yurishippingolympics | YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024

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bonus round

YURI SHIPPING OLYMPICS 2024 - BONUS ROUND 7

For this round, we want to see prompts that are based on settings or locations! For your prompts, please provide a location or setting. It can be as specific or as abstract as you want, and can be in any medium you prefer!

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

There’s a particularly loud cheer from the opposite side of the gym. Winter pays it no mind; Cinder’s mouth is on her collarbone, and it’s quite hard to think about things beyond that. She tilts her head up so she can see the light through the slats above and presses Cinder’s hand down harder over her mouth to muffle the sound of her own harsh breathing, and her brain can’t quite grasp the desperation not to be caught anymore, now that she’s —

Something thuds against the bleachers; someone must have fallen, or no one caught the ball in time. Either way, sound erupts over their heads, and Cinder lets out a pleased little laugh as she continues to kiss her way down her neck.

“Match is almost over,” she says against Winter’s throat, “got any last requests?”

“Oh, G-d,” Winter gasps into her hand, “you fucking asshole.”

Cinder drums her fingers against her hip. “Well?”

Another roar of sound. Why they even bothered to come here in the first place, Winter doesn’t know. Maybe Cinder’s just an exhibitionist. She jerks her chin away, out of Cinder’s grip, and chokes out, “I need you to kiss me again or I’ll lose my mind.”

“Oh, that’s cute,” Cinder grins. Her head lifts from Winter’s neck; her fingers slide up the side of her body, cupping her face. “A kiss for the road. You know what, I’m feeling generous.”

“Don’t get egotistical,” Winter mutters, and then Cinder’s mouth is back against hers, where it belongs, where it should have been this whole time.

Edited 2024-08-27 22:42 (UTC)

Cinder grins against the exposed skin of Winter’s neck. “Well, one of us is going to have to change.”

The closet they’ve somehow managed to wedge themselves into may be the only quiet spot in the whole house. Winter is grateful for it, now, as Cinder presses herself up against her, as Cinder’s fangs brush her pulse — “You can’t. You’re the real thing.”

“Exactly. Stealing my look, Schnee? Not very funny,” Cinder muses. It’s hard to take her seriously when her entire body is draped over Winter’s like a cat.

“I didn’t have anything else to wear.”

She laughs. “You couldn’t have cut a pair of holes into a sheet? I think you’re just taunting me at this point, baby. I think you want to get found out.” Something thuds against the door behind her out of time with the low, pulsing music, presumably someone stumbling into it. Cinder doesn’t even bother to pause. “And you know what? It looks good on you. Dashing, really.”

Winter swallows thickly. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to say to that, so she doesn’t even try. “Are you going to let me out of this closet or shall I wait for Weiss to hunt me down?”

“Your ride home, is she?”

“I don’t have much of a choice. Since someone destroyed my car.”

Another low, rumbling laugh. “I did offer to pay you back. I have a lot more money than I need.”

“And all of it’s ancient.” Something thuds against the door again and Winter takes this as her reprieve, spinning the two of them so Cinder is shoved back against the coats instead. Her indignant shout fades into the sound of appropriately themed music as Winter wrenches open the door and escapes, determined not to get her blood drained when she’s supposed to be off-duty.

oh she’s oblivious oblivious

THiS IS SO COOL HOLY SHIT????? just listening to it makes me smile. amazing work!!

“You can talk to Ruby and Yang’s ride,” Weiss said when she bribed her into driving her to band practice, so Winter sits patiently outside the practice room in the theatre and waits for Ruby and Yang’s ride to finish dropping the two of them off. She wonders if this is what her mother felt like when she dropped her off for playdates; except Weiss is almost twenty now and decidedly not a small child, and technically Winter doesn’t have to stay, it’s just that her apartment is 45 minutes away and by the time she gets back she’ll have to set out again —

Something thuds on the stage. Winter glances up from her post by the door automatically and catches something moving behind the curtains, a body shifting. It’s hard to mistake it for anything in a room with acoustics like these; someone has got hold of the guitars kept backstage and is presumably trying to get them out.

Assuming it’s one of the kids, Winter goes back to her book. They’ll call her if they need her. According to Weiss, she’s their ‘incredibly physically strong roadie’, although neither of those things are strictly true. She’s helped them get amps and speakers from place to place before, and she’ll probably do so again.

“Hello?”

There it is. Winter rises to her feet and crosses to the stage, following the centre aisle down to a growing break in the curtains. “Coming,” she calls, and is met with a burst of laughter she doesn’t recognise.

“Oh, so you’re the sister. Any good with lifting heavy things?”

The playdate, presumably. “Very good,” Winter calls back. “Are you after one of the guitars?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking bored.” The curtain shifts again; Winter hops up onto the apron to part it and nearly stumbles over a woman her age and an amp.

Quite possibly the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen, but that’s beside the point.

“Oh,” she says eloquently, and the woman blinks up at her, all amber eyes and scars.

“Oh,” she echoes, “oh, what?”

Winter kicks herself mentally — and physically, too, driving the toe of her boot into her Achilles tendon — and shakes her head. “Nothing. You’re Ruby and Yang’s driver.”

The woman huffs a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. More like a neighbour they bribed.”

“Oh, of course.” Winter stoops down to pick up the amp and gestures for her to rise too. And instantly regrets it, because she’s a good few inches taller in addition to being devastatingly attractive, and it might very well be the end of her. “I’m, um — I’m — my name is Winter.”

“Cinder,” the woman says, slinging the strap of the guitar she’s taken over her shoulder. She holds it up by the neck, a clear invitation. “I was going to hole up in one of the dressing rooms and get some practice in. Want to join me?”

The endless battlefield really is endless, and Winter gets sick of it after a day. She’s discovered that if she tries to skip ‘training’, someone high up and significantly deader than her sends a Valkyrie after her, so she’s begun experimenting — it’s been a long time since Cinder last came to check in on her, and she misses her.

(She thinks she could even convince her to stay over if she tried, which would mean — a lot. Cinder’s presence is comforting, especially so in death. Sometimes Winter catches sight of her ferrying bodies off the battlefield and earns herself a brief smile, the back half of a wave.)

Today, she volunteers for cleanup duty.

People on cleanup duty usually wind up getting shot at anyway, she reasons. It’s not that much of a risk, it technically qualifies as training, and she thinks she’s got Cinder’s schedule down.

She wants to see her again. She doesn’t want to fight; she’s fought all of her life, and it took dying to discover that she may not have ever needed to in the first place. She thinks part of her belongs with Cinder; she thinks that maybe in another life they might have —

Winter steps out onto the battlefield and walks directly into her.

“Oh, there you are,” Cinder says. A stray javelin shoots past her left ear and she plucks it out of the air neatly, sets it down on the floor before Winter can even think about reeling backwards. The last dregs of the day’s combat are dwindling into nothing around them; soon they’ll have an actual job to do.

It doesn’t matter. She’s found her.

“Here I am,” Winter says dizzily. “I was looking for you.”

“Missed me, huh?” Cinder grins. “Well, I missed you. Hey, are you free after this?”

“I was hoping you might be.”

She glances up at the endless sky, a different kind of smile quirking at her lips. “I’ve been meaning to come find you. You know how hard it is to find a dead guy in this place?”

“Do you know how hard it is to find a Valkyrie in this place?”

