#A BAD DAY FOR GRUMPY GOAT

[ask-de-writer]

I WOULD LIKE TO THANK

@inhumaninterest for READING, LIKING and REBLOGGING

A BAD DAY FOR GRUMPY GOAT

An MLP Fan Fiction

[lolobeey]

Crash and Burn (1) - Partnered

Because juggling one WIP clearly wasn’t chaotic enough: please enjoy a grumpy/sunshine buddy cop duo with murder, trauma, and sexual tension in equal measure.

Pairing: Detective!Bucky x Partner!Reader

Series Summary: You just made detective. Your first case? A cold one — missing woman, dead cop, and a cover-up that smells worse than precinct coffee. Your new partner is James Buchanan Barnes: metal arm, resting murder face, zero interest in teamwork. You talk too much, he broods too hard, and together you’re one bad day from a workplace incident report. But the case isn’t as cold as it looks. And if you don’t start trusting each other soon, you won’t live long enough to solve it.

Warnings: slow burn, buddy cop romance, angst, eventual smut, a bit of grumpy x sunshine, mentions of death / off-screen character death, strong language - stronger jawlines

Word Count: 4.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST

You’re halfway through a suspiciously warm donut and pretending not to panic over the new department-issued laptop that hates you on a cellular level.

The thing keeps making a sound like it’s struggling to breathe and refusing to recognize your password like it's personally offended you made detective. Which, fine — maybe you're a little offended too. Not about the title, but the timing. First day in Homicide, first time sitting at a desk with drawers and your name on a placard, and this is how it starts: with passive-aggressive technology and a lopsided jelly filling trying to escape down your wrist.

You wipe your fingers on a napkin and try not to look too obviously lost.

You’ve been on the force long enough to earn this seat. Your stats are clean. You’ve got the de-escalation record of a hostage negotiator and the kind of instinct that once made a guy in Vice call you a "crime whisperer" — right before you tased him for getting in your face during a domestic dispute call.

Still, none of that keeps your stomach from flipping like it’s auditioning for the Olympics.

You shift in the chair that’s technically yours now. Not borrowed, not loaned. Not somebody else's.

It’s weird.

Across the bullpen, people glance your way — some congratulatory, others speculative. You know how it goes. Every promotion comes with eyes. Some waiting to see you fail, others waiting to see if they can ride your coattails. You give a two-finger wave to no one in particular and return to whispering threats at your laptop like that’s ever helped anyone.

It’s not just the promotion that’s making your pulse flutter. It’s the weight of change. The rhythm shift. You spent your whole career building trust, beat by beat, post by post. Patrol. Vice. Now Homicide. You worked your way up like a damn mountain goat — not pretty, not smooth, but determined.

Your desk still smells like the last person who sat here. Carter, probably. Cigarettes and menthol lip balm. There’s a hairline crack in the corner of the monitor and a sticky note half-peeled from the edge of the drawer that just says "FUCK OFF HOSKINS." No idea who or what that is. Might be a warning. Might be an inside joke you’re not yet inside of.

The hum of the bullpen is familiar and not. Phones ringing, someone muttering about reports, the mechanical sound of the printer you already hate.

That’s when Captain Sam Wilson opens his office door and says your name in That Tone™.

The “I’m-about-to-ruin-your-day-but-with-love” tone.

You freeze with your fingers still mid-type (or mid-prayer, honestly, trying to remember if you turned on the VPN). Then you push away from your desk and follow him in.

You hurriedly brush powdered sugar off your shirt and wipe your hands down the thighs of your slacks. Sam doesn’t care about your donut crimes, but you care. First impressions in Homicide matter. Even with someone who’s technically been your boss for a while.

His office smells like cheap coffee and responsibility. The blinds are half open, slats angled to slice sunlight into soft bars across the floor. His desk is clean — unnervingly so. A few commendations hang on the wall, none of them flashy. Just… earned. Quiet power.

He gestures to the seat across from him. You sit, pulse picking up.

“Congrats,” he says. “Promotion’s official. You’ve earned it.”

You open your mouth to say thanks, maybe throw in a joke to cut the tension, but he lifts a finger.

“You’re getting a head start on your caseload.”

A beat.

“Unofficially,” he adds, carefully sliding a thin folder across the desk.

You blink. “Already?”

“Think of it as a welcome gift.”

You hesitate. Then pick up the folder.

“Cold case,” he says. “Not in rotation. Disappeared into storage years ago. Someone recently sent this to my desk.”

“Anonymous tip?”

“Anonymous photo.”

You open the folder and pause.

Avery Thompson.

Missing eight years. Legal aid clinic. Lived alone. No body. No leads. A dead case if you ever saw one. But paper-clipped to the front is something new.

A recent photo. Blurry. A crowd shot at a street fair — but in the middle of it, almost missed in the movement, is her face. A little older. A little more tired. But it very well could be her.

Your eyebrows lift. “You ever promote someone just to drop them in the deep end?”

“Only the ones I like.”

You smile despite yourself. And you’re still processing that when there’s a crisp knock at the door.

Sam glances over your shoulder. “And don’t worry, you’re not working it alone.”

The door squeaks open behind you.

You feel it before you see it. The shift in air pressure. The sudden heaviness, like the oxygen was reconsidering its contract.

James Buchanan Barnes.

New badge clipped to his belt, shirt tucked like it had never dared wrinkle. Hair tied back. Jaw set. One glove on — the left hand. Metal underneath, if the rumors were true.

He’s taller than you expected. Broader too. His face is sharp in that movie star, old-photo kind of way — all angles and quiet. And when his eyes land on you — briefly, coolly — it’s like you’re furniture. Like he’s assessing exit points and blind spots, and you don’t even register.

Your brain, ever the traitor, short-circuits for one hot second.

Of course, he's hot.

Cool.

Captain Wilson gestures between you. “Detective Barnes is returning from extended medical leave. He’s got history with the file.”

“History,” Barnes says, voice low, unreadable. “My old partner caught the original report.”

You already know the name before Sam says it.

“Steve Rogers,” he confirms. “He and Barnes worked the early leads until the file was closed.”

Your stomach tightens.

Steve Rogers. A legend. A loss. That name still lives in this building like a ghost — spoken soft and careful, like people are scared it’ll echo too loud.

Sam looks between you both. “I want this quiet. Off the books for now. No press, no noise. You two are the only ones working it. If anything smells off—”

“We bring it to you,” you say.

“Exactly.” He stands. “Don’t let him scare you off.”

You snort. “I don’t scare easy.”

“That’s why I picked you.”

You rise, folder in hand. Barnes is already halfway out the door — no handshake, no greeting. Just gone.

You stare after him, then mutter under your breath, “Well. If I’m gonna get ignored, might as well be by a man who looks like he could casually bench press the department’s vending machine. Fully stocked.”

Sam chuckles behind you but says nothing.

The bullpen doesn’t go silent when you walk out after Barnes, but it shifts. The noise thins. Conversations soften. You feel eyes moving toward you — then quickly away, like no one wants to admit they’re curious.

Not about you. About him.

Detective Barnes walks like someone who was made, not born — precise, heavy, locked-in. He doesn’t move like a cop. He moves like a weapon that learned how to walk upright. Three steps ahead of you, hands at his sides, jaw set like a trap.

He doesn’t need an introduction. He’s been here before. Every cop on this floor knows his name. Half of them probably have theories about why he left. The other half probably have nightmares about why he’s back.

You’re the new one. Technically promoted as of 9 am, given a badge with your name on it, and a chair that still feels like it belongs to someone else. You're aware of every eye that slides toward you and then pretends it didn't.

Your footsteps sound too loud behind him. Your file feels too thin. Your shoulder holster itches like it doesn’t quite fit. You’ve worn it for years — but never in Homicide.

You find your desk and slide into the seat like it doesn’t matter that it squeaks or that the monitor is cracked at the corner. You belong here now. Probably. Maybe.

Barnes doesn’t sit. He just stands at the desk across from yours like he’s guarding a perimeter. Shoulders squared, weight evenly balanced, spine too straight to be comfortable. Rigid silence and haunted war-veteran posture.

