#I NO LONGER HAVE PATIENCE FOR SCHEDULING POSTS

[llumimoon]

You don’t need a reason to love somebody, you just do.

#dndads #dndads spoilers #dungeons and daddies #dndads s2 #dungeons and daddies season 2 #scary marlowe #lincoln li wilson #taylor swift dndads #normal oak #SOBS SCREAM ROLLS ON THE GOUND #THESE KIDS MAN AUUGGHGGHHFFHHEJJEWOAIFJVNSKF #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH. SO MUCH #that episode was SO GOOD. FUUUUCK #when drawing this i had the realization of OJHGUHFG I LOST MY ART STAMINA #I’m getting back there though babey IM MAKING MY WAY BACK #also fuck it we ball #the era of cal posting art in the middle of the night returns #I NO LONGER HAVE PATIENCE FOR SCHEDULING POSTS #cal draws

[ms-demeanor]

Hello,Do you have any tips for recovering from internet brain rot? It's like my patience has dried up and if there's a huge amount of text (even about topics I'm very interested in) that I have to read, I get annoyed and just don't interact with the material at all.

I have multiple tips!

TL;DR (Because of course I generated a wall of text): Take a break from the internet, create a schedule for getting yourself used to reading longer texts, take breaks while reading, and perhaps reconsider how you interact with The Internet and the world in general.

Here are the basic "to reduce the brain rot just don't interact" tips:

Take a break. Give yourself time off from The Internet (for these purposes The Internet is the social media industrial complex; clickbait news, recommended videos, social media sites, etc. You don't have to totally check out of email or your local news site, just get away from the huge time sucks). I'd say to take at least one day a week where you're online for less than an hour a day, and to maybe work up to doing a week-long break from whatever the main agents of rot are.

Once you've identified the main agents of rot, give yourself a time limit or set up rules for yourself. I don't let myself look at social media in bed, for instance; no staying up late on my phone, no scrolling before I get up and start my day. I don't give myself a strict time limit anymore, but for a while there I was very firm about "you only get to go online 4 hours a day" with myself.

Don't comment (or at least only share the things you really want to share). If you feel the need to argue, or if you feel pressured into sharing something, don't. Step back, maybe even open the post in a new tab or send it to yourself, and come back later. If you've been thinking about it and have decided it IS something you care enough to talk about, share it. If you look at the tab and feel stressed out or still feel reactive, close the tab and walk away.

Go out and interact with the real world in a non-work capacity for a few hours a week; take walks or go shopping or go out and take pictures of insects. Touch grass so that The Internet is not the only thing you're doing with your downtime.

Here are the "work on reading longer texts specifically" tips:

Set a reading goal for yourself. Maybe you want to read one New Yorker article a week, maybe you want to read all the way through news articles, maybe you want to read novels like you used to in high school. Figure out what your actual goal is and articulate that goal to yourself.

Set up a practice schedule and gradually increase the amount of time you're reading. Don't go from short tumblr posts to a novella, go from short tumblr posts to slightly longer news articles, then to slightly longer essays, then to a novella. You can do this in literal paragraphs if you want to - maybe your goal for your first day is to read five paragraphs in a row, and the second day is seven, and the third day is ten, etc, until you are comfortably reading for longer amounts of time without counting paragraphs. (Try this with books from gutenberg.org; read a classic you haven't read a few paragraphs at a time and if you find yourself going over your paragraph count, let yourself run with it. If you finish a book, good for you, find another one and start again.)

Set up a maintenance schedule. If your goal is to read longer news pieces, try to read a longer piece every week and try to read to the end of every news article you open. If your goal is to read novels or longer nonfiction, try to read a book a month (maybe setting aside dedicated time each week to read, maybe Thursday evenings are book time now). If you find yourself falling back into old habits, take a break from The Internet and do some more rigorous practice for a while.

If you find yourself getting frustrated while you are reading you can also take a break! Read until you get frustrated and then *instead of switching to a different page or closing the article* close your eyes or look out the window or away from the screen for thirty seconds (count 'em! count out the time in your head) and then continue reading. You can also take a longer pause and sit and think about why you're getting frustrated. Is it the subject matter? Is it just looking at this text for longer than a couple minutes (if you are experiencing FOMO because you're reading for another few minutes instead of scrolling, the harder tips at the bottom are going to be important to you)? Are you comfortable? Are you reading this text to procrastinate from something and the procrastination is making you nervous? Are you trying to read to the bottom of your dash and reading a long post is taking up more time than you want while scrolling? Are you bored? Genuinely and very seriously: are your eyes straining and does your head hurt (if this is the case when is the last time you had your eyes checked or your glasses prescription updated)?

Here are the much harder "examine yourself and reassess your reactions to things" tips:

Work on re-training your attention span.

Identify something that you enjoy and find deeply engaging, and schedule some dedicated time for that thing. Set a literal timer (it can be a short amount of time at first) and sit down and do the thing without switching to a different website or opening up an app on your phone. This can be re-reading or watching a couple episodes of a show you like or listening to your favorite album while you sit down and draw. What's important is to spend a longer time focusing on doing something you DO like before attempting to spend a longer time focusing on something you DON'T like.

