Sasha" smirked. "Hell is other people."

Sasha rolled her eyes. There was indescribable body horror happening to them even now, but alas, Sasha had stopped caring after the first month. "Wow, I guess you ate a literature student too, huh."

"My point is," "Sasha" said loudly, "that you, Sasha James, are stuck in the Known world without anyone Knowing you. That's the opposite of what that author—"

"Sartre."

"—Sar-tray" (it was in "Sasha"'s nature to bungle names, and besides it always bothered Sasha immensely) "claimed Hell to be."

"Hmm." Sasha cracked her neck. It reformed instantly. "What's your point?"

"But it's hell for you, isn't it?" "Sasha" said, feeling the smirk develop in her muscles again. She'd chosen a good face for it, she thought. "A budding Eye voyeur stuck where no one knows her. Look at your beloved Tim. He's forgotten you, little watcher. I ate your life, and no one even noticed."

Sasha's breathing was strained now. Oh, that rush of fear was sweet. "Sasha" filed this insecurity away under "best food sources" for later; she knew the One Who Saw would come by soon, and then Sasha would know she was lying, but for now this might even be sustainable.

"You're wrong," Sasha said finally, her teeth clenched.

"How?"

Sasha reached out. Before "Sasha" could think to make herself temporarily intangible, she'd laced her fingers through "Sasha's" and — like puppetting a marionette — pushed her hand down, leaving a keysmash in the password box.

Enter.

The computer went all wavy lines and a slow loop of some man singing, then promptly bluescreened.

"Fuck you," "Sasha" said.

"There it is." Sasha was smiling again; it was pained, but triumphant. "You know who the real me is. And you hate it, don't you?"

"You arrogant prick," "Sasha" hissed.

"Great." Sasha let go of "Sasha"'s hand; the loss of warmth was immediate. "Now I'm definitely sticking around."

Edited (POSTED BEFORE FINISHING WHOOPS) 2024-06-06 23:10 (UTC)

oh my god you have the best profile picture ever. i love her

thank you so much!!!! i always try to make my prose match how i think the character's internal monologue would sound, i'm glad it worked for you :D

THEY'RE ADORABLE i don't actually know these characters but now that yso has introduced me to them i'm always just like. ah <3 young love

"You really should have thought of that before you married me."

Pairing: Mai/Protagonist (Moonshine/Tsuki no Terasu)
Words: 915
Notes: I tried to emulate Moonshine's (translated) writing style, but keyword is 'tried' so... anyways. The protagonist is genderbent here, because I'm weak to making het VNs gay. Mai refers to the unnamed protagonist as 'Onii-san' in-game because they needed a stand-in for a name in voiced dialogue (and he's older than her, but not by much), so I used 'Onee-chan' here as replacement. Mai and the protag are very much not related.

-

I don’t remember having nodded off, but I must have fallen asleep at some point because Mai’s soft voice draws me out of my slumber.

“Onee-chan, are you asleep?”

She whispers it against my head, as if afraid that her words will wake me up. If she’s asking despite that, it might be something important. Maybe she needs to get up, but is worried about shifting me.

“Ah, I’m awake. Is something wrong?”

Talking makes me feel sluggish, and I’m drowsy from having fallen asleep while sitting against the wall. Honestly, I want to go back to sleep. The long hours at Shanty have been getting to me, but Mai must be even more tired. Especially if she can’t sleep.

There’s a shift, but Mai doesn’t get up or move like I thought she would. Instead, she’d shifted closer to me. We’re huddling together beneath the blanket, my head tucked into her neck, and Mai had just moved to wrap an arm around me.

It feels intimate, even if my brain is telling me that this is just how friends act. Mai isn’t even as affectionate as most of my high-school friends, but her emotional distance makes every little action seem so much more than it is. I seem to read into everything she does, near desperately.

Mai shakes her head. I can feel the ends of her pigtails brushing against me as she does.

“Nhn. You stopped talking for a little, so I wondered if you had drifted off.”

I feel my cheeks heat up. I had fallen asleep, and I’m sure Mai knew that. Her tone didn’t sound overtly teasing, so I let it slide.

“Sorry for waking you up, I just wanted to…”

I make a noise of assent and keep my face pressed into the crook of her neck. Talking with Mai means more to me than sleep, so I don’t mind.

Mai’s voice is low and soft when she continues. She sounds different like this, so early in the morning. It’s like we’re whispering secrets to each other at a sleepover. I love her voice. I want to wake up to it every day, not just Wednesday afternoons.

“I wanted to sit here with you. It feels like we’re between worlds right now, don’t you think? Not quite day but not quite night either. It’s nice. It’s like our little secret.”

I smile into her neck, giddy. I don’t get what she means, but Mai openly regarding something as ‘ours’ makes my heart swell. I want to share something with Mai that nobody else knows.

I don’t tell her that. I don’t want to make any wrong moves and scare her away. I’m happy just being friends with her, even if my heart aches when I think about it too long.

“See? The moonlight is shining through the curtains, but it’s not dark. Both the sun and moon are coexisting for a brief moment.”

I’m not sure if there’s any truth to her statement, but I hum along anyway. Mai’s voice is soothing; soft and sweet in my ears. I can feel my eyelids start to flutter shut as she speaks.

“Oh, are you falling back asleep?”

She doesn’t sound surprised. If I were to guess, she’s likely smiling right now.

“I guess I kept you up. Go on, get your beauty sleep.”

I want to tell her that I’d stay up forever for her, but I know better than that. She’d laugh and smile but wouldn’t take it seriously. She’d call me a good friend, the best she’s ever had. I can handle thinking it, but I can’t handle hearing it from her.

Still, I can afford to be a little selfish. Mai is kind like that; she doesn’t mind indulging me.

“Sing for me?”

Mai giggles. I wonder if she expected me to ask. I don’t hide my love for her singing and the Karaoke bar near my house has become a frequent haunt. Mai hasn’t voiced her annoyance yet, so I can only assume she doesn’t mind the obsession.

“You’re just like a kid sometimes, Onee-chan. Okay, I’ll sing you a little lullaby to help you sleep.”

Mai pretends that she’s bothered, but I know she isn’t. Just as I love listening to her sing, she loves to sing. Especially when she has a captive audience.

She begins to hum. Mai always starts off like this, as if testing the water before diving in. It feels like crowd work, trying to entice the listener before the real show begins, but it’s always just the two of us. I hope it’ll always be the two of us.

Mai’s voice is so beautiful. Her words are muffled, with her face pressed into my hair. Opposed to singing to me, it feels like she’s singing into me. Mai is all I can hear, all I can see, all I can feel. She has overtaken all my senses, stolen my heart and thrown away the key. I will allow her to do so again and again, if it means she’ll stay by my side.

Beneath the blanket, her free hand finds mine. Her skin is warm, but the cold metal of her ring presses into my knuckle. It feels like a stark reminder, but I’m too tired to figure out what of. All I know is that Mai’s fingers slot perfectly between mine. Nothing else matters, not now.

I fall asleep to Mai’s song in my ears, like a warm embrace.

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