#drabble: heebie jeebies

[skeltnwrites]

happy friday the 13th lovelies! i have a similar friday the 13th themed steve drabble i'll try and finish tomorrow 0.5k words

“I think my tattoo is cursed,” Eddie grumbles from the kitchen table behind you. 

“I told you that place was sketch, Eds.”

“I made sure everything was clean! It was a good deal,” he whines like a child might– in this mumbly sort of way that he only does when he knows he fucked up but wants your consolation. 

You turn, abandoning the pot on the stove to lean against his chair. Eddie pokes at his wrist where pale skin has darkened into an angry shade of red. 

The tattoo was not your favorite choice to begin with. Jason’s hockey mask from Friday The Thirteenth– A random Halloween-themed, half-price piece of flash from a gumball machine. It’s slotted between the bats and the crease in his elbow, clunky and clashing art styles with his other ink. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, Eddie doesn’t even like the movie, he was just too embarrassed to chicken out once he pulled the piece of paper out of the machine. 

“Does it hurt?” 

He shrugs, “A little. Mostly just… like tingly, I guess?” 

“Itchy?”

“No, not itchy. Just feels weird– different than usual.” 

You tug his arm up to eye level. The ink twists and swells along some lines, as if a funhouse mirror has warped the image, distorting it into something you probably wouldn’t recognize if you didn’t already know what it was. 

“Probably infected, babe.” 

He reels his arm back in and deflates with a sigh. 

“Eddie, don’t– don’t pick at it,” you swat his fingers away before they can reach. “The ink won’t heal properly.” 

“It already isn’t healing properly,” he pouts, a weak glare attached. You cock your head, dissecting his expression, but his irritation softens into something else. Eddie presses his forehead into the meat of your upper arm. “I should’ve listened to you.”

You card through the knots in his hair, biting back an I told you so. 

“You can always get it covered up. Maybe it was just a different type of ink or something? An allergy.” 

“No, you were right about that guy. He was strange; gave me the heebie-jeebies as soon as we walked in. I think he did some fucked up, witchy voodoo magic shit on me.”

“Oh?” 

“He was all quiet and pale, like sickly pale– and his hands were fuckin’ freezing. Maybe he was a ghost?”

“Wouldn’t be the craziest shit we’ve seen,” the corners of your lips rise as you loop a curl around your finger. 

“Or Gandalf? With that beard. That’s what I thought when we walked in– I mean, if Gandalf was a tattoo artist, I’m pretty sure that’s what he’d look like,” he chuckles. 

You snort, because you thought the exact same thing, which has Eddie laughing twice as hard. And you can’t find the time to be embarrassed when your favorite pair of eyes are creased with glee and beam at you with more love than you can carry. 

When he settles, you hum. “So we’ve narrowed it down to a witch, a ghost, or Gandalf?” 

“Yeah, what do you think?” 

You hunch over the chair, angling his chin towards yours. “I think a kiss might break the curse.”

“Oh yeah? Like sleeping beauty?” 

“Exactly,” you whisper before pressing a slow kiss to his lips.

[edith-is-a-cat]

There is a storm coming and ima little scared since we are being released early bcuz of it so why not write idia drabble! This is silly stupid and self indulgent TY AUBBIE FOR SWEET SHROUD SUMMER <333 srry for any error im writing this on my phone n im real shakey

Tldr: Idia scared of storm :(((

Word count: 483

Reader is implied to be a little scared of storms

✦ Idia knows to handle storms on his own, he has been on an island basically all his life so he’s bound to have been hit by bad storms. He just hides with his laptop, his headphones, a rechargeable battery, and all the physical media he could get into his closet. But sometimes he doesn't get the convince of a hideout...

✦ You, Azul, and Idia were having a late night in the board game club. (Maybe bcuz there was a new board game that y'all wanted to demo..) You all just thought it was rain. Azul was fine, but Idia was on edge thinking about all the ways it could get bad. But, you and azul had just set up a new game and one last round couldn't hurt

✦ Just a little over half way through the game there was a crack of thunder that almost made idia jump out of his seat and definitely startled you. Azul just continued counting his resources like he heard nothing, calling for Idia to take his turn.

✦ Then the storm continued terrorizing you all, with a thundering clap the lights cut out. Idia dove under the table, you covered you head with your arms, and Azul just turned on his phone's flashlight after making sure he had enough battery.

✦ He scanned the scene, then promptly got up saying that he was going to go figure out how to turn on a generator. Leaving you in the dark, well no not really Idia's tablet was glowing from under the table.

✦ The dark was starting to give you the heebie-jeebies after a point so you decided being on the floor with some light would be better than being in a chair with no light. You crawl under the table with Idia offering a soft hi while he shaked like a nervous chihuahua.

✦ after a long bit of awkward silence (just as he was going to say something too) a clap of thunder scared the life out of him again, making him jump.. and in addition hit his head on the table.

✦ He just stared at you, steeping in embarrassment and the buzzing pain on the top of his head until another crash of thunder made him instinctively hug you. He held on like the storm was going to take him away, though that did not last long as he realized what he was doing and scrambled away. A soft sorry left him as he looked away brewing in his embrassment tea.

✦ "It's okay, you're afraid. It's okay that you are afraid" you softly whisper like you were coaxing a cat out of a cage

✦ He nods, then jumping again when the lights turn on. Azul had a prideful smile as he turned on the light, but it had changed to one of confusion as he looked at you both under the table.

lol srry if bad im not rlly a writer

@fryofthefrench

[lov3-lik3-ghosts]

I just had a nightmare that gave me the heeby jeebies and had me thinking on it throughout the morning (unfortunately). Could you write reader x Neville (could be close/best friends or lovers, doesn’t matter) and Neville noticing in the morning (maybe he went to go see her before breakfast or they had a cute lil sleepover) that she’s kind of off, and talking to her about what’s up? (Maybe just kind of sits there with her for a minute? Or helps her get her mind off of it?)

If not, no worries! Have an awesome day/night! <3

Sweet Realities

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x fem!reader

Summary: Neville comforts you after a rough nightmare.

Warnings: Not beta nor proofread. Use of Y/n.

Format: Drabble.

Word Count: 314

Note: Hi, sweetheart! I’m so sorry you had such a bad nightmare, I hope you’re feeling much better now! I tried my best with this for you but I’m battling writers block right now, so please bare with me. Have an awesome day/night too! <3

request guidelines | mother m-list

“Y/n?” Neville’s voice cuts through the light chatter of his dormmates, startling you from your stupor.

Your stood before his bathroom mirror, arms raised as you frustratedly rake a brush through your hair. You grunt in response, maintaining eye contact through the mirror.

He steps forward with furrowed brows, running his calloused hands along your raised arms. His fingers encircle the width of your wrists softly and he frowns lightly as guides your arms down, tucked under his own.

“Are you okay?” He speaks softly into your ear, head rest against your shoulder. His hair brushes your jaw as you shake your head.

“Rough night.” You croak, swallowing emotion. “I’m sorry.”