When you're starting on things you DON'T like, start with things you mildly don't like, or that feel tedious but aren't actually unpleasant. One way I do this is by transcribing poetry; I look up poems that I connect to and I transcribe them into a notebook that I have for that purpose. I enjoy having the finished product, but I don't enjoy the process, so it takes some effort to stick with it. Maybe there is a boring book you have been trying to get through, maybe you need to detail your car, maybe you've been trying to take up embroidery - these are good things to make yourself pay attention to (having music or a podcast on can help, but avoid watching videos or opening social apps)

When you're okay at that kind of thing (doing something not actively unpleasant) work on your attention span for things you ACTIVELY don't like. I don't think you should be a masochist about this, but you should work on being okay with doing unpleasant things for a sustained period of time. All of us have to do unpleasant stuff sometimes, and it's better to be able to pay attention to it for an hour at a time than it is to put it off forever.

This leads into the next Big Tip which is:

Work on being less reactive

Find something that you dislike; I'm going to use conservative talk radio as my example.

Expose yourself to the disliked thing for short periods of time (under ten minutes, maybe under five minutes).

Work on moderating your emotions during the time spent exposed to the disliked thing. If it makes you angry, work on intellectualizing the anger without becoming agitated by it. If it makes you sad, work on accepting that sadness without letting it drag down your mood. This isn't precisely about becoming numb to stimuli, but it is about being more in control of how your emotional reactions impact you.

Analyze the disliked thing. Why does it make you angry? Is that on purpose by the creator of the thing? Would it make someone else angry in the same way? How would you explain the anger to a neutral third party?

Consider responding instead of reacting. Let's say you're seeing a lot of very sad and upsetting things online and it's making you sad and upsetting you. You re-share these things because you don't feel like there's anything else you can do or you get angry when you see people sharing incorrect information, perhaps you argue with people about this. Now try looking at the upsetting things through the lens of point number four. This has upset you; how has it upset you? And once you've thought about how it upset you and have articulated that to yourself, find out what you can DO. I cannot make conservative talk radio go off the air, but I can support the groups harmed by conservative talk radio; thus there is no point in me getting upset and angry about conservative talk radio when I could be helping the people they target instead.

And that gets us to the last big tip which is:

Ask yourself if you are spending your time in a way that is enjoyable and edifying.

We all have limited time in our days and limited time in our lives. If you are finding yourself frequently frustrated online, it's a good time to consider whether you want to be spending so much time online.

If you feel like The Internet has become a rat race in which you can't read more than a few paragraphs without getting frustrated, there's a good chance that not only are you spending too much time on The Internet, but you're also spending it on doing things that you don't particularly like.

A realization like yours, Anon, that you are getting frustrated with any longer texts, can actually be really helpful because it provides a good opportunity to look at what you're engaging with and consider the questions:

Is this something I enjoy?

Do I feel good when I do this thing?

And that's a great way to figure out how to get rid of things that are leading to your background frustration. Maybe that looks like paring down the list of blogs you follow, maybe that looks like unsubscribing from some youtubers and podcasts, maybe that looks like uninstalling apps, maybe that looks like blocking a whole bunch of people and terms on your socials.

I don't think that everything we do has to help us grow as a person or expand our consciousness or anything like that, but I do think it's important to prioritize doing things that you like and doing things that you feel good about.

Like, I'm not doing something *wrong* if I spend an afternoon on Youtube watching drama channels every once in a while, but if I come out of a few afternoons of watching youtube drama channels feeling restless and anxious and like I wasted my time - even if I enjoyed myself while I was watching - it's probably a good idea for me to take a break from drama channels and see if there's something I can do instead that will make me feel better.

ALSO, A NOTE:

You are an animal that requires significant enrichment in your enclosure.

Think about tigers. Tigers in captivity are going to be excited to get high-value treats for any reason. They will eat and enjoy the treats. But if a tiger in captivity is only given the treats and never given any other form of activity to engage with, it is not going to be a happy tiger. If you start putting their treats in a pumpkin or a puzzle feeder or giving them toys to play with, that is going to be a much happier tiger.

Please give your brain things to play with that are more than just treats (though it does need some treats!). Make yourself a happy tiger. Your brain need a puzzle feeder, not a treat button.

[yuri-is-online]

Out of the Bag (Jamil, Ace, and Idia x Yuu)

"Oh can I help you? You seem to be lost." You attempt to cheerfully ask the vaguely familiar looking person in front of you. As if he is deliberately trying to rub salt in your wounds, Crowley ignored your request to leave campus for NRC parents day and is instead making you and Grim run errands. The person in front of you, blissfully ignorant to your inner turmoil perks up at your attention.

"Forgive me for asking, but are you the magicless prefect?" You and Grim exchange a confused glance. "You've got to be right?" They're practically glowing with how happy they are to see you. " Oh I'm sorry, I've just heard so much about you!" Wait, what?

notes: (so uhhhh Jamil and Ace were supposed to be a part of the original post but I cut them out because I had to go to bed but forgot to remove the tags, sorry </3) they/them pronouns used for Yuu, sibling snark (Jamil and Ace) vs light angst (the Shroud parents), light reference to certain events in Ch. 6, but nothing specific. If you liked this please check out the first version on my masterlist.