“Point taken.” Cinder offers her arm. “I’m free for forever, practically.”

Gwen was startled by a knock on her hotel room door. She rose from her plush bed, brushing some stray hair out of her face as she strode across the well-lit room. She took a deep, shuddering breath as she pressed her eye up to the keyhole, not sure what she was expecting when... she saw Alice's face staring back at her. Somehow.

Gwen flung the door open, blinking rapidly.

"How-? Why-? How do you even know-?" Gwen started.

"The stupid computer dumped your texts with Lena onto my plate, I don't know why but..." Alice shrugs, "I figured I'd come over, since, you sounded like you needed it."

"You- you didn't have to-" Gwen started.

"Buh buh buh," Alice interrupted, "None of that. Come on, Gwen. I didn't mean or ask to see those texts, but I know you're not alright."

"I- I- shit-" Gwen stuttered, slumping into Alice's arms.

"Okay, okay. You're alright, it's gonna work out," Alice reassured, shuffling a bit over as she kicked the door closed, all but dragging Gwen over to the bed.

"I- I don't know what I'm going to do, Alice," Gwen managed, sniffling.

"You don't have to worry about that now, just... just be in the moment with me, alright Gwen? One step at a time," Alice stated, clapping Gwen on the shoulders.

Gwen stared at Alice, blinking, soaking in her presence, processing what it meant for her to be here. That Alice had come out here for her. And then her body was moving ahead of her and her lips were on Alice's and-

"Oh... uh... wow, Gwen," Alice managed, blushing, "Wasn't expecting that!"

"Was- was that alright?" Gwen asked.

"I'm not complaining," Alice said, composure regained as she gave Gwen a smirk.

"Would you... stay the night here? With me. I- I know that jumping to sleeping in the same bed is a bit much but I- I don't want to be alone right now,” Gwen asked.

“Of course, Gwen. And besides, this place is nicer than my apartment anyway,” Alice replied.

Not for the first time, Winter wakes up alone. The only sign that the Prince was here in the first place are the sheets, tangled around her legs, and the slightly ajar window at the other side of the room.

She sits up blearily, running a hand through her hair. There’s no hope for the sheets, she’ll have to get them washed. “Cinder?” she calls experimentally, just to double check — Cinder has a habit of forgetting where she is in the middle of getting dressed, and it’s caused problems for them in the past — and gets out of bed when no response comes, kicking her way out of the sheets.

The other side is still warm. She can’t have left more than ten minutes ago. It’s a miracle she didn’t wake Winter up in the process; she’s always been a light sleeper.

Winter gets dressed and makes her way to the training grounds without much preamble. Technically, she’s on sick leave. Realistically, she’d rather die than miss a day of training, even if she's just sitting in.

There are a few knights hanging around the entrance to the stables when she reaches the grounds, a few of the Ace Operatives she knows and a few she doesn’t. They all go quiet when she approaches.

Winter glances between them, anticipating the usual mix of guilt and defiance. Most of the other knights don’t like her very much, and she’s more or less made her peace with that. “What?”

“Where’s the Prince?” Harriet says immediately. Elm slaps the back of her head; she swats Elm’s forearm in retaliation.

Winter raises an eyebrow. “Somewhere on the grounds, surely.”

(Cinder goes missing at least once a week. They’re all used to it.)

“Look for her,” Harriet snaps back, which earns her another slap and a warning look. That’s what’s unusual, Winter decides; this isn’t the kind of tension she’s familiar with. Whatever they’re keeping from her, they’re doing it intentionally.

“Fine,” she sighs, “where’s my horse?”

Winter heads to the usual place.

The midday sun is high overhead by the time she arrives. Cinder is sitting in a pool of shadow at the edge of the copse, watching the silhouette of the castle in the distance. She doesn’t look up when Winter’s horse pulls up beside her, doesn’t look up when Winter extends a hand to her and says, “They’re looking for you. And they’re being bloody weird about it, too.”

“Weird is Harriet’s default,” she says idly. “I notified them of my departure, actually. I have something to ask you.”

Winter dismounts somewhat ungracefully — she’s on sick leave, after all — and crosses the grass to sit beside her on the log she’s commandeered. They must look ridiculous like this, the knight in her riding leathers and the Prince without her regalia, hidden away in the shadows.

“Go on, then,” she says, “ask me.”

Cinder glances at her out of the corner of her eye. A smirk plays at the corner of her lips, far more familiar than this weird melancholy. “Later, babe. Watch the castle with me.”

“You’re being odd,” Winter says pointedly, but she sits with her anyway. “If you’re going to ask me to marry you, wait until I’m not on sick leave.”

Cinder laughs. “Okay,” she grins, “I’ll wait.”

Winter locks eyes with Cinder at the exact moment the bomb goes off. It’s not an ending, and it’s certainly not a beginning of any kind, but it feels important to look for her. Acknowledge her, maybe.

If Cinder notices her looking, she certainly doesn’t show it. She gives Winter a sideways glance that could maybe be mistaken for something before she turns away, aura amplified high enough to withstand the blast. Winter finds herself wishing she would look again, if only to know she wasn’t imagining things — if only to know the warmth in her eyes she saw all the way back when they were kids was real.

She files a report that completely skims over the presence of potential agents of Salem in Mantle. She visits the memorial every day as a reminder of her monumental failure, a symbol of every single wrong step she took up until this point. She resolves to be better, because that’s all she can do, and on the one month anniversary of the attack she dedicates the last of the funds her father gave her, all those years ago, to helping with the rebuild effort.

She doesn’t see Cinder again. She doesn’t think she could. She doesn’t think Cinder would even let her look in the first place, and she’s sick of wanting so badly to try.

And, fuck, she misses her.

Ship: Nerys/Diane from the webtoon The Price is Your Everything, link to ao3 fic here!

Ship: Yukari Yakumo x Watatsuki no Toyohime
Does the remains of a fallen comet count?
https://archiveofourown.org/works/58563046

Ship: Kittyuri!!! (i return to my roots)

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

Margot checks the time, flicking her wrist to study the hands. Lara Jean pushes herself up on her tippy-toes so she can see too.

“You’re sure this girl like… exists, right, Kitty?” Lara Jean says and Kitty steps on her shoes in retaliation.

“Yes, my girlfriend is real,” she replies, nose turned up. “And she’s not fake either, LJ! Yuri Han is–”

“Perfect, the prettiest, smartest and scariest girl you’ve ever met,” Margot finishes. Her balloons are starting to wilt and Kitty carefully tilts her arm 10 degrees up to make them float higher.

Kitty chooses to ignore the sarcasm in her tone, nursing the shock they’ll all have on their faces when they finally meet her instead.

“Just wait till you see her,” she says, hopping up and down. She turns to survey their impromptu welcome party–her dad sporting a homemade poster complete with glitter and stickers, Margot with the balloons and LJ with a cake whose icing is starting to melt.

“Dad, the poster’s upside-down,” she says, tapping the board. Her dad looks at it, laughs way too loud for the time of day and then flips it back right side-up.

“So it is,” he says. “My bad, Kitty.”

The glass doors slide open and a barrage of passengers flood the terminal, more unkempt than not. There’s a man sporting two neck pillows and a single mother toting two children behind her. Kitty watches person after person pass, each one more disheveled and sleep-deprived than the next.