His gaze turns curious, flitting across your face. “Don’t be sorry, there’s nothing to apologise for. Did something happen?”

You grip his arms, tightening his hold around your waist. “Just a nightmare.” You whisper. “Nothing serious.”

Neville squeezes your waist. “But serious enough for you to feel bad.” His frown deepens. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You turn in his hold, your hands restring on his biceps. Your faces are a breath apart and there’s a rush of heat that warms your chest and cheeks when his nose brushes yours.

He leans his head forward, touching his forehead lightly against yours. The emerald of his eyes shines darker now that he’s close, flecked with shades of brown and you can’t help but stare as his pupils contract. Your shoulders untense from a tightness you hadn’t realised they held.

The rant on the tip of your tongue dies with his soft gaze. “No.” You whisper, set free with his care. “No, I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?” His lips brush yours.

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He murmured, planting his plush lips against yours. You reciprocate, tilting your chin into his to deepen the kiss.

“Oi! No canoodling in our shared bathroom, you assholes!”

~ 𐀔 ~ △⃒⃘ ~ 𐀔 ~

Likes, comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated and very encouraging!

[povlnfour]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ POVLNFOUR’S 1K FOLLOWERS CELEBRATION : DRABBLE GAME (PAUSED FOR A MOMENT — WILL UPDATE WHEN ITS BACK OPEN)

to celebrate 1000 of you (!!!!) i wanted to play a little drabble game to thank you all! how it works is:

you send me an ask with name of up to 3 drivers + a prompt, and i will write a short blurb based on how i think they’d react! (calling it the drabble game bc the world blurb gives me heebie jeebies)

for example: lando norris + teaching you how to ski , or lewis hamilton + the first time you met roscoe

your prompt can be: a situation, based on a song, inspired by photos or emojis you attach, based on a story, in a certain time period or alternate universe — anything you can think of as long as it is within the guidelines below!

WHO I WILL WRITE FOR:

for the purpose of this game i will write for any driver from the current f1 grid

reserve/other category drivers i will write for: liam lawson, mick schumacher, theo pourchaire, arthur leclerc, jack doohan, pato o’ward

f1 legends i will write for: jenson button (jenson requests get extra kisses hes my fav), sebastian vettel, mark webber, nico rosberg

WHAT I WON’T WRITE:

i do not write 18+ content. i am happy to write things of a suggestive nature but no smut

i will not write requests involving the following things: basic dni information, drugs, discussions of body image, any content that threatens harm to self or others, in depth discussions of mental health

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Creepy crawlies; Jack Kline x reader

*Author’s note*

Okay so this is a cute little drabble/small fic requested to me just recently by an anon who wanted some Jack Kline fluff. Took me two days but I came to this idea in the end so I hope you enjoy it anon as well as the rest of my lovely readers.

Warnings: Fluff, bugs, mentions of SPN episode 1x08 BUGS (that episode STILL gives me the heebie-jeebies). 

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queen-paladin​

@queensdivas​

@gay-and-ready-to-cry​

_________________________________________________________

It was that time of year, well the first time we ever had to deal with something like this.  And of course Sam and Dean had to bail out on a ‘case’ but I knew my brothers just wanted to get out of doing the one thing that everyone does.

Spring cleaning.

Ever since we found the Bunker and decided to make it our permanent home, this place needed a serious scrub down and clean up. Cobwebs, dust, new bed sheets, incense (mainly for me) to be put up to get rid of the ancient smell.  So every spring, I try to ensure that this bunker doesn’t end up like it was when we first found it.

Of course that means my brothers always try to get out of it (mainly Dean I just think Sam prefers to do the minor cleaning instead of what I have in mind).  And Cass…..well he chooses to go up to heaven every time I say it’s time clean up the bunker. The only person kind enough to help out around here is my beau Jack.

Using my powers, the bookshelf glowed blue and I lifted it up allowing Jack to vacuum underneath it while I brought in a swifer to swipe off each and every book from any dust bunnies.

“I don’t see why my brothers and Cas always try to bail out on Spring cleaning. I’m the one doing the heavy lifting.”

“I’ve noticed a trend that most people don’t enjoy spring cleaning because it’s so boring to do. That unlike normal cleaning, there’s an expectation for things to be so clean, that you’re supposed to see yourself in the floor. Which I don’t get.” Jack told me as he continued his vacuuming.

“I maybe a neat freak but I’m not Danny Tanner level of tidiness. All I want is to make sure we don’t neglect this place and end up in a dust field again. Seriously Jack you cannot begin to understand just how quickly my allergies began to act up when the guys and I first found this place. Bedridden for over a week, and that was before I got these powers.”

“I’m sorry baby. Had I been born yet, I would’ve stayed at your side to take care of you.”

“And that’s why I love you soo much Jackie-bear. You’re too sweet.” After dusting off the last book and once Jack was done vacuuming, he moved out of the way and I set the bookshelf back in it’s place.  I turned and with a snap of my fingers and all the books, notes, files and even Dean’s plates he had left since breakfast all raised up into the air and went to their original places.

“You’re like Mary Poppins.” He said with a smile.

“Well if I am, then that makes you my Burt. Come on, let’s head for the kitchen. Lord knows Dean forgot to do the dishes, again.” He followed behind me and right as we got to the kitchen, there I saw dishes upon dishes stacked in the sink, frying pans still on the oven covered in left over eggs and grease.  “That man never learns.”

“Why does he leave his dishes out like that?”

“Cause he’s lazy. Do you mind stacking the dishwasher while I deal with the grease pans and the oven?”

“Not at all baby.” I pecked his cheek while I walked over and wish a twist of my wrist, the frying pans lifted off the oven while the cleaning supplies came out from the top shelf cabinet on the island counter.  

While the spray bottle filled with Clorox bleach squirted out a few good sprays and the rag did a throughout wipe down, I focused my attention on cleaning the frying pans of the oils and grease from the bacon and sausages Dean had made for breakfast and tossed the leftover egg crumbs into the trash.

“Do you know when the last time Sam took the trash out?” I asked Jack.

“I believe I saw him collect all the trash last night.”

“Well at least he can keep up with the chores. I swear maybe I could use these powers to control Dean and make him scrub all the toilets in this bunker.”

“As funny as that would be to see, I know you’d never use your powers against your brothers.” He said as he dried off one of my good cups with a towel and set it alongside the rack we had for the special dishware.

“Yeah, yeah. But for real, he should at least have the decency to at least rinse off his pans after breakfast. Grease that sits out for too long stains these types of pans, and it’s a hassle to clean up later.”

“I believe you (Y/n).”

“But at least I’m getting it done, otherwise it’d never—” I paused mid-sentence as my body completely froze.  My heart raced and my eyes widened as I stared directly at it. It’s many legs all splayed out making it look like a living dust bunny on pointy legs.

The pots and cleaning supplies fell to the ground with a loud bang and I let out a scream and levitated myself into the air trying to get as far away from the little demon as possible.

“What?! What is it (Y/n)? Are you okay!?”

“Kill it quick!” I yelled at Jack.