Jamil

"Oh yeah, you're Najma, right?" The younger girl looks pleasantly surprised you have remembered her from your visit to the Scalding Sands.

"Well that makes this a lot easier, do you know where Jamil is?" You internally cheer at how polite she is, some of the other families you have been dealing with today have really been testing your patience. "I've been looking everywhere for him, but couldn't seem to find a good opportunity to sneak up on him." Or maybe not, that doesn't sound like she hasn't seen him at all, why is she asking you?

"According to my schedule he's probably in the gym for the club activities program." You confirm with your clipboard and Najma sighs.

"Lame, he's gonna be all sweaty and gross." She checks her phone as you sneak a glance at Grim trying to figure out how much longer you have before you need to find something shiny to distract him. "Actually maybe I can just ask you." You turn your attention back to Najma who seems to be tapping her cheek with her phone and sizing you up. "Is there anywhere to get snacks on campus?"

"Now you're talkin!" Cheers Grim, bringing a really bright smile to Najma's face and a tentative one to yours. "Mr. S's Mystery Shop's got all the tuna you can ask for!"

"And other things to." You helpfully add and Najma happily begins to follow.

"So what do you like to do?" she asks almost ten seconds into your walk. "Like what fun stuff is there to do around campus?"

"Shouldn't you be asking your brother?" You ask, thankful Grim is too caught up in his tuna thoughts to make any snarky comments.

"About you?" Najma laughs and you feel a bit silly. "Nah he hates being honest about things like that."

"Well I don't have much free time..." but you manage to list off some things that you like as Najma nods, still tapping her phone on her chin for some reason.

"What about food?" she stops fiddling with her phone and just goes straight to texting on it as the Mystery Shop comes into view. "I know Jamil's food looks boring but it tastes super good."

"It sure does." Grim says, well more like whines. "He only ever gives it to Yuu and gets mad when I eat it though."

"That's because he asked for my opinion, not yours." It's a petty thing to say, but hey Jamil's a good cook. Najma seems to agree, giggling before you both jump ten feet backwards as a strangely shaped blur nearly knocks you over.

"NAJMA!" Jamil is indeed, sweaty and gross looking, his basketball jersey is practically drenched through, almost like he ran the entire way to here from the gymnasium. He's doubled over, hands on his knees as you fumble around looking for the water bottle Crewel made you bring with you earlier which he gratefully takes.

"Oh hey what are you doing here Jamil?" You don't know Najma super well, but she almost sounds disappointed to see her brother. "Prefect said you were at the gym."

"Don't start." Jamil passes you back the empty water bottle, hesitating just a bit before he lets you take it. "She didn't do anything weird, right? Hasn't said anything strange?" You blink in confusion.

"No? She's just been asking a bunch of questions about stuff. Jamil relaxes, letting you take the bottle with a genuine smile-

And gets cut off by a shutter sound effect making you both turn towards Najma, who doesn't bother looking up from her phone camera.

"Whoops thought I turned that off."

Ace

"Well, well, well, just what should I do with you?"  The ginger stranger is stroking his chin with an all too familiar look that puts you on edge, not because you think he is going to try anything illegal (yet) but because you can practically see the collar on this guy already.  There really is no beating around the bush about who this guy is, even if you really wished you had some plausible deniability.   "I could tell you about that time I told him if he kissed a frog it would turn into royalty and he actually did it-"  Too much information he technically just did.  "Or what about that time he only wanted to eat carrots so I freaked him out by saying he was turning into one because his hair was orange-"  So is yours big brother Trappola!  And where the hell is Grim he is supposed to be suffering through this with you.  "Nah those are too boring- oh I got it!"  Before you can break out in a dash for the mirror chamber, big brother Trappola claps an unintentionally (you hope) firm hand on your shoulder.  "Listen to this- wait I didn't introduce myself I-"

"Ace's brother."  He seems genuinely taken aback.  "He talks about you all the time." 

"Oh does he?"  Maybe you shouldn't have mentioned that, little Trappola's ego was insufferable already, older Trappola's has got to be worse right.  It's so obvious you can't even bring yourself to put the question mark on it.

"Funny you mention that, from my end it seems like all he ever talks about is Yuu."  He makes a big show of looking you over.  "Always talking about what a pain it is to look after you, but he never does stop."  He maneuvers himself to look directly into your eyes.  “You must be pretty special then, right?”

“Didn’t you used to go here?”  You ask, crossing your arms and fixing your best “not today Trappola” look onto your face.

“Sure did!  Also got put into Heartslabyul, must run in the family, we’re all a bit mad.”  Older Trappola breaks eye contact for just a second, something dancing on the tip of his tongue you have no desire to entertain at all.  You just want to ditch this overgrown root veg on his brother and then take a nap.

“So then, just to be clear, you don’t need me to show you around.”  You fumble around your clipboard looking for a map anyway.

“Oh no I absolutely need you to do that.”  You like it when Ace plays dumb better, at least it’s cute.  “Would be a really bad thing if you just left me all alone and I went somewhere I wasn’t supposed to.”  He stands up straight, looking off into the distance behind you with a dramatic sigh.  “Somewhere like Ramshackle Dorm maybe?  I hear that’s one of Ace’s-”

 A surprisingly strong pair of arms wraps you into an embrace from behind.