You glance up at him, trying for casual. “You good?”

No response.

He doesn’t even blink. You’re not even sure he heard you.

You glance at the file in your hands, then back up at him. Still nothing.

Okay then.

Before the awkward can go nuclear, a voice cuts through the static.

“Barnes, welcome back. You still brooding or did you pick up a new hobby in physical therapy?”

You turn.

Darcy Lewis is leaning over a file cabinet like she owns it. Granola bar in one hand, lanyard looped three times around her wrist, and an expression like she’s already read every file in the building and memorized the parts that matter.

She’s technically forensics and records, but everyone knows Darcy’s real specialty is data with attitude. If there’s something weird, something buried, or something half-whispered, she’ll find it and probably make a spreadsheet about it.

Barnes gives her a barely-there nod. It might be hello. Might be a death threat.

Darcy, unfazed, grins wider. “Still a man of many words, I see.”

Then her gaze flicks to you. Her eyes brighten, a little mischievous spark lighting up her entire face.

“You must be the newbie. You’re different than I pictured.”

You blink. “You pictured me?”

“Sure. Everyone’s been talking.” She tears off another bite of granola bar and waves it vaguely in the air.

“You’re the rookie from the Hot Dog Cart Incident. Crash, right?”

You groan. “I was hoping that name would die in Patrol.”

“Wouldn’t bet on that,” Darcy says, delighted. “Not after you wrecked a patrol car, two scooters, a newspaper stand, and a man’s entire lunch business.”

Barnes turns his head toward you. Slowly. Methodically.

You glance at him, then back to Darcy. “And still made the arrest.”

“I heard you were covered in mustard.”

“And glory,” you shoot back.

Darcy snorts. “Yeah, well. Nice to meet you, Crash.” She winks.

“Catch ya later, Barnes.”

And just like that, she vanishes, slipping into a nearby records room like a caffeine-fueled witch.

You’re left sitting beside a man who hasn’t said a full sentence to you since you met, but is now definitely aware you were once taken out by a hot dog cart.

You glance at Barnes again.

He’s now sitting in his chair, but barely. Upright. Back straight. Hands on his knees like he’s waiting for the next drill sergeant’s command. Not twitchy. Not anxious. Just… contained.

Like whatever lives in his chest has been locked up and labeled Do Not Open.

The silence stretches.

You open the file Sam gave you, mostly just to look like you’re doing something. Names, addresses, incident reports. Paperwork you should be diving into with your full attention.

But your eyes keep flicking up.

You wonder if he remembers your name. Or if he even cares. Maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t think you’ve earned your place at this desk. Maybe he’s still seeing Steve Rogers every time he looks at that file.

You hate that your brain keeps circling back to how good he looks — in that cold, ex-military, do-not-engage kind of way. Broad shoulders. Square jaw. That stubble like he shaved yesterday and immediately resented it. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s not the point.

Still, there’s something about the way he sits. Like he hasn’t rested in years.

It’s not like you haven’t worked with guys like this before. Usually they crack a joke eventually. Try to test you, push your buttons, see if you’re tough enough to sit at the table. You know that game. You’ve played it and won.

Barnes doesn’t push anything.

He just doesn’t see you. Not really.

And for some reason, that makes it worse.

You tap your pen against the edge of the file and try not to take it personally. Maybe he’s not an asshole. Maybe he’s just rusty. Or tired. Or broken in ways that don’t heal.

You’re just about to speak again when a voice cuts in like nails on a chalkboard:

“Well, look what the wind dragged out of the evidence locker.”

You don’t need to look up.

That voice is permanently etched into your brain like a poorly done tattoo.

John Walker.

Of course.

You resist the urge to groan. Barely.

“Didn’t know they were letting Patrol mascots into Homicide,” he says, strolling up with that signature smugness and way-too-clean uniform.

“Didn’t know they were letting insecure men wear that much hair gel on duty,” you shoot back.

He grins like you complimented him.

“Crash. Still got the mouth. Good to know some things survive promotion.”

You fold your arms. “Still got the superiority complex?”

“Please. I earned it.” He flashes a badge with gold trim. “Seniority.”

Of course.

You knew he’d bring it up. He’d been your Field Training Officer when you first joined the force, before being quickly promoted out of the department. He likes to boast how he’s the one who trained a star officer, but in reality, he sat in the passenger seat and made you get him coffee for a month.

He turns to Barnes with mock surprise. “Didn’t expect to see you back, Barnes. What, you run out of dark corners to lurk in?”

Barnes doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at him, stone-cold.

Walker’s grin grows when he notices the file in your hand and Barnes sitting across from you.

“Wait a second—don’t tell me.” He points between the two of you. “You’re partners now?”

You say nothing. You don’t have to.

He laughs. “Man, they really just threw you in the deep end, huh? Hope you brought floaties.”

You open your mouth — something sharp, something just this side of fireable — but Barnes beats you to it.

“Let’s go.”

His voice is low and even, but there’s an edge to it. Not anger. Not threat. Just final.

You glance at him. He’s already standing. Already moving.

You look back at Walker and smile, all teeth.

“See you at the top.”

And then you follow Barnes out of the bullpen — shoulders square, file tucked under your arm, stomach burning with something that feels suspiciously like adrenaline.

Let the cold case begin.

---

Barnes doesn’t tell you where you’re going.

You try — casually at first.

“So… are we headed to a specific lead, or is this just a scenic tour?”

Silence.

No grunt, no side-eye. Just the steady click of the turn signal and the hum of the engine.

You glance at him, trying to read the profile — stone-cut jaw, stubble like he shaved yesterday with regret, expression locked somewhere between deadpan and “don’t ask.” His hand is tight on the wheel. The right one. The other’s gloved and motionless, resting near the gearshift like it’s not entirely his.

You try again.

“Blink twice if we’re about to break into a place I’m supposed to pretend I didn’t know about.”

Still nothing. Not even a muscle twitch.

He drives like he’s on a clock only he can hear — precise, no wasted movement, every lane change premeditated. Windows cracked just enough to let in the October air, cold and dry.

You settle back in your seat, staring out at the city as it scrolls by.

The silence stretches so long you start to spiral a little. Maybe he actually doesn’t talk. Maybe this is a test. Maybe he’s the kind of guy who communicates only in nods and quiet guilt.

Maybe Sam is punishing you for something.

Finally, just to fill the space, you mutter, “For the record, I’m fun on stakeouts.”

Nothing.

“I bring snacks. I ask insightful questions. I don’t hog the radio.”

Still nothing.

You glance sideways again. He’s not tense exactly. But contained. Coiled. Like someone wound too tight for too long.

You sigh, give up, and slump deeper into the seat.

“Cool. Hot and broody. Love that for me.”

That gets you something.

A subtle shift of his mouth. Not a smile. Not really. But close enough to make you feel stupidly victorious.

You decide that’s a win and open the case file.

There’s not much. A few witness statements from her old neighbors, all dated within the first week of her disappearance. Two of them contradict each other. One says she was seen getting into a car around 9:40 pm. The other insists she came home alone, groceries in hand, around the same time.

There’s a flyer for her missing persons alert. A note in the margin: 

No official suspect. No forensic hits.

And that’s it.

You blink. This is it? No deeper file? No full casebook, no internal review?

Barnes pulls into a narrow side street in Sunset Park, slowing in front of an old hardware store with half the letters burned out on the sign.

He cuts the engine.

The silence hangs for a second longer. Then he finally looks at you.

“Don’t say anything weird.”

You blink. “Define weird.”

But he’s already out of the car.

The hardware store smells like grease and dust and memories that don’t want to be stirred. Barnes walks in like he’s been here before. You follow, still unsure where you’re going until he stops at the back counter.

The man behind it doesn’t flinch — doesn’t smile either. He’s built like a blunt object and has the posture of someone who doesn’t want to talk.

“Ernie Delgado?” Barnes says.

The man sighs. “Figured I’d see you again someday.”