“Kill what? Where is it? Is it a demon?”

“Yes now quickly before it gets away!”

“Where is it?”

“Over there!” Jack’s eyes soon glowed and he turned to where I was pointing but as he raised his hand, his eyes went back to normal color as he looked around confused.

“Where did you say it was?”

“What are you blind babe!? I told you over there on top of the oven! Kill it with your powers! Torch it! Torture it I don’t care just get rid of it!” he looked around until he seemed to have found what it was. He walked closer to it and he reached out his finger toward it.

“You mean this? But it looks like a dust bunny or a…..” but quickly it began to move and I let out another scream as I shot myself against the corner of the kitchen.

“Don’t touch it! Those bastards are fast now kill it hurry!”

“What is it exactly?” he asked me.

“A house centipede! Jack I’m not playing anymore please just kill it hurry!” I watched as the demonic centipede stopped crawling and was now just short of reaching a hiding spot behind the fridge.  Jack looked between me and the house centipede and a smile came across his face before he started to laugh.

He was laughing. My own boyfriend was laughing at my own misery!?

“Jack Kline stop laughing!” I demanded.

“I’m sorry. Really I am but…..(Y/n), you have fought against real demons, archangels, werewolves, vampires, even my own grandfather. And you’re terrified of a tiny little thing like him?”

“Tiny? Tiny!? Do you see the legs on that monstrosity!? Now for the last time get rid of it before it touches me!”

“Okay, okay.” He went over to grab a cup as well as paper towel.

“What are you doing?!” I hissed.

“Getting rid of it like you asked.”

“Not like that! You can’t show mercy to those little bastards! Use your powers and kill the son of a bitch!” I hissed quietly.

“But you told me that all living creatures deserve a chance at life, didn’t you?” I groaned.

“Well yes but that doesn’t include bugs, arachnids, snakes, or any other kind of creepy crawlies!” Jack rolled his eyes and successfully captured the house centipede and he left the kitchen with it between the cup and paper towel.

A few minutes later he came back and he told me it was gone.

“You sure?”

“Yes, yes, I even took him away from the bunker before releasing him. Now can you please come down?” I let out a soft whimper but lowered myself back to the ground.  He came over to me and wrapped his arms around me in a hug, allowing me to rest my head on his shoulder.  “I still can’t believe you’re scared of bugs. How did I not know of this?”

“Don’t mock me! Besides you weren’t even there when it happened.” I shuddered remembering that day all too well.

“When what happened?” I took in a shaky breath before telling him.

“A long time ago, long before we knew that angels and God were even real, my brothers and I took a case in some realtor development spot. A neighborhood was being built on sacred Native American grounds. Workers were being picked off one by one, at first we thought it was ghostly activity but it was far worse. The entire place was cursed, and the curse was affecting all the insects in the town. By night fall, a swarm of bees had surrounded the family that was responsible for building the neighborhood over the sacred lands. I—I had never seen so many bees in my life. We had no way of escaping, we were completely trapped and had to last the rest of the night being stung and swarmed by bees. Ever since that day, I even see the shape of an insect and I just go back to that day. A defenseless, frightened child being stung and swarmed by bees and no way of escaping.”

Jack listened intently at every word I had to say.  For months after that day, I had continuous nightmares of what happened. Even dreamt that it was other bugs attacking me from wasps, locusts, even spiders and ants.  Ever since then I’ve been absolutely terrified of any and every bug in the world.

“Wow, I—I had no idea. I’m so sorry that happened to you. And I’m sorry for teasing you about it. I promise I won’t ever bring it up again.”

“Thanks Jackie-babe.”

“Anything I can do to help you?”

“I could go for some ice cream with chocolate syrup and some cuddles on the couch while we watch the Princess Bride.”

“As you wish.” He said quoting the movie before giving me a peck on the nose.  I left the kitchen and brought out the blankets and changed my clothes to my comfy pjs while searching for the movie on one of the many streaming services we got.

When Jack came back with my ice cream, we cuddled up on the couch together, my back resting against his chest with his arms wrapped around my stomach and his head buried into my neck.  I ate the ice cream as the movie began, I even offered a couple of bites to Jack as we lay there and watched my favorite comfort movie.  Forgetting all about the demon-legged creature that traumatized me moments ago.

[blood-mocha-latte]

shock, quiet - luztoye drabble

for an anonymous ask || request an edit/drabble || nonnie this was. too fun to write. i had so much fun with this, i hope you like it <3

England sunsets are rather underwhelming.

He’s not sure why – he’s not even certain what he was imagining they’d look like – but he watches orange and red clouds shift and dip and change along with the sun and thinks, huh. 

It’s almost like home.

“You look like an idiot, out here.” George Luz says from behind him, voice light and amused. 

Joe, who heard him coming, just huffs. “Even on leave, you manage to find and annoy me.” He says, but it’s absent of venom. It always is, anyways. Luz laughs. It’s light.

“The rain reminds me of gasoline.” Luz says from behind him, out of left field, and Joe listens to quiet footfalls draw closer, coming to a stop as Luz plops down next to him, crossing his legs under him. Joe turns his cheek into his shoulder to look at him, watch his profile.

“Gasoline, huh.” He says. Luz hums. Facing the sun he seems bronzed golden, hair curled at the ends in the enervated humidity of England, dark eyes turned light by the bloody sun. He looks, Joe thinks absently, almost like the statues of grecian boys he’d seen in photos.

“Yeah.” Luz says, drawing Joe back out of his thoughts. “The way the sun shines on it, the way that it looks on the ground. Just… almost surreal. Who in the hell would pour gasoline onto the damn pavement?”

His gaze seems almost far away. Joe studies his profile. 

He hadn’t seen Luz at all, in Carentan. At least, when everything was roaring bullets and artillery and screams and explosions. 

“Heard about you gettin’ cut off.” He says, and Luz snorts. His gaze drops from the sunset to the pavement, mouth twisting as he bites at his lip. 

“Stupid thing to dwell on, huh.” He says. His fingertips rap absently on the tips of his boots. “When Tipper’s gone. When so many others are.”

“Maybe.” Joe says. “Or maybe it’s just like gasoline in pavement.” Luz hums.

When he shifts closer Joe’s expecting it, leaning against his shoulder, a solid line of warmth.

“You on leave, too?” He asks, turning back towards the sunset. Luz huffs.

“Yeah.” He murmurs. “Thought I’d maybe go to a club, find a joint or something, but.” He stops. Joe doesn’t prompt him to speak again, just watches the sunset.

George sighs, leans heavier against him.

“A car backfired.” He mutters to the pavement. “It was like… I don’t know. It was like I was back, for a moment. I had to get out, further.”

Out is nowhere special. Joe sits on the curb that leads out into an empty street. It seems every soul in the world’s back in town, a roaring party that connects the entirety of England together, while he sits just on the edge of it.

Well, him and Luz. 

“I get that.” Joe says. “Couple of replacements yesterday were fucking around, throwin’ clots of dirt and shit. It gave me the goddamn heebie-jeebies.” Luz huffs, a gentle laugh.