“Back off.” snaps Ace, a lot harsher than either of you have heard before “This one’s mine.”

Idia

"Dear! Dear! Come look it's the prefect!" A very excited very pink woman in a sundress and comically oversized sunglasses beckons to a very tall, very out place looking man who is... also wearing comically oversized sunglasses.

"The who?" he sheepishly walks over to his wife and gives you a little wave, clearly out of place but trying his best.

"The prefect! Ortho and Idia's friend." The realization seems to hit both you and Mr. Shroud at the same time, causing you both to retreat just a bit. You because you feel desperately dumb for not noticing the flaming hair and him because-

Well you hope it's because of the whole house thing but who knows.

"Oh sorry. Um we're Mr. and Mrs. Shroud but you probably already guessed that it's really nice to meet you." You awkwardly shake hands while Grim hides behind your legs.

"Do you have any plans for today?" Asks Mrs. Shroud. "I'd hate to interrupt things too much."

"Oh no that's not really an issue for me." You look down at Grim for half a second before adding. "For us."

"I'm sorry to hear that." whispers Mr. Shroud, gently taking his wife's hand and you stand around in silence for a little bit, trying to figure out how to walk the conversation from the ledge it's found itself on.

"Um if there isn't anything you need help with-"

"Idia speaks really highly of you." Mrs. Shroud says gently, and you have to keep yourself from fainting from shock. Idia speaking highly of- no forget that. Idia talks to his parents? And you were the conversation topic? If she had said it was Ortho that would make sense but Idia? "I know he can be a bit blunt, but he treasures your friendship. And as his mother, I am very grateful he has someone as kind as you in his life."