And then–

And then Kitty sees her, radiant even in the grungy setting of Portland International Airport’s Terminal C.

Kitty watches the moment Yuri notices them, the moment her mouth, pulled into a tight line, cracks into a smile that splits into a full-faced grin. She’s dressed in a matching pink blazer and skirt, not a single hair out of place despite the long flight and she gives Kitty a small wave before bouncing over.

Lara Jean arches one eyebrow at her, impressed.

“Damn, how did someone like you manage to pull a ten?” she whispers into Kitty’s ear and receives an elbow to the stomach in response.

Kitty grins, smiles and throws herself at her girlfriend to welcome her home.

Ship: Amy Yuuzuki/Yayoi Ulshade
Canon: Zyuden Sentai Kyoryuger
Words: 1728

----------

The rain provides no comfort as it penetrates through the layers of Amy’s clothes.

Icy wind shoves past her, turning raindrops into blades slashing at her face. Any water that has made cloth its refuge, on the other hand, has latched on fast; the dysfunctional waltz her skin and wet clothing stumble through drop through degrees on top of degrees in temperature. Her clothing clings to her skin, slippery and unstable — on the edge of frost altogether.

But if the rain has permeated through her entire being, then how must the other girl on the shoreline fare?

It’s no surprise that Yayoi has come to the sea; the home of Plezuon’s organic ancestors welcome all those who fight alongside it. But the sand is not as forgiving; it coats Yayoi’s shoes, refusing to fall at the assault the rain gives it.

And yet, Yayoi walks, farther and farther from Amy. Her trembling hands form fists, and her face refuses to turn to Amy; waterfalls run down from her hair and onto her back, but regardless, she continues through the rain.

It’s madness. This conversation could have been had in a nicer, warmer place. But because Yayoi had chosen to march here to line the sea, the rain — and perhaps, the sea — have found new victims to claim.

Sand squelches under Amy’s soaked shoes, and cold nips at exposed skin. But, worst of all, the wind rubs Amy’s throat raw as she shouts, loud as possible.

May the wind, the rain, and the sea give her one blessing; over its tempestuous orchestra, may her voice pass through and reach Yayoi.

“Yayoi, let’s go back! It’s raining way too much, you’re going to catch a cold. Can we please talk this out inside?”

Yayoi’s pace only increases at Amy’s call. So Amy’s words can reach her — what a relief. But how Yayoi can harness the power of Hermes when the world insists on slowing them down, Amy has no idea. Or, perhaps, it’s only Amy facing the music; has the sea decided to be kind, and ask the sky to lighten up only around its friend?

Wait. Scratch that. Why?! Even an idiot could sense Yayoi’s staggering steps, or the tremors through her body. The outdoors’s hissy fit affects her, too; why has she chosen to be outside?!

What could even warrant choosing suffering, when relieving options lay themselves on a platter?

“Seriously, what’s going on?!” Amy exclaims.

“You wouldn’t know!” Yayoi cries, “Just go back by yourself! Leave me alone! I want to be alone!”

“But what’s wrong with you?! You can be alone inside, just-”

“I want to be out here!”

It makes no sense!

And there the sea goes, washing through her shoes; Amy hisses at the touch of saltwater on her frozen feet. But she can’t stop now; the rain’s onslaught grows heavier. If Amy is unable to keep her current pace, or even speed up, she might just lose Yayoi to nature’s whims entirely.

Sand is excellent at slowing a person down; one must burrow half their feet within its clutches, and allow it to seep through any blockades they wear to protect from it. It provides no rapport, like soil or concrete. Amy never liked fighting in it, anyway.

She yells, “But why?! Why out here?!”

“I just want to think!” Yayoi responds even louder.

“In the rain?! Yayoi, it’s freezing out here! What do you even have to think about out here?! Is it that serious?!”

“Yes! Now leave me be!”

Fulfilling her request might as well be tying the gallows’ knot herself. But why would she even bother with such an insane wish? Amy can leave her alone — just not out here!

Frustration crawls up her neck; the heat from within that it ignites might as well cause steam surrounded by the biting air. The hammer may strike, as many times as it wants, but this nail refuses to budge.

And it’ll rise up, and up, and up, until she blows her top off entirely!

“What even is it?!” she shrieks, cracks rampant in her voice, “Are you planning something?! Do you need to talk to someone?! Or is it-”

And suddenly, her mind is whisked away.

The room she remembers is much, much warmer than her current surroundings. She wasn’t even supposed to be there; she was supposed to be walking past, fetching something unmemorable for Souji.

But, somehow, it was as if her heartstrings had pulled, begging her mind to stop, just to listen to the soft echoes of Yayoi’s voice beyond.

Yayoi had sounded rather worried — the speed and loudness of her voice had fluctuated rapidly, straining Amy’s ears. Clearly, this wasn’t a topic meant for outsiders to hear. And Amy hadn’t meant to! It was just a mere chance that this happened this way.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen again! This stupid crush… what do I do now?!”

That’s it! That has to be it, right?!

“You like someone, right?” escapes Amy’s mouth, ignoring feeble attempts at stoppage.

At last, Yayoi stops.

She is an ice statue, unmoving; the rain must have been hard at work carving her out through sorrow and secrets. No, not quite; she still shivers from the cold wind. But stopping is perfect, for Amy. She advances forward, making haste-

Only to stop with Yayoi turning around.

Raindrops taint the lenses on her glasses, clouding her eyes from Amy. But the tight-lipped frown is obvious enough; her bottom lip quivers, possibly from both cold and query alike.

“...You heard me?” she asks, voice a mere whisper that barely reaches Amy.

Amy is quick to put her hands together. Some things aren’t meant to be heard, the world had decreed millions of years ago — Amy, by stopping at that door on that fateful day, had broken that decree.

“Sorry!” she squeaks, “I shouldn’t have, but I was walking by when you were talking about it.”

The sea is an onlooker, leaving Amy’s fate entirely in Yayoi’s hands. But it seems Yayoi has opted to not look at Amy altogether; her head tilts ever-slightly to the side, and out into the fog cloaking the horizon.

“...Did you hear who it was?” she asks, tone dangerously low and soft.

No! Amy can’t fail now!

Frustration mixes with an ever-helpless pit forming in her heart, becoming a void that steals away resolve. Oh, she could cry so easily now; what’s stopping her from falling to her knees and letting hot tears leave their marks on the sand?

Judgment is an unfair master, bribed by emotion and impression. To hell with it all; please, won’t Yayoi hear her plea?!

She wails, “No! No, I swear!”

Fatigue leadens her bones, refusing to stop their advent. How it cajoles her to just crumple, and make sand and sea mistress of her fate.

She only barely hears the small “hmph” from Yayoi, and what comes after.

“Good!”

Yayoi’s pivot is much faster this time, and the footprints she leaves in the sand are much deeper. The waves are just short of her, this time, but they crash against Amy’s shins as she gives chase.

Cold, cold, cold- why won’t she stop?! Now, Amy’s really had it; it’s like talking to a brick wall! The puff of steam must be rising against all odds, now; will it rise high enough off her irritation to be mistaken for one of the clouds in the sky?!

She chokes on rain as she opens her mouth this time. Any more attempts, and surely, blood will run down the insides of her throat.