“Last time you talked to Steve Rogers. You told him something off the record.”

“Yeah. And then he died.”

Ernie doesn’t say it like an accusation. More like a warning.

“Avery Thompson. Your old tenant,” Barnes presses. “She was asking the wrong questions. You said that back then.”

Ernie shakes his head. “Poor girl. Caught the scent of something and thought she could do it smart — document everything, build a file, push it through legal channels. But she didn’t realize who she was circling.”

“Did you?” you prompt, earning a casual glare from Barnes.

Ernie hesitates. “She… she met with someone. Not often. Once, maybe twice. He never gave a name. Government type. Not local. Steve asked me about her meeting spots. I told him the guy drove a dark town car and never got out when he picked her up. Like he didn’t want to be seen with her.”

“What else?” Barnes presses.

“He wasn’t the only one watching her. I saw a second car tailing them once. Plates were swapped. Military decals. I told Steve and he got this look… like he already knew. Or was afraid he was right.”

“And then?” you ask.

Ernie shrugs. “He left. Said he had one more conversation to have before he dropped it.”

You and Barnes both freeze.

Barnes speaks, voice flat. “He said that to me too.”

“I didn’t hear from him again,” Ernie says. “Didn’t know what happened until it was too late. Didn’t want to know, if I’m being honest.”

You study Ernie’s face — the guilt, the years weighing on him. You know that look. You’ve seen it in your own mirror.

“It never stops mattering,” you say softly.

He looks at you.

“What?”

“The thing you didn’t say. The thing you could’ve done. Doesn’t matter if it would’ve helped or not. You still carry it. Every day. Every time you look at your reflection or the hole someone left behind.”

Ernie goes quiet.

Barnes does too.

You’re not even sure why you said it like that. Maybe because it’s true. Maybe because you know what it’s like to feel like you’re five minutes late to the moment that mattered.

Ernie finally nods toward a shelf. “There’s a box under that cabinet. Steve left it with me. Said not to open it unless someone came looking for him. I kept it. Couldn’t bring myself to toss it.”

You retrieve the box. It’s small. Heavy. Unlabeled.

“Thanks,” Barnes says, already turning away.

You nod. “For what it’s worth… you did more than most.”

“Yeah,” Ernie mutters. “And it still wasn’t enough.”

---

The box sits between you and Barnes on the center console like it might explode. Small. Heavy. Unlabeled. A presence all its own.

He hasn’t touched it since Ernie handed it over. Just let it sit there like a bomb someone else might defuse. He’s staring out the windshield, knuckles pale on the steering wheel, jaw tight enough to crack teeth.

You sip your terrible gas station coffee. Bitter. Burned. Just enough to keep your mouth busy while you try to figure out what to say next.

Five seconds of silence pass. Then ten. Then twenty.

You cave.

“So… are we gonna open it, or are we pretending we’re on a stakeout with an incredibly tense paperweight?”

Nothing.

“Seriously,” you prod. “Is this a brooding exercise, or are you waiting for it to hatch?”

Still no response. Not even a twitch. The silence from him is so practiced it almost feels cruel.

You sigh and reach for the latch. His voice slices through the air, low and sharp.

"Don’t touch it."

You raise an eyebrow. "Pretty sure Ernie gave it to both of us."

His glare cuts over, cool and lethal. But you hold it. Don’t flinch.

Finally, he moves. Opens the latch himself, slow and deliberate, like it costs him. The lid creaks. The contents inside are aged but carefully packed: a black spiral notebook, an old precinct group photo, a flash drive in a cracked case, a manila folder labeled A.T., and a faded sticky note, curled at the edges.

Barnes stares at it.

You lean in. “What does it say?”

He doesn’t answer. Just picks it up and hands it to you like it burns.

The note reads: Check shift logs. Nov 2. Cross-ref 721-B. Red ink = wrong name.

You frown. “What’s 721-B?”

“Old witness form template,” he mutters. “Filed in cold cases before the department went digital.”

You flip the note over. Nothing else.

“So Steve thought one of the original witness names was fake.”

“He knew it,” Barnes mutters.

“And this was his backup plan? A breadcrumb trail?”

He nods, jaw tight. “He thought someone would care.”

You glance at him. “You mean you.”

He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t have to.

You reach into the box and pull out the notebook. The cover is soft from use, corners bent, the spiral a little rusted. You flip through it — Steve’s handwriting, neat and compulsive. Names, arrows, dates, short phrases, and patterns that loop back in on themselves like he was trying to catch something too slippery to hold.

“He was building something,” you murmur. “Trying to reconstruct her last few weeks. Clients, locations, conversations. He’s got a dozen entries for ‘H.M.’ and ‘S-26.’”

Barnes leans in slightly, reading over your shoulder.

“H.M. is probably Harold Marks,” he says. “Avery’s last known client. Worked private security. Got stabbed three days before she vanished. Refused to press charges.”

You glance at him. “How do you remember that?”

“I don’t,” he says. “Steve did.”

There’s a bitterness in his voice that cuts deeper than you expect. Guilt woven through every word.

You shut the notebook. Let the weight of it rest in your lap.

“You know,” you say lightly, “this whole thing would go a lot faster if you stopped treating me like a stranger who wandered into your grief party.”

His head snaps toward you. “This isn’t a party.”

“No kidding.” You meet his eyes. “But you’re not the only person who’s ever lost someone. And I’m not here to steal your tragedy. I’m here because Sam asked me to be. Because something about this case doesn’t add up. And maybe — just maybe — Steve trusted you enough to think you’d know what to do with this. But he didn’t lock it in a vault. He left it with a guy who sells bolts by the pound. That doesn’t scream ‘classified.’ That screams ‘findable.’ Eventually.”

He stares at the windshield again. Long inhale. Like the air tastes different now.

Then, “You’re loud.”

“And you’re emotionally constipated. Guess we’re even.”

His mouth twitches — barely — but it’s there. The first crack in the wall.

You pause.

“Sam put us together for a reason, you know. I talk. You glower. Classic partner setup.”

He glances at you sideways. Not quite a glare. Almost amusement. Almost.

“This isn’t some good cop/bad cop shit.”

You shrug. “That’s fine. I prefer chaotic good and emotionally repressed.”

He gives you a confused look.

You beam. “We’re gonna work great together.”

He sighs a long sigh.

"Sure, Rookie."

Your nose wrinkles at the name, but you let it slide. For now.

At least it's better than Crash.

You tap the sticky note. “November second. That’s two days before Avery’s missing persons report was filed.”

He pulls the manila folder out of the box. Opens it. Inside: photocopies of old witness statements, interview transcripts, surveillance stills, and a printed street map with five addresses circled.

“That’s her apartment,” he says, pointing. “The other four? No clue.”

He flips to another page. You see Steve’s handwriting again.

Only one witness testified. Two people reported the incident. Second report vanished. Name mismatch. File logged at 4:17 a.m. by ‘S. Barnes.’ I wasn’t on shift.

Your stomach twists.

“Someone forged your name?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah.”

He leans back in his seat, staring at the ceiling like maybe the answer’s written in the liner.

Taking a deep breath, you finally ask the question that's been plaguing you since Sam's office this morning.

“What really went down that night you guys got hit?”

His voice is quieter now. Raw. “It wasn’t just a hit. It was scripted.”

You frown. “Scripted how?”

“The call came through dispatch like any other. Said there was a lead on one of our cases. Attached to a real case number — one that had already been closed.”

You feel the chill start to settle in your spine.

“We didn’t know it was fake,” he says. “Whoever set it up had clearance. Routed it through our precinct. Scrubbed the logs afterward. Picked a location with no cameras. No comms. No way to call for backup.”

“And backup didn’t know you were out there.”

He nods. “By the time they showed up, it was just me. Steve was already gone. And the place was clean — like someone came through right after to erase whatever trace they could.”

You exhale slowly. Your hands feel too tight around your coffee cup.

“And right before that,” you say, “Steve told you he had one more conversation to have.”