"We both are." whispers Mr. Shroud. "If you need help while you are here please don't hesitate to ask us." And with that they leave you and Grim

~~~

[Fullmetal] hey ortho said u ran into our parents irl

[Fullmetal] srry that had to be awkward

[yuu] it's cool

[yuu] I mean they spooked Grim but they were nice lol

[Fullmetal] UNACCEPTABLE

[Fullmetal] ...so do you think that he'd be cool to come over so I can like

[Fullmetal] apologize

[Fullmetal] u know for the stress

[yuu] and not for talking about me behind my back (￣ε￣)

[read at 6:57 pm]

[Fullmetal is typing... ... ...] [... ... ...] [... ... ...]

"I don't need to apologize if I said nice things... right?"

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jamil viper x reader #ace trappola x reader #idia shroud x reader #Najma texting Jamil within 10 seconds of seeing the prefect: *get over here or i am stealing ur bitch* #also not me googling “funniest lies to tell kids” to write ace's brother and then not using any of them #also idia enjoyers... idk if i did your boy well i am so sorry

[brayneworms]

shoot it up (straight to the heart).

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.7k

content. merc!reader, drinking, kissing, masochist!childe because i am not immune to that agenda, sparring, gender neutral reader, childe is a little shit, blood, finger sucking, biting, handjobs, hair pulling, one instance of degradation (whore), light begging and light crying.

synopsis. childe has always found you fascinating; now that his stint in liyue is up and he's scheduled to return to snezhnaya, he takes the opportunity to get something from you he's wanted for months.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes and you will be blocked.

"Ahh, the scourge of the complacent! Fancy seeing you here on a night like tonight."

You tip your eyes up to the ceiling of the inn; his voice rings out clear as bells over the chatter and rowdiness, and maybe it's a mark of your attunement to his specific brand of irksomeness that you hear the bounce of his footsteps approach over the general cacophony of laughter and drinks slamming.

There are four empty stools at the bar. He takes the one right next to you, sliding home with a boyish grin. You scratch at your forehead with all the fatigue of a working mother-of-five, catch the bartender's eye, and silently flag down another drink.

Tartaglia whistles as you raise the cup to your lips, making you pause; mead sops against your mouth, burning against raw picked skin. "I see even the alcohol of Liyue is no match for you, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say flatly, and knock the cup back. There isn't enough booze in this whole tavern to make this a bearable conversation, but at least you could soften the edges. If you got drunk enough, you might be able to pretend he was nothing more than a lurid ginger mosquito buzzing around your head for attention.

Attention you always seemed to grant, no matter how much you swear you'll ignore him.

"Your lovely friend at the funeral parlour told me I might find you here," Tartaglia continues talking even though you're staring at the ceiling praying for patience. "She's pretty fond of you, huh? Can't imagine why, with your prickly attitude—oh, barkeep, I'll have what they're having, please." He flashes a pearly grin at the bartender, who pours him a cup of mead.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" you grit out, staring at the dregs in your cup; it sloshes darkly amongst the dull silver, and you can see a glimmer of a reflection, your eye staring back at you.

"What an ego you sport!" Tartaglia sounds righteously offended. "I came here to drink." And as if to prove his point, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a deep gulp. You can see his pale throat flex as he swallows, the bob of bones beneath papery skin.

He coughs a little as he sets the cup back down, empty. You try not to let your surprise show on your face.

"Liyue mead has quite the burn," Tartaglia comments. "You'd think I'd be used to it after being weaned on that Snezhnyan paint-thinner, but what can I say? This place has a kick."

He leans back on his barstool, a vaguely soft, wistful look passing over his features. Then he says, "I'll certainly miss it."

The cup slips from your fingers, and you curse yourself. "You're leaving?"

Tartaglia smiles, a little sadly. "The Tsaritsa summoned me back. I'll have to take off by the end of the week."

"No shit?" Tartaglia's been posted here and bothering you for way longer than you arrived to act as a temporary guard for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You weren't sure why such a place needed extra beef with security, but it paid well, and Hu Tao and Zhongli were well-meaning employers and good company, so you could hardly complain. That was the beauty of freelance, after all.

"Oh? You sound disappointed." Tartaglia leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand; his eyes find yours, gleaming in the low light. "What? Don't tell me you're going to miss me?"

You glare at him. "Do people miss the mosquitoes they swat when they're buzzing around their head?"

"You always act like I'm vermin," Tartaglia pouts. "Still, you're having a drink with me—I consider that a victory."

"One of your few," you toast, raising your cup, and Tartaglia's playful expression sullens a touch, like a cloud covering up the sun. "Oh, don't get all kicked-puppy on me. Thought you could take a little pain."

"Better than you know," Tartaglia says with a stunning return to form and a coy grin. You must be just tipsy enough to entertain him, because you don't seize a handful of his bright hair and ram his face into the bar like you briefly consider doing. There wouldn't be much in it for you beyond the satisfying crack of bone and yelp of pain. As for Tartaglia, he'd probably get off on it.

You both down another cup, and now the lines that make up the tavern are starting to blur pleasantly. There's a soft, fuzzy feeling filling you up, like you're made of cotton instead of flesh and blood and magic. A faint flush has made itself known on Tartaglia's cheekbones, lurid against his hair, illuminating the scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He's surprisingly lightweight, for as hard as you known Snezhnayan liquor to be.

"Would you walk with me?" Tartaglia holds your eye like he's making a promise, though not to you. He says half the things he says like he's talking to someone else, someone you cannot see. He holds out a gloved hand, grinning. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

Your brows knit up, suspicious. "Why me?"

"I'm currently not speaking to any of my other friends," Tartaglia says haughtily. "Sneaks and liars, all of 'em. As, uh, disarming as you are, scourge, at least you're honest. So... c'mon. Humour a man's last wish."

"You're not dying," you say acidly, but you get up. Tartaglia grins, delighted, sweeping up his coat from the barstool and paying out. You follow him out of the tavern; Liyue comes alive at night, you think, the harbour glimmering with a thousand lights, the water lapping at the chalky walls. Tartaglia takes your hand as the tavern door swings shut behind you. He runs warm, and you can see freckles spiralling up his wrist, and before you can protest he's started a brisk pace away from the water.