“I don’t get it!” and here she is, leadened step after leadened step, “Did this person do something to you? Why are you so upset over a cru-”

“Don’t you get it, Amy?! It’s you I like!”

The wind goes deathly-still.

Rain continues to pour, but Yayoi’s tracks have now stopped — and Amy’s, in turn. The sea, in the meantime, ripples like always, albeit more taunting this time — look at you, Amy Yuuzuki, you claim to be so close to her and you didn’t even notice?!

Gone is the annoyance in her mind, leaving nothing at all. All that is left is quiet, the rain, and the shoreline.

“...Huh?” her voice quivers.

When Amy had read about love confessions, through pages and pages of shoujo manga, she’d always expected them to be warm and sweet, like walking through meadows and picking strawberries on a summer day. She’d always expected flush on both their cheeks, and giggles as both parties join hands.

Nowhere had she expected her heart to become shattered ice, and for the ocean to laugh at her all the while. Nowhere had she expected tears and rain intermingling, and for voices to claw themselves hoarse with cries.

Yayoi shakes as she turns this time, and Amy’s quick to look at her face. Her teeth grit alongside trembling lips, and her eyebrows knit together, drawing attention to Yayoi’s eyes. Even through the mist on her glasses, her eyes swell with water.

“You! I like you!” Yayoi screams, scratches down her voice, “But there’s no way you’ll ever like me back! And even if you did, now I’ve gone and ruined it!”

She doesn’t hesitate in running away this time, leaving Amy behind, refusing to look at Amy at all — as if the girl she had confessed to was a monster all along.

Amy’s heart lies at the bottom of a pit, crumbled pieces a mere shadow of what they used to be. Maybe, they’ll mix with the sand while her mind takes her for a spin.

What to do now?

The only answer she receives is Yayoi’s figure growing smaller and smaller, long slipping past the grasp of Amy’s outstretched hand.

She gasps, “Yayoi, wait-”

What is she doing, standing still?! The farther Yayoi is, the less questions will be answered; she has to reach her now, for closure. If Amy loses her, her own feelings will never reach Yayoi! The truth will never see the sun, and the shoreline will list this tale as another tragedy.

White-hot tears bubble at her own eyes as Amy breaks into a dash, agony pulsating through her legs. All she can hope is that her broken cries will overpower all those that stand against it, and finally break through to Yayoi’s mind.

“Wait! Please!”

Ship: Amaya/Janai from The Dragon Prince

She finds her out on the deck. Gren gives her a wave from the balcony as she passes, a glass telescope in one hand. She waves back.

Janai taps her on the shoulder once and waits for her to turn to speak.

“They say we’ll make landfall in a couple hours,” she says, pointing out towards the east. The ocean crests and falls at the tip of her finger.

Amaya nods, scooting over on the railing to make room for her. She has her rapier clipped to her belt, even with no present danger in sight, and her fingers drum against the hilt now.

Amaya keeps her hair cut short, barely dipping below her chin, and the wind ruffles what little she has of it. Janai smiles and catches the ends between her fingers and Amaya lets her, watches her, and a knowing look crosses her face.

That’s not why you’re here, she signs and Janai smiles wryly, caught red-handed. She wraps an arm around her shoulder, squeezes her under her chin.

Admissions and vulnerabilities have never come easy to her but she tries. For Amaya. She’s all rough corners and hard lines but for Amaya she tries to soften herself a little bit, let loose some of the emotions she’s still learning to name.

“We’ll find them,” she decides finally on, looking at Amaya head-on. “We’ll find your nephews.”

Amaya gives her one curt nod in response, her eyes ablaze with passion.

I know we will.

Ship: Kiara/Mandy from the hit comic by magicmooshka, Go Girl Go!

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

“Hold the door!”

Kiara looks up from the First-Day itinerary inked onto her phone screen, trying to find the source of the scream. She sticks a hand in front of the closing elevator doors regardless and watches as they slide back open.

“H-HOLD THE DOOR PLEASE!” the voice yells, closer this time, and Kiara watches, amused, as a tiny figure finally rounds the corner, clutching a briefcase that looks like it’s bursting at the seams.

The girl crashes more than walks into the elevator, panting against the railing when she finally makes it. The doors slide shut behind her and a paper threatens to slip out of the leather case when she tips it too far downwards. Kiara pushes it back into place for her.

“Sorry,” the girl says, brushing her bangs out of her face. Cute, Kiara thinks involuntarily and then mentally slaps herself to bring herself back to reality. “I-It’s my first day as an intern and I was really scared that I’d be late to my first meeting on my first day and then my boss would fire me and I would have to go back to the trenches of LinkedIn not to say that I don’t like it here because I’m Very Excited about working here and being a corporate slave oh god I didn’t mean it like that–I’ve said too much, haven’t I?”

“No worries,” Kiara replies smoothly. The girl has a strand of hair matted to her forehead and Kiara taps her own skin once to gesture for her to move it. The girl goes cross-eyed in the mirror trying to find it before finally slapping herself a few times across the forehead. “I’m Kiara and it’s my first day as an intern for the Sales team.”

“Ohmygod, you’re an intern too?” the girl yelps, pointing at her in disbelief. “B-But you’re so cool and so mature-looking and so professional?!”

Kiara blinks, stunned into silence.

“I meant that in a good way!” the girl adds quickly. “I’m Mandy, did I say that yet?”

Kiara can’t help it–she giggles. Mandy is as endearing as she is nervous.

“Pleased to meet you, Mandy,” she says, offering her hand. Mandy stares at it blankly for a few seconds before grabbing it and shaking it vigorously. Kiara’s eyes widen at the tightness of her grip.

Mandy finally lets go and slips her phone out of her pocket instead, tilting the screen to check the time.

“Good, I still have fifteen minutes before my meeting and it should only take five for me to find the meeting but in the case I get lost or someone stops to talk to me for ten minutes, I should still be–”

As if on cue, the elevator sputters like a dying engine, giving one last croak before promptly dying in between floors 4 and 5.

Kiara looks up at the lights on top, weakly illuminating the number four as the elevator rocks back and forth before grinding to a halt. Mandy follows her gaze, going weak at the knees.

“Did it just… stop?” she asks uncertainly and Kiara peeks through the gap in the doors.

“I think so,” she replies when the elevator doesn’t whir back to life after a few moments.

“We’re gonna die,” Mandy says, eyes wide. “It was nice to meet you though before I died, Kiara. In another life, we might’ve been able to be good friends.”

“We could be friends in this one,” Kiara replies, amused. “I’ll press the button for the emergency help and I’m sure they’ll have us out of here soon.”

“I hope so,” Mandy replies, anxiously checking the time. “I really hope so.”

“Do you want a granola bar?” Kiara asks to give her something to do, fishing through her purse. Mandy looks at her and nods eagerly, already reaching for the wrapper. She unpeels it like a banana and then chews it from the top-down. It reminds her vaguely of a chipmunk and Kiara has to smother her laugh to keep it from escaping.

“Do you thig I’ll be able to find anutha job after I’m fired?” Mandy asks her through a mouthful of granola. Kiara smiles and crosses her arms across her chest.

“I don’t think they’ll fire you for their elevator being faulty,” she replies.

“Right, right,” Mandy mutters, chewing at her nails. They’re painted bright orange, like a dying sunset. “As long as the elevator is on the seventh floor by 7:55, I can run to 7M112 and still make it in time for my 8 o’clock.”