“You’re fucking with me.” He says. Joe shrugs. He hasn’t talked about this before. Not with Bill, or anyone else.

“Thinkin’ I’m being’ blown back again, all that shit spraying all over me…” He trails off, looks down. “I dunno. I get what you’re saying. Fuckin’ twice.” Luz huffs, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“It’s not a game anymore.” He murmurs to the ground. Rain puddles glisten on the pavement. “There’re worse things now than throwing up spaghetti.” Joe huffs.

“It’s a hell of a shock.” He says. George nods in agreement, turns his own cheek into his shoulder to face Joe.

“Yeah.” He says softly. Then pauses. Just watches Joe. Joe watches him back. “I need to ask you something.”

Joe watches his eyes, dark and serious and laughing and warm, warm, warm. “Okay.” He says. George huffs, swings his gaze back down and over the street before coming back to it.

“Gasoline instead of rain.” He murmurs, absently. Like a thought. “Did you want to kiss me, back in the bar, before we shipped out?”

Joe inhales, surprised. He can’t help it. Luz’s eyes stay pinned to him, and it makes him want to both hide and stand up and shout.

He thinks George Luz might be the bravest man in the entirety of Easy Company. Smartest, too. 

“You’re…” He starts to say, and then stops. He drops his own gaze back to the street, and can’t help but smile, almost laugh. “Yeah. I guess so.” George smiles, softly, lightly. His eyes seem to shine with the same light that made rain look like gasoline.

“I fucking knew it.” He says, and sounds so smug about it that Joe has to snort, aiming a gentle elbow at his ribs.

He remembers the way that Luz’s eyes had studied him, after he’d grabbed him by the collar, blood warm and happy and almost warning in his veins.

Luz had blinked, and been back to laughter. But there was a moment. A heartbeat, where Joe knew what George knew.

“Well, we made it.” Joe says, in response to the present, of the now, which has nothing to do with what they talk about and almost everything. “Operation Overboard.”

“No blood on the risers.” George agrees softly. Joe hums, eyes on the pavement.

“Not yet.” He says. It sounds ominous. George just huffs.

“Suppose you should kiss me then,” He says, and it makes Joe’s heart lurch in his chest. Like being blown up, but realising he’s fine. Like seeing the flash of a second grenade, and being okay. “Before there is blood and you miss your chance.”

“We wouldn’t want that.” Joe says dryly, shifting to lean back on his palms, leaving him free to watch George’s profile easily.

George huffs, turning against the curb and propping his chin on the heel of his hand. The bloody sun paints him bronze.

“No.” He says, the corner of his mouth quirking up. His eyes are light, and warm, and Joe has small rocks wedged into his palms from the pavement when he stops leaning on them to move closer to those eyes. “We wouldn’t want that.”

George laughs when Joe kisses him, lips parting. Pulls back, presses his forehead to Joe’s, says, voice rough and musical and light, “what a hell of a way to die.”

Joe just rolls his eyes and kisses him again.

[harringtons-cupid]

Would you have any tips for starting to write fanfics, or rather writing them and publishing them on Tumblr? I've got what feels like countless ideas but the though of putting them out online for folks to see gives me the heebie jeebies, but simultaneously makes me excited because I wanna see what people think of them if that makes sense? It's all a muddle 🤣

I completely understand that! It can be a boat of mixed feelings but honestly it’s the best thing I have ever done and now I can’t stop! Ahaha.

Well for starters, I’d establish your audience. Like what kind of type of fanfics, like stranger things, x files that kind of stuff. And really play into the narrative of that story, I don’t know if you’ve read any of mine but I try to get it very close to the OG show so that people know exactly what to expect. Then I write off that, obviously there are massive parts of fantasy played into that (half the fun!)

Another thing is, don’t worry If you waffle. As long as the story is tight, it can be as short or as long as you want. Though for newbies, I’d recommend starting small and drawing your audiences in. Making them NEED more.

I’d get all your notes and thoughts down on paper (on your laptop/phone) and when you get another thought just keep adding to it. Sentences will begin to form before you know it! I’d also read and watch different things to get inspiration for tropes.

Here is a link for some tropes that are useful if you don’t know where to start. 1 2 3

I have noticed that fics with colours and images, dividers etc! Tend to attract the most audiences, something that makes their eyes automatically drawn to it!

You could always upload a Drabble/blurb/headcanon and see how people react ??

Feel free to send me anything! I’m happy to look over someone’s work! I find it fun!

[durrtydawg]

Raining toads is NOT the vibe! I wish you a sexy Sam dream very soon!

Oh gosh, I haven’t written creatively in… I want to say 10 years. I write business/professionally for work, but for me to write a drabble? It’ll read like a grant proposal LOL.

So I did try to daydream and continue when I woke up, and I got as far as like Sam and I kind of being a conniving super couple to edge our way into team ownership as well. And trying to transform our public personas into like a hot power couple that overtly flirts in public and we trend on social media a lot. I think that was inspired my some other fics in a different fandom that do fics that look like trending tweets with snippets of fiction in between? I was thinking something like that.

I do have to say that your Toxic Relationship series changed me, like, on a cellular level. It is everything I love and needed to read and see and experience and imagine 😫 so thank you for that!

Your fics and another orphan account on ao3, SDTS, really scratch the Sam itch with his characterization and indulgent smut! Cheers to that!!

It is NOT. Really gave me the heebie jeebies.

ANYWAY. Oh my god, more power to you for pushing the dream. I'm obsessed- this would make for one very sexy au, if you ask me.

Ughh I do corporate copywriting as part of my job, and it's... a killer. But fuuuck, if you ever get 5 mins to just sit and write something- anything that makes you smile (i recommend a flat out exchange of mundane dialogue to get it all flowing) it reaaaally feels good to get creative from time to time. And hey, maybe you can weave a sexy grant proposal into it 💦

EEEKK also thank you??!?! SDTS was one of the core accounts I used to binge read back in the day, so to be put on that level?!?!?! *shrill scream* i hope they're doing well 🥲.

And the toxic relationship stuff!! I'm really tempted to write a 3rd part to round it all off, but deciding where to take it is gonna take a while. I'm so grateful that you've enjoyed it- would love to know which ending of ATOYO you preferred because honestly, the 2nd is canon in my eyes. Anyway, I'm rambling, but DUUUDE please please if you ever want to ramble, hit up the dms. I promise I'm nice (ish) x

[characternerdocs]

The Imp of the Perverse: temptation, risk, instinct. (Emery)

Drabble Prompts - Edgar Allan Poe edition - Imp of the Perverse ||| @icybreaths

New York City, New York, 1922

As her eyes scanned the patron at the bar anxiety gnawed at Emery's stomach - or was it something worse?

"I can't do this." she whispered.

"Won't be as hard as you think, Emmy." Beeyel reassured her as he placed an arm around her shoulders. "I promise. Just pick one."