"The hell?" you mutter, making a weak attempt at taking your arm back. "Hey. Tartaglia. Where are we going?"

"So formal," he calls over his shoulder. "You can call me Childe, you know."

"Like that's even your real name," you roll your eyes. "What difference does it make?"

"Hm. Tartaglia feels more like a title. It's the name I use when I want to intimidate, you know?" He looks over his shoulder at you, the dull blue of his eyes catching in the moonlight. "I'm not foolish enough to think I could ever intimidate you, of all people."

And when he says that, it feels like a compliment. You curse the hot prickling you can feel at the backs of your ears as he leads you through town, up near where the mountains crest. It's all rickety ladders and bridges for a while before you come to a plane nestled between two great rocks. Grass and gravel spill out beneath your feet; in the middle of the wobbly circle is a wooden training dummy with chunks carved out of it. Torches bracket the space, filling the night with shifting bronze light.

It occurs to you briefly that Childe could be luring you out here to kill you, but just as easily the notion flees. He might be Fatui, and he might be insufferable, but the two of you have no real grievances as far as you know.

Besides—you're stronger. And the both of you know it.

You sweep a flat look around the circle and raise a brow. “Homey.”

Childe giggles. “You’re always so sharp-tongued, scourge. I’ve been reflecting on my stint in Liyue in light of everything, you know? What with my leaving so soon. I remembered the first time I saw you fight.”

Your brows draw up, taken aback; this is not a sentiment he has shared with you before. He paces as he talks, starts gesticulating like he’s trying to stir up a wind, though the night is virtually breezeless. Warm and damp and encapsulating. A line of sweat encroaches under your collar. 

“Some treasure-hoarders, they made a chokepoint out in the Guili Planes to intercept traders going down the road,” he tells you, as if this is news. “Zhongli asked me to deal with them myself, ‘cause they were stopping import to the city. But as soon as I got up there to scout it out, I saw you. What you’d left, anyway. This… trail. Like this—this big patch of carnage and you just in the middle of it, going blade-to-blade with this monster of a thief twice your size. Would you believe I was almost arrogant enough to think you needed my help?” His eyes shine feverishly, the moonlight catching off dead-fish-blue. “You brought him to heel like a misbehaving dog. He gave you a bloody nose and you just—just wiped at it like it was nothing. Didn’t it hurt? Always wanted to know if it hurt.”

“It hurt,” you manage, frozen with shock. He’s getting entirely too het-up too quickly, feverish in his excitement, pale cheeks flushed wine-red, and he moves closer as he waves his hands, eyes locked onto you like he’s a dog and you’re his master. It makes your blood feel too thick and too hot in your veins. 

“Thought so,” he breathes. “Thought it must’ve. It kinda… it sings, though. Doesn’t it?”

Stuck, you nod, though you only half understand what he’s talking about. 

Apparently satiated, Childe rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Hah, sorry. You really get me talking, scourge."

"Don't give me the credit," you mumble. "It's one of your natural talents."

"Wanna see another one of my natural talents?" Childe grins; at your sharp look, he raises his hands placatingly, smile stretching ever wider. "I meant fighting, of course. C'mon. Truthfully, I've been thinking about it ever since that day. Fighting you."

He says that—fighting you—with the same sort of soft reverence one might reserve for making love or worshipping a deity. Like it's the centre of his world, the cell his heart was born from. You wonder how long it's been since Childe's days were anything but fighting, then reckon that that's probably a deliberate choice.

When he holds out a blunt wooden training staff out to you, his hands are perfectly steady. You heft it in your grip, getting used to the weight and balance. You're more accustomed to knives and swords, and small blades you can slip into your boot or belts, but you're not unfamiliar with polearms, exactly.

"Feel good?"

You jump; Childe's pressed closer to you in the time it took to examine your new weapon, and his words are accompanied with a brush of warm air across the back of your ear. "It's okay."

"Good! I want you at top form for this." He slopes off, twirling his own staff between gloved fingers obnoxiously. It makes a faint whistling sound against the warm night air. "Think you're ready?"

"Ready?" You can't help but sneer. "I don't need to be ready to fight a pest. I just do it."

Childe's grin is so wide that the flushed apples of his cheeks turn pointy. "Alright, killer. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and, y'know, I dunno when the next time is I'll meet someone as interesting as you... so don't disappoint me, yeah?"

The first crack of your staffs together sings.

It's an old melody, one you're attuned to, one you think you were born with. Impact shivers up your bones, disturbs the skin in a railroad of gooseflesh, sets your teeth on edge. There's the anticipation, the moment right before the new sensation turns uncomfortable or painful, like pressing down on a bruise, the moment before it starts hurting. The staffs gnash together like wooden teeth.

"You're quick," Childe says approvingly as you draw your arm back to your side, circling him in short steps. His eyes follow the lines of your body like he's trying to set you alight. You're not sure why you're doing this, actually—your relationship with Childe has been nothing but tepid the whole time he's been stinted in Liyue. From your end, anyways. He tends to sort of follow you around like a lost puppy when he has free time. No matter how many times you smack him and send him reeling, he always comes back with a bone clamped between his teeth, looking for fun.

A drink, a fuck. A fight. Maybe it's all sort of the same to him.

Your fight is a dance; Childe is undeniably skilled, and polearms aren't your first choice of weapon, so it's a fairly even fight despite your strength. Several times he moves far too quickly for you to comprehend—like you blink and he's shifted with the moonlight, gone from in front to behind you in a second. Laughing, poking, teasing until your blood is boiling despite the cold.

When you finally land a hit on him, it's sweet. Your staff cracks across his jaw with all the force of his annoyance to you over the last months, and Childe barely has time to widen his eyes before he crashes to the dirt. He lets out a pained grunt as he plants into the earth, and just as you're opening your mouth to gloat—

"Again."

It cracks into the night air like the crash of your staff against his jaw, pursed between wheezing breaths. His voice sings like cut piano strings, dissonant against what is happening. You stand over him, breathing hard, brow cinched as he sprawls in the dirt.