“He wouldn’t say with who. Just said it wasn’t solid. Didn’t want to jinx it.”

You nod. “And then…”

You don’t say the rest. You don’t have to.

He lost more than his arm that night.

The quiet stretches long again. Then you speak, voice soft but firm.

“You think this lead — the fake witness — that’s what got him killed?”

“I think someone didn’t want him following it,” he says. “And they made sure he couldn’t.”

You glance at the box again. At the map. At the tangled list of clues.

Then back to him.

“How deep does this go?”

He doesn’t answer.

But you both already know — it’s not just about what happened to Avery Thompson.

It’s who’s still making sure no one ever finds out.

[scoutswritingcorner]

Sooo goat Charlie hcs? Pls 🥺 fem reader and Vaggie take care of Charlies food since goats tend to be very picky eaters and their lips are used to differentiate textures 👉👈 (srry for any bad english)

-🦫

Horns And Hooves

Chaggie x GN!Reader

TW:NONE!!

A/N:GOAT CHARLIE! GOAT CHARLIE!! I always write Reader as GN! Just to include everyone but in this Reader is AFAB but has GN pronouns!

-👑Charlie hates when people grab ahold of her horns or hooves without permission. It freaks her out and hurts, especially if they aren’t gentle.

-🎀 Now when it comes to cleaning and or helping her with her horns and hooves, you and Vaggie take turns switching around. One day you could be cleaning and trimming her hooves carefully while Vaggie is cleaning her horns.

-👑 Charlie is ticklish so be careful as she does have a habit of accidentally kicking anything that tickles her legs. She doesn’t mean to do it, it’s more of a reflex and she feels horrible if she kicks you or Vaggie. 

-🎀 Talking about cleaning her horns, you got to either have a small wire brush or a toothbrush for the fact that dirt gets in the grooves of her horns. She hates the feeling of the wired brush and will try to move her head but just give her kisses and she’s right as rain.

-👑Whilst she is part goat and she only eats mostly vegetables and some grains, the demon part of her does like to eat meat occasionally. Just to keep her diet truly balanced.

-🎀 Silly little thing that popped into my head but imagine this- Charlie talking about something to you when she was supposed to be eating so you just carefully start feeding her silently while she continues to talk not minding it at all that your just feeding her.

-👑 You and Vaggie are the only two allowed to touch her ears and tail without permission cause you both are so gentle about it. 

-🎀 She 100% without a doubt bleats like a goat at times, sometimes it’s random and sometimes it when she gets really happy. You’ll be doing your own thing and then hear a happy little bleat from somewhere down the hall.

-👑 She also bleats in surprise if you or Vaggie kiss her- sweet girl just doesn’t expect her lovers to surprise her with kisses!

-🎀 She will headbutt you or anyone or anything. It’s usually when she gets grumpy or upset but she won’t do it hard, waking her up? A little tiny headbutt in response. In the middle of a makeout sesh with her and someone dares interrupt? Headbutt.

-👑 Her tail wags whenever you and Vaggie are near, it’s very adorable cause you both could be just cuddled up to her on the couch and just hear something swishing..it’s her tail wagging so fast.

[dia-oro]

Hello hello I hope you are doing great! Could I request a image or headcanon with like the chain being idk hit with a spell that turn them into younger version of themselves and like reader just found them so so so adorable and takes care of them, squish their cheeks and everything and the youngest end up being even more younger, tiny and adorable! Baby wind is all I need in my life! Or maybe it’s the inverse and reader is the one turned into a child with big puppy eyes!!

Sorry the delay but now I finally had the time! I like to think more than baby whole chain, so, Imagine it, as baby reader is better because nine baby’s means reader will be howling, screaming, demanding child support to all Zelda’s and to Ganon- heck to the temples of Hylia, because imagine all nine baby’s with colitis’s or vomiting because wild put something he should not in his tiny mouth while you where giving a good night kiss to sky that need every night a kissy and a song- and the classic ‘one baby got down, all of them will do so’ thing. Better- if they remained their memories at least at some level there’s this art of time fighting a lizalfos with his big sword while the kids are looking at it and wild is climbing the nearest tree, that it.

puppy twilight it’s adorable but will chew your shoes or eat it, empty thoughts just baby brain cell. time will be just his kokiri self boy again, your shadow and sweet child, if there’s some part of his brain that remember things at that age probably will call you saira.

Hyrule second fairy boy- he will be your shadow 2.0, and his magic sometimes will do things unexpected like make your hair grow one day to another really much and will get more lost than wild, prepare to have some years lost of your life by heart attacks.

legend- apple baby, will try to imitate you and always give you apples, he be your shadow 3.0. four can become in a moment four baby’s and the blue one always suffers colitis from how grumpy goes so fast, tantrum like no other, red it’s clinging and vio love when you read no matter the thing, always sleep with a bed time story… green is the most simple but also peaceful thank the goddesses. wind adore bath time, it’s adorable baby and now his sister it’s also living to be the big sis in this hex that probably the whole chain suffered

warriors… please make a burrito baby with his scarf or he will cry and cry till vomit, Artemis come here and help or pay child support.

Wild it’s the most sweet baby when he no trying to touch the kitchen or imitating Tarzan, just like just a sweet child that love to draw and pain, play monkey say and do puzzled.

And if you thing evil it’s safe imagine that hex ironically affected dark link, now you have also another baby with colitis and in need of attention but also one that throw hand to time with zero reason.

if you included the unofficial chain member well, Hylia should no fear demise legacy, reader will dethrone the royal family and use all these rupees to make sure they all are raised good and make better house for the abandoned child and even young mothers because it’s no easy to raise all these babies.

but think of all these boys big brothering the reader and just all of them internally wanting for them to live in their Hyrule, time wanting to parenting them, twilight wanting to take them to the goats, legend have soft spot for children and will cut some of his own tunic to put some protection on them, Hyrule… he and his sisters will be helicopter brother because come on remember how bad it’s his Hyrule, wind definitely will want reader to stay as child, maybe the warrior use baby reader to get more laid with woman’s… just imagine.

[whereispearlescentmoon]

Hermit-A-Day Day 30: DocM77

A reminder that these are both individual bits of writing that can be read on their own and supplemental material for my fic Glitch.

@hermitadaymay

Notes on the Player Known as , Taken by the Admin.

Name: Doc Tag: DocM77 Age: 47 Species: (Mostly) Human Creeper Hybrid Season of Arrival: 3 Method of Arrival: Invited to join about six months into the season Species Traits: Doc is the most unique hybrid of the server, in that he has four seperate species. A majority of his code is either human or creeper, but he also has both goat and butterfly code. He is also a cyborg, having lost his arm to a Developer named Dinnerbone, and his eye being replaced with one that allows him to scan his machines for problems easily. Doc was not born a creeper hybrid, but a human. Early in his scientific career, he did a number of experiments with charged creepers. During a particular experiment in which he was testing the limitations of their ability to cause mob heads to drop, Doc glitched through the creeper and his code and its got mingled. He exploded with it and respawned with the hybrid traits he has now. Besides his human hair on his head, Doc is covered in the same short coarse green fur as a creeper. The right and lower 3/4 of his face has a completely black eye and an elongated mouth. Doc's other hybrid traits come from deliberate experimentation to recreate the process of his original transformation, though on a much smaller scale. He intentionally mixed himself with goat code in order to grow his curling horns which sprout from his forehead. He also mixed some Morpho and Pink-Spotted Cattleheart butterfly code in order to sprout his pink and black wings. Admin Notes: Doc is a redstone maniac. And I mean that truly. He puts his very best efforts into creating machines strong enough to bend the code that makes up our world to it's limits, and then to watch it break. He makes awesome machines in the most literal sense of the word awesome. Everything has to be more efficient, more optimized, more world breaking. Doc's personality is, on the surface, quite grumpy. He can be easily provoked to anger and loves to escalate conflicts. Though he would never admit it, he starts it sometimes to. However, Doc is also a deeply passionate person and one who, so long as you haven't gotten on his bad side recently, is willing to help his fellow Hermit out in a bind. There is also, though I wouldn't say it to his face, a certain softness to Doc. While he may get angry, he rarely tries to cause any real harm (except in retribution for harm done).