Raising her eyes back to the bar, Emery surveyed the collection of people. Some faces she recognized, regulars to the speakeasy, others she didn't, probably first-timers; but all of them strangers to her. Except for one, a wet blanket of a character who had locked eyes with her from a cross the room. Another of Beeyel's employees, a guard or some sort of hired muscle. He had always give Emery the heebie-jeebies due to his towering stature and burning judgemental glare that seemed to never change, even now.

The smoldering look forced Emery to drop her gaze again. "This- this isn't right."

"Right?" Beeyel echoed back, Emery almost sensing a touch of malice in his voice. "Is what happened to you right?"

She felt a clawed finger brush one of the puncture wounds on her neck. They had closed impossibly quickly but she knew that the circular pockmarks of her attackers' bites would always remain.

"Attacked in your own home. Forced to watch your beloved child killed in front of you. Turned into the very same creature that took out your sweet little boy. That doesn't sound right or fair to me?"

Emery bit back her tears as Beeyel pointed out the injustice of her current state. A single mother now left childless, who in her last moments wanted only for death but was given immortality instead. Beeyel was right, her fate was not fair. But that didn't give her the right to harm others. The patrons at the bar were not the ones who had condemned to this monstrous existence.

"Look at them." Beeyel commanded as he gestured with his other hand. "So completely and utterly unaware, uninterested, uncaring of the pain you are in. You, who have been entertaining them for months. Every night they came to the club to listen to you sing; to watch you in your lacy attire preform for them. But never once do they ask themselves 'why.' They don't see the mother who was struggling for her son. Only a caged bird who sings when they say so. You lost everything and this vermin still want more. You gave your all but they still continue to take and take."

"Look!" Beeyel ordered again, this time forcing Emery's face towards the rowdy crowd. The laughter and jovial mood of the night's patrons stung as Beeyel popped the cork on Emery's bottled up grief. Most of them had been come here religiously to see her, catcalling, taunting and teasing her with all sorts of vulgar comments. And her reason for suffering through it all, the son she had dreamed of creating a better life for, was gone.

Beeyel was right, Emery had give nearly all she had to the speakeasy's patrons and still they wanted more, expected her to entertain them despite her heartbreak, despite her grief. She wished that even just one of them could feel a faction of the pain she was drowning in. The devastation and sorrow that was tearing her apart.

Then that wish turned into a desire. For the past seven years Emery had suffered the cruelty of an unfair world. Unmarried and pregnant she was ruthlessly kicked out on the streets by her father, her son's father killed in the war over seas, but unswayed she still found work to raise and care for Dederick on her own, only to have him stole way by a monster and herself curse to be the same blood-thirsty creature.

Her desire quickly blossomed into a uncontrollable longing. Emery had given long enough, now it was her turn to take. Her lips curling to a smile a fanged smile as she scouted the crowd for her very first victim.

Thanks for the ask @icybreaths, The Imp of the Persevere is a good choice for Emery, particularly in her fledgling vampire years, as she was literally under the care of a perverse imp, Beeyel, but Poe's story is about doing what you know is wrong and doing said thing because you know you shouldn't. Poe called that feeling the Imp of the Preserve, now I believe it is better know as an impulsive or intrusive thought. Initially, Emery wasn't too keen on the idea of having to kill and drain the blood of others to survive as a vampire, but with Beeyel whispering his silvered words in her ear, she came around to it and eagerly embarrassed her new dietary habits.

[bearseokie]

heebie jeebies

— Out on the journey to a safehouse, Gunhak’s perseverance to the situation pays off.

DETAILS — [ PG-13 | drabble | 1k ] PAIRING — gunhak x gender-neutral! reader GENRES — zombie apocalypse! au, horror, romance WARNINGS — gore, violence, use of weapons (clubs/guns), falling

oneus m.list | navi.

The bludgeon bashed into the man’s head, his body stumbling sideways before his lightened frame landed on the ground with a thud. A living corpse when he growled at Gunhak, your partner’s weapon had finally ended the undead’s life, leaving him hollow on the ground until the weather of the world fully decayed him. Your wrist was captured, Gunhak’s guiding complex always at hand when you were out on a run.

“You know, you don’t have to drag me around.” you laughed. His serious gaze sent shocks through your body when his head turned and your eyes met, the tone darkening. Your words faltered in your throat, the smile slipping from your lips as you trailed him.

The club slowly lowered to the ground, the tip held on the pavement of the road while the end laid against his leg’s muscle. You watched his eyes scan your surroundings, the light of the sunset pretty - the same setting soon exceedingly dangerous for the time being. His loaded rifle was pulled from the strap on his shoulder, his pupil matching with the lens of the scope to get a better view of anything in the distance.

You were already breaking the number one safety rule by standing in the middle of the street, the open space too easy to be sniped by near-by people or groups, even in sight of more dead ones stirring around. Hearing clear and sight empty, Gunhak’s hold on you returned, his hands frigid in the midst of the cold days.

“Do you remember how long it took us last time?” he asked, eyes glancing to the side to see you in his peripheral vision.

A test - Gunhak’s test - he always made sure you were both on the same page. Times were too slim for you to forget basic tasks, the attractive man a constant explanation for every time you drew a blank. He hated listening to you stutter, staring at his impatient mouth as his tongue swiped across his lips in agitation. It was the same, repeated process over and over, and even you grew tired of it.

“Four hours and twenty two minutes.” you said sternly.

His brows knitted, shoes scuffing on the concrete as he halted and turned to meet your innocent gaze. You had the exact time memorized. Thinking about mentioning the seconds, you didn’t want to brag about how well you studied him during the last run you went on with him; the memory was still fresh in your mind.

The smile that rose on his lips made your heart skip a beat, the chatter of the undead echoing off in the distance as his grip got a little tighter. It wasn’t a safety precaution, he knew you wouldn’t stride away from him even in a horrid moment. It was just his natural response to want you close.

The air shifted in the minutes it took for your final mile to stretch past, Gunhak’s palm warming against your skin. His steps grew quicker when the last bit of orange filled the sky, reaching the door to the safe house just in time to lock you both inside. The place that was once ravaged was the perfect spot to hide things, the floorboards coated with nails, appearing to be secure. An underground basement beneath the old building, the only path being the floor below the line of the baseboards. Your feet cradled above the wood, the sturdy space only holding one of you at the time.

The entire place was dead silent, Gunhak’s heavy breaths and worn limbs making it across before turning to lift out his hand in your direction. Your eyes locked in with the board, feet grinding against the wood as you balanced on the odd space and kept your back to the wall. Gunhak was only three feet from you, his hand shaking at the light crack of the floorboard snapping right in front of you. The wood had molded, leaks in the roof unable to conceal the rain from the latest storms. Breath caught deep in your chest with a deep inhale, you took one last stride, a leap of faith as Gunhak’s arms wrapped around you in a blanket of safety. Just as his hold enwrapped you, the nearest boards next to the trail gave way, the escape in the future much more difficult than planned.