As if it’s heard her plea, the elevator rocks back to life, slowly beginning its ascent one more.

“Thank god,” Mandy breathes, one hand over her heart.

The doors slide open on the seventh floor and Mandy’s halfway out the elevator before she suddenly turns around.

“THANKYOUFORTHEGRANOLABARIGOTTARUNNOWITWASNICETOMEETYOU!” she shouts all in one breath before she takes off running.

In her haste to leave, something slips from her grasp and clatters onto the floor. Mandy doesn’t notice as she sprints away and it’s up to Kiara to pick up the forgotten item. She kneels down on the carpet and turns it over.

A plastic badge stares back at her, Mandy’s grimacing profile plastered onto the front.

7M112, was it? Kiara shakes her head and runs out after her.

LMFAO that is a very accurate way to describe it

Full disclaimer: I have watched exactly one episode of Girls' Last Tour and that is what this fill is based off of.

Ship: Chisato/Takina from Lycoris Recoil

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

Chisato dismounts the tank before Takina can tell her not to.

“Ooh, an airplane!” she says, pointing at it like a literal child. Takina does not find it endearing at all and brings the tank to a halt in the snow. “Can we go in?”

“No,” she replies curtly but Chisato’s already climbing. Takina does one check to make sure the tank’s stable before slinging the rifle over her shoulder and following.

(She tells herself that it’s because there might be supplies stored inside. She tells herself that it’s not because Chisato’s going in first. She tells herself a lot of things these days.)

“Pardon the intrusion!” Chisato calls out loudly before sliding the metal door open. The sorry thing creaks on its rusty hinges to make room for them.

Chisato stomps straight in and Takina trails after her cautiously, ducking her head through the doorway.

“You should be more careful,” she chides when they’re inside.

“Why? There’s no one else around,” Chisato replies and it’s meant to be light-hearted, a humorous jab at the dark reality of their situation but the attempt falls flat on its face. Chisato angles her face away so she can’t see her expression.

Takina swallows hard, staring at her back.

“I’m here,” she says resolutely and Chisato turns to her, shocked, before her face splits into its usual grin. Takina pretends that the warmth that floods her cheeks is from the sunlight.

The airplane is in relatively good condition for being abandoned. The metal floor creaks beneath them but it doesn’t give way.

There are a number of items in the airplane–from discarded guns whose insides have long rotted to handheld grenades Chisato tosses about playfully to ammunition that doesn’t fit in their barrels. Takina has to stop Chisato from nearly decapitating herself on more than one occasion.

But the real gold mine is in the wooden creates pushed to the back of the airplane’s belly. Chisato holds open the dusty top for her as she pulls out bag after bag of military rations, each one marked with big block letters going down the side.

“See?” Chisato says, sounding all too pleased with herself. “I told you we should go in the airplane! Look what happens when you stop to smell the roses, Takina!”

“There are no roses,” Takina replies and Chisato groans next to her.

Outside, Chisato tries to eat a handful of snow and Takina slaps her hand away without looking. Who even knows what’s in the snow after the fallout?

They set up camp near the tank, picking a little hill to sit on.

They’ve been eating from the same can of soup for days and Takina has begun to welcome the yawning cavern in her stomach like an old friend. She permits them to gorge on exactly one freeze-dried package in celebration of the newfound rations. Chisato nearly weeps with joy and Takina rolls her eyes at her reaction.

Time has unfortunately not worn down Chisato’s sweet tooth and Takina is treated to a full-on rant about the lack of desserts every other day. Hopefully, this “chocolate”-flavored military ration should spare her eardrums for a couple of hours.

Chisato takes one bite and smiles in response, licking the crumbs off the wrappers.

“S’good,” she says, waving the bar enticingly in front of Takina’s face. Takina doesn’t rise to the bait, instead snapping another bar in half and taking the smaller portion for herself.

There’s an uneven amount in the package and Takina lets her have the difference.

“Itadakimasu!” Chisato says, clapping her hands together. For all her grousing, she takes the extra piece of military ration like a child on Christmas day, thrilled by the gift.

Takina buries her face in Chisato’s shoulder to smother her smile.

“Huh?!” Chisato yelps, poking at her cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Takina murmurs into her jacket.

Nothing, as long as you’re here.

Ship: Shoko/Utahime from Jujutsu Kaisen

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Shoko has a bone to pick with Jujutsu sorcerors but sliding into the hot tub, the gentle rock of the cruise lulling her into complacency, she supposes she could get used to this.

She eases herself into the water, the heat a welcome reprieve to her sore muscles. The fabric of her bathing suit sticks too close for comfort but she massages the bare skin of her forearms under the water. Her muscles relax in kind.
Utahime sighs happily next to her and Shoko ever-so-carefully edges a couple of inches away from her. She’s never been more grateful in her life for the steam rising from the water.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Utahime asks, throwing a metaphorical axe into Shoko’s plans as she slings one arm around her shoulders. She crashes into her personal space with all the grace of a bull in a china shop and Shoko’s left frozen in mid-air, arms half-raised up in the air.

“Wonderful,” she echoes when she remembers to breathe, forcing herself to not cave into the touch.

They both wait for the bubbles to come but the water remains still after a couple minutes of silence. Shoko eyes the dial plastered to the wall.

“I’ll—”

“I got it,” Shoko says, cutting her off. She clambers up the stairs to give herself something to do, gripping tight to the metal railing.

She pads the length of the deck to the dial and flicks it to the highest setting. The hot tub whirs to life immediately, bubbles rising on the surface. Utahime swirls the foam around in a circle as Shoko slips back into the water.

“This is why you’re my favorite, Shoko,” Utahime sighs happily. “Stay away from Gojo and Geto—they’re horrible influences.”

“Yeah,” she replies breathlessly. “Girls are better.”

Utahime hums her agreement at that. Another round of bubbles break the surface and Shoko sticks her foot in front of a jet to distract herself.

Shoko’s not looking at Utahime’s swimsuit and how perfectly it clings to her. She’s not looking at the bright red flush high on her cheeks as her eyes slide closed and she slips lower in the—

God, who does she think she is? Suguru with all this pining? As the only voice of reason in their class of three, she’s an affront to Jujutsu society with her behavior.

She needs a smoke.

Her hands are too damp to properly light a cigarette but she tries regardless, drying her hands on the towel she’s left by the poolside before fumbling through her bag for the box. She eyes the inside—there’s only a couple of sticks left and she slides one out, wedging it between her teeth.

It takes a bit of searching but she eventually finds her lighter buried at the bottom, and she rubs the peeling paint as she pulls it out.

“Let me,” Utahime says, appearing beside her and Shoko nearly drops the lighter into the water.

Shoko nods because she doesn’t trust her voice and Utahime pries the metal from her hands, flicking open the top.

She stares at it, puzzled, for a few moments as she tries to figure out how it works.

She’s halfway to getting an actual spark when a crash erupts in the distance and a shriek breaks the silence.

God. And right when it was getting good too. Shoko flicks the unlit cigarette to the ground and it reeks of unfinished business. She barely pauses to towel herself off as she pushes herself up and out of the water, slinging on her coat.

Utahime’s next to her in seconds, pulling on her own jacket. Shoko pauses to give the hot tub and what-could-have-been one last forlorn glance before stomping down the deck.