He's got chalky soil all over his pretty light uniform. He doesn't seem to care. Dull blue eyes blink up at you, round as pennies; you can see an angry welt raising on his jaw where your blow had made contact, flaring up scarlet against the pale skin. No doubt it will have flowered into a nasty bruise tomorrow, something the colour of overripe lavender melon.

But Childe grins.

You stumble back, frowning hard, and Childe makes a noise at the back of his throat as he sees you retreat. He scrambles messily to his feet, brushing dirt carelessly from his clothes.

"What?"

Childe cradles his jaw with a hiss. "You pack a punch. But I'm not done yet."

"You said again." You eye him warily, arms still not raised. "What did you..."

He huffs a laugh with a return of that boyish grin. "Ah, caught that, did you? I guess you could say I have a certain admiration for people who can land a hit on me. It's impressive. You're impressive."

Before you can decide whether he's swelteringly egotistical or just a pervert who gets off on pain, Childe lunges, swinging his sparring spear overhead; you shriek and parry it last-minute, your grip faltering enough that the wooden shafts collide with a harsh thwack; you don't fend the blow off completely thanks to your shoddy reaction time, but you manage to avoid getting struck in the head.

"Asshole," you grit out, stumbling left a few paces to get your bearings again; Childe circles you, twirling his spear between deft fingers with a sharp grin.

"I sensed your attention wandering," he shrugs. "You think you can hit me again?"

Your chin juts out, indignant. "Yeah. I'm stronger."

Beneath his lurid red hair, Childe's cheeks colour faintly. "Prove it, killer. Lemme feel it. Hit me—"

And he lunges, spear cracking through the air; this time, you're ready for it, seeing the telltale twitches of his body getting into formation before the pounce. You dodge his first hit, sending the tip of his spear sinking into the dirt, and whilst he's distracted with pulling it out you sweep the shaft of your own against the back of his knees. He buckles with a grunt, staggering, and you use his surprise to barrel your full body weight into his side.

He slips into the dirt, head thudding against the packed earth with a dull thud, and in your momentum you follow. By the time he's blinked the stars out of his eyes, your dagger is pressed up against his throat, nestled amongst the pale skin.

He breathes fast and sharp, a distinct contrast to his general collectedness. Your thighs cage his hips, and even from here you can feel his strength; his skin is shot through with sinew and iron. He could reach up, tussle, throw you off, put up a good fight. But he doesn't. He lays limp like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at you with big, starry eyes—waiting for you to make the next move.

You come to a rather grim hypothesis.

The blunt tip of the dagger encroaches his skin, pushing in hard enough for blood to bead around it. Childe draws in a ragged gasp.

"Gonna kill me?" His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He says that like it's an act of worship, like carving his throat out with a cinquedea is akin to leaving incense at a shrine for a far-flung god. Like his blood would be spattered amongst the stars if only you spilled it. Your breath catches; you hadn't been ready for the rush of power Childe's perversion would give you. You can feel it nestling under your skin like a heartbeat.

"I think you could, if you wanted," Childe whispers, and then he shudders at the thought, pretty eyes fluttering closed. He looks like he isn't sparing two thoughts to your hand holding a knife to his throat; skin breaks, and blood makes a thin rivulet down his pale skin. "Mm. Maybe I'd—I'd even let you. You could ask real nice."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands," you murmur, feeling quite frozen. "Why don't you just be quiet for once?"

At once, Childe falls silent.

His bottom lip has split; probably why he was tonguing at it earlier. Now, with nothing to stop it, blood makes a languid trail down the slope of his chin. With your free hand, with the curiosity of a child petting a stray animal for the first time, you swipe at the trail with the pad of your thumb. You track it up to the seam, the cut, the split, press down hard until the surrounding skin of his lip turns white. You can feel the short, hot shocks of his quick breath against the skin of your nail.

The flash of his tongue surprises you, sliding over the bloody pad of your thumb, cleaning up his mess. A dog licking at its own wounds. Your breath catches, but you've never known when you're wading too deep. It's your one weakness as a fighter. You always think you can take more than you can.

So you press deeper. Your thumb sinks into his mouth up to the knuckle, and Childe lets out a faint groan. There's the ghostly scrape of teeth before his lips close over the skin, tongue swirling over the mess of blood and chalky dirt on the blunt tip of the digit.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register faintly that this is not normal. Your interactions with Childe have been limited, so far, to snarky deadpans, irritable smacks, and the occasional drink. If you have occasionally caught his eyes lingering on the collar of your shirt, or following you when you enter a room soaked in hilichurl gore, you've made no comment. You'd assumed it would fizzle out, anyway. He's Fatui. They're hardly known for staying in one place a significant portion of time—they're dark-dressed ravens, flocking from place to place and bringing suspicion and misery for a while before taking to the sky again.

But Childe is not scoring the horizon. He's in the dirt with your finger in his mouth, and it looks like he's right at home there.

He releases you with a wet pop. Saliva and blood make a diluted trail down to his chin, and his eyes have peeled open again—heavy and half-lidded, blue slate stone, scoring deep into you. Your body feels hot and too full.

He cracks a lazy smile. "Never seen you speechless before, scourge. Does this mean I win?"

And something snaps.

In a fluid movement, you grab both of his wrists and pin them to the ground beside his head. Childe grunts a sound of surprise as your fingers tighten on his wrists, back instinctively arching from the sudden pressure; one of his legs slips in the earth and knocks against your ankle. He blinks up at you, eyes practically bioluminescent in the night.

"You don't look much like a winner," you snarl.

"Depends on your position."

"You're the Tsaritsa's bitch," you spit. "And if not hers, Zhongli's, or was it Signora who was the last one to get one up on you? Really, you've been failing upwards so much lately it's getting hard to keep count."

Childe's eyes narrow, the first glimmer of defiance sparking in the blue. For the first time you feel him throw his weight behind his halfhearted squirming—he raises his hips to try and buck you off, tugs at your grip on his wrists with renewed vigour. His fighting back shouldn't spark something in you—it shouldn't—but you can feel yourself growing excited.

