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malum-forev · 1 year ago

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First Trimester

(This is a short drabble I couldn’t get out of my head, idk what this is lol)

Bucky kept his head in his hands, eyes closed tightly. His breath ragged.

He could hear Steve’s loud footsteps pacing the room while Sam stood rooted in place. He could hear his friends’ heartbeats thumping rapidly.

“And you two-“ Steve couldn’t get the words out.

“That’s usually how that happens.” Sam retorted sarcastically.

Steve’s hands shot up. “I’m just trying to understand how this happened!”

“Looks like I should have had the birds and the bees conversation with both of you.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“What am I going to do?” Bucky croaked, his throat dry and scratchy. The question was mostly for himself, wondering just how he would manage everything happening in his life.

“You aren’t going to do anything.” Sam ran his hand over his face. “Before you go into crisis mode like a chicken running with its head chopped off, you need to make sure it’s yours.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped open.

“Sam-“ Steve’s cautious tone only made the Falcon more angry.

“Here’s what we know,” Sam’s voice was firm. “You two have got super soldier serum running through your veins, it changed your bodies drastically. Which obviously means your swimmers were altered, doctors told you the probabilities of you two getting someone knocked up are zero.”

“Close to zero.” Steve corrected.

“Whatever,” Sam rolled his eyes again. “Now- this one goes around the tri state are area banging anything with legs.”

Buckys cheeks burned red.

“Two months later, someone comes around saying they’ve got a super soldier baby brewing- does that not sound shady to anyone else?”

Steve rubbed his hand against his chin. “When did Dr. Cho say she could get a paternity test?”

“Two weeks.” Bucky whispered.

“Then these are going to be the most stressful two weeks of your life, kid.” Steve slumped his shoulders.

She hadn’t let the crippling nervousness seep into her body, work, friends and exhaustion had been great distractors. But now, as the steel gates of the Avengers compound opened she felt it.

She was the one who had encouraged a paternity test when she knocked on Bucky’s door weeks ago.

She hadn’t thought twice about missing her period the first month. Long hours at the art gallery we’re to blame, right? But as the days turned into weeks and the strange knot in her throat tightened, she decided to take a test.

Not thinking anything would pop up except the not pregnant label on the plastic test, she left it on the counter and forgot about it. That is, until a three minute timer rang and the scariest word ever written was staring at her. Pregnant.

(Y/n) waited a full week before visiting a gynecologist. Some gel, and ultrasound and some probing later, she was pregnant and that was that. She didn’t even register the bean sized blob on the screen. A muffled sound replaced the cheery doctor’s voice.

“Is Dad excited?” The young doctor smiled. Dad, fuck there’s a dad that needs to be notified.

(Y/n felt as if she’d stuffed a handful of gravel down her throat. She nodded weakly and lied. “He’s ecstatic.”

What she should have said is: he’s terrified.

When Bucky saw (Y/n)’s text on his phone, he’s ego shot up. He whistled as he prepared some eggs that morning, thinking highly of himself.

I don’t usually go back for seconds but I guess I can make an exception. Bucky thought as he shaved his face that morning. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a tight shirt, a combination he’d read online was the bee’s knees for getting women riled up these days.

But there might as well have been nothing underneath those boxers he was wearing because the shocking news killed any kind of vibe he had been feeling.

(Y/n) rocked backwards and forwards nervously as she stood in his living room. She didn’t even want to come in but he’d insisted. Now, Bucky was slumped back on his couch with his eyes set on the floor.

“I know this sounds strange-“ she swallowed. “But I don’t usually do what we did, I don’t do one night stands. I love relationships which is why my friends convinced me to sleep with you- not that I needed convincing you’re like so hot but you know what I mean. Well, I guess you don’t know what I mean because you barely know me, barely know I exist.”

“You love relationships?” Bucky’s eyes widened.

“I-well- shit- I shouldn’t have said that. It sounds-“ You sighed deeply, trying to collect her thoughts. “What I’m trying to say is that, you’re the only person I’ve had sex with in- a long time. And I want you to know that I’m not telling you this to make you feel like you have to be involved- that is if we decide to keep it. I just thought you should know that I’m pregnant.”

She tried to make her voice sound firm and confident but her whole body rejected the idea. There was nothing she was more afraid of than this. This life altering decision.

“And you’re thinking of keeping it.” He whispered, blue eyes staring back at her.

(Y/n) nodded slowly then shook her head. “I don’t know. Yes, maybe. I have a stable job, pretty decent insurance and a nice apartment downtown so, I’ve got the basics covered. I’ve always wanted children, not now but- I don’t know.”

“I’m also aware this is insane news so, I understand if you need time to process or decide if you want to- be involved, I guess.”

Bucky slowly nodded. She wrapped her cardigan closer to her body and his whole body jerked up, standing from the couch.

“Ar-are you, showing?” Bucky’s curious tone made her lips tweak upwards.

“It‘s been like two months and it’s the size of a bean so, no.” She tried to lighten the mood.

“You’ve been to the doctor?”

She nodded. “She told me I could have a paternity test done in a couple of weeks, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

Paternity test- paternity. Those words didn’t even seem real to Bucky. It had been such a distant thing that the thought hadn’t registered in his mind yet.

“I’ve got a couple of doctors that would probably know how to handle that-“ he said pointing to her stomach. “With the whole, serum and everything. Would you mind if I talked to them?”

“I don’t mind, whatever’s better for bean, right?”

Bucky’s body was enveloped in a foreign feeling. So different than anything he’d felt before, an unsettling feeling in his stomach that brought goosebumps to his skin.

“The bean?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows.

“Not the bean. Just, bean.” Her cheeks burned and a smile developed on her lips. “The doctor said it’s going to be a while until I can find out the sex so, I’ve been calling it that. Bean.”

“Bean.” Bucky repeated quietly, fighting from letting out a smile. He couldn’t let himself get involved, not before a decision was made. Did he want to be in bean- the baby’s life? Was he even the father?

(Y/n) and Bucky walked through the white corridors at the Avengers med bay in silence.

Both of them stopped at an opened door.

“You sure you don’t want to come in and check I don’t switch up the viles, rig the paternity results?” She regretted the joke as soon as the words flew out of her mouth. Bucky’s blue eyes widened. She had tried to lighten the mood but the only thing she succeeded was to make Bucky uncomfortable-

“Good thinking,” Bucky’s lips twitched upwards. “I’m sure having my old ass sperm in there was your plan all along.”

She couldn’t help a giggle escape her mouth. Bucky placed his hand on her lower back and lead her into the room.

He held her hand through the procedure and followed her back to her car after everything was done.

“I guess I’ll call you once the results are in.” Bucky bit his bottom lip as she nodded, the tired look on (Y/n) worried him. “I just wanted to say, again, how grateful I am you’re being so cooperative.”

(Y/n) saluted him. “Anything for our troops.”

Bucky tipped his head back with laughter. “Please let me know when you get home safe.”

—

Her feet ached, scratch that, her whole body hurt. (Y/n) usually worked a double shift on Sunday’s to get double pay since that was the day rich people usually liked to shop at the gallery. Even though this was routine for her, she felt extremely tired this time. Pregnancy was starting to take a toll on her body.

(Y/n) heard the rain patter intensify as someone opened the glass doors.

“H-hi.” Was all she heard.

“We’re closed.” She called out but no one answered.

A sopping wet Bucky stood at the front of the gallery.

“Looks like you need to buy an umbrella.” She smiled.

“I’m going to be a dad.” The words came out stuttered, like he was trying to stop them.

Bucky stopped talking the second he received the email. DNA test result came back positive. He was the father. A father. That word echoed through his mind all day but he didn’t tell anyone a single thing, not until he could figure out how to manage the information. Steve would try to find solutions, Sam would freak out, Nat would laugh and Tony would probably ignore him. Each and every one of his friends’ reactions would stress him out more than he already was. He had no one, no one to talk to about this. Except her.

(Y/n) sighed deeply, taking her heels off and walking towards him. Without saying anything, she wrapped her arms around his neck and brought Bucky close to her. The tension he felt between his shoulder blades disappeared the second he was in her arms.

She softly held his face in her hands. “I haven’t decided anything and we still have time to figure out wether or not we want to keep bean-“

“Bean, oh God bean.” Becky’s eyes met hers. I can’t let bean down. He thought.

“I understand if you don’t want to go through with this.”

“Look at me.” Bucky’s voice was hoarse. “I need you to know that I want this- I want bean so much you have no idea. The thought of me having a kid was so lost but you’ve- I- I am forever grateful and indebted with you, you have no idea.”

(Y/n) smiled. “So we’re doing this? We’re having a baby?”

“Let’s have a baby.” He said.

Part 2: Second Trimester

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barns x you #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky x reader #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot

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jebewonmorelike · 1 year ago

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So You Can Do Yours

part two up now: whatever you say, president-nim wc: 2k pronouns: none used; n/a warnings: none? i guess reader is not on good terms with father but to be fair their father is a chairman of a company so he probably is objectively not great; literally fluff and mostly platonic/you're his boss so but suggestion that wookie has a crush on reader at the end... and reader is supposed to be 19; super unrealistic but just a fun little fictional concept lol summary: uselessCEO!reader has fired every new assistant they've had in the past few months, but newassistant!gunwook thinks he might be the right man for the job. ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ this is a cute one :) gunwook is baby. gunwook is son. protect him at all costs. i've been wanting to write more for gunwookie for a while, but i was super hesitant to because i got a really freakish comment about the only small drabble i wrote for him. so five months later i'm ready to try again. please remember this is just a work of fiction and its crazy fluffy. i really hope you like it! also expect more writing from me this month-- i'm taking the rest of summer off from school so. i'll need to stay busy 😤

“President-nim?” A voice calling through the intercom on your desk breaks your concentration. You huff annoyedly as you lean forward and press the microphone button.

“What is it?”

“Your new assistant is here to meet you,” Secretary Lee responds cautiously. You groan; quickly shoving what you had been working on into the hidden compartment of your desk. Not another assistant.

Every Monday for two months now, a new bright-eyed young woman had walked through the doors of your office ready to kick-start her career as a company president's trusty assistant. And sure enough, by that Friday afternoon every single one of them had run out in tears; unable to handle the pressures of the job. Was that pressure almost entirely due to the fact that you had no idea how to do your own job? Unimportant, but--

“Annyeonghaseyo, President-nim!” A male voice shakes you from your internal monologue as you look up to find that a young man in a 90 degree bow has appeared in front of you. He looks up at you, his gaze drifting to your right hand.

You follow his line of sight to find a watercolor brush still in your hand-- dripping a bit onto your desk. Lifting up your desk compartment slightly, you toss the brush in with the others. You clear your throat a bit awkwardly-- smoothing down the lapels of your suit jacket with your fingers. “Annyeonghaseyo,” you mumble.

“I’m your new assistant, Park Gunwook,” he introduces politely, standing up straight. It’s now that you suddenly realize just how young this man appears to be. His face is round with youth and his lips resemble that of a baby chick. “I hope to serve you well.”

“When? After you get out of school each day?” You joke, brow furrowed in suspicion. “How did you get this job, huh? You look like you’re late for hagwon.”

Gunwook’s brow stays raised for a moment, but a surprisingly cheeky smile eventually creeps onto his face. “Couldn’t I ask you the same, President-nim?”

You exhale an unamused laugh. Guess this one thinks he’s clever. “I graduated two and a half years early.”

“That must look impressive on a resume,” he agrees genuinely with a nod. “Your father being the Chairman of the Board also must look pretty impressive on a resume.”

Stunned by this kid’s audacity, you just stare back at him.

“Nothing to be ashamed of President-nim,” he reassures, clasping his hands together behind his back. “I happen to know someone that works here, too.”

Figures. “And which one of those geriatric, good-for-nothing money bags on the Board is your daddy?”

“None of them,” Gunwook says with a smile. “Secretary Lee is my eomma. Might seem small, but a connection’s a connection.”

Secretary Lee hired her own son? After the way she’d watched all of the sobbing girls run out of the building screaming ‘I’M NEVER WORKING EVER AGAIN’’ each week?

What terrible thing had Park Gunwook done to be handed such a fate by his own mother?

You stand up from your desk and meet Gunwook at the front of it. Walking in a tight circle around him, you examine every inch of him curiously as he stands at attention.