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Tea party

Matt Smith x reader

Fluff

————

It was a warm Saturday afternoon when Lilly declared that it was the perfect day for a “Fancy Royal Tea Party.” She’d spent the entire morning preparing: setting up her tiny plastic tea set on the coffee table, arranging a spread of cookies, crackers, and grapes, and picking out her fanciest dress—pink with sparkles, of course.

As the self-appointed hostess, Lilly had big plans. She wanted all her guests dressed their best and on their very best behavior. That included Matt, Jack, and Max.

“Daddy, you have to wear this,” Lilly demanded, holding up one of her old costume tiaras and a matching feather boa.

Matt, sitting on the floor beside Max, raised an eyebrow. “Lilly, love, do I have to? I’m not sure this goes with my aesthetic,” he teased, waving the boa like it might attack him.

“Yes, you have to!” Lilly insisted, hands on her tiny hips. “You’re the King, Daddy! Kings wear crowns!”

Jack, sprawled out dramatically on the couch, groaned. “Why do I have to be here? Tea parties are boring!”

“Because you’re my prince!” Lilly snapped, glaring at him. “And princes don’t whine!”

Max, oblivious to the drama, sat cross-legged on the carpet, hugging his goat plushie tightly. He didn’t seem to care what was happening as long as his beloved goat was present. Every so often, he nibbled on a cookie he’d stolen from the table, thoroughly unbothered by the escalating chaos.

Matt sighed, glancing between his grumpy eldest son, his unbothered toddler, and his very determined daughter. “Alright, alright, I’ll wear the crown. But only if Prince Jack puts on his sash.” He picked up a piece of pink ribbon Lilly had tied earlier and handed it to Jack.

Jack scowled. “No way.”

“Jack,” Matt said in his calm but firm dad voice, “it’s one afternoon. Humor your sister, yeah? You’ll survive.”

With a huff, Jack dragged himself off the couch and let Lilly tie the ribbon across his chest. She stepped back, appraising her work. “Perfect,” she declared. “Now sit there and don’t ruin my tea party!”

She turned to Max, crouching down to his level. “And you’re the Royal Baby. You just have to sit there and look cute.”

Max blinked at her, then held up his goat plushie. “Goat is King,” he said simply.

“Fine,” Lilly said, throwing her hands up. “Goat can be King too.”

Once everyone was situated—Matt on a tiny chair with the boa around his shoulders, Jack slouched next to him still sulking, and Max happily nibbling cookies on the carpet—Lilly began serving tea.

“Here you go, King Daddy,” she said, handing Matt a plastic teacup filled with lukewarm water.

“Why, thank you, Princess Lilly,” Matt said, adopting a posh accent. He pretended to sip the tea, pinky raised. “Delightful!”

Jack muttered under his breath, “This is so dumb.”

“Excuse me, Prince Jack!” Lilly scolded. “That is very rude!”

Matt stifled a laugh, shooting his eldest son a look. “Better watch out, Jack. Princess Lilly doesn’t tolerate bad manners.”

Max, meanwhile, held his goat up to the tea table. “Goat wants tea,” he declared.

Lilly rolled her eyes but poured a little water into one of the spare cups. “Here, for Goat.”

Max beamed and hugged his plushie tighter. “Goat says thank you.”

The tea party carried on for another half hour, with Lilly diligently making sure everyone had enough “tea” and snacks. Despite Jack’s occasional grumbling and Matt’s exaggerated discomfort in the tiny chair, the sight of Lilly orchestrating her little world with such authority was worth every second.

As the party came to a close, Lilly clapped her hands. “That was a lovely tea party! Thank you, everyone, for coming!”

Jack bolted from the room, muttering, “Finally!”

Max climbed onto Matt’s lap, tucking his goat plushie under his arm. “Tea party good,” he murmured sleepily, resting his head against Matt’s chest.

Matt kissed the top of his toddler’s head and smiled at Lilly. “You did a great job, Princess Lilly. Best tea party I’ve ever been to.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said, glowing with pride. “Next time, we’ll have a Royal Ball!”

Matt groaned dramatically, making her giggle. “I better start practicing my waltz,” he teased.

[life-in-toontown]

My lazy ass finally watched Moana 2 🎉

Yeah I definitely see what people mean about the pacing issues, it really shows in the second half. But overall…I didn’t think it was bad, just very, very flawed.

Biggest disappointment to me was Matangi…awesome character, gets a great song…then doesn’t show up again until mid-credits just to tease the next film like a Marvel movie??? Yes I know, it’s to get us interested in seeing more of the villains in the next one, but it was handled super sloppily.

I loved Moana’s crew and their character traits (Moni’s a cheery fanboy, Loto’s a quirky builder always trying to “fix” the canoe and Kele’s a grumpy farmer who doesn’t like being out at sea) but I felt like their comedic potential as a crew wasn’t fully utilized. Another reason I feel like this story would’ve worked better as a series.

Also, I love Pua and Hei Hei to death, but them coming on the voyage didn’t add anything. They were just….there. Sure, maybe you could argue the same thing about Hei Hei in the first film, but I feel like they used his comedic possibilities really well in the first one, here, not so much.

Also this criticism actually includes the first film a little, but I really wish they’d stop making modern day references as jokes: in the first film when Maui uses Hei Hei’s beak to sign Moana’s canoe, he calls it “tweeting”, in this film Moni calls his tapestry art “fanfic” and at one point Maui says “butt dial” then explains it’ll make sense in 2000 years. That last one in particular leads me to being up Genie from Aladdin; since Genie’s magic, you can excuse any modern day references he makes by saying he’s time travelled. Yes, Maui’s magic too, but time travelling doesn’t seem to be one of his abilities, so that joke coming from him doesn’t make sense (unless it’s mentioned anywhere in Polynesian mythology that Maui can travel through time….if there’s any mention of that, please correct me). Also I cringed every time the word “besties” was used.

And speaking of bad comedy, they used that annoying overused screaming goat meme that Hollywood won’t let die…but it came from a giant blobfish????

Okay, that’s all the criticisms I can remember…let’s be positive now!

I was worried that the music would be mediocre compared to the first one since Lin-Manuel Miranda didn’t return (I’m a big fan of him), and while I do still think the first soundtrack is still the best, I did like this soundtrack too!

Simea was so cute and I loved her relationship with Moana. That scene at the end where Maui gives her Moana’s present that she uses to see her coming to shore was so sweet. It’s also so funny that she actually DID grab Maui by the ear lmao.

The scene where Moana seemingly dies and tattooless Maui cries over her and all her ancestors appear and revive her was beautiful…then the scene shortly after where new wayfinders show up to the island. Also Moana’s tattoos were awesome…but does this mean she’s a demigoddess now? If so then I hope the next one focuses on her realizing she’ll eventually outlive her family. Sorry to turn this sad but I feel like it’ll be good angst and character development.

This post is already longer than I thought it would be so I’ll wrap it up; I hope the next film is an improvement and that Lin-Manuel Miranda returns to do the music. I would still prefer if the story continued as a series instead but it’s clear that that’s not gonna happen so let’s just hope for a great film sequel.

[urathestardragon777]

AdamsApple Unrequited Love AU pt 2/??

It was early in the morning, earlier than anyone else in the hotel was up maybe except for that deer bastard but he was no where to be seen so Adam didn't see any point in worrying about the annoying fucker. He was always an early morning person, even in Heaven, even when he was still alive. He rose before the sun to do his chores and to just have time to himself, he hated how comfortable everyone in the hotel was becoming with him, how they included him into more of their activities and conversations; but, no one else was up to bother him, even his sweet beloved daughters who had become even more clingy since they all reincarnated in Hell.