His hand met your cheek, turning your attention back to him. His skin ran along your own, the concerned look on his face as he checked for cuts or bruises making your skin flush with red. Your laugh was soft, his teeth flashing between his lips. His eyes sparkled with an expression that you never noticed before. He seemed almost translucent, the hold on your face pleasant as his eyes bored into your own. In the heat of the moment, you could only observe on standby as his face tilted and his lips captured yours.

The silk skin of his mouth fit between yours so perfectly that you felt dizzy. His free hand enclosed on your waist, pulling you against him until you could feel the breath swirling in his lungs. He deepened the kiss, the moment so passionate and filled with every heart palpitation you had ever experienced when you were with Gunhak all in the same moment. Heart beat eradicated, he finally pulled from the kiss, the oxygen seeping through your lips colder than before as he smiled.

You could sense he was holding something in, your eyes squinting as he pulled you along. Your feet met the rickety stairway down to the basement, the entire building vacant with a comforting glow of the moon pooling in from the skinny windows against the ceiling. The smile on Gunhak’s face was too wide, the entertaining expression from the man that was usually blunt and stern due to the circumstances making you shiver and peer around. He had never mentioned the actual task of the journey, the light of his large flashlight illuminating the room as you noticed the wall of food that was stored inside the locked building.

“Dinner for two?” he asked. His ruse had worked to get you fully alone, and now you were on a date.

[darkfinch]

wip guessing game: small, loud, blue, disaster

small

He’s thinking it might be, ‘til he comes home two and a half months later to find his front door wide open—and Quinn, wild-eyed and small in the bathtub, hyperventilating into his palms like he’s half-trying to smother himself. 

loud

“Yeah,” says Quinn, raising his voice to be heard over the smoke detector, which seems to be getting louder somehow, “looks like that’s going really well for you.”

blue

[Quinn] looks like something else altogether in the dim light of the hallway—stock-still and listening for movement, gun in hand, dark blood freckling his new blue tie. 

aaaand I don't have anything for disaster :'3

[wip guessing game]

[verdandir]

An Ill-Fated Comb

Picking up the comb she turned it over in her hands and pursed her lips, debating on the necessity of the object while the shopkeep hovered behind the counter, just barely keeping large hands from rubbing together at the idea of a sale. She tapped the little device and set it back down, oblivious to the slight droop in the shopkeep’s shoulders as she turned away, her silver-white eyes drifting across the stall’s contents. She didn’t want to encumber herself overly much when she planned to travel again soon. 

Verdandir reached forward towards a brush when she was jostled roughly from behind, her tiny frame almost completely bowled off her feet as she tried to keep from knocking any of the wares from the stall or end up under the boots of the others in the market. The hovering shopkeep squawked a cry of concern, partly for his wares then for a possible client, and the offender pivoted in place as they attempted to recover from whatever had sent them off course.

“Here now, wha’s this?!”

“Mind th’ lady, there!”

“Oh, excuse me!”

Ungentle hands grasped her shoulders as she grabbed the edge of the stall’s table and she instinctively tried to pull away, glancing up. There was a towering Elezen in traveling leathers next to her, his weathered face pinched with annoyance as he glanced over at a hyur who was by his shoulder.

“I told you to watch your footing around here, Nakim. Now look, we’ve upset a lady,” his tone was just vaguely Ishgardian, as if he had been raised near there yet ended up around other accents or dialects long enough that it was now muddled… but she could catch it. She could always catch that accent. It made her entire body clench even if she tried to fight it. “Please pardon me and my clumsy friend, little lady, we did not mean to-”

The Elezen man’s voice trailed off as he turned and looked at her properly, his eyes locking onto her and squinting. A russet eyebrow rose. Ver blinked and tried to twitch her shoulder out from under his hand, tensing up further as she felt his fingers tighten, resisting her attempt to shake him off. “Um. Y..yes, I’m sure it was just an accident,” Verdandir glanced at the man’s hands and again tried to pull herself away. “I’m fine now.”

“Still,” A smile drew one side of the Elezen’s face up as he kept his grip, leaning over her. “You must allow me to make it up to you, little lady. We surely have interrupted your shopping just now, no? Pray, let me cover the cost of your purchase.”

“That’s not… necessary,” she glanced at the shopkeeper and smiled tightly, shaking her head. She had been tending to sailors and drifting along the stalls and docks for some weeks now, yet with each passing moment her discomfort grew under the Elezen’s hands. It wasn’t just the subtle reminders of… home. It was something else. Something that made her skin start to prickle. “It was really just an accident, there’s no need-”

“Come now!” The Elezen pulled her closer, his smile wide as he leaned both closer over her and towards the table, his arm snaking around her shoulder. His hyur companion shifted closer, appearing curious but voicing no opposition. “It was Nakim here that nearly sent you to the ground and the Twelve only know what might have happened then. Allow us to make it up to you so we may part ways without any ill will, hmm? Now, what were you looking at before we barged in?”

Verdandir tried to conceal her shudder and smiled hesitantly, every muscle taut under the Elezen man’s grip. “Again, it isn’t necessary… but if you insist? I was simply looking at a…”

“This?” The Elezen’s fingers brushed over the comb before she could point it out and Verdandir’s eyes jerked from it up to him and then over to the shopkeep who was eyeing the situation dubiously, unsure if he was making a sale or about to call for the Yellow Jackets.

“Ah… y..yes.”

“Then I’ll buy it for the little lady, if you please, and my thanks. Our apologies for the churlish disruption to your afternoon.” He picked up the comb she had previously admired and handed it over to the shopkeep before tipping his head to the hyur with him, who gave a small sigh while reaching for his coin purse. “The fellow paying now is Nakim Provost, my traveling companion and obviously one who should watch where he is going in a crowd. And I,” he accepted the wrapped comb and smiled, leaning back over her to ensure eye-contact while handing it over, his grip still firmly on her shoulder. “Am Odex Rigahoux, a… I suppose traveling ‘adventurer’ of sorts, is what they call it these days.”

Verdandir looked at the wrapped comb and then back at the man’s hazel eyes. Somehow she wanted to draw further back from those eyes and she felt her smile grow further strained. “A...Ah, yes.” Her fingers closed around the comb but his grip remained, both on her shoulder and the object, as if waiting… prompting her to do something. “O-oh, my name… I am Verdandir. Verdandir Sadi. Now if you’ll pardon me, I really must be on my way.”

“Of course, Miss Sadi,” Odex released both his hands quickly and leaned back, his smile bright on his weathered face. Nakim glanced between them as he placed the shopkeep’s change back in his coin purse and shrugged at the man, who returned the gesture, still eyeing the Elezen as the tall man stepped aside to allow the tiny Au Ra woman to slip off into the market stalls. “Do have a pleasant afternoon, little lady.”

Verdandir glanced over her shoulder and clutched the comb in her fingers tightly, trying to shake the unease from her mind. It wasn’t fair to carry such feelings with her simply because of an accent. It WAS just because of an accent… wasn’t it? She blinked away the feeling and put the thought of the man’s odd eyes out of her mind.

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

“I say, Odex… What was THAT all about,” Nakim leaned up against the alleyway wall and scratched the scar on his cheek out of habit, frowning at the tall Elezen who sauntered in after him.