“Um, President-nim?” He asks without moving a muscle. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”

“Absolutely not,” you answer, bending down to look at his dress shoes. They’re more than a few years old and definitely not a designer brand, but somehow... they’re condition is nearly immaculate. Not to mention, the black, thin laces are tied in perfectly symmetrical bows. Huh. It’s pretty uncommon for a boy your age to care that much about the tidiness of his shoes.

“Weirdo,” you mutter under your breath as you stand back up. You have to crane your neck a bit to look Gunwook in the eyes; not only is he quite tall, you also realized you’re standing a bit too close to him. Stepping back slightly, you take a seat on your desk-- crossing your arms as you glare at him.

“Something not to your liking, President-nim?” He asks, eyebrows raised in question.

You don’t answer. Instead, you ask a question of your own. “What makes you think you have what it takes to be my assistant?”

“I’ve been President of my class since middle school. I’ve placed in national debate competitions. I’m organized, responsible, and competent,” he responds confidently. But a little mischievous sparkle appears in his eye as he adds, “From what I’ve heard, those are qualities the President's office might need more of.”

“YA! Do you want to die, you little--...” As you threaten him, Gunwook has already gone back to his default polite smiling. “What’s wrong with you, huh? Don’t you know I can blacklist you for life with one phone call? Tell me why I shouldn’t--.”

“President-nim!” Gunwook interrupts your thought excitedly; pointing to a stack of papers sitting on the corner of your desk. “Are those spreadsheets that need executive review? I’m experienced in Excel if you're... too busy for them.”

You frown, picking up the papers in your hand and sifting through them. They are spreadsheets that need executive review. You’ve been putting it off for a week, because, believe it or not, you didn’t get a very spreadsheet-centric education at the fine arts university you attended. To think, you could be painting in your own studio all day every day. But instead your father wanted you to do something “sensible” and “respectable” that “made you worthy of receiving his estate some day”.

Not that you cared much about an inheritance. But at this point it was the least you were owed for sacrificing your life’s passion to goof off in an office for the rest of your life. It wasn’t like you particularly enjoyed being unhelpful or unproductive, but at just shy of twenty years old with a BA in Fine Arts... you hadn’t exactly been well-prepared for such an important job.

You look back up at Gunwook. He’s practically salivating at the mouth to get his hands on your routine paperwork. You hand him the stack of spreadsheets with a sigh: “Knock yourself out.”

Gunwook’s concerningly large hand snatches the papers from yours with lightning speed; hugging them to his chest happily. “Thank you, President-nim! I won’t let you down.”

You’re almost starting to believe him.

“Right,” you agree, chewing your cheek as you walk back behind your desk. “Well, you get to work on those and have them back to me by... Uh...”

You’re struggling to think of a reasonable time frame for the spreadsheet reviews to be completed, since you’d never once been the one to finish them. Gunwook sees this and answers for you, “Tomorrow at noon, I think you were going to say, President-nim?”

“Tomorrow at noon,” you echo with a frown. You’re not sure you like how familiar this kid was becoming with you already, but at least he’d been far more eager to do your executive work for you than anyone had been thus far. You’d know by tomorrow at noon if he was truly capable or not.

“And where should I put them for you if you’re not in your office, President-nim?” He asks thoughtfully.

“Oh, um,” you stumble, looking around for a good spot. You land on the thin drawer at the center of your desk and point to it. “In here is fine.”

Gunwook quickly walks behind your desk to see the drawer, stopping at a respectful distance. He reaches towards the drawer, but when you realize his fingers are pulling the wrong handle-- the top of your desk is already lifting open before you can stop him.

“Whoah,” the boy whispers in awe as he stares at the giant watercolor landscape painting you’d been working on for the last week or so. You both stand in silence for a moment as you watch Gunwook take in every detail of your latest work. “This is incredible.”

“Thank you,” you reply softly-- folding your arms across your chest uncomfortably at the compliment. No one had seen your artwork for a while now; even mentioning it in your father’s presence sent him into a spiral.

“If you’re this talented, then why--... Why are you the president of a tech corporation?” He asks, eyes meeting yours now. He’s curious and concerned and confused. When he realizes he forgot to speak formally, he bows in apology. “I’m sorry, President-nim.”

“Sometimes a 'connection' isn’t what you wanted,” you say after a moment, sitting back down in your desk chair.

Gunwook swallows from beside you, taking a few steps back to the front of your desk. “I’ll help as best as I can, President-nim. I’ll do my work so that you can do yours.”

You blink back at him, a bit speechless. “O-... Okay.”

He bows, another 90 degree one. “Should I get started on these then, President-nim?”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding slowly. “Yes. That would be good.”

Gunwook nods. “Thank you, President-nim,” he says, turning and walking towards the door.

“Gunwook-sshi,” you call suddenly, causing the young man to let go of the door handle in his hand and turn around. His eyes are wide as he waits patiently for you to continue. “Why did you apply for this job? Besides the fact that your mother works here.”

The boy smiles, answering simply, “I thought I would be a good fit.”

You exhale a laugh, rolling your eyes. “We’ll see.”

Gunwook’s smile turns to a grin as he nods again-- walking out the door and closing it behind him.

The end of the work day comes surprisingly quickly (and it may or may not have something to do with Gunwook).

Okay, it has everything to do with Gunwook.

To your very pleasant surprise, the teenage boy had been your best assistant yet by a considerable margin. All in the span of six hours, he’d color-coded your weekly schedule, ghostwritten five urgent emails to executives from partner companies, brought you your lunch order exactly how you prefer it, and reorganized your entire desk for you all while you painted next to him.

He didn’t ask you any unnecessary questions or disturb your peace; he just did his work so that you could do yours. Just like he said he would.

The end of the day came so quickly that when Gunwook knocked on your door to ask you if you were heading out for the day, you thought he was making one of his insulting-but-somehow-also-charming remarks about your lack of presidential work ethic again. But glancing at the clock, you see that he’s right-- it’s almost 7 P.M.

“I’m actually gonna keep working for a little while longer,” you respond before you catch Gunwook’s eyebrows raise. “You can go home now though. You have to be well-rested for another day of high school tomorrow.”

He sticks his tongue in his cheek and smiles at the joke. “I actually go to university now, President-nim. Part-time, but still.”

You find yourself trying to picture what Gunwook would look like on a campus: a grey hoodie, jeans, and his hair flopping into his eyes. In another life, one where you had a different father, maybe you’d still be going to university, too. Maybe you would've run into Gunwook and been his sunbae instead of the Guinness World Records holder for youngest president of a national corporation. Would you have noticed each other? Would you have been friends? Rivals? Something else?

Returning his smile, you dismiss, “Have a good night, Gunwook-sshi.”

“Have a good night, President-nim.”

You work on your painting for another hour before finally gathering your things and heading out the door for the night. On your way out, you see Secretary Lee typing away at her desk. When she spots you, she grimaces nervously.

“Oh, President-nim,” she greets as you walk over to her. “I hope you’re not too upset, but I thought that my son could--.”

“Could be the best assistant I’ve ever had?” You finish for her; watching as her face relaxes at your compliment. “You were right. And you better keep up the good work, Secretary Lee: Gunwook-sshi would make a great secretary.”

Secretary Lee swallows and nods at the hint of a threat. “Understood, President-nim.”

You smile, starting to head toward the exit before your curiosity stops you in your tracks. You turn over your shoulder to call, “Secretary-nim?”

She looks at you expectantly; if not also a bit nervously.

“Why did Gunwook-sshi want to be my assistant?”

She considers for a moment before replying, “After your... poor luck... with assistants these past few months, I couldn’t help but think my son had what it takes to change that. He’s always been such an overachiever. But he wasn’t really interested at all at first."

“Why did he change his mind?” You ask; wanting to understand a bit more about the incredibly competent, but slightly odd assistant that showed up at your office today.

Secretary Lee laughs quietly. “Well, to be honest... He only handed me his completed application after...

... I showed him a picture of you.”

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murdrdocs · 5 months ago

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hi... this is awkward, i admire your work very much! i mean really! I'm an anon who has been reading fics on tumblr since like almost 2 years ago and right now i want to write my own fics! (it's my hobby to write and i have so many writing ideas that i want to write down) but I don't know how to really start writing on tumblr... so I'm asking you for help if you don't mind! like what apps do you use for writing before u upload it in tumblr? how do you edit your fics and how do you edit the, what is it called... the picture above your fics... as you can see I am not educated in this LOL.. how do you edit the fonts?.. to make the lines that seperates.. whatever, stuff like that!! if a writer saw this post too, maybe you can also help me!! thank uu 🧡

oh i got u anon (imagine me rubbing my hands together)

for my drabbles/blurbs, i write and edit in tumblr just bc its sm easier for me that way. i do everything on my mac now (sometimes i'll use my phone to write but i always edit on my mac) but sometimes i'll give everything a read on my phone bc i catch errors easier that way.

when i'm writing a full fic, i keep it simple and use google docs. the app doesn't matter i don't think, i just know when copy and pasting into tumblr on docs, if you copy and paste on a computer it'll keep all your formatting (italics and bolds etc) and make it sm easier for you.

when i edit my fics i just read and check for errors, plot inconsistencies, the flow of the story, and just things like that. nothing crazy revolutionary.

for the pictures above my fics i use art that i find on pinterest (im not well versed in art i just look for pics that i think r pretty) and the i crop them. when i crop i legit guess on how thin i like them to be but i never do any bigger than 16:9. however i also used to do the three square pics format, and also just use gifs. this part is totally up to u and it'll deff change over time.

i use one font on tumblr but before the keep reading line i use the cutesy tiny text. to get the tiny text u just highlight ur text and next to the 'B' and 'i' will be a '<s>'. and the for keep reading you place a space between your text blocks and there's a grey icon that has a line, a squiggly, and then another line. thats the keep reading button (very crucial plz add it!)

and tysm!! this is not awkward at all i get lots of questions like this

#/chats #celeste's advice

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mickstart · 5 months ago

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Congrats on finishing the Ratiorine week!! Ever since about the third or fourth fic, I've been entertaining myself by imagining all the fics taking place in the same universe on a shared timeline. It just feels like they all fit so well together, being snapshots of the same relationship at different times in its development. Was a shared universe intended at all?? I'm curious lol.

Looking forward to whatever comes next~! I hope that heatwave leaves you alone

Thank you!!!! Shshsg it both was and wasn't! I wasn't like, envisioning the fics as jigsaw pieces that could fit together, but at the same time I wrote them all from pretty much my most normal, vanilla interpretation of ratiorine. (Something casual morphing into a proper thing some time after penacony) And this ended up making them work well together. I think it helps that my interpretation of both of them is pretty much set in stone until we get a major lore bomb about Ratio. (Even when it comes to their bedroom dynamics. Ratio is a service Anything and aventurine is greedy and a little desperate to take and take all the pleasure he can clutch for himself.)

For this last fic especially - however much my brain protested - I didn't let myself go into detail about How they got together and what else had changed in the process, so you could imagine either Aventurine was still working with the IPC or something like back-lead had transpired. So I guess in this sense the last one is intended to be read as a follow up to the other fics, a little promise that they will Get There eventually.

And thank you I'm excited too! I have a list of WIPs actually for both them and wriolette! Those two are the ones I'm rotating atm. Potential options below... Late WIP Wednesday I guess.

A few of the Ratiorine fics I want to write:

SFW - Motorsport au with genius chief engineer ratio and reckless driver aventurine who keeps risking his own life on the limit. Chapter fic.

SFW - there's this rlly cute art on twitter I want to write a short drabble for. Probably barely 1000 words about a drunk ratio taking a bath.

NSFW - TRANS RATIO TRANS RATIO TRANS RATIO AND AVENTURINE OVERSTIMS HIM

NSFW - Aventurine decides he wants to see what going to "school" is like and enrols at the university. You already know the teacher - student kink goes crazy.

NSFW - there's a mission at a casino and ratio is hot and also really attracted to how quickly aventurine can calculate mathematical odds.

General, as in it could be in these and multiple other fics: gender fuckery, more top aven, ratios comically (like badly written porn levels) sensitive chest.

#nsft #lauwrites #how many of these will I ACTUALLY write? who can say

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silentgravesdontexist · 1 month ago

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Hey! How are you? Alright, I do have some questions:

-what are your main hobbies/interests?