Duty calls and all that.

“The sunset over the tundra is beautiful,” Winter says once, “you have to see it,” and so Cinder lets her drag her up onto the roof and watches the sky sink into deeper and deeper blue with the love of her life.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking at,” she admits later, when the darkness has properly set in. Winter is lying on her back next to her, arms folded behind her head. It’s the most peaceful Cinder thinks she’s ever seen her look. She smiles once, small.

“The stars. Haven’t you ever seen the stars, Cinder?”

Cinder turns to look up with her, determined not to think about her face falling when she says, “Too much light pollution.”

That’s partially true. There was also that stretch of three or four years where she didn’t see the sky at all, but she chooses not to mention that.

Something brushes against her knee, Winter’s fingers skimming over the hem of her skirt, as though determined to touch her but afraid to reach out. “I’ll show you, then,” she says, soft, and Cinder has never wanted anything more.

The view from the window is incredible. Cinder sits in the shadow of the moon and counts the stars as she waits for Neo to come back, mumbling half-buried recollections of names under her breath. She hasn’t looked for the constellations Winter showed her in a long, long time, not since she was still so weak as to need comforting.

(Their last day together was spent on the highest roof they could find. Winter slipped her hand into Cinder’s — the hand that burned away — and said, “I think I’d like to do this with you forever,” and that was the only time Cinder heard anything close to childlike wonder in her voice.)

The General is enamoured with the stars too, it seems. From what Winter told her, at least. She tries to imagine him — stern, unforgiving General Ironwood — inviting Winter into his office to look at his star maps and finds she can’t quite see it. She never did like him.

“They’re calling it a lake now,” Cinder says. Winter curls her fingers around the hook of her prosthetic and tries her best not to picture Atlas as it was.

The stars don’t change, though. They lie in the snow together, long past the point where the temperature affects them anymore, and count the constellations. Cinder says she missed it; Cinder says she used to look for the stars Winter liked when she felt desperately, achingly alone. Winter doesn’t say anything at all.

Ship: Michimiya/Aihara from Haikyuu!!

say hello to tragic comphet yuri... in my notes i have written WHEN YOU WAKE UP NEXT TO HIM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT--

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

Aihara rolls the comm between her frozen fingers, skin gripping the metal. Time for her favorite part of the day.

“Moshi-moshi?” Michimiya’s voice rings out cheerfully through the headphones. Aihara grins at the sound and gives her chair a little twirl.

“Hiya, Yui-chan,” she chirps back. Michimiya’s resounding sigh is staticky across the line.

“Enough with that, Aihara-san!” she says, indignant. “I told you to call me Michimiya.”

“Sure, sure, Yui,” Aihara replies, just to get a rise out of her. She’s only ever seen her badge photo in the military databases but she can imagine her pout as she grumbles into the mic.

There’s not much entertainment though in the middle-of-nowhere-Antarctica. Aihara had taken the job for the pay and the complementary housing–rent is a killer nowadays–but the boredom and the isolation eats away at her some days. Most days.

“Anything new to report, Aihara-san?” Michimiya asks, ever the picture of perfect corporate policy. Aihara sighs loudly and exaggeratedly into the mic in response.

“Nothing but snow, Michimiya-san,” she says, glancing out the window. “Snow, snow and more snow.”

“Noted,” Michimiya replies drily and she hears the clacking of a keyboard on the other end.

“Tell me about that guy from last time,” Aihara says, kicking her feet up on the desk. It’ll do nothing but invite trouble but Aihara always finds entertainment in needling Michimiya, even if she’s the one left bleeding at the end of the day.

“S-S-Sawamura-kun?” Michimiya squeaks, barely able to get the name out. Aihara finds her stammering endearing.

“Your childhood friend,” she supplies helpfully. “Isn’t he returning from the war today or something?”

“You remembered,” Michimiya gawks and Aihara rolls her eyes. There’s nothing else in her brain so there’s more than enough free memory up there and besides, she remembers everything about Michimiya.

“Of course,” she laughs into the mic and then Michimiya is off, talking about her beloved Sawamura-kun and how he’s so reliable, Aihara, you don’t even understand and he has just the nicest biceps and also he’s really nice, like one time he offered to help her up after she fell in high school, isn’t that just the sweetest thing ever?

“A-A-And I’m finally going to ask him out today when he comes back!” Michimiya practically yells into the mic. Aihara raises one eyebrow at that.

Sawamura-kun sounds like the most basic-ass, cookie-cutter boy-next-door Aihara has ever heard of. Not that she’d ever tell any of this to Michimiya and shatter her starry-eyed dreams.

But she bets that Sawamura-kun doesn’t call her half as frequently as she does–even if it is technically for business reasons–and she bets that Sawamura-kun doesn’t know how to get a rise out of Michimiya or pry a laugh from her lips when she’s feeling particularly down. She flexes her forearms in the glass pane and thinks she could take any Sawamura-kun down in an arm wrestle.

“I hope everything works out for you two,” Aihara grinds out between her teeth because at the end of the day, Sawamura-kun is Michimiya’s beloved since childhood, is a fully-fleshed person across the globe and Aihara is little more than her work pen pal.

“Thank you,” Michimiya mumbles before she takes a deep breath. “Mao-chan!”

Aihara blinks, stunned, before letting loose a loud laugh.

“Thank you too, Yui-chan.”

“For what?”

“For making my day a little brighter,” Aihara says, grinning. She picks up a loose pad at her desk, doodling little hearts onto the front like a grade-schooler. “Now don’t you have a date you’re about to be late for?”

“Ack!” Michimiya squeaks, checking the time. “You’re right. Gotta go, I’ll check in tomorrow!”

She ends the transmission with a click and Aihara is left at the end of the line with nothing but the snow and the silence to keep her company.

Ship: Catalina/Celia from the webtoon Osora

the term museum is used quite liberally in this fill...

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“And here,” the guard says, gesturing broadly at a bronze vase that looks exactly like the last three they just passed. “Is the third vase that King Calveras had made during his reign forty years ago…”

The guard glances at her, probing for some sort of reaction, and Catalina gives it to him, smiling as wide as she can muster given the situation. He nods gruffly, satisfied, and moves onto the next identical vase.

She feels safe at least–he’s an old, spindly man who keeps going on and on about his wife and their three lovely daughters–but she’s bored out of her mind. She hit peak boredom two hours in and now, edging onto hour five, she fears she’s on the verge of her sanity.

Catalina traces the patterns on the wall for the hundredth time and prays for salvation. Where’s Celia? She’s always had a knack for appearing when she needs her most–it’s one of the many, many charming qualities about her.

As if she’s summoned her, Celia herself rounds the bend, looking bored out of her mind. The fur coat she’s wearing has slipped off one shoulder, revealing a bare patch of skin on her shoulder. Her dress is slit at the thigh and hugs her body tight.

Thump. Catalina’s fist draws wrinkles in her shirt and she tries to remember when it became so hard to breathe. Thump-thump.

Celia turns now and finally spots her, the shock on her face bleeding into delight.

Help, Catalina sends with her eyes and her posture and every last cell in her body and like always, Celia receives the message loud and clear.

“Hey!” Celia calls, lifting one hand up in a greeting. Even the way she moves is mesmerizing, her fingers, thin and beautiful, rolling up from her palm. “Great timing. My brother’s looking for you–important prince stuff, you know.”