“Hmmm, you never lived long in Ishgard or the Forelands, did you? Just recently joined up, hm?” The older Elezen settled down onto a crate and removed his glove, studying the hand that had gripped the small woman’s shoulder intently. “In fact, I’d wager you couldn’t trace any of your family from the area, could you? So it wouldn’t affect you even if I tried...“

Nakim eyed his companion and frowned. “I’m almost afraid to ask…”

The grin that answered him was eerie and made the hyur shudder, reminding him of what the pair did under their guise of ‘adventurers’ that were so welcome in the City-States of late. Or rather, what Odex did and he had signed up for when the Elezen had found his skills useful enough when he had arrived in Tailfeather. “I’ve been tempted to start slipping you some of the blood we were gathering, ol’ Nakim, to see if it would do you any good, but alas… I doubt it would do a damned thing. If not kill you outright, and your skills are too useful to me.”

The hyur’s eyes widened at the other man’s words and he shoved himself away from the wall. “You WHA-!”

“Now now,” a dark chuckle cut him off as the Elezen started to clean a nail with a blade that Nakim had never seen him draw. When had…? “Like I said, you didn’t seem the type to take to it, so I didn’t bother. I’m the one to ‘suffer’ the need… and the benefits, aren’t I? Not that you complain when it helps, hm? Just because those puffed shirts in Ishgard went and signed a peace treaty doesn’t mean the demand for Dragon’s Blood is going to stop. And that means the price will simply go up for those willing to do what it takes to get it under the table and in other lands. You knew that when you signed on with me.”

“That still doesn’t explain all that back there.” Nakim sullenly folded his arms over his chest, not willing to push the previous statement. For now.

Odex flicked the blade absently and hmm’ed, his hazel eyes gleaming with a hint of amber around the centers as he chuckled. “There was something about that girl… Once you start with the Dragon Blood… it changes you. The more you take, the longer you take it, the more it does, and you start to be able to sense things. Like THEM. Either she’s connected to them somehow or…”

“...Or?” The hyur leaned forward, curious now. The girl had seemed pretty, delicate even, but he hadn’t sensed anything more than just a skittish young woman from her. Not that anyone wouldn’t be with Odex looming like that. Of course, he wasn’t really one for magic things or any of that… business. But if it meant more gil…

“Or she deals in magics enough that she has something to hide. Either way, I want to know. I have a name and a… hmmm. ‘Scent’. You and I should be able to handle things well enough. Shouldn’t we?”

Nakim sighed slightly and then shrugged, a lopsided smile tugging his lips. “Provided she moves out of the city? Tricky, but doable.”

“Oh, she’ll run, I could see it. She’ll run. And we’ll hunt. Just be ready.” He stood up and slipped the blade away, slapping a hand down on the hyur’s shoulder, fingers tightening. “Once she’s out of the city… I want to ask some questions of the little lady.”

[the-hinky-panda]

Day 1: Heebie Jeebies

It’s fic fest time! All my little drabbles will be tagged as “Hinky’s October Fic Fest” if you want to follow. I’ll also be posting a masterlist for all of them as well. I hope you guys enjoy!! Happy October! Happy Fall! 

10/1: Heebie Jeebies

Universe/Characters: Mariposa // Reader, Trujillo, mention of Carrillo 

You come up here to think. Or that’s what you tell yourself at least. But really it’s more than that. You come up here to remind yourself why you’re doing what you’re doing, why you need to keep your hand to the plow and continue your work. Honestly, what other choice do you have? Pack it in before Escobar is in custody? Call it quits and leave the Colombian people, these people that you’ve grown attached to, even loved, to the cartels? 

You kick an empty beer can across the empty room and listen to the tinny sound of it bouncing along the concrete. You can’t give up. You have to keep going. You have to get Escobar. You have to do it for Horacio. 

“Posa?” 

You’re only somewhat startled by hearing your name quietly called out through the ruins of El Catedral. This isn’t your first time wandering through the bombed out halls of the luxery prison and it isn’t the first time that Trujillo has found you during your wanderings. 

“Estoy por aquí. (I’m over here.)” 

You hear the familiar quick step of your brother in arms. Actually, after the last couple years, you find yourself consistently dropping the “in arms'' part. Trujillo has become the closest thing to family that you’ve ever had. That you may ever have. 

He looks around the cavernous game room, broken glass crunching under his military boots, and shivers. “¿Por qué vienes aquí? (Why do you come up here?)” 

You shrug. “It helps me think.” 

He gives you a semi-concerned look. “Es espeluznante aquí arriba. (It’s creepy up here.)” 

“Maybe that’s why I like it.” You move a broken picture frame with the toe of your shoe. “I like being spooked and having the heebie jeebies.” 

“¿El qué? (The what?)” 

“The heebie jeebies,” you repeat with a smile. It’s a phrase you haven’t heard in years and for some reason, having it in your mouth once more reminds you of home. “It’s like that feeling of walking through cobwebs. It makes you feel jittery and out of sorts.” 

Trujillo stares at you, wide eyed, for a full minute. “¿Y te gusta esta sensación? (And you like this feeling?)” 

“Yeah. I do.” Your eyes rove around the space. The broken jukebox, peeling felt on the pool table, the couch with tufts of stuffing sticking out of it. Who in their right mind could have thought that Escobar confining himself to a prison of his building was a punishment? “When you’re off balance, you see things differently. It gives you a chance to recalibrate.” 

Trujillo sniffs as he picks up a cracked billiard ball. “No me gusta sentirme así. (I don’t like feeling like that.)” 

“Oh no?” 

“No.” He smiles as he tosses the ball up in the air and catches it. “Pero me gusta hacer que otras personas se sientan así. (But I like making other people feel that way.)”

“Oh really? Like who? Me?” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “Nunca querría que te sintieras así. (I’d never want you to feel that way.)” 

The sincerity in his words smarts your eyes. “Then who?” 

“Escobar.” 

“Well, giving someone like Pablo Escobar the heebie jeebies is going to take some doing.” There’s another pang of emotion that hits you in the chest. “There was only one person Escobar was ever really afraid of.” 

Trujillo is suspiciously quiet. You look over your shoulder and see he’s still tossing the billard ball up in the air and catching it. The dim moonlight gives just enough light for you to see that it’s the eight ball.

[potato-lord-but-not]

I am going squiggly diggly fiddly giggly for you because ur art just gives me positive heebie jeebi shneebies

The lighting you make in your art makes me wanna shlobble gobble dribble drabble flibble flabble it

I am going Al giggly and kicking my feet and twisting my hair because your whole existence makes me happy

Thank you,have a good day

If y’alls reaction to my art is anything but this don’t talk to me

[appalachianapologies]

🎶 What music do you listen to while you write?

✏️ What is your fav fic from another writer?

🗑 What is one fic idea that you loved first but then scrapped?