-are there any particular reasons why you like Ace?

-what's a skill you'd really like to learn?

I could ask you so many questions, but let's start with these. You know, I'd really like to be your friend, I like you very much!

Hiii! I'm doing alright (for now)...Anyways!

1. What are your main hobbies/interests?

Thank you for clarifying the “main” part bc I have too many hobbies honestly HAHAHA

Writing

Totally not obvious that I’m obsessed with it lol. But I do specifically like writing poems and proses. The fanfics and drabbles are a recent thing!

Reading

I read just about anything honestly. Novels, mangas, webtoon, non-fiction/fiction, poems, and whatever else. The same goes for genre! Romance, action, fantasy, self-help, or whatever else!

Drawing

Just picked this up recently. I barely get enough time to practice nowadays. My inner critique can get in the way sometimes too (T ^ T)

Crochet

A bit on pause since I’m busy and yarn is expensive. But I’ve made flowers, plushies, and bags using crochet! Currently, I made a crocheted bouquet of flowers for a friend's birthday~

Early Morning Walks

I dunno if this can be called as a hobby but I love doing it. 5AM kind of early morning too. It actually has a sentimental meaning to me that I hate it when someone disrupts me when I go for walks.

Also, I don't go on early morning walks with other people. Just me, myself, and I.

2. Are there any particular reasons why you like Ace?

His smile (How sappy and cliche, I know)

On a serious note, I’m being honest. That man smile on screen and I just went “…oh, fuck—“ bc I knew he was doomed.

Also, I have a thing for honest, confident, and kind older brothers ehe. I had similar crushes such as Choso and Rengoku but Ace still comes up on top (always has).

This is a very short summary but that’s honestly the main gist!

3. What’s a skill you’d like to learn?

I dunno if it was obvious in the first question but I like hobbies that are related to handwork. Not sure if these still count as the skills you’re asking about but I guess these:

Embroidery

Sign Language

Gardening

Coding

Playing the guitar/piano

Reading social cues (I’m horrible at this that its not even funny—)

I hope you got the answers you were looking for! If you'd like, you can just message me more. I'd love to be your friend as well hehe🫶

#cy's answering!#this was such a fun ask!#i had so much fun writing this down hehe

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anonimusunnoaniswriting · 4 months ago

Note

Well here's part 2! ( ≻⸝⸝⸝≺ ྀི)

How can I deny a nice cup of tea and a massage ? There's no way. I thank you dearly.

You and Nanami probably gonna kill me with a huge sermon about not working overtime to which I have been doing more, and my poor health has been less healthy. I should say. But I'm managing it and taking care as much as I can. At some point I'll slow down a bit with the extra shifts.

May I adoringly nickname you as my Wifey now ? Is that okay ? Instead of Workwives we are Ficwives? (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

Gonna start tagging our conversations as "The Miscellaneous Misadventures and Mischiefs of Noni & Kat", watcha thing about that ?

Take all the time you need about posting fics, sweetie. I follow discontinued stories and some that I have been waiting for idk three+ years to be continued ? I'm very patient in waiting even with my chronic issue problems. Like anxiety. Your slow cooking is worth the wait and it's gonna be delightful! (⁠｡⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠｡⁠)

Please if I start yapping too much just tell.me to shut up that I'll go back to my void corner. But I would like to thank you, Bacon and Mrs Haitch and other dear moots that slowly got me into asking /interacting / talking more around here. You've all been so dear and welcoming ! You have no idea how that has affected me! Idk how many years I've been here, and I'm always dead silent. I just leave little thank you's and a small comment or notes on something. So thank you for adopting this stray cat.

It's wonderful people like you and them and your wonderful stories that have kept me going all these years, doesn't matter if it's an image, drabble, one shot, a whole 100 + chapter fic, that brings so many times comfort from the harsh real life world.

I am immensely grateful to have meet you, and for having you as a friend! And them included. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*⁠。

Please do be feral ! It can happen always at anytime whatever the circumstances! I love and support feral ladies and everyone else ! Don't hold back ! Go absolutely gnawing feral over the things that matter for you and that you like talking about.

Now pouring the Tea !

I should leave you hanging a bit longer just for the pleasure of torturing you a little bit. But I won't. I might have the murderous resting face but I'm a softie by heart.

What can I say ? Before my brain fried ?

The little bit I observed, because yes I am shy and introvert irl, I barely talk and keep it mostly to myself, but I have a error on my code, depending on what happens, I blush easily (yes yes I know here am I 25+ blushing so bad that sometimes the tip of my ears get pink too, its horrible, there goes my bad face facade through the window) and sometimes my colleagues try to get that reaction out of me, which is hard because I know how to hide well. But sometimes like this, there's no way of denying and oh boy did they get a kick out of it, it was the talk all day. lol

It's a small bakery coffee shop, nothing glamorous or like Starbucks. It's local. Since the town basically revolves around tourism on the weekends usually it cramps up a bit. But mostly it's just the same old costumers.

But this guy never showed up here, on the shop. From the little I could observe, because usually I slyly avoid too eye contact much. He's tall, I would say early 50's ? Dark brown hair with some silverfox strands showing. A five o'clock shadow of a beard. Very well dressed, and accompanied. Yes yes. What you think about this glimpse of him ? I guess handsome in his ways ? Idk. But he was so polite.

Maybe one day I get lucky enough to meet someone with Nanami vibes, and things happens just as you described ?

Thank you for interacting with me ! Form your support and friendliness! I appreciate it so much, blessed be sweetie ! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

With love,

Kat

My beautiful Love,

You're in the absolute correct place. In a perfect utopia, we would never have to work overtime, we would be fed and taken care of, and the world would not be the shit show that it is today.

Unfortunately, for us, we do not live in such a world and are forced to trudge to our places of work everyday. Slaves chained to a never ending unrewarding system that drains the very soul out of our selves.

Regardless. You must prioritise yourself, my love. You must. Because you are a ray of sunshine in this world and you should never be dimmed.

It goes without saying that I will keep writing. Keep creating. Whether it's a short or long or one like or smau whatever. Writing is everything to me. (It's actually going to be what 10 years of my writing and postings online I think ahahah) And though I'm not big and popular i don't care because interactions like yours MAKE MY DAY.

Darling.

I LOVE coffee shops like that. It sounds like a dream! Oh I'd love to meet "the one" in such a place. I have gobbled more coffee shop au stories than I can count and just love it. Keep em coming. But again, please look after yourself also.

Our Coffee Shop Silver Fox (CSSF) sounds totally daddy! Terribly attractive men who just breeze in and out being polite as shit are my actual honest to god weakness. Like marry me. Right now good sir pit a fucking ring on it.

I don't blame you for being flustered, I would be too!

And I hope you don't mind me saying but, my love, you sound gorgeous jsjs. 🫣🫣🫣

Stay safe, look after yourself, and make sure to drink enough water and eat your meals on time lovey.

Yours, in prose,

Wifey🩷

I wanna tag real quick here @uchihasanctuary and @pseudowho because they deserve to know you're a cutie who thinks about them too. (But we all know u love me mostest, right... ? )

#the adventures of noni and kat #youre not a stray cat. youre my well fed tabby now.#i cant type yhe whole thing baby girl its too long and im dead sleepy.#i love u cutie.#my ficwife.#anonimusunnoan #anonimus answers your questions.#asks

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iamawolfstarsimp · 2 years ago

Text

Sensative Sirius

Lmaooo i forgot to post this yesterday for happy friday but here it is now lol

Sup bitches im back

Today i present to the class a drabble short fic headcanon thing that took me way too long to both come up with and write

So yeah enjoy

Sirius sat his legs up on the library table that he and Remus (mostly Remus) were using in their quiet corner of the library.

Remus was studying or doing homework or something, Sirius couldn't remember. His boredom had caused him to forget his and Remus' original objective.

He leaned his chair back onto its back two legs and leaned forward and backward, half entertaining himself, half lulling himself to sleep.

He was just starting to drift off when he heard a quiet, excited, squeal.

He inhailed sharply and looked over at Remus who was opening the nearby window to let an owl in that was carrying a package, presumably for Remus.

"What's that?" Sirius asked, snapping all four of his chair legs back onto the ground causing some other people nearby to flinch and the stern librarian to glare at him.

"A package." He responded shortly before practically manhandling the poor owl to get the parcel off of the bird.

"Obviously," Sirius said with an eyeroll. Remus walked over without further explanation and started carefully opening his mystery package.

"Okay fine," Sirius said when Remus didn't tell him what was in it. "I'll play into whatever game you're playing. Dearest Moony, whatever might be in your wrapped parcel."

"Okay, too much Sirius." Remus grinned back at Sirius. "And to answer your question feathers, or to be more specific, quills."

"Ohh.." Sirius watched as Remus pulled out a clear bag of different assorted feathers.

"They're so pretty!" He exclaimed as quietly as he could.

"They're kinda ugly.." Sirius grinned at Remus' horrified expression. "What?! I mean look at that one Moons, it looks like a forest threw up a pixie!"

"It does not!" Remus whisper yelled.

"Does too!" Sirius playfully shooted back.

"It's super soft though! Here, feel-" without warning Remus shoved the feather at Sirius' face, quickly fluttering it around his ears.

"H-hey!" Sirius whined and instantly scrunched up his shoulder to his ears. "Ihit tickles!"

Remus grinned. "I thought you said you didn't have ticklish ears."

"I dohon't!"

"Well all that gigging says otherwise Siri."

Sirius let out a flustered, giggly, whine which, in Remus' opinion was even cuter when Sirius was forced to be quiet.

"I mean I kiss you all the time on your ears and I never get this kind of reaction." He thought out loud. "Maybe I should kiss a little harder, do you think it would tickle if I did that?" He teased.

"Rehehemus, stop."

"Or is it the feather that is reeaally tickling you, hm?" He ignored Sirius' complaint.

"Rehemus I can't k-keheep quiet!" He confessed, using one of his hands to fend off the feather while the other covered his mouth.

"Sucks to be you, I guess." Remus grinned and grabbed another feather to attack his other ear, tickling the opposite ear when Sirius would scrunch up his neck to protect one of them.

This method had Sirius in quiet hysterics, his laughter growing louder by the minute.

"Rehehemus!!" Sirius nodded behind Remus who turned around to have the librarian scowling down at him.

"Uhh.."

Moments later they were kicked out, much to Remus dismay but not surprise. It wasn't his fault that Sirius was so sensitive.

"It's your own fault for getting kicked out of the library." Sirius snarked at him as they walked back up to their dorm. "You wouldn't stop messing with me! How was I supposed to keep quiet for that long?"

"Sounds to me like you want round two." Remus said, quickly fluttering the quill that was still in his grasp against Sirius' ear.

"No!" Sirius shoved away the quill, a giddy grin emplated on his face.

"Well then shut it, alright?" Sirius nodded.

Despite wanting to be mad at Sirius, Remus grinned to himself about how stupid the situation was.

He was also pleased about the new information that he could use against Sirius, tucking it away in his mind.

The information would be useful later.

Hope you liked

#sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #marauders #tickle fic #tickle fluff #sfw tickling community #marauders era #wolfstar fic #fluff #sfw tickling #happy friday #my writing

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taegularities · 2 years ago

Note

i think i included this as an option last time and you picked the other one so i'm throwing it in again lol say drabble for the first time they slept together at that party? 🥰

fic: songs about you

pairing: fwb!tae x reader, childhood best friends to lovers; fluff, smut warnings: sexual tension, unprotected sex, manhandling, rough sex, fingering, crying, big dick tae, masturbation, drunk and bathroom sex (i seem to love that), they're also so cute :((( wc: 1.7k a/n: awh i remember that it was one of the options 🥺 and you know i love that couple so much, i'll keep coming back to them <333 btw ari, please tell me why this almost made me cry lolll. this took ages omg... also, unedited !!

ask my character! <3

"You remember when you'd invite me to those events during senior year?" you ask, closing your tired eyes for a moment.

Taehyung is as gone as you, perceiving his surroundings in a neverclearing blur. He looks at you with confusion in his starry pupils, and hums, "Hmm?"

"You'd take me to those parties, and I'd hate it here."

"Still hate it?"

"Despise it. You rich people spend money on parties that no one will remember."