The old angel made his way to the backyard of the hotel, it was an ugly plot of land with weeds and overgrown bushes and other Hell flowers, it was unkempt and wild and Adam loved it, he loved the strange looking foliage and how it seemed to mimic the plant life on earth. Often he would come out and sketch all the different plants and coming up with names for them but today wasn't the morning for it -no- today was yoga day. Even if he no longer fought through the hoards of Hell didn't mean he couldn't stay in shape and he has let himself go these past couple of centuries, he also missed his six pack.

Just as he went to put his mat down the back door was thrown open followed by a loud yawn.

"Beautiful morning isn't!? Nice and quiet!"

Adam let out a loud growl to let the person know that they were not wanted. At. All.

Said person ignored the warning growl and walked closer. "The air is practically filled with brimstone and the screams of the damned." They nosily slurped their drink, invading Adam's personal space, "Please, don't let me stop you."

Adam: Get lost Samael.

He snarled louder at the shorter man.

Lucifer: Don't be rude Addy, it's too early in the morning to be a meany.

Adam: There's never good time to see your stupid face. Now, leave me alone.

Adam sat down in lotus pose and closed his eyes, he wasn't going to feed into the bullshit, wasn't going to give Lucifer that kind of power of him. He clenched his fist as the fallen angel sat down next to him. It took everything in the bull demon not to punch the goat-faced fucker in his dumb reptile face. Like really!- how did he look like both at the same time, it was weird and Adam always got the urge just to claw the other demon's face off.

Lucifer: Do you do this every morning? Are you always up this early or could you not sleep? Nightmare? It had to be nightmares, probably about-

Adam used his wing to cover Lucifer's mouth.

Adam: I'm only going to tell you this one time, you can either fuck off or because I know you're an annoying jerk you can stay and be quiet. Which means do not talk.

He moved his wing and sighed when nothing came out the Devil's mouth. The silence lasted longer than he thought, he was able to get through his warm up breathing and stretching it was when he got to cow face pose the talking started again.

Lucifer: Wow, you are really flexible aren't you? Have you always been that bendy?

Adam: What did I say, Samael?

Lucifer: I'm just trying to talk with an old friend, is that so bad?

Adam: We are not friends.

Lucifer: But we can be, if you stop being a grumpy bull~.

Lucifer poked Adam in his side. Adam once again used a wing this time to smack Lucifer in the head as he went back into a normal sitting position.

Lucifer: Oow! What was that for?

Adam: Why are you here Samael?

Lucifer: It's Lucifer, and I told you: I want to talk with an old friend, be friends again maybe?

Adam let out a short, unamused laugh as he turned to face Lucifer.

Adam: What makes you think we can be friends after what you've done?

Lucifer: Because it's all in the past Adam, it's been what a million years since Eden?

Adam: You cursed me and my family for the rest of time, and seduced my wives.

His wings flared out in anger. Lucifer curls in on himself slightly, he wasn't afraid of Adam but when the first man looked down on him, eyes gleaming with anger and fury that whole 'Made in His image' thing shone through. Funny enough, it was now Adam's inhuman features that made him look even more like God, it was weird and thrilling at the same time so Lucifer like always pushed forward, testing the waters.

Lucifer: And I deeply regret that, I really do! But, I gave you freedom, the chance not be stuck under His thumb, the chance to be great.

Adam: You almost killed me.

Lucifer: How was i supposed to know you were allergic to apples?

Adam: You fucker, it's been logged in my throat for eons!

Adam points to the lump in his throat ironically right under his adams apple. Lucifer has enough decency to look ashamed.

Adam: What do you really want from me?

Lucifer placed a clawed hand on top of Adam's much, much larger hand and looked up with a soft look.

Lucifer: I want us to start over and try again.

He reached up with his other hand and gently turned Adam's face so they were looking at one another.

Lucifer: I want you. Please Adam.

Adam took a moment to study Lucifer, he was small and dainty (always had been), he didn't look much different than he had in Eden. In Eden he was more bird like, Adam always joked that the angel reminded him of a cockatrice but when he first laid eyes on Lucifer it was like his first time seeing a swan fly just above a lake. His wing were pure white and shimmered in the sun, his hair was longer, like beams of light, eyes blue and clear. Even now there was something alluring about the fallen Seraphim, he was feminine yet masculine, timid yet bold, there was false innocence wrapped in sly seductive silk. Adam could see how Lilith and Eve and many others were lured in by the Serpent but Adam could see past the mesmerizing shiny scales disguised as jewels, he saw the fangs dipped in honeyed poison. Had been bitten by them before and would not suffer that pain again even though it would be so easy to let the venom flow through his veins and let himself be swept away by the siren's song.

He pushed Lucifer back down from where the man had climbed into his lap. Lucifer looked confused.

Lucifer: Adam?

Adam: I'm not something to own.

Lucifer: I never said you were.

Adam: Or something to check off your list, you got Lilith and Eve guess I'm the only one left you haven't slept with.

Lucifer: You're so much more than that to me Adam! You've always been someone precious to me.

Adam wanted to pull his hair out! Lucifer was a walking ball of contradiction, he didn't understand the man at all, didn't understand how you could hurt someone you consider precious so many times, then rub it in their face at every chance. How many times had he bragged about how easy it was to get Lilith and Eve to cheat and betray Adam? How many times had Lucifer made fun of him for being a devoted follower of God? He literally nearly beat Adam to death, yeah it was to protect his daughter but what about all the children Adam lost to Lucifer because of that fucking apple? Why was he not justified in being furious and vengeful?

With a frustrated snarl Adam shoved Lucifer to the ground with the shorter man's thin wrist traped in one of his hands, the other one used to keep himself propped up, his large bulky body caged Lucifer in and bathed him in shadows. He was sick of Lucifer playing with his emotions, sick of feeling like he was powerless, he wasn't a weak human anymore, hadn't been for a long time. He didn't know what kind of game Lucifer was playing but he could play his own, he'd break Lucifer just like Lucifer broke him.

Lucifer couldn't help the excited shiver that ran down his spine all the way to the top of his tail.

Adam: You want to start over? Fine we can start over but it'll be on my terms understand?

Adam squeezed Lucifer's wrist hard enough the king thought they would shatter, it didn't scare him, no, it made his heart beat faster and his face flush gold.

Adam: Understand?

Lucifer: Y-yes.

Angel Dust: Hey Charlie said breakfast is- I knew it! Husk!! You owe me big time!

Adam groaned and got off of Lucifer as Angel Dust ran back inside, well breakfast was going to be awful. He brushed the dirt off himself and went back inside without a second glance to Lucifer who was still sprawled out on the ground trying to catch his breath. Adam wanted to start over. He had another chance to make everything right. Lilith was gone but it didn't matter, it was him and Adam again, just like in the beginning, just as it should have been from the start.

[cheezestixk]

Ok so does like. Maybe an odd question, but. Does Tubbo have scent glands? Male goats have them on their head I’m pretty sure, like at the base of their horns. They rub their horns on things to maybe mark territory and tell does that they’re in the area (I think. I’m getting this off google. I’m no goat expert)

So does Tubbo have them, since he’s a goat hybrid? I know they don’t smell particularly good (read: pretty fucking bad) in fall since that’s their breeding season and they’re trying to flirt. But I dunno if Tubbo. Uh. Does that??

Even if he didn’t he’d still smell kinda bad tho. They produce scent year-round (I think), it’s just- so much worse in fall because attracting ladies and the glands are fuelled by testosterone. But he’d still smell pretty notably like stinky buck normally, especially if you put your face in his hair.

I’ve read they also have scent glands in other places- like their neck and shoulders- but I dunno as much about those.

So does he have them? It would make sense because he’s a hybrid, but it does also carry some other implications (breeding season mostly, I guess). Though it could also be something similar to vestigial evolution, where he still has the glands but they aren’t as active due to having lost the instincts or drive brought on by the fall season. Or while he technically does have a breeding season, it just doesn’t affect him that much outside of a slight boost in testosterone and a slightly higher sex drive. Yknow, a more reasonably human reaction to the things that cause breeding seasons. This isn’t the omegaverse lmao

NOT an odd question. I LOVE talking and thinking about the animal traits in hybrids lmao.