🎶 ok so unironically i could write a whole post on this

the short answer is i listen to music that fits the mood of whatever i'm writing. example: when i was writing part 12 to schrodinger's sandbox, i listened to the soundtrack of TLOU 1 and 2 to help myself feel the heebie jeebies and creepy vibes. for Lou is for Lavender i have a whole playlist on spotify to stop me from getting distracted and wandering to a different vibe

✏️ pls do not make me pick oneeeeeee

Bad Plan + Good Dream by @melnonny is one of thee funniest and best personality fics ever, especially given that the only knowledge that she knows about MacGyver is just from me and not the actual show hsghksgkdskjsfdkj

🗑 all of it ghghgjfj

i had a fic idea that involved mac being a TA while the whole gang that we're used to (including jack and des at the first time don't @ me), and mac accidentally gets involved with DXS problems. i wrote a short drabble from it somewhere somewhere on my blog, one day i'll find it and link it. eventually it kind of turned into Desire Paths, but there's still a little tickle in my brain that makes me want to write it

these asks

[ezrasarm]

Pedro Boys + Pets

Warnings: None

A/N: That’s right! More collaborative HCs between @chaotic-noceur, @din-damn-djarin and myself because apparently, we have many ideas and very little self-control. Enjoy!

Din Djarin

Accidentally grazed a loth cat with a blaster shot

Now Yodito is desperately trying to heal it

Yodito won’t let him leave until he adopts the damn thing

So now he is an accidental parent to two defenceless(ish) creatures

He refers to it as a ‘nuisance’ because that’s what it is to him

Eventually, this dumbass loth cat starts answering to ‘nuisance’, as its name

“This… is not what I intended… at all”

It also answers to Yodito’s very specific shriek

He found Yodito asleep on ‘nuisance’ once

No, his heart did not melt right then and there

After particularly difficult hunts, he cuddles up with Nuisance on his lap in the captain’s seat, scratching the sweet spot behind its ear

He refuses to admit that it soothes him

You see right through him

You know he would kill for that ball of fluff 

He comes back from a rough hunt to find Nuisance and Yodito both curled up in your lap once

That was the first time he’d felt at home in a long time

Home. With you. And yodito. And this stupid loth cat

Ezra

We don’t know how we don’t know when but somehow he has a mangy old arthritic cat that has seemed ancient since the day it was born.

Its name is Trash- originally short for Patricia but that name has long since been forgotten.

The cat’s almost as much of a grump as he is 

But he turns into such a giant softy around it no matter how many times it has literally bitten the hand that feeds it.

He has long rambling one-sided conversations with it when he’s alone and it has this raspy squawk-like meow that it responds to him with.

“You’re not one who’s much for words, are you? I can appreciate that.”

...

“Who was it that said ‘Blessed is the man who, having nothing to say, abstains from giving us wordy evidence of the fact’?”

...

“You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about do you?”

…

“Come here, you idiot.” *picks up cat*

He swears it’s psychic

When he’s having a bad day it curls up next to him and purrs like a motor until all of his problems go away

She’s a total one person cat though

Does not tolerate shit from anyone but Ezra 

Occasionally though, every once in awhile, she might just grace you with a gentle nudge of her head before she hunkers down in your lap and drifts off to sleep

Recently she’s taken to curling up on your face when you’ve fallen asleep cuddling Ezra

Ezra says it's cute but you swear she’s trying to suffocate you

Frankie Morales

A total dog person if you’ve ever seen one. 

Small dogs give him the heebie-jeebies 

“If it can fit in your purse that’s not a dog! It’s some kind of mutant cat.”

Grew up in the countryside where having a dog was practically a prerequisite 

Can’t get used to not having a dog running around the house

Accidentally adopts an old mutt because he can’t resist it 

Surprises the hell out of you when you get home from work

You can’t tell if you’re more convinced to keep it by its puppy dog eyes or his

A/N: We got halfway through HC-ing this before we realized you could just read the actual fic that kicked all of this off instead 😂

Javier Peña

Thinks a house cactus counts as a pet

“I feed it. I water it. I take care of it. It meets all the criteria for a pet”

“You didn’t even name it!”

*glances over at bookshelf* “Federico Garcia Lorca. There I named it.”

“...it looks like a Stanley”

*glaring* “I am not calling him that.”

You don’t even trust him so much as to “take care of it” as he says he does.

“You watered it once. A month ago.”

“It’s a cactus! What do you want me to do? Drown him?!”

“Javi, you cannot water a plant with WHISKEY”

God help you two if you ever have a child

His new method of watering is now to leave the ice cube left from his drink in the pot to melt whenever he remembers 

You can’t decide if you’re impressed by this stroke of genius or disappointed that you didn’t come up with it first

One time you even got home to find him reading over a particularly gruelling case file with the small house plant. 

“Were you just talking to Stanley?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I was talking to Federico Gar- no one.”

A/N: Naturally, us being us- more specifically, @chaotic-noceur being @chaotic-noceur, Stanley sparked his own drabble which you can read here

Marcus Pike

Says he’s a dog person but is actually a cat person.

Doesn’t plan on getting a pet

But these stray cats keep showing up at his door

He made the fatal error of feeding them once and now they won’t leave him alone

They sleep outside on the doormat

But when it rains or gets cold out he ends up feeling sorry for them and lets them come inside

Now he’s accidentally adopted 5 cats

Each of them named after famous artists

Finds a chicken literally trying to cross the road one day on his way home from work

Swore it was going to get hit by a car so he brought it home too

Its name is now Picasso

The cats love their new sibling already 

...That or they want to eat it. He can’t quite tell yet.

Michelangelo seems to have taken on the ‘mother hen’ role though so he’s not overly concerned

“You can’t keep that here!”

“Why not? People keep chickens all the time!”

“Marcus, this is getting out of hand!”

You wind up taking it to your uncle’s farm where you promise Marcus he can visit it whenever he wants.

You guys (and the 5 cats) take a road trip every other weekend now

Oberyn Martell

Got himself a red snake

Takes it everywhere with him

It's not uncommon to see him sitting in a meeting with this snake casually draped over his shoulders

It doesn't seem to mind at all

Let's his youngest name the snake and now all his daughters want to name the pets they don't have

He finally caves when they start naming furniture

They all get their own pets and the castle is starting to resemble an animal sanctuary

His second youngest wanted a tarantula so that's what she got

Oberyn doesn't mind, he finds the little creature quite fascinating

The castle staff though? Not so much

Agent Whiskey 

Low key high key wants a pet pig

Can’t have one because he lives in an apartment and the landlord said no

Settles for a giant bullmastiff to spite him because nothing in the guidelines says he can’t have a dog

It’s called Dolly Parton or just Dolly for short

The vet insists he needs to find a way to get her to exercise because she’s overweight 

But in truth when he’s off work he’s just as lazy as her so they both wind up sprawled across the couch watching movies all day instead

“You’re here for a good time, not a long time.” He insists

She thinks she’s a lap dog and winds up crushing him every time she sits down

He doesn’t have the heart to get her to move so he just suffocates for a while instead 

Probably ends up with a ranch once he’s retired from Statesmen

And he finally gets that pig