Celia gives the guard a knowing look, one hand already wrapped around Catalina’s arm.

“Sorry to cut your tour short–I’ll be borrowing her,” she says and then she takes off running, Catalina’s wrist in her palm. She doesn’t stop until they’re five corridors down, stopping in the middle of a seemingly deserted hallway.

“What are you–”

“Shh!” Celia hisses, one finger pressed against her lips. She looks left and right before reaching for the spine of one of the books. The whole shelf swings open and Celia pulls her through the gap before it slides shut behind them.

Celia laughs when they’re finally in the clear, sweeping her hair out of her face with her palm.

“Doing okay, princess?” she asks, glancing at her.

Catalina lets loose a mortified squeak because she’s incapable of saying anything else at the moment.

“Yeah, that old geezer likes to talk too much. Drove me and Osora mad as kids.”

Catalina nods, tongue-tied and fumbles to regain some sort of control for the situation.

“S-So, where’s Osora?”

Celia blinks at her, confused.

“Osora?” she echoes.

“Yeah, you said he needed me for important… prince-stuff?”

Celia tosses her head back and laughs–it’s a beautiful, sweet thing and Catalina is enchanted as she watches. She wipes the beginnings of a tear from the corner of her eye.

“That was a lie to get you out of there, babe,” Celia says, leaning against the shelf. “It’s just you and me in here–don’t worry.”

Catalina feels her heart race inside her chest. Celia’s words play in her head on loop. Just you and me. Don’t worry.

Catalina wishes the message would spread to the rest of her nervous system.

“I’m not worried,” she says too quickly and Celia eyes her carefully before shrugging her shoulders. “S-So what is this place?”

“My hook-up spot,” Celia replies casually, like she’s discussing the weather, and Catalina nearly combusts on the spot.

“Y-Y-Your what?!” she squeaks. Celia spends two seconds analyzing her before she promptly bursts into laughter.

It’s mortifying. It’s gratifying. She wishes she would do it again.

“Oh my gosh, relax,” she says, pointing at her. “You should see your face right now. That’s not why I brought you here, chill. I just needed a quick spot to get away.”

“Ah,” Catalina replies carefully and tries to ease some of the tension out of her shoulders. She fails miserably, stiff as a board. “Ah.”

Celia must notice some of her panic because she sighs and tugs at her wrist again.

“Come on, there’s an exit through the main section of the library,” she says, pulling her forward. “We can go find Osora and Arias–rob them blind in a game of dominoes.”

Catalina nods mutely and lets her guide her. As they leave the little secluded corner, Catalina wishes forlornly that they could come back again but under a different subtext. Regardless, she shakes her head, steels herself and lets Celia guide her towards the exit.

As they cross the threshold, Catlaina wishes–not for the first time–that she was engaged to the other Calveras sibling.

Ship: Farcille from Dungeon Meshi

i don't know how deep space works... please accept this hand-wavey description

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

“Good morning,” Marcille says brightly, stretching her arms out above her head. Or stretching as best as she can given the confines of this crappy, styrofoam-like astronaut suit.

“Actually, it isn’t morning, given the position of–”

Marcille slams the door shut in Laios’ face before he can even reach the end of that sentence. She takes a deep breath, pictures deer bounding in a field of endless grass and tries again.

“As I was saying,” she says sweetly, turning back to the portrait of Falin that’s taped to her closet doubling as a room. “Good morning. I hope the weather’s as nice wherever you are as it is here.”

Marcille risks a glance at the inky black expanse outside the window and lets out a wry chuckle.

“Well, I guess there is no weather, beside the freaky lighting storm Laios won’t stop talking about but you know what I mean.” She floats closer to the frame and tries to picture Falin beside her, sitting on her sleeping bag and telling her that it’ll all be okay. “You always knew what I meant–”

“You talking to the picture again?”

Chilchuck’s hovering by her doorway, the traitorous thing having slid open again. Marcille wishes not for the first time that this spaceship had locks. Seriously, they have an airlock so why not regular locks too?

“I wans’t asking,” Marcille says with as much patience she can muster before slamming the door shut. Again.

She turns back to the photo, her patience fraying at the ends.

“Now, where were we? Ah, that’s right, the weather. I hope–”

“Yohohohoho, breakfast’s ready!” Senshi calls, throwing her door wide open. The metal thing squeaks on its rails, threatening to come loose. Marcille really will kill everyone in this spaceship if that happens. She needs her privacy, or at least some semblance of it.

“Oh… Chilchuck mentioned you were talking to the ghost in the picture again! You know, even if you’re a young’un with an active imagination, you really shouldn’t–”

“SHE’S NOT DEAD!” Marcille shouts and promptly shoves him out of the room. At least zero-gravity’s on her side and he goes tumbling easily. Marcille slams the door shut behind it and holds it against the wall herself in a makeshift lock.

She turns back to–

To–

Ugh. Marcille resigns herself to her fate and bangs her head against the glass.

Alright, call her crazy, she’s talking to the picture. Whatever, she’s done weirder things. Probably.

And this is the only thing keeping her sane among this crowd of hooligans in deep space at this point.

It has been 129 days since Falin disappeared in a beam of light and Marcille misses her like it’s day one.

“We’re gonna find you,” Marcille tells the grainy pixels, the colors faded from the journey. She says the words like she’s trying to speak them into existence. “We’re gonna find you, Falin. Wait for me.”

Ship: Tyzula from Avatar: The Last Airbender

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

“I don’t like the way that fish is looking at me,” Azula says, jabbing her finger at a tank. Ty Lee sighs, plasters a strained smile onto her face and follows her gaze.

The fish in question stares at them both blankly, one giant eye following them across the room, its mouth set into a firm line.

“It’s a fish, Azula,” she replies tightly. Azula huffs and fold her arms across her chest in response.

Sometimes (all the time), Azula reminds her of a child that never got the chance to grow up. A child that grew up too fast–are those two the same thing? Azula can wipe an entire army out with the pass of her hand but loses in a battle of wits against a literal fish.

“Come on,” Ty Lee says, gripping her hand and praying to any gods above that she doesn’t pull away. “Let’s check out the jellyfish–aren’t those your favorite?”

Her luck holds. Azula allows herself to be guided–not dragged, she’s particular on the semantics–away and the aquarium’s fish display lives to see another day.

She takes her to the jellyfish tank which, predictably, is an instant hit. Azula watches, mesmerized, as their tentacles twist and turn in the light. Their bodies float up and down in small waves across the glass and Azula watches the little sparks between their limbs with fascination.

Unfortunately, a crowd of grade-schoolers quickly bullies their way to the front and Azula looks ready to burn them all to a crisp for the distraction.

Ty Lee clenches her teeth together and practically throws her into the gift store to distract her.

“Look, Azula,” she says, reaching for the nearest item and slapping it onto her. “Doesn’t this suit you perfectly? Because you’re perfect?”

Azula examines the t-shirt carefully in the mirror, twisting this way and that as Ty Lee holds it up to her collarbone.

She turns and the lighting must be poor in here because her cheeks look dusted pink as she glances at Ty Lee.

“You think so?” she asks quietly and there’s so much vulnerability tied into the words that Ty Lee nearly stumbles.

“I-I know so,” she says, recovering quickly. Azula grins at her, truly manic, truly Azula, and turns to the cashier.