I think he has them, absolutely. I agree on them being snuffed out by the human genes in him though, but there's a light lingering smell to him. You can notice it when he's not wet with snow, when the wind didn't whip in his face all day and when he's not sweaty from working all the time. It's a bit bitter, doesn't smell bad but it's not exactly pleasant. It stinks good, in a way. When he was younger Tommy would always try to scrub it out of him since he didn't know any better. (To little success. It wasn't a big deal in the end, they'd both be pretty stinky at the end of the day. Tubbo's smell was just constant.) So i'd imagine he's gotten a little insecure about it, even if there's many other hybrids with a similar situation. Probably tries to wash his hair out well when he can.

You can definitely smell it during the window of time his hormones spike, though. I think it happens with humans too, i find i always smell a bit fresher when i wake up right before or when i'm ovulating, so probably something similar to that. But stinkier. Noticable, however nothing super intense, since his body doesn't really need to go crazy and breed. He just gets a bit more grumpy and needy, but that's it. He'll be normal by next Saturday.

[ask-de-writer]

I WOULD LIKE TO THANK

@inhumaninterest for READING, LIKING and REBLOGGING

A BAD DAY FOR GRUMPY GOAT

An MLP Fan Fiction

[interstellarwizard2019]

On the longest day of the hundredth year, a mortal soul shall rise from the ashes of rebirth as the new champion of The One Who Must Be Awoken, they who are bound by chains of divinity to serve as the new God of Life.

⊙════°•.𓆩𓁺𓆪.•°════⊙

°•. Laird Goatthur, The Unorthodox .•°

⊙════°•.𓆩𓁺𓆪.•°════⊙

"Sure, I get thrown off a bloody cliff in order to kill the sins of the land by some sodding cultists, but by some f****** miracle I get sent to some she-dog demoness's cage and she tricks me into accepting her demon powers! ...Now everyone probably think I've gone off with the faries..."

May I offer you a grumpy goat cult leader in these trying times?

Goatthur thought they were born unlucky, being dealt a bad hand by fate before they could even bleat. Losing their father, losing their mother, losing their siblings, losing their home village all in the name of The Bishops of Reverence.

For the rest of their young adult life they were constantly on the run from the Bishops’ followers. Never laying down to rest, never making a home for long. The closest thing to a family they had was whatever group of thieves or bandits took them in and yet they never lasted long once the Reverence caught wind of the goat in their midst…

Eventually in their middle life, they were finally caught by a pack of wolf bounty hunters and brought before the Four Bishops and sentenced to death by throwing. Once they were taken to the highest peak of Faustia they were thrown off of the the first bell tower of the Reverence where they plummeted down to the valley below…

But fate had other plans when they were sent to the realm of the fallen goddess, The One Who Must Be Awoken…

Her newest champion had finally arisen.

[isoobie]

MOOT GAME: " make up a trope for your moots and their biases. doesn’t need to be romantic. can be crackfic/funny/anything you want

THIS WAS SO FUN thank you anon !!!! i suck at crackfic so im doing the most basic tropes i can think of sadly :/

@boyfhee & jay as friends to lovers

cael and jay who have been besties since diapers !!! they both like each other secretly but don’t confess because it might ruin their relationship but jay being the man is takes her on a (friendly) date to tell her his feelings as he plays the guitar for her and sings the song he wrote by himself. im the no1 caeljay shipper 🙏🏼

@weoris & jungwon at the amusement park

xin and jungwon being silly little goofballs as the amusement park with the matching headbands, the photo booth pictures and making fun of each other because they are too scared to go on certain rides. but for the cute part they would hold hands wherever they go and jungwon would always steal a couple pecks on the cheeks w/o xin knowing !!!!

@soov & jungwon as part of student council

rei and jungwon as student council buddies who help each other all the time, greet e/o in the hallways and text all the time after school. your friends would ship the two of you together and set you both up so that one of u confesses either way because they know that secretly you guys like e/o. its giving school it couple and i love it !!!!

@urszn & niki as grumpy x sunshine

es as the upbeat, bright girl whose friends with everyone whereas niki is that mysterious, cool guy who only talks to his 6 friends. but they slowly become close and niki starts to have a soft spot for her and when they're dating he becomes a little version of her. eski all the way 🧘🏻‍♀️

@jjunae & jake as brothers best friend

honestly idek ur bias but its okay 😆 ( u just give me jake vibes ) kae being annoyed whenever her brother invites his loud friends over but little does she know that one of them was her soon to be crush. jake would accidentally come into her room thinking its the bathroom, resulting in an awkward first encounter. but both of you would think that the other was reallly cute. shy introverts who are too scared to speak ㅠㅠ

@hoonvrs & sunghoon and the wrong number

sunghoon being the silly little goofball he is would be drunk and accidentally call saint because he pressed the wrong number but they’d both have a light heart conversation while one is sober and the other isn’t. and after that day, those little texts would grow into voice messages and into video calls and then a meet up where they both fall for each other even more!

@okwonyo & jake as strangers to lovers

jiji and jake suddenly bump into each other one day and thats when the attraction begins … they realise they both go to the same university and jiji is very shy at first but its okay because jake is initiating all the conversations first because she’s giving him oblivious hints that she likes him & the rest is history ㄱㄱ

@tyunni & niki on a skateboard date

my favourite couple !!!! i refuse to believe that niki and may AREN’T that skater couple. but seriously niki would be such a goat at it while may would trip every 2 seconds cause she has a bad sense of balance but niki being the amazing boyfriend he is, he’d help her and teach her 😁 ( even put his hand on your waist )

[lionacuty]

Ehhhh

I pick the cancer

(Parasite of godhood)

-alz

BEAR WITH ME CUZ I HAVE NO SLEEP, BRAINCELLS ARE BOUNCING AROUND AND I HAVENT THOUGHT ABOUT THIS AU FOR A QUICK MINUTE

plot quickstart at a prophecy about a spider, squid, cat, frog and worm destroying the current gods with the power of parasites called crowns (I went on 2 sperate rambles about crowns being parasites here and here) that a sheep called Mirabell (nothing bad will totaly happen to her, trust me :3) and a spider called Lucinda who happen to be the mum of the spider in the prophecy aka Shamura who finds the purple crown the next day

stuff happens, Kallamar gets his ass saved from being sacrifice, even more stuff happens, Narinder Heket and Leshy gets saved from being sacrificed, the 3 claim their respective realms and domain, betrayl happens, sheep genocide, then Niko aka the lamb becomes besties with this one cotl oc of mine called Méliva then gets sacrificed then becomes Nari's vessel and quicks the bishops ass + Nari's

Kora's aka the goat summons Niko for help and Niko is stuck in a time loop stuff happens, Niko marries that grumpy cat and voila that's parasitic godhood with the red crown getting it's ass owned by Niko cuz they have a bad feeling about the red crown while the other bichops and Nari don't suspect a thing about those crowns

[notebookqueenofnarnia]

Totes ma goats imagine the Pevensie kids as the royal family. Not the head-cannon where they rule, but just the four of them being princes and princess of England or some (nonexistent) random European country. Like Peter being so like Prince William of a country and trying so hard not to screw up; Susan being so gracious and graceful and ladylike never a hair out of place. And since their parents are so busy like running a country, they try to raise their little siblings and Peter trying to make Edmund like him and Susan always fixing their appearances and manners.