The thing is, you sort of like killing. People don't get into your line of work if they don't. There's something about holding something down and winning through nothing but sheer strength that makes you feel strong, like you've earned a place on this earth. Watching Childe's jaw tick in frustration the longer he goes without unseating you is making all sorts of dangerous ideas brew in your head.

It's just—maybe it's the drink, or the fight, but the world is still pleasantly pretty and still. And Childe looks sort of gorgeous with his brow all scrunched up like that, the hint of icy anger in his eyes, the gritted teeth. His neck is strained in such a way that bares every jut and bone to you, and you can see his pulse fluttering away under the taut skin, the bob of his adam's apple.

You want to bite it.

Some sort of magnetism pulls you down, nosing at the skin of his neck. Childe grunts, half-frustrated and half-confused when he feels your lips brush over his throat. He smells like salt and mead and copper, labour smells, but his skin here is smooth like it's never seen a day of wear.

"What're you—" Childe huffs out, but his mouth drops open with a choked noise when you seal your teeth in a ring over his neck and bite down. Not quite enough to hurt, you don't think, just enough to satisfy the weird part of you that's sparking for the urge to maim. "Archons, scourge."

Oh dear. His voice has gone all strangled and weak. You dare to release one of his wrists to cup the back of his neck, holding him still, brushing the feathery down of hair on his nape. Automatically, his free hand flies for you, but it stops short, hovering as if unsure.

You can almost feel him weighing his choices in his mind. He has a hand free, and you're not even looking at him. Even if he can't beat you outright, he'd do alright with the element of surprise. He could definitely knock you spinning and flee before you get your bearings.

You wait. Count the fast thuds of Childe's pulse against his neck. The muscles in his free arm go limp, and he wraps it around your waist to pull you closer.

Figuring you're done pretending, you skim your lips up his neck and jaw before catching his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Childe moans, softly, into your mouth, hand clenching hard over the fabric of your waist before sliding under. His fingers span out over the small of your back, worn leather and warm flesh, and you shudder despite yourself.

His lips are chapped, and you can taste blood still oozing from the split in the plush lower one. "Someone's sensitive," you gloat, and he huffs. "Not had time to get laid here?"

"What can I say?" Childe's breezy tone would be more believable it it wasn't coming out so strangled. "Been a busy guy. Don't seem to have time for m-many... simple pleasures."

"You always seemed to find time to annoy me, though," you say darkly.

"Less of a luxury, more of a need," Childe breathes. "You make just the most interesting faces when you're irritated."

"Yeah? That get you all wet?"

Childe laughs weakly. "Scourge, please. I'm but a blushing virgin. You'll burn my poor ears off."

You shoot an obvious glance down to the tent straining against Childe's slacks. "I can well believe that."

He squirms in embarrassment, the tips of his ears lighting up scarlet. His eyes blink up at you, the usual lusterless blue fleeing in wake of reflecting the thousands of stars above you, and he seems to glow from the inside out, for a moment. The coppery blood on his face catches the moonlight.

A tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a dog wetting its snout. "Won't you take pity, scourge?" he pleads. "You got me well and truly at your mercy. You win. So..."

Before you can stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, your free hand has already scrambled to his belt buckle. Childe's breath catches, eyes widening as he registers your movements as the brass clinks in the silence. For a moment there's nothing but the hasty shuffling of clothing as you shuck Childe's dirt-streaked trousers down his thighs, his hips lifting to assist. There's a small furrow between his brows, his cheeks alight with a blush that makes his freckles sing against his skin.

The skin of his thighs catches, milk-white in the moonlight. Even here, scars have made their home, pink or bruise-dark, crisscrossing over the flesh in railroads. You get his trousers down past his knees before you stop bothering; he's left in dark underclothes, erection so stiff it's pulling the thin fabric taut, and the slit in his shirt that you've always found obscene betrays the quick, shallow bursts of his breath.

His throat flexes when he swallows. "Are you really going to—mmmgh!"

Childe sputters to a halt with a rather embarrassing high-pitched noise as you cup him through his boxers. You roll your palm experimentally over the tip of the tent, and his eyes flutter shut, rolling back against his skull with a pretty, desperate noise. This side of him is so foreign, but so familiar, so obvious, you wonder why you didn't think of it before.

"Ah, fuck," Childe swears, already sounding breathless. With how obvious he's always been, the lazy slide of his eyes, you'd assumed he had at least some experience—but maybe your teasing just a moment ago was a little more on the nose than you'd anticipated. He's unusually sensitive. "Scourge, I don't—"

"Stop calling me that," you mutter, pulling the fabric of his underwear till it strains against his cock, and he swallows back a gasp, spine arching against the dirt. "Did you want something?"

"You're so cruel," he whines. "Y/n, Archons, please—"

"Alright, alright, you big baby," you sigh, shedding his soaked underwear. Childe shudders, thighs tightening under you as he hits the cold air. The strain of his arousal and the chafing fabric is obvious; pre drips eagerly from the reddish tip, and he fits neatly into your palm when you swipe over the leaking hands before wrapping your fingers around him. Childe jolts into the touch, cursing under his breath, and as you start to jerk him off his lashes flutter. His blue eyes roll to the heavens and his head thumps against the earth with a long, shaky moan.

The night fills with noise, somewhere between what you find obscene and what sends heat rushing between your own legs as your fist pumps lazily up his length. Childe is more receptive than you would've put money on, gasping and swearing, hiccuping small, wounded noises in the back of his throat. His brow is scrunched, lips slack and wet with saliva, eyes screwed shut. His hips jump like they have a brain of their own.

You squeeze, prompting a panicked noise; Childe's eyes fly open and find your sly smile. "You look pretty," you tell him. Childe goes scarlet.

"W-wha?" he dredges up intelligently, frowning. "Why'd you—what?"

You find it funny that you've literally got your hand around his cock, but calling him pretty is apparently what crosses the line in flustering him. You cock your head, grinning.

"You don't think?" you coo. "I think you're lovely like this. I never realised how attractive you'd be once you shut your mouth. Maybe I should beat you in a fight more often."

"W-wouldn't complain," Childe pants, still alight with a feverish blush.

"I'm sure," you say noncommitally. "You