“I’ll buy the entire stock of YOU’RE A RAY OF SUNSHINE t-shirts.”

Ty Lee smiles to smother her grimace.

Fandom: Hokuto no Ken
Ship: Mamiya/Airi
Wordcount: 933

The church steeple stands tall above the abandoned town, the bell housed within cracked and fallen from its perch. No more than a blip on the map, this town hadn't had a name for some time now, victim to the same fate as many places in the wasteland: anything that survived the bombs fell to bandits and raiders.

Mamiya is acutely aware of how similar she and her crew are to those raiders right now. She kicks in the front door, rusted lock buckling quickly and bullethole-riddled doors creaking inwards. On her signal, the scavenging crew files into the abandoned church, armed members taking the lead and surveying the area with crossbows at the ready. Only when the perimeter sweep confirms that the church is empty and free of traps does Mamiya relax her guard.

Airi steps up from the back of the group and takes Mamiya's hand in hers, squeezing it slightly. "I'm going to join in on the search, okay?" Mamiya hesitates slightly, but she knows what this means to Airi. She had been the one to propose stopping here, pointing out that raiders would have skipped over artifacts with cultural value. This was another facet of her work in the village, helping to expand her yarn of mythological figures of the past.

Mamiya squeezes her hand back. "Just don't wander off, alright?" They'd all put up with loss in these harsh times. She couldn't use that as an excuse to be overprotective. Airi smiles and darts off to the church's pews, checking each seat for salvageable missalettes.

Mamiya stares after her for a while before her focus shifts to the central altar. She was never really a religious person-- religion was one of many things that her family had foregone when survival became the utmost priority-- but the building still invokes a sense of reverence in her. For as long as she remembered she had been enamored with the idea of a wedding, and even now that feeling still had sway over her.

It didn't take much for her to visualize what that might look like in her mind's eye. The church may never look like what it did in its prime, but with a few weeks of work with her townspeople could clean it right up. Multicolored light would pour through the repaired stained glass, pews overflowing with everyone she knows from the village. Soft music would play-- maybe the church organs couldn't be repaired, but there was always the choir and even Johnny with his guitar-- and the general murmurs in the room would hush when she walks in. She is absolutely radiant, the white shawl covering her face both making everything appear to shimmer and obscuring her tears from the audience. Slowly she would walk forward, not even noticing the dress's train dragging behind her and she gets closer and closer to the altar...

The vision slowly dissipates. For as much time as she spent in this idle daydream, she had never put much thought into who would be waiting for her at the altar. It was never an important part of the fantasy. She distracts herself, moving on autopilot as she rifles through drawers in the narthex for anything of value. Her fingers fumble through sodden papers, likely some kind of church bulletin from the before-times. Many years ago she had been witness to a couple's wedding, only for the ceremony to be abruptly ended by marauders. She had done her best to intervene and try to save them but nearly lost her own life in the process.

She can't make out the words on the page, but she cannot tell if this is because the paper has deteriorated or her vision is out-of-focus.

It had been a pair of men who saved her from her premature end. Many years had passed since their lives had intersected, but thinking on it for too long still makes her weepy. At different points in time she had considered either of these men as the ideal person to be opposite her at that altar, but even with the clarity of hindsight she couldn't say if that would be a fulfilling idea. By all means they should fit into the fantasy-- they were handsome, chivalrous, living their lives to defend others-- but the notion of being united with either of them didn't fill her with the joy that she knew she should feel. Something was missing.

She feels herself on the precipice of a familiar pit of despair. No, there's no time for that now. She looks up from her papers to Airi, who flits about the church with an understated grace. Carrying sheathes of loose paper under her arm, she meticulously flips through books in the back of each seat, each finger nimbly parting the pages. She reminds Mamiya of the first flowers to bloom in their village, delicate stems and petals that pushed apart the cracked earth and bloomed with a radiance that many had forgotten was possible. It had been a long undertaking to reach that point, many months of labor and love spent preparing the wasteland to allow the plants thrive. Looking at her now, you would never guess that many years ago Mamiya had to guide her by the arm as she shuffled through the village, walking made difficult due to her atrophied vision.

Mamiya slams the drawer shut, catching the people nearby her by surprise. Maybe she would never find that special someone, but for now she had a village to run and people to protect. And that would be enough for her.

Ship: Momojirou from My Hero Academia

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

Jirou’s dizzy on the comedown after the performance, the cheers still throbbing in her ear. The face-tape on her mic is peeling, her skin is sticky with sweat and the shoulder strap of her guitar is carving an angry red mark into her skin.

None of it matters though. She’s high on the adrenaline, system pumped full of it. She practically stumbles into Momo’s arms and that does nothing to slow her racing heart.

“You did it!” Momo calls happily, hopelessly unaware of the fact that she’s cradling Jirou in her arms, hopelessly unaware of the effect she has on her. “I’m so proud of you, Jirou! You did it, you really did it! I knew you could, obviously, but you did it!”

Jirou soaks in the praise like it’s sunlight.

Simp, Kaminari mouths at her from the corner.

Asshole, she sends back and he laughs, holding both hands up in the air.
Her knees go slack, the exhaustion finally catching up to her. Momo buckles under the weight but doesn’t break, digging her elbows into her cheek to keep them both upright.

Kaminari gives her a knowing look from across the stage.

And right. Right. The whole point of this thing was to give her courage–to confess to the person who stirred her heart in the first place. She sucks in a deep breath, steels her resolve and stands up straight.

“Yao-momo,” she says and Momo blinks up at her, expectant. There’s still glitter inked onto the corner of her eye and it twinkles back at her under the stage lights.

“Yes?” she replies innocently.

“Yao-momo,” she says again for lack of better options and god, she really should have planned this out better, should have at least written the outlines for a speech. All that build-up and for what?

“Is everything okay, Jirou?” Momo asks, studying her carefully.

“Yao-momo,” Jirou says for the third time, stuck like a disc left on loop. Because she can sing a hundred songs about the girl she likes but she can’t bring herself to tell her.

Kaminari makes obscene chicken-flapping motions behind her back, completely unsympathetic to her gay plight, and that finally does it. She swallows her fear and pushes the words out. They roll off her tongue and plop onto the space between them–more of a whimper than a bang.

“I-It was all for you,” she stammers out.

Time stops. Kaminari’s jaw goes slack, Tokoyami’s hands still from where they’re packing up his guitar, even Bakugo’s eyebrow hikes exactly one millimeter up on his forehead in what she can pretend is an impressed gesture.

And then Momo breaks the silence.

“Yeah!” she hollers proudly. “It was for all of us!”

Bakugo scoffs and turns away, Tokoyami snaps his case shut and hauls it onto his back. Kaminari’s full-on rolling on the floor now and she kicks him in the stomach without missing a beat.

“Y-Yeah,” she replies weakly, offering her a thumbs-up. Momo returns it two-fold.

Jirou sighs and lets Momo guide her out the back exit, already flashing her parents’ solid-black credit card that she’ll use to cover the all-you-can-eat barbeque.

Oh well, she thinks, watching her smile under the stagelights. There’s always next time.

Edited (BYE i forgot to include the line that inspired this fic in the first place) 2024-08-31 04:19 (UTC)

Cute!! 😁 Azula was so funny for that.

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