(Also explains names like Edmund, but I also wanna an explanation for titles. Can they all be HRH not just Dukes and stuff) (what if their parents change the rules so that they all rule together to take the stress off and make them all equal. This is a total game changer you know. Forces think it makes them week but they are powerful as the the kings and queens)

Like also imagine them at all those public appearances. And Ed trying to get to movie premieres and trying to use his title to get on a Doctor Who episode. Peter telling him to stop using his power and influence. Think of all the things the royals do: behind the scenes at zoos, sailing fun races, hula dancing, traditions and cultures around the place, the Olympics (maybe Susan the swimmer even competes), parties. And Ed and Lucy at those boring events with old people just like reeking havoc when they were young and just judging everyone now. "Hey, Lu." "What?" "Did you see Lady Smallwood's hat? I think they forgot to take the feathers off of the bird." And then Susan yelling at them to behave while she charms everyone. (Also Susan with suitors and her and her brothers having no patience with the stuck up sons of Lords and rich peoples and things (and Caspian being one) but also using them to get money to charities.) (and Susan wanting to marry someone of and with purpose and with heart)

And everyone feels pressure in relationships, especially Peter who sees the hard marriage of their parents-who almost are ready for divorce. Peter has to find a queen for Petes sake (lololol a great pun), Susan wants what she wants(like maybe even Prince Charming day dream or that could be Lucy), and Ed doesn't even imagine marriage because he isn't Prince Charming and they expect him to be.

But also they all used to get up to trouble and mischief all four of them together, even sometimes now. Imagine craziness while visiting the White House, like super feminist

Susan meeting Trump but it ends up being Edmund and Peter who like loose their shit at him.

And all the social media (give me vlogger Princess Lucy) and activism and protecting each other from paparazzi and from rumor and scandals and stuff

Does Peter join the army to be a "normal guy" does it work?

They each ending learning different languages fluently (except Peter poor guy is terrible with languages) but so Susan can handle the German embassy, Lucy has any Spanish speaking country, and Edmund deals with the French and Italians

And scandals and pretend scandals and Ed just trying to run away from all of it (does he have a giant scandal?! Like is his father really the king? Or maybe drugs/drinking?) (OR he like gives away family gossip or something when he's young for sweeties- like betraying family and it's a big scandal, maybe even makes international relations bad, (or breaks up parents marriage) so after lots of angsty time he and his family finally forgive and he spends years trying to forgive himself and make it up by becoming the grave, serious, grumpy pants, with a beautiful soul) because who would notice third in line for the thrown at some massive university in the states. And Lu eventually follows him.

But just always living in the shadow of their siblings who live under the influence of the crown.

And they all just wanna be free

Want normal lives

And Aslan the Advisor finds ancient bylaws or old tradition or whatever where the four of them can rule over Narnia. And it takes the pressure off of Peter and they are all so badass together and they kill it even thought they are super young and are running a country. The white queen could totally be the kings sister and she is the reason he dies. (And the oldest of each of their children will fill their shoes when they die.)

[rhysintherain]

WIP Wednesday

(On Thursday night, because I'm on vacation and spent yesterday evening recovering from the dumb shit I did yesterday morning and today going to the museum with my sisters)

Tagged by @blackjackkent

Tagging: @fixomnia-scribble @invisible-goats and anybody else who wants to volunteer (seriously, if you have a work in progress you want to talk about, consider yourself tagged. @ me in your post, I want to hear about t)

Haven't done much work on original stuff lately, so here's a bit from one of Skye the druid's BG3 adventures in the shadow cursed lands:

---

“Hey Oliver?” Skye said, sitting cross-legged on the dusty cobblestones of Reithwin’s old town square. “Wanna hear a story?”

The boy eyed them suspiciously, arms folded, lips pursed. “About what?”

“About friends, and arguments, and deciding you’re better off on your own.”

Oliver sighed. “Fine,” he collapsed like a puppet with cut strings to sit in a grumpy slouch, arms still tightly folded over his chest, across from Skye.

“Once upon a time, there were two friends, about the same age as you and Thaniel. They liked to play hide and seek, too. Their names were Skye and Ri.”

“Did you make that up?” Oliver accused. “It sounds funny, they’re almost the same.”

“They are almost the same, but I didn’t make it up. And if anyone told Ri her name was funny, she’d punch them. She was really good at punching people.

“Anyway, one day they got in a big fight.”

“A punching fight?” Oliver asked.

“No, an arguing fight.”

“Why were they arguing?”

“Well, Ri could be pretty bossy. She always wanted to pick what game they played. She always decided where they’d go on adventures, and she was always telling Skye what to do. So one day Skye decided they’d had it. They were sick of being bossed around, and they weren’t going to be friends with Ri anymore.”

“And then it was more fun, right?” Oliver interjected. “They could play whatever game they wanted, and she couldn’t boss them around anymore?”

“Yeah, for a while. But after a while Skye got lonely and bored. Games weren’t as much fun alone. And they found out that a lot of the things they wanted to do that Ri told them not to were kind of dumb, and Ri’s bossiness had kept them from getting hurt or in trouble.”

“Like how?” Oliver asked skeptically.

“Like, Ri always said you can’t pet every animal you meet. And Skye thought that was a bad rule, because they loved animals. As it turns out, you can pet a badger, but it’ll bite you after. So Ri was sort of right.”

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 5/5

Book Blurb: A clever con woman must convince a skeptical, sexy farmer of his property's resident real-life ghost if she's to save them all from a fate worse than death, in this delightful new novel from the author of Mrs. Nash's Ashes.

Fake spirit medium Gretchen Acorn is happy to help when her best (read: wealthiest) client hires her to investigate the unexplained phenomena preventing the sale of her bridge partner’s struggling goat farm. Gretchen may be a fraud, but she'd like to think she’s a beneficentone. So if "cleansing" the property will help a nice old man finally retire and put some much-needed cash in her pockets at the same time, who's she to say no?

Of course, it turns out said bridge partner isn't the kindly AARP member Gretchen imagined—Charlie Waybill is young, hot as hell, and extremely unconvinced that Gretchen can communicate with the dead. (Which, fair.) Except, to her surprise, Gretchen finds herself face-to-face with Everett: the very real, very chatty ghost that’s been wreaking havoc during every open house. And he wants her to help ensure Charlie avoids the same family curse that's had Everett haunting Gilded Creek since the 1920s.

Now, Gretchen has one month to convince Charlie he can’t sell the property. Unfortunately, hard work and honesty seem to be the way to win over the stubborn farmer—not exactly Gretchen's strengths. But trust isn’t the only thing growing between them, and the risk of losing Charlie to the spirit realm looms over Gretchen almost as annoyingly as Everett himself. To save the goat farm, its friendly phantom, and the man she's beginning to love, Gretchen will need to pull off the greatest con of her life: being fully, genuinely herself.

Review:

A con artist who makes her living as a fake medium finds herself in over her head when she begins seeing an actual ghost and now has to help him break the curse on his family... except said family member is a hot grumpy farmer who sees right through her and wants her off his farm. Gretchen Acorn is a fake spirit medium and has become one of the best at her job. She has only one rule though: to leave her clients better off than when she met them, thats so she can be different from her father, a horrible con man, Gretchen might take money from people but she's adamant that they're happier when she's done. Gretchen isn't a bad person, but she's not exactly a good one. When Gretchen's client pays her to help a friend she can't help but say yes, what was suppose to be an easy pay day is ruined when she finds out that Charlie Waybill, the friend she was suppose to help isn't an old man on a farm but rather a very hot farmer who is unconvinced Gretchen can communicate with the dead. Yet Gretchen is in for the surprise of her life when she actually begins seeing a ghost, this time the con isn't fake and she is really communicating with a ghost. The ghost is related to Charlie's family and tells Gretchen that she has to help him break the curse on their family and to save Charlie. How can she save Charlie when he wants nothing more for her to get away as far as possible. Now Gretchen has to find a way to convince Charlie that the curse is very real and that she can actually communicate with him. Gretchen won't leave so Charlie offers her a deal: she'll work on the farm for a few months in exchange for room and board, that'll give her enough time to try and save Charlie. Yet the more time they spend together the more the feelings between them begin to grow. Gretchen is about to face her biggest challenge yet: being her true self and possibly opening her heart up. Can she break the curse before it's too late? This was such a cute and cozy autumnal/spooky romance vibe book. I love a fun con artist story with a touch of ghost. Charlie and Gretchen were really cute, despite how much they thought they were different, they had so much in common and cared so much about each other. This was a really cute feel good read and I had fun with it!

*Thanks Netgalley and Berkley Publishing Group, Berkley for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*