"Ouch," Taehyung jokes, "it's not like I'm the host. No need to diss me."

"Well, your eighteenth birthday party was a lot more fun when we went to that burger place. The official, fancy one? Eh."

In your head, your speech is clear, but you bet that you're mumbling and swallowing words; not that it's any kind of challenge to him. He'd understand through your movements alone.

"Tell me then," he says, the tone of his voice shifting. His eyes are dazy, and his breath smells like bitter alcohol. "What was so great about the burger night?"

Your and Taehyung's friendship dates back to an easier time. When you'd gather with your friends, hunched over your homework and projects. Living through high school days, complaining about its pain as though no bigger issues existed.

Back then, you guess they didn't.

Taehyung liked to play the piano to you. The feeling that engulfed your heart back then, listening to every gentle note he gifted you, was still a veiled one.

Today, things have changed. Realities have shifted. Maybe you're not head over heels in love with him – maybe – but you still know what lingers in your heart.

And the inebriated version of you has a lot less inhibitions; a lot less fears to voice her mind.

So you say, "It was just us. You and me. The entire night felt a little different, you know? Maybe because the diner was empty that time..."

"It was empty. I liked it, too."

You move a little, though you soon realise that you shouldn't have – because the world is spinning.

"But it was the first time that I really hoped for you to kiss me."

Wait. What?

Why are you saying that? For fuck's sake.

"Kiss you?" Taehyung asks. When you look at him, his forehead is wrinkled in confusion.

Oh God, what have you done?

"I'm sorry," you hurry to exclaim.

"No, I... wait, tell me more about this."

"...Why?"

"I just. It's not every day that your best friend says anything like that."

"It's so dumb. I know, it's really fucking stupid."

"No, I..."

He gulps. Looks around. The guests are busy conversing, fake laughing, stepping onto their own dresses, discussing whatever the party's purpose might be.

But Taehyung's focus is somewhere else.

Which he proves when snatches the glass off your hand, placing it along with his own on a nearby table.

And then, he's pulling you away from the crowd, somewhere where none of you will be missed.

Your heart bursts behind your chest, hand clutching his in anticipation.

"What are you doing?" you inquire, slower in your heels than him.

"You just..." he shakes his head, whispering your name. Halts when you reach the bathroom, rushing to open the door and pull you inside. "You can't say that and expect me to stay calm."

"Why are you... not ca–"

"I–" He's breathing heavily, blinking slowly. Holding you against the door, not entirely sure what he's supposed to do.

"Why did you never tell me about that?" he prods.

"I... didn't think it was necess–"

"It's important. Of course it is."

And that's all you get. There's no more chance to say much more; the palms on your waist silence you.

So does the way he pins you harder against the door.

And so does the plush mouth that falls on yours, hard and greedy.

Whatever you thought how this evening might evolve... that wasn't it.

The following minutes, the entire night pass in a dense fog. You barely breathe – he doesn't let you.

He explores your body. Kissing up and down your skin. Sheds your clothes, touches every part that you need touched. You've dreamed of this before.

You didn't think it'd actually happen. Ever.

"I've fucked so many women, wishing they were you," he admits at some point, fucked out and drunk beyond belief.

Until now, most of his and your utterances consisted of moans, each others' names, crude curses. Until now, you blamed the booze, the effect it has on you, the craze that flows through your veins.

But the way he's looking at you now... despite his lewd statement... it's something else–

"Have you?" you want to know; a tight knot builds in your tummy.

"This is unreal."

"Tae..." You squirm in his grip, gasping when curled fingers press against a spot inside you. "Fuck me, please. No more wishes... I'm here now."

"Are you sure? God, I..."

"I am," you promise immediately, "I am. I... thought about this a lot." He stares at you in silence and tenderness. Like he can't believe what you're saying. "And besides... I've always wanted to be the one to wet your dick."

Taehyung chuckles, a deep, soft sound directly from his chest. He looks sweet like that, but when his lips return to your neck, his demeanour changes.

Buried in your skin, pecking your shoulder, he guides his cock to your clit. He doesn't do much yet – except for the torturous teasing, rubbing the head against your nub, toying with your patience.

And when he's had enough, he leans back.

A strong hand turns you swiftly, pressing your cheek against the door and pulling your ass back until you're angled. Palms firmly against the door.

His length continues to prod your entrance, never quite shoving it inside, no matter how wet you already are.

But he breaks. Of course he does.

You hear him spit into his palm, and close your eyes in anticipation, taking a deep breath before he finally gives in.

You saw his member just a minute ago – if it's anyhow as menacing as it looks, you're screwed in the best way possible.

Quite literally.

"Careful, yeah? You'll tell me when it's too much?" he says. His voice is strained. He's heavy breathing.

"Mhmm..."

And that's when you mewl.

Louder than before, shaking in your spot.

Taehyung is quick to slap a hand against your mouth, muffling your sounds as he dives in inch by inch. "Nod if you're okay."

You do. Though you can't suppress the constant moans that fall out of you. And he makes sure to silence that sound.

There's something about it.

Having your best friend and long-time crush fuck you against the door. Thrust into you gently first, before he picks up on pace and rails you into oblivion. The way he's controlling you and your undying moans, hand never leaving your lips.

The tears that escape your eyes fall on his fingers, and when he notices the sensation, he tenses. "You good?"

You nod hastily, sure that your make up's smeared. God, you'll need to leave after that.

"Good. Holy fuck, that's hot."

Which is when you realise that he didn't tense solely because he was worried.

But because he's enjoying your reaction.

Of course he is. Kinky bastard.

"More? Harder?"

His suggestions come broken, every other syllable swallowed. Fuck, he's battering your pussy. Ruining you, slamming his hips against your ass.

Shit, how did you get here?

You nod once more, and he laughs, presumably surprised that he's still not pushed you to your limits.

Delightful.

So he drills you rougher, burying himself to the hilt, balls deep inside you; breathing hard, losing his mind when your fingers shift to your clit.

A minute later, you're coming undone – swaying so hard that you reckon you must be moving in circles, until you realise that it's just in your head.

Mind empty, you let the high ebb down; he’s still fucking you, chasing his own release, guiding you through your orgasm.

And when he pushes in one last time, remaining in you with his entire cock buried, you think you’re dreaming.

The deep, reverberating groans of his are insanely dizzying. You can’t do this. You can’t– how did you–

You didn’t know. You didn’t know that intimacy with him entailed all that. Where was this insanity all your life? Why didn’t you reveal your thoughts to him earlier?

Fuck.

“How... was that?” he dares to question.

“It was...”

“What you imagined? What you wanted?” There’s cockiness in his voice. But somehow, there’s worry, too. “Better... worse?”

“It was– just right.”

“Okay. Good.”

He remains in the position, leaning in to kiss your shoulder, your back, your arms. Then, he pulls out, immediately backing away to grab some toilet paper. He cleans you up; you wince.

And then, he says, “Look at me.”

You turn around; the ache between your legs is too tangible. You’ll feel it harder tomorrow, you know.

Still swaying, you slip your eyelids open. Gaze into his; there’s affection and post-coital bliss in his stare. Something you can’t decipher as he brushes your hair back.

Thumbs wipe the remnants of your tears away, hopefully clearing your cheeks of the make up.

You don’t know what he’s thinking until he claims, “You’ve always been so pretty, Swan.”

Your eyes widen; you put your palm on his hand, lifting it to your lips to plant a gentle kiss on his skin. “And you, Tae.”

“Do you wanna leave?”

“Yeah,” you answer, no hesitation in your words. “Please.”

And so you do.

Goodbyes are uttered in a hurry, the car ride in some cab a faint memory.

At his place, you fall into each other deeper. Kiss every inch of him, hugging him close, moaning the night away.

To you, this is still just a drunken night’s mistake. You’re sure you’ll talk about it in the morning. Think about the next steps in your relationship.

You’ll wonder what the hell happened, and how a single confession could lead to something this big.

You won’t know that it’s the beginning of something you’ll never be able to fathom.

Or that there’s unbearable pain ahead. Joy. Lust. Love.

Or that you’ll become his song; the very last he’ll ever play on loop.

–

i’ll edit this later, but oh my god i hope it was okay !!! some quick smut :’) lemme know what u think <3

#oh also i've already quite a few drabble requests in the inbox mwahaha thank you guys 👀 so send in questions too!#would be even easier than drabbles <33 #*amc #notes for rid 🌹#ari <3 #taehyung smut #bts smut #taehyung fluff

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goblins-riddles-or-frocks · 2 years ago

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🥺, 🤡 , 🤡 hard mode: not making fun of the darkling, 🛒, 🦅 as if i do not know the answer

Fanfic Emoji Asks

Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

Inevitably a character lashing out in some way because of trauma and the other one seeing through it. (Or not seeing through it!)

What's a line, scene, or exchange you've written that made you laugh?

afshfhggjf these parameters are mean! It also made me realize that (unless making fun of the Darkling) I don’t really do much humor! These are the only vaguely silly things I could think of, and they’re still not like particularly funny?

This is from a random Fate Kotogil drabble I wrote for a prompt:

And like I guess(??) some of the dialogue in my Hellsing roleswap AU (swapping out Integra with Seras) is at least meant to be a little wry but like there’s still a lot of not funny-ness going on ahaha

I guess honorable mention to the one line I gave Nikolai where he calls Alina the entirely literal light of his life.

What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

I already did this but trying to think of other stuff… I think I write meaningful handholding/offering a hand a lot? Any sort of characters making half hearted jokes to not really deal with the situation. Or saying something as a joke but they really really mean it. Idk I’m a sad banter enjoyer.

In fanfic I think my main tendency is to be like “well this thing happened in canon let’s sit these characters down and make them fully react to and talk about it”

Imagery and motifs are hard bc I try to shift that according to whatever source material I’m writing for and its respective imagery.

Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

LOL so as you know I am an outliner! But I’m much less formal about it for fanfic. I usually just have a bullet point list to go off of. Or random scene ideas. And then when I start working on a scene in earnest, I’ll start blocking out events in a way that ends up kind of blending with drafting anyway, because I’ll get more detailed ideas as I go, specific actions, dialogue beats, etc.

I would’ve taken a screencap to elaborate but I’ve already gone through and revised over all of my detailed outlines like that atm, I only have very vague bullet point notes and that’s fairly self explanatory I think.

#fanfic emoji asks #ask games #i ramble sometimes #all the bendy punctuations #*writer's cap*

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idolsummons · 2 years ago

Text

Darthrek

A drabble about demon possession. This is very chill and will probably write one where things do not go so well for her in the future tbh ♥ no fancy formatting because apparently the new tumblr doesn't like that lol

Candles burning with tiny flames surrounded the summoning circle which the young summoner had drawn with chalk. The dimly lit room made it difficult to completely make out what was drawn on the page of the tome held in her hand, but it appeared to be correct.

She stood and moved to the lectern, where she placed the book open at the correct page. It was then that she cleared her throat and spoke in Latin, words unknown to her in a language considered dead.

When she was done, Hana held her breath.

Some seconds passed.

And the candles snuffed themselves out.

In a flurry of hellfire which rose to the ceiling the demon appeared. It was a creature very clearly taller than her even without its horns, and she swore those goat-like eyes bore into her soul, despite the fact shadows covered her hooded face.

The demon she knew to be Darthrek looked even more intimidating in real life than he did in the illustrations.

‘Why have you summoned me to this plane, mortal?’ His voice boomed and reverberated through the room - nay, through the house itself.

‘Great Darthrek,’ Hana spoke. She stepped out from behind the podium. ‘I summoned you that you might take possession of my earthly vessel, with which to do whatever you might desire.’

The demon flicked his tail about. ‘Mortals do not make deals with demons so easily. What do you hope to gain from the arrangement?’

‘Only experience.’ The same answer which she gave every demon, and Darthrek seemed to react the same as all the others; he raised a brow and scowled, but such bewilderment was soon gone as he grinned.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Then I shall wreak havoc with you as my vessel.’

Hana did not remove her eyes from the demon as his very body appeared to evaporate into a dark mist and swirl its way towards the summoner, finding whatever way into her body it could.

The body’s new host did away with the robe and examined his new body from head to toe. He did not seem exactly thrilled with the cute purple dress and pink painted nails, but a girl into such cute things could perhaps present its own unique forms of mayhem.

Darthrek laughed to himself, vocalised as a mix of Hana’s usual sweet sounding voice overlaid with the deep tones of the demon himself.

‘Such a foolish mortal.’ Darthrek threw open the ritual room door and stomped through the house, finding his way. ‘Only one who does not know the power of demons would so willingly let one do as it wished.’

That’s where you’re wrong.

‘Still kickin’ around in there?’ Finding the front door, Darthrek waltzed towards it. ‘You must have more resolve than I thought.’

He put Hana’s hand on the doorknob and…

A buzzing emanated from her pocket.

Hang on, this might be important.

‘What?’

Let me get that.

‘And why would I?’

The hand came away from the doorknob and into the pocket.

‘How are you-’

Yeah, just like I thought. One sec.

‘Hi, Minato,’ Hana chimed - sweet and innocent, just like she always was.

‘You missed rehearsals today, Hana.’

‘Was that-’

What have you done?

‘Oh no…’

How did you do this?

‘I’m sorry, Minato, one moment.’ Hana took the phone away from her ear and growled, ‘Shut up, will you? This is important.’

‘You didn’t spend time socialising today instead of coming to rehearsal, did you?’ She heard Minato gently from the other end of the line.

‘Oh, no, it’s just my sister, she’s over for dinner tonight. Look, I’m really, really sorry. I’ve been under, like, a lot of stress lately, y’know? I know that’s not, like, an excuse or anything, but-’

‘You’re the star of the show, Hana.’

‘I know…’

‘You’ve gotta do this, or you’ve gotta tell us in advance if you plan on not coming.’

‘It’s not that I didn’t wanna go, it just slipped my mind. I guess I needed to rest more than I thought.’

‘You’ll be here tomorrow.’

‘Yes, I swear on my life.’

‘Goodbye, Hana.’

‘Bye.’

Hana hung up and put the phone back in her pocket.

Now let me out.

Her hand reached for the doorknob again. It stopped before it could get all the way.

‘Oh, you thought I was gonna give you free reign to do whatever you wanted?’

That was the deal.

Hana chuckled. ‘No, no, the deal was that you possess me, and I get experience, and that’s what’s happening. You possess me, and I continue to practice remaining in control while another inhabits my earthly vessel. I thought demons were well-versed in making deals that benefit one much more than the other - but this time, I’m the one who benefits.’

And why would you need that kind of experience?

She hummed. ‘Well, I guess there’s no harm in telling you. I need to practice possession so that one day, I might be host to the great Vh’thra, that she might choose me as her vessel when she comes to this plane of existence to begin the task before her. It would be an honour to play such a part in her coming, don’t you think?’

And have Heaven and Hell both rendered into inexistence? I want no part in your plans, mortal.

Hana felt something - Darthrek, obviously - attempt to slither from her veins, only to find itself blocked immediately. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Back to the realm from which you summoned me.

Hana laughed. ‘Oh, but you’re just a lesser demon. Do you think you’d be able to get away so easily? No, you’re going to stay put until I let you leave.’

And how long do you envision that to be?

‘Well, what I said to Minato on the phone about seeing my sister for dinner wasn’t a complete lie.’ Hana’s hand came up to the doorknob again - this time, of her own accord. ‘When I get back, I’ll see how I’m tracking and I’ll think about letting you leave then. How’s that sound?’

You sound crazy.

Hana smiled.

‘I’m not crazy.’

She opened the door.

‘I just like testing my limits.’

#drabble tbt

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trashogram · 3 years ago

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Bet Worth Losing

Pairing: Rocket/Reader Words: Around 1500 AN: Hey! It's the Anon who asked about submitting a NSFW Rocket Drabble! Sorry it took so long for me to finally submit it, and thank you for accepting it! (This totally ended up longer than I thought it'd be, and I might have researched a little bit of Raccoon reproductive facts for Rocket (it's not a breeding story, but I thought a little relevant detail on his part couldn't hurt lol) I hope you like it!

A bet was how you found yourself naked from the waist down, lying on your bed, with Rocket readying himself between your legs.

You weren't quite sure what had started it all, though you were sure you could blame the alcohol. In your defenses, the others had left the two of you unsupervised to go off on a supply run. Some weird shit was bound to happen.

One thing just lead to another. A conversation that you could now barely remember which started a petty argument, that lead to more petty arguments that somehow lead to Rocket betting you 50 units that he could satisfy a Terran in bed. A bet which you accepted, sure you would win.

After all, he was a raccoon. Of course his member wouldn't be big enough to satisfy you... Come to think about it, you teasing him about it it probably what lead him to challenge you, but what had lead you to tease him? Whatever, it didn't matter.

You had gotten a look at his member as he had undressed. As expected, it didn't look like a Terran's. It was about the width of a finger and about as long, the tip appearing to curve downwards, which was new. Though it was definitely smaller than you were used to, it didn't look small on him, and you thought perhaps be could be considered well-endowed among raccoons. However, you had decided to taunt him anyway, saying how it was smaller than you thought, and how you had this bet in the bag.

You lounged lazily with your arms folded behind your head with a smirk. "If you wanna save yourself the embarrassment now we can always call it off, of course I'd win by default..."

Rocket smirked at you from where he sat. "Fat chance! You're just nervous I'll make good on my word, maybe even scared no one else will ever measure up."

You laugh. "Keep talking, you're only prolonging my winning of the bet." Deciding to be mean you added, "Or are you already in and I just can't tell?"

"You'll know when I'm in, trust me." Rocket snarked. "You ready or not?" He glanced down at your opening and smirked. "Hmm, looks like you're already getting a little wet down here... guess you are ready for me."

You roll your eyes and sit up a bit. "Don't flatter yourself. It's just the alcohol." You settle back down onto the bed. That was surely it. Definitely wasn't because you were actually intrigued or anything... "Go on then, get it over with," you say, turning your gaze smugly up to the ceiling. "Sooner we get this over with, sooner you pay me 50 units."

Suddenly you feel him enter you and you let out a squeak, not expecting the swiftness of the motion. Rocket laughs and you scold him, telling him not to get his hopes up, and that he merely startled you.

Rocket just chuckles again and begins a slow rhythm.

You swallow. Probably dumb luck, but Rocket's member was apparently just long enough to hit your spot, and he was managing to rub it continuously with each stroke. You weren't going to give him the satisfaction of letting him know it didn't feel half bad, though. However, unconsciously you begin to tense, and Rocket could feel it.

"Ya like that, huh?"

"I... it's um, you're- it's... harder than I expected..." you reply honestly. You had expected with his size you wouldn't feel much, but it felt similar to what fingering yourself with just one finger would feel like.

A low chuckle left Rocket's throat. "Oh did I forget to mention? Unlike a human guy's, mine has its own bone, so it's always hard enough to get the job done." You could hear the smugness in his voice, and it made you more determined not to lose the bet.

You cross your arms over your chest and willed yourself to think unsexy thoughts.

However, Rocket decided then to speed up, being correct in the assumption that he was, indeed, doing a decent job.

You closed your eyes so he wouldn't see them roll back in your head as your abdominal muscles began to tighten. This was definitely not bad. He had totally gotten lucky with hitting your spot, but still- not bad. You'd go as far as to say good. Real good. Of course you weren't ready to admit that. A bet was on the line, after all.

When you opened your eyes again Rocket spoke. "Ya know there's certain things I bet I can do that you humies can't." He grinned. "I'm real flexible if ya know what I mean..."

If you hadn't known what he meant he cleared it up real quick when he ducked his head down and started lapping at your clit, all while keeping up the pace inside you.

You knew then you had lost the bet. Rocket did too, for no sooner had he started licking did you let out a moan you had been fighting as your hips bucked up.

You began to let out soft cries of pleasure and balled your hands into the sheets, your knees beginning to quake. Shit, this was good. It was so good. It was like someone was pouring liquid-hot pleasure straight into your core. It had no right feeling this good, but you could barely care.

"Fuck, you win! Please don't stop!" you cry breathlessly. You silently prayed he wouldn't be a dick about it with some loophole like 'said I could satisfy you, not that I'd let you finish haha.' You really wanted to come. If he stopped now you didn't think you'd be able to stop yourself from immediately reaching down to finish the job in a desperate flourish, and you weren't sure he'd let you live that down if you did.

Luckily he didn't. He did let out a chuckle, but it was followed up by him flicking his tongue faster.

You let out a short grateful whine as your hips began to roll from the pleasure. Your orgasm was building quickly, your breath coming faster as you brought one hand up to fist into your hair.

Your soft cries of pleasure began to morph into moans that got louder as you felt the pressure of your orgasm building like a tightly wound coil ready to spring. Your hips jerked as his member stroked your spot over and over while his tongue danced wildly over your clit.

Soon it was was too much for you to take and you dared a second's glance down at him before you came undone, the pleasure so great you couldn't stop your descent even if you wanted to, and you most definitely didn't. You barely had time to register his eyes looking gleefully back up at you before your head fell back against your pillow.

Your moans built into near screams as your release hit you like a freight train, your body shuddering and convulsing in the throws of a mind shattering orgasm. Rocket licked and thrusted into you all the way through it as you rode wave after wave, only slowing his pace when you showed signs of coming down in order to bring you down gently before eventually stopping to sit up, a satisfied grin on his face.

While you busied yourself catching your breath, Rocket spoke, a bit of laughter in his voice. "Well damn, I knew I was good, but even I didn't know I'd make you scream like that!"

You only manage an exhausted sigh and a grin in response as you flipped him off.

"Well, a bet's a bet, and you even admitted I won- as if it wasn't completely obvious... pretty sure Xandar could hear your screams-"

You swatted at him with a pillow, but missed as you had barely moved from where you lay on the bed. You were so exhausted you hadn't even noticed that he hadn't dismounted you yet, and you honestly couldn't be quite bothered to care.

Rocket barely missed a beat, only chuckling before continuing. "-So pay up."

You grin and concede to his victory, grabbing your data pad from your nightstand to transfer him the units. "No arguments here. I know when I've lost, though I can hardly call that losing..." You giggle. "Hell, I'd even give you another 50 units to do that again." Now done with the transaction, you place your data pad back on the nightstand and close your eyes, recovering.

Well, you had intended to recover. Instead you jolted when you felt Rocket's tongue begin to flick at your clit again. You let out a squeak and started to jokingly scold, "I didn't mean right now-!" but you were soon cut off by a moan as you felt the familiar warm wash of pleasure flow over you when he once again began to thrust into you, Only this time more gently of a pace than before. You quickly decided you didn't actually mind a second round, given how good it was the first time and how good it was proving to be again.

Rocket grinned, deciding if he'd bring you over the edge again just as quickly as he had the first time, or if he'd take his time to play with you, bring you right to the edge and keep you there until he decided to finally give you what you craved.

Maybe he'd take the second option... After all, he knew he could last at least on hour in the sack if he wanted, how long could a Terran last?

He was about to find out.

#submission #thank youuuuuuuuu #Rocket raccoon x reader #I like that there are others who aren’t afraid of this idea #this sideblog is not for cowards sorry

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lemonluvgirl · 2 years ago

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I feel like you are a legend in the THG fanfic community. I’ve started posting recently, but do you have any tips for writing fan fiction in this fandom? <3

Wait, I'm legendary?

When did this happen???? 😳 Did I miss a memo or something?

Lol I barely started writing fanfiction 2 years ago 😅 so I guess I don't feel qualified to be called legendary! But hey, thank you so much for the compliment!

Hopefully none of the OG thg fanfic authors will be offended, I just imagine people like:

But on a more serious note, you said you wanted advice for writing in the Fandom. Even though I'm still relatively new to this, I will try my best to give you the advice I would have liked to receive when I started writing and engaging with the Fandom community.

1. Write for yourself: Seriously. Don't write the majority of your stuff so you can get kudos and likes. Write what makes you happy, and invest time in writing stories you enjoy and love. Because at the end of the day social media and statistics are fickle and don't often accurately reflect the impact your writing can have on the world at large.

I learned this the hard way. It was an uncomfortable lesson, but suffice to say that these days I am definitely more focused on the stories that inspire me everyday, the ones that live rent free in my head and are just begging to be put down on paper, or typed out on my keyboard. And I am loads happier because of that choice.

2. You do not have to answer every prompt or ask that finds its way into your inbox. It's OK to leave some things on the backburner and focus on your priorities. Fanfiction is a hobby and most people aren’t getting paid for doing it. (Almost no one I know or have heard of) I personally try to answer all my asks, even if only to say I'm not interested in writing the story the reader is requesting. But I've also just flat out deleted some rude or offensive asks before. I do not obligate myself to respond to rude anons or their questions.

3. It's OK to take breaks from writing. For your mental health, for your well being, and also when you just don't have the time or energy to churn out a chapter every weekend. Again, fanfiction is a free gift, not an obligation. Don't get sucked into the pressure to perform or feel guilty if real life circumstances make it hard or impossible to write.

4. Don't delete your old/first fics. The better you get at writing the more you will be tempted to do this, but trust me, there will be people who love your early stuff, grammar errors and all. Don't deny them the privilege of reading your first story. Even if it is tropey or whatever. Let it stand as a testament to how much you've grown and how much you love this universe. The Fandom will love you for your authenticity and realness.

5. Take chances. Write that dark or slightly weird fic. Write that PWP smut fic. Publish your spotify inspiration playlist. Send your fave author a chat or inbox question. Make connections, laugh at the weirdness or mundane aspects of your hyperfixations. Write 10 stories about the one bed trope. Write 100 enemies to lovers fics. Just do whatever makes you happy and allows you to be creative. Make friends and reach out to your fellow writers. Literally 99% of people I've met in the Fandom are freaking awesome and I do not regret any of the connections I've made in the 2 years since I joined.

6. Just have fun. Real life is full of so much negativity and hardships, and fanfiction should be about enjoying the journey of the characters and the story. All of this is literally just for fun. Publishing on Ao3 or FFN or here on Tumblr, is simply for enjoyment, its not a job or a career. So enjoy it! 😉 Make memes and gifs and chapter covers and mood boards. Write drabbles and weird snippets of dialogue. Let it all out, and say what you want to say. Somewhere out there, there is a reader who will fall in love with your words if you just have the courage to set them free.

#lemonluvanswers #ask answered #my writting #advice #fandom #thg fandom #community #fanfiction

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blossom-hwa · 2 years ago

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Lina!! While I stew over your title (well actually I'm going to sleep because it's like 1am here) I thought I'd give you one of mine to swap now so that you don't have to wait until I'm done lol

How do we feel about "lavender mist" ?

this... is likely not what you imagined when you came up with that title. unfortunately I’m not sorry :) anyway, check out casey’s original drabble here (it’s super fucking cute), and I hope you enjoy this reinterpretation of the title <3

half inspired by a post apocalyptic universe @sleepyowlwrites shared with me some time ago - thanks for that, sleepy 💕💕

wc: 1.7k ~ no pairing (main characters: taehyun and beomgyu) ~ apocalypse!au ~ triggers: cursing, mentions of blood and guns, character death, zombies ~ txt masterlist

~ As the world falls, Taehyun keeps moving on.

[ lavender mist ] The end of the world isn’t as barren as Taehyun thought it would be.

Every apocalyptic movie he remembers - and to be fair, his memory is a bit fuzzy after years of trudging along cracked sidewalks and empty streets - painted the world as something gray, dusty, bleak, as though with the collapse of humanity, the earth would collapse too. Taehyun would watch, heart in his throat as survivors did everything they could to continue living even though the warm embrace of Mother Earth had long turned cold as marble. With the loss of her favorite children, the human race, she had lost the will to live as well.

What bullshit.

The earth survived perfectly fine by itself for millions of years before humanity decided to encroach on its territory. It never needed mankind, probably never even wanted it - one glance around at the overgrown grass and flowers and trees, weeds shooting up from sidewalk cracks and tangling around abandoned cars and homes, tells all.

The earth never needed humans. Probably never wanted them, either.

And if that’s the case, Taehyun doesn’t really know why he keeps trying to survive.

But then again, there are a lot of things he doesn’t know. Why he isn’t dead yet. Why everyone around him is gone but he still stays. Why the sun beats so ungodly hot during the summer and the wind whips so unbearably cold in the winter. Why he keeps moving instead of staying in one place, running from ghosts that don’t exist.

Why he keeps an empty can of lavender scented Febreze in his bag, its mist long since dispersed into the world from the day Beomgyu plucked it off a mostly barren supermarket shelf and, despite Taehyun’s raised eyebrows and obvious concern for the state of his sanity, shoved it in his bag.

“I don’t know!” Beomgyu had said, hands raised in mock indignation when Taehyun asked him hours later after the generally unsuccessful supermarket raid. “Don’t interrogate me!”

“I wasn’t interrogating. I just want to know,” Taehyun had replied, deadpan as ever even as he tried to hide a smile. Things may have changed, but Beomgyu was always the same - loud-mouthed, chaotic, random, always fueled by some desire to care, even if he didn’t know it.

The hands came down but Beomgyu’s smile stayed even as he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he’d repeated. “It was just there, so I took it.” Taehyun had snorted at that (that’s the most Beomgyu reply ever), but he wasn’t done. “I guess I just... didn’t want to leave with nothing at all.”

“Do you even know how it smells?”

“... Look, it has to be better than whatever the fuck is outside.”

It is better, but mostly because it’s hard not to be better than the stench of rotten corpses mixed with the tang of dried blood and coupled with the scent of blooming flowers in the wind that somehow makes it all worse. Strong, too - clearly a year of sitting unused on a shelf hadn’t done much to dampen its scent. The first time Beomgyu sprays it, more on accident than anything else, he and Taehyun have to stifle coughs and sneezes for too many minutes as the mist tickles their noses.

And yet they keep it.

Which is weird, because most useless things that Taehyun (and Beomgyu, despite his inner child) would put in the same category as questionable Febreze get left behind. There’s no space for luxuries in their bags, no jewelry or money or anything that would’ve had value before the world went to shit - even the two dingy string bracelets braided with five different colors that used to dangle around their wrists have since frayed to the point of falling off. Things like Febreze should never have held a place in their lives.

But Beomgyu carves a place for its too strong flowery sweet scent, a tiny puff into the air nearby when they’re finally safe from a zombie attack, a small spray to freshen up their latest shelter as much as they can after sweeping one too many piles of dirt out the door. And as they keep struggling through the barren world, emptying the can on their way, Taehyun has to wonder - when humanity has completely fallen and another race takes up the earth, what will they be remembered by? Will it be broken braided bracelets threaded in five different colors fallen by the side of the road? Will it be photos of the dead left in abandoned frames in abandoned homes, or stuffed in dirty bags and soiled by dust and rain?

Will it be an empty can of lavender mist at the bottom of a survivor’s bag, the strong, sweet scent of home still a wisp in the air?

Beomgyu had always had more hope than Taehyun. He believed that maybe one day humanity would return, would learn from its previous mistakes of greed and fortune to create a world better than this one. Taehyun asks him about this more than once - it’s fascinating to him, Beomgyu’s patient optimism even as the world seems to grow harsher and more unforgiving of humanity’s transgressions with every day that passes. His answer is always the same.

“I think we still have good in this world.” Taehyun can picture dark, playful eyes staring into his, the barest wisp of a smile on Beomgyu’s lips. Beautiful as always, not in spite of the dirt caking his skin and the exhaustion weighing down his face but because of it - the struggle that forged a diamond sparkling in the ashes of the earth. “We’ve survived this long, Taehyun. I have to believe that someday, we’ll come back.”

Relentless optimism, even where Taehyun only saw death and disaster in every street they passed, every horde they escaped, every undead life they took to ensure the continuation of their own. No matter what he said in his moments of despair, Beomgyu always gave him comfort in the weight of his hand in his, in the press of his body against Taehyun’s during cold nights, in the brief dusting of lavender mist into the air...

And one day, the scent isn’t too strong. It isn’t too sweet. It’s a break, a respite, a piece of the old world that miraculously wasn’t lost even in the wake of disaster.

It smells like home.

When Taehyun looks at Beomgyu then - really looks at Beomgyu - as he sprays small bursts of mist into the air of their new makeshift shelter, it only takes him a minute to realize that Beomgyu feels this way, too. That he’s probably felt it for a long time.

Maybe that’s why Taehyun isn’t surprised to find the empty can in Beomgyu’s bag, long after he’d sprayed the last of its scent into the air. He blinks a little when it comes out in his hand and for a moment he thinks he should be surprised, given how the two of them had gotten rid of waste wherever they could, but somehow this souvenir of sentiment surpasses that. A reminder, however small, of home.

He tries the valve, even though he knows it’s empty. Nothing comes out.

It’s been three days since Beomgyu has gone. Three days since he showed Taehyun the bite, three days since he guided the gun towards his head, three days since Taehyun pulled the trigger and watched Beomgyu’s body collapse to the ground, a final small smile on his face.

Only then, with the empty metal can in his hand, does Taehyun finally cry.

For his parents, who were at work when the outbreak got to them and never managed to get out alive.

For his friends who passed first, three of the five strings that frayed over the years until the knotted bracelet fell off his wrist, one of them disappeared, the other two confirmed dead.

For Beomgyu, the fourth string, his only family left, his last thread of hope in this apocalyptic world.

For him, Taehyun, the fifth string and the last one alive, so far from home and never to return.

Taehyun cries for the hope Beomgyu carried that was destroyed three days ago with the bullet he shot with his very own hands. A bullet that took the last of everything he had, leaving him with -

Nothing.

(What will the world remember him by when he goes?)

When Taehyun wakes the next day, eyes red and cheeks sticky with tears, something in him begs to stay still. What use is there in forging on, in living when everything else has been lost, when there’s nothing left to survive for?

(A crumpled family photo drenched by rain?)

Is there even a point?

(Or a braid of five frayed strings, buried under the dust by the road?

But he rolls over. Stands. Places the empty can back in Beomgyu’s bag, picks it up along with his. Slings them over his back.

And starts walking.

(Perhaps a can of lavender mist at the bottom of a beaten-up bag, a scent that belongs to loss, but that also belongs to hope.)

Maybe Taehyun does know why, then, why he has to keep going. Because while there is nothing left for him, there is still something left for Beomgyu. A hope. A dream. A wish. A prayer whispered on lavender scented air, too sweet and too strong and still smelling of home - a prayer that the world will come back someday.

And if it does, even if it’s only in the last moments of Taehyun’s life, he has to see it. For Beomgyu.

So as the sun beats harsh on his brow, branches catching on his clothes with the snarl of animals and the undead alike sounding faint in his ears, all Taehyun can do is forge on through the strangling arms of Mother Nature, slogging through overgrown grass with sweat in his hair, cuts on his skin, tears in his eyes -

And the scent of lavender mist in his nose, no matter where he goes.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 hug for Taehyun, also 1 prayer for some fluff thoughts bc I have too many angst ideas and I need some softness in my life)

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diavorchid · 2 years ago

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listen i know it's very absurd but. I'm not immune to 11.11 okay.

i feel like those socialites sending sponsorship in the hunger games but instead i'm sending a pack of Pocky via the wonderful time-travel method aka drawing lmao. also i didn't mean it but somehow the color turned out like ouran uniform.... [gasp] ouran au?? /j

they're in boarding school age with Art around 2 years younger?? i hope i managed to present their essence in their younger vers

short drabble under cut because ofc i can't help myself. warning for crack lol.

[ao3 link now i guess]

—

"Hey, John! What you've got there?"

He looked behind to the source of the cheerful voice and sighed internally. That young man again. John held himself back from attributing the adjectives such like "annoying" or "a prick" because he seemed sincere enough so far.

Then again Father had taught him better, that you could never know.

And maybe that kid — Arthur? — does deserve it, at least a little. After all, Arthur had deliberately caught him red-handed trying to break into some restricted school building, and he's still on edge and weary if Arthur would report him.

Albeit this isn't the time to think about it, because literally thirty seconds ago something just abruptly appeared in the sky and fell down right before his feet.

A peach-colored small box with big letters spelling "POCKY" on its front. John didn't know what it is, but it does sound stupid.

"I'm not sure," John said, "It just fell from the sky."

"Neat," Arthur said, intrigued.

John picked up the box and observed it from all its sides. There are some texts he couldn't read but overall, it seemed harmless.

"I think it's edible," he suggested, and began prying it open. Inside, he found a bunch of long biscuit sticks covered in a layer of cream for the most part. He remembered the image of strawberry on the box and concluded it's strawberry flavoured.

John took one out and stared at it for a second, not realising Arthur had bent down to take a closer look.

He shrugged, "Might as well try it," then put it in his mouth.

"Wait, you can't just shove anything you found on the ground into your mouth—" Arthur said frantically, and John just gave him a look. Arthur sighed, "At least, I won't let you do it alone!"

Arthur dove in and unintentionally pushed John to the ground, back against the wall. He put his hands by both of John's sides for support.

Then joined his mouth at the other end of the same stick John was biting.

Huh, pretty sweet, Arthur thought, and decided to take more bites and kept drawing closer to—

John yelped back and hit his head against the wall, biting off the biscuit stick in the process. "W-What are you doing?!"

Arthur looked at John, and only then realised how close he was. He could practically see the face in front of him turning the same colour as the mysterious box. "Just having a snack," he smirked.

John shoved the box in his hand against Arthur's chest, and tried to push Arthur's body in the process. "Help yourself, there's a bunch left!"

Arthur retreated and took a spot on the ground to sit, but John scrambled himself off the ground and started to stand up. He held onto John's wrist, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Away from here — let me go," John almost whined.

"This is yours, you found it."

"I don't care, I just gave it to you."

"You're getting me a present already?" Arthur gasped playfully, "As your friend, I'm touched. Thank you."

John really wanted to put that attribute now on the face in front of him. He thought he deserved it, as a treat.

"Whatever — just let me go."

"I will — after you and I finish eating this," Arthur shook the box in his hand, "My first decree as your friend: we're having a snack together at recess in school ground!"

The grip on his wrist was strong, but John was sure he could tackle himself out of it with some effort. Yet... yet — there's something in the gaze that Arthur was sending him right now, the curved up of the line at the edge of his mouth, full of confidence but John could swear it just twitched for a fraction of second — that made him yearned to let his guard down.

...So he did. Just this once, he assured himself, nothing could come out of this, right?

John sighed. "Fine," he said, lowering himself to the ground to sit at his previous spot, "Let's get this over with."

Arthur picked one out of the box, and put it in his mouth, "Here," he pointed at the stick in his mouth, "Do you want to share this again—"

"—Do it again, and I'm leaving," John cut him short, as he reached into the box and took one out for himself.

Now that he's actually tasting it without some kid trying to eat him, hey, it's pretty sweet.

Staying here together might not be the worst idea, after all.

#dracula daily #arthur holmwood #jack seward #john seward #holmward #dracula fanfic #i guess?? for organizing on my part at least #dracula fanart #my art #my fic #my post #i feel like i need a new tag for dracula #artjack

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rebrandedbard · 4 years ago

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If you are still writing 14?

Okay so this one accidentally went from a drabble to an actual fic whoops. The cure is totally inspired by the Rapunzel fairy tale, spoiler alert, where the prince falls in the thorn bushes around the tower and Rapunzel’s tears fall into his eyes, curing him.

14. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

wc: 4444 which is an awesome number I’m so happy lol

Robbed Blind

Someone botches a spell to steal Jaskier’s artistic vision and he’s cursed with blindness. Thankfully, he falls into the company of Ciri and Lambert. They journey safely to Kaer Morhen, but what could be the cure to his affliction?

She had found him, tripping over the strings of destiny, in Drakenborg. He’d been on his way to Oxenfurt when the curse took hold, and he had gone no further. Jaskier was haggard, gaunt, and looked quite worn. His hair lay flat from constant fussing. It was a habit Ciri remembered well from his visits, always combing a nervous hand through his hair before a performance. She had never seen it look so lifeless. He needed a mirror, she thought. She would soon realize that a mirror would serve him no purpose.

He was blind. He startled when she ran to him, throwing her arms around his waist. She’d been so relieved to see a friendly face that she’d run right into his arms, nearly knocking him from the stool in the corner of the tavern. Why should he not catch her as he’d always done? He’d been looking directly at her; she thought he’d merely not recognized her beneath the mud and hood.

“Let me go! Who are you? Stop—stop this now or I’ll give you such a wallop, I’ll—!”

“Jaskier!” Ciri cried, shocked. She flinched away from him as he elbowed her roughly against her temple. She rubbed the spot, standing out of reach.

Jaskier straightened up at once. “Is that—? Little cub, is that you?” he asked. He turned his head as if searching for her and reached out a hand, feeling the air. It was nowhere near.

Ciri took his hand. During their long weeks of travel, she refused to let it go again. She became his eyes, and together they started for Oxenfurt and the safety of its halls.

He’d woken up blind one day, he explained. No warning or explanation. The mage had told him what magic was at play. Someone had tried to steal his artistic vision and the enchantment had gone wrong, stealing from him his very sight.

“Is there not a cure?” Ciri asked.

Jaskier shook his head. “The mage said it was a botched spell. There’s no telling what will fix it, only that it must have something to do with artistic vision. The mage suggested it might be cured by the old methods: kisses and the like; gazing upon true beauty.”

He squinted and took her face between his hands. “I’m looking and looking at you as hard as I can, and I remember you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen when you were first born. So what do mages know? Have you become a pox-faced adolescent or scraggly Medusa? Ah,” he chuckled, “but you’d still be a fairytale princess in my eyes if you had the face of a basilisk.”

She laughed and squirmed out of his hands. “You were always very good at Blind Man’s Bluff. Do you remember when we used to play it? Back then, you were always stumbling; you aren’t stumbling as much anymore.”

“I’ve grown used to it, I suppose. But you are a princess—do you suppose a kiss from you might cure me? How are you with frogs? Ever wake a sleeping prince?”

“No, but we may try it. There’s magic in me of a sort, I know. Here, kneel a moment.”

Jaskier knelt on the dry road and closed his eyes, tapping the lid. “Right here. Give it a go,” he said encouragingly. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll practice on a frog and work our way up.”

Ciri kissed both eyes to be sure. “Alright. Open them. Do you see anything?”

She tried not to get her hopes up, watching Jaskier squeeze his eyes tight. He opened them, blinked several times, and gave her a sad smile.

“Not to worry, we’ll find a pond in no time,” he joked, trying to keep the mood light.

“Well! I go to find a cat and find a lioness instead. And a songbird. Must be my lucky day.”

Ciri put herself between the stranger and Jaskier, waving a large branch in warning. “Keep away,” she growled. “If you come any closer, I’ll scream.”

The scruffy man put his hands up and grinned. “I’ve heard what sort of screaming runs in your family. Trust me, I would rather not be around for one of them. Heard it knocked pretty boy flat on his back at your mother’s little Surprise party.”

Jaskier put a hand on Ciri’s shoulder. “Wait a moment,” he said. “I know that moniker. Geralt complained of it before.” He was quiet a moment, stirring up a memory. Then, he lit up, asking excitedly, “Did you say you were looking for a cat? A cat witcher, by chance?”

“Why? Find one up a tree?” the stranger pressed.

Jaskier patted Ciri’s shoulder and strode forward, extending a hand. “You must be Lambert! I’ve heard—” his hand buckled against Lambert’s chest, his stride clearing the distance too quickly “—oh, my apologies. I’ve heard about you before. I was hoping to see you under better circumstances if I ever got the chance. Or to see you at all, really. Damnable timing.”

Lambert looked at him, then took his hand. Ciri watched as the understanding settled in, for Jaskier was staring straight at the man’s forehead, a near lucky guess of his eye line. Lambert wore an expression of pity freely, knowing Jaskier could not see it, though his tone was light and cocky as before. “I always wondered what you saw in that sourpuss, following him as long as you did; now I know you didn’t see anything after all,” he joked.

Jaskier snorted. “It’s new.”

“Ah, so you’ve been blinded by love, have you?”

Jaskier flapped his hand until he felt the brush of Ciri’s sleeve at his side, then he tugged her forward and presented her. He cleared his throat, a tad flushed. “May I introduce Her Royal Highness, Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, the Lion Cub of Cintra. Geralt’s child Surprise.”

Ciri tossed her branch aside. “You know Geralt,” she said.

“They’re brothers.”

Lambert sneered. “He got all the looks, Eskel got the talent, but I got the brains.”

“What little there were to be had,” Jaskier added.

“Oh, ho! You’ll fit right in at the keep, talking like that.”

There was a pregnant pause between the three of them. Jaskier nudged Ciri gently forward. “She’ll be safe there. And her wit is more cutting than mine.”

Ciri turned at once to protest. “But what about Ox—”

“And so would you,” Lambert cut in. “A dull knife and a dull wit can be sharpened, and I’d rather keep two knives in my belt than one, whatever their make. Don’t start that maudlin shit with me; you’re coming along.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest and Lambert raised a hand. Then, realizing how ineffective that was against one who could not see it, he recovered and smacked the side of Jaskier’s head to shut him up before he started.

“Come on; it’s a long and dull road we have ahead of us, and you’re my entertainment. I want to hear every embarrassing story you can supply. I’ve long run out of blackmail and I’m in need of fresh material. Besides, what better bait for a cat than a twittering bird? If you sing loud enough, we might pick him up along the way.”

They were all together in the great hall when at last he came. The figure stood in the doorway, a black dot against the stark white of winter outside. A pair of bags dropped with a thundering bang upon the floor, the sound echoing throughout the room, and the figure bundled up by the fire started awake in fright.

Jaskier patted the blanket beside him, made frantic by his sudden awakening. “Ciri? Ciri!” he called, for she had been asleep next to him what seemed only moments ago.

She paused only a moment to stare at the imposing figure in the light. Something in her shouted, compelling her to go to him. But Jaskier called for her in that voice wrought with panic once more. She flew from the circle of wolves to his side, abandoning her hand of cards, disregarding the man of destiny at the door.

“I’m here,” she said, taking his hands. “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always. I’m not going anywhere.” She and the others looked at each other, looked at Geralt, and said not a word.

Jaskier settled and took a deep breath. “I heard something crash. I dreamed—but never mind that.” He sighed, pressing his head to their joined hands. “I’m sorry. I know it’s safe here. I’m just not used to you wandering off just yet.”

“I know.” She stroked his hair gently. It was soft again, though not as silky as before. Lambert and Eskel had drawn him a bath for the first time in a long while, but he had not his customary soaps and oils. He was … less bright, his appearance dulled with his mood.

Vesemir had examined him. Countless hours, the wolves had huddled together in the old library, trying to find a cure for Jaskier’s condition to no avail. As time went by, the reality of his situation weighed on Jaskier. He could no longer read his notebook, nor write his music to be remembered. Ciri read his notes aloud and studied the art so she might transcribe them for him, but it was obvious how he felt.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” he’d said.

And now he gave her that same false smile, the one that failed to meet his eyes. She missed the lines in the corners and wished they might come back. Perhaps they’d flown off with the crows, frightened of the winter snow.

��Go back to your game,” he whispered. “I’ll head up to bed.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” she offered.

He shook his head. “I know the way now. If someone will take me to the stairwell?” he prompted, raising a hand.

Ciri looked at Geralt. There was so little she knew of him—stories and songs … words spared in rumors and stolen from conversations where she lingered unnoticed to listen. What she knew of the wolf and bard she had pieced together with care. For all the tales Jaskier would tell, he would not disparage Geralt before her, and he would not tell the story of the dragon hunt. But dwarves talk. Stories travel and lesser bards would imitate the songs of greater. Witchers collect news of other witchers, and two adults would speak as adults when ale made easy speech. Jaskier had confided in Lambert those tearing words once flung at him upon the mountain. And thus she had put the final piece into place of the great mystery between them.

‘If life could give me one blessing…’

“Who will take him?” she asked. She kept Geralt’s eyes as she rose to her feet. “Who will take him into his hands?”

It was only the barest movement, but she swore she saw the wolf of legend flinch.

Jaskier sat up with a huff. “You make it sound so dramatic. Are we playing at a quest now? Very well, who is my knight errant? The princess has thus decreed a quest is in order: a quest up the perilous tower steps, my-my! Such a task!”

“I should think a white knight is the one suited best for the task,” Vesemir grunted. He shuffled his hand, eyes narrowed at Geralt.

The white knight in question let his cloak fall. He shook the snow from his arms and dusted them slowly, looking at each watching face in turn. His hesitation was clear. When none moved to claim Jaskier, he stepped forward cautiously. Without a word, he took Jaskier’s hand and lifted him to his feet.

Jaskier clapped an arm around his shoulder, hands patting the edge of his long hair. “Ah, thank you, Vesemir,” he said. His hand slipped from Geralt’s armour and he made a face, flicking his wet hand in the air. He prodded the armour curiously. “You’re soaked; I thought you said you’d sent Eskel for the firewood.” He prodded again and bumped against Geralt’s shoulder pad. He pinched it between his fingers, figuring out its shape. He hummed curiously. “What are you wearing? Did you go hunting?”

Geralt stared. Jaskier was not looking at him. Geralt looked at the circle of men by the fireside and there sat Vesemir in silence, watching. He was struck dumb. What … game was this?

“A knight needs a knight’s armour,” Lambert called.

Jaskier laughed. “Oh, of course. Such a soft touch; did you get all dressed up for Ciri? Have I woken in the middle of a game?”

Eskel tossed a card in the middle of the circle. “Yes,” he answered, “but we’ve just started on another, different game.”

“Very cold and calculated,” Ciri agreed.

“Cold and calculated. So a snowball fight has become a snowball war, no doubt born of the most complicated strategies. Shame on the lot of you. You ought to let your elders warm themselves before sending them on tasks. You’re young; you’ve got legs,” Jaskier scolded.

“It was his idea,” Eskel replied.

Vesemir nodded, keeping silent as the game unravelled.

Jaskier looped his arm through Geralt’s and stood straight and tall in an affected manner. “Come, my good knight,” he said, “and let us bid good night to these slacking youths.”

He started to walk in the general direction of the stair, Geralt turning them with truer aim. Geralt looked over his shoulder at the others, frowning. This was not the sort of confrontation he expected when next he saw Jaskier. If he ever saw him. And here was his child Surprise in their midst without a word of greeting or explanation, and the bard, the two of them together and settled within the walls of the keep.

It was too perplexing for him to puzzle out. And Jaskier was acting strangely. Where were his speeches? Geralt had expected him to argue on sight, or else to pretend all was right and greet him, “Geralt! How good to see you,” or, “Fancy meeting you here,” and play off the mountain like it never happened. Or at the very least to ignore him. But to call him Vesemir and take to his arm? What joke was he playing at?

The answer came as Jaskier dodged the first step and nearly fumbled upon the stair. He clung to Geralt’s arm with a cry and his other hand shot out to grope the wall. He flailed for it, feeling his way from the step outward, then sliding his hand up the side of it. He turned his head, looked at Geralt and laughed. “I’m still not used to these uneven steps,” he said. “Give me time and I’ll be able to find my way around unassisted. By next week, I’ll be able to navigate every pool in the hot springs, then you four will never see me fully dressed again!”

Geralt raised a hand to Jaskier’s face. He rested a thumb just beneath his eye. They were as blue as ever, nothing seemed amiss, and yet …

Jaskier’s smile weakened. He closed his eyes and pushed the hand away. “I know the three of you are working hard to find a cure. I know the jokes fall flat. But I must make them. If I don’t … Vesemir, if I can’t make light of it, the darkness I see will be all I have left.”

He turned toward the stair again, hand firm on Geralt’s arm, the other on the wall. “Right then. Up we go. Just one at a time,” he said. He stepped tentatively forwards, prodding his foot before him until he nudged the base of the first step. “Got it. First is always hardest, isn’t it?”

They carried on. Two steps, three, one after the other slowly. They were uneven by design: a final defense against those who would try to invade their stronghold. The spiral stair favored those who walked it every day, gave advantage to the men who would be at the top, swinging their swords to fight back those who would dare trespass unwitting. It was difficult enough for any stranger with sight. With Jaskier, it was a quest in itself.

Midway up, Geralt thought to carry him. They were going so slowly; it would have been easiest that way. He nearly offered, but stopped. If he spoke, Jaskier would know him. He began to reach an arm out to simply lift him, but Jaskier fumbled once more, his knee hitting the step with a mumbled curse. And Geralt heard him muttering through his teeth as he crouched upon the stair.

“I will learn,” he hissed. “This will not stop me. I refuse to be a burden to anyone. Never again.” He touched his forehead to the step and Geralt put a hand to his back. He was trembling.

When Jaskier rose again, he did not take Geralt’s arm. He reached out and took hold of the wall on either side, arms stretched wide to hold himself up. He proceeded to climb the stair alone. When Geralt reached out to help, Jaskier waved him away.

“No,” he whispered. “We’re nearly at the top. Just let me do this much. Please.”

And Geralt let his hand fall away.

Jaskier reached the landing with a powerful stomp, expecting a final step. He breathed a sigh of relief and sagged against the right wall. Geralt followed behind and patted his shoulder. Small congratulations. From there, Jaskier walked down the corridor, tapping when he came upon a wooden door. He passed three, tapped each with his knuckles, counting. When he reached the forth door, he opened it. In this space, he walked with ease away from the wall. He flopped confidently upon the bed and rested a moment as one does after a long journey.

He shucked off his doublet and loosened the laces of his boots. He set these aside at the very foot of the bed where they might easily be found again. He undid the back lace of his trousers, paused, and inclined his head toward the door.

“Are you still there, Vesemir?” he asked.

Geralt did not know how to respond. He stood fixed in the doorway, but dropped his eyes to his feet modestly. After a moment’s wait, Jaskier finished undressing and climbed beneath the heavy furs. A memory stirred—that was not the final task of the evening. What was the last of their routine each night? What was left undone that made this finality seem so abrupt? Geralt realized it in the darkness of the room. He had no candle to blow out.

The truth struck Geralt sharp as a blade to his gut. He stole through the door, walking quietly toward the bed. He sat on the edge, the furs rumpled beneath him, and listened to Jaskier’s breathing. He was not yet asleep—would never be, so soon—but he did not stir.

Geralt took his hand gently.

Jaskier squeezed it back.

“I only wish that had not been the last I’d seen of him,” Jaskier whispered. “I try to remember his smile now. For all my poetry, I can’t remember it clearly. His smiles were so rare, but I don’t suppose you need me to tell you. Or perhaps you do. I don’t know if he smiled here; I know nothing his life in this place. Were you so fortunate that they were commonplace?”

Silent footsteps creeped up the stair. Ciri had waited long enough to follow. Geralt heard no sign of her under the ringing words of Jaskier’s speech. Though he spoke no louder than the breath of the wind, every last syllable echoed like a clap of thunder in his ears.

Jaskier slipped his hand free and turned on his pillow, hugging it close. “I wish I might at least see Ciri now, know how she’s grown. They change so quickly at that age. Does she look like her mother? Does she look like him? Destiny makes strange things of those it touches. She was beginning to look like him, I once thought.”

She saw him well enough, looking through the open door. She crouched behind the wall, listening as she always did in secret, for the things he would not burden her with.

“I always did wonder what you looked like. Geralt spoke once to me of his brothers, his mentor. You’re still stories to me in ways. I know you have long hair, grey with age. I know Lambert is shorn, Eskel is shaggy. I know your voices, your height, and a hundred other things. But do you share his eyes? What color is the armour you wear? How does the sun set over the mountainside? The carpets before the hearth—what pattern is woven there? What thousands of stories do you keep in that library? What do the monsters look like illustrated in the great bestiary?”

He buried his face in his pillow. His voice was muffled, but both Geralt and Ciri could hear the husk in it. “I won’t feel sorry for myself. It doesn’t mean anything—just idle curiosity. It doesn’t matter how the carpet is woven or if you wear brown shirts or red. I’ve seen a lifetime of sunrises and sunsets and stars. I don’t want them!” he barked. He writhed on the bed, his face falling from the pillow, stained with tears. “I don’t! I never needed them, not one! I don’t care—I don’t! None of them are important!”

Geralt rushed forward and took Jaskier in his arms. Jaskier struggled, beating at his chest, and refused to be coddled. “No!” he wailed. “Don’t comfort me, I don’t need it! I don’t want it! I will not be pitied!” But for his hard words, he clung to Geralt’s armour, sobbing against his shoulder. “It’s unnecessary. It’s just a bunch of poetry. Useless poetry and songs.”

Jaskier pulled away, Geralt’s hands trailing from his back to his shoulders as he sat up. Geralt held him there before he could retreat more. Before he could think twice of it, Geralt leaned in, his hands cupping Jaskier’s face on either side.

“Vese—”

Something warm and wet fell onto Jaskier’s lashes. He heard a shaky breath, felt the warmth of it upon his face. Another hot tear fell into his other eye and he blinked in surprise, for it was not his own. He sat perfectly still in shock, blinking the falling tears away.

“They were never useless,” Geralt said. “They were always important—all of them.”

Jaskier twitched, raising his head by instinct up to look at the man who held him now. “You were—!”

“I’m sorry. For not speaking before. For … not speaking then. After. And for saying what I did that day.” He wiped the tears beneath Jaskier’s eyes away, an expression of pain twisting his hollowed features. “If I’d not sent you away—I don’t know what’s become of you, but I might have—I could have tried to prevent it. You would still have your sight.”

Jaskier covered Geralt’s hands. “No, Geralt. This is none of your doing. You can’t—”

A loud bump from the hall startled him. Jaskier turned at once to look.

“Ciri,” he breathed.

Ciri had a finger to her mouth and was glaring up at a tall man. They both cowed back, being caught. Jaskier looked between them as Geralt’s hands slipped away. He stood, walking toward them. He looked at Ciri, gaping, their eyes perfectly aligned. Jaskier fell to his knees before her and took her hands without fumbling.

“Ciri,” he said. “You’re so … my good gods, you’ve grown.”

All were still as he reached out, touching her face as though she were made of glass. He smoothed her hair away, taking all of her in. He laughed, new tears falling as he pulled her close and crushed her in his arms. “You’re so beautiful!” he cried. He stroked her hair, cradling her against him as tight as he dared. “And you!” He looked up at the witcher in the hall, reaching out to him and taking his hand. “Which one are you? Say something now, quickly. Let me hear your voice and know you.”

“Eskel,” he answered. And then Jaskier was up on his feet, pulling him into another embrace.

“Eskel!” Jaskier cheered. “Eskel, you look even more heroic than I ever imagined! Oh, let me look at you. Oh, oh! Lambert! Vesemir! Where are you, come forward!”

He dashed into the hall, only to turn on his heel for another look at Eskel, for just one more eyeful of Ciri. Over her shoulder, he saw Geralt sitting there on the bed, his yellow eyes wide, the tears still clinging to his chin.

“Oh,” Jaskier whispered. “Oh, I see. I see.”

He walked forward, gliding a hand beneath Geralt’s jaw. He touched his eyes with his other hand. Carefully, he wiped the last of Geralt’s tears away. It dangled, a little drop at the tip of his finger and he brought it close. He closed his hands around it, cradled them to his chest.

Geralt stood slowly before him. And he smiled.

Ciri tugged at Jaskier’s shirt, her head turned away politely. She cleared her throat and said, “Jaskier? Lambert and Vesemir are on their way up. And you’re … well, you’re not at your most presentable.”

Eskel averted his eyes, his back turned to the scene, however touching. “You might want to get a bit more dressed. And quickly,” he added, for Jaskier was standing in his smallclothes.

Jaskier snorted. “All of you, turn away for decency’s sake! We’re having a moment, here.”

“And what about me?” Geralt asked. “Shall I look away?”

It was nothing but empty jest and Jaskier smiled. “No,” he replied. “No, you’re looking where you’re needed. But I suppose to be fair …”

He clapped a hand over Geralt’s eyes. He leaned forward, whispering against Geralt’s lips. “There. Now no one can see. No one … but me.”

There were no witnesses to that first kiss. It was a secret Jaskier kept for himself.

However, the second, third, and forth had quite a startled audience, as Geralt and Jaskier both fell deaf to the clatter of footsteps in the hall. Ciri took it upon herself to usher the others from the room, explaining on the way. After all, with the curse lifted, she no longer needed to be Jaskier’s eyes. His mouth, however, was currently occupied.

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#my fic #drabbles #witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #cirilla fiona elen riannon #lambert #eskel #vesemir #I'd tag aiden but he's really only mentioned in passing #ew I came back to look at this and the scene breaks did not transfer over #fixed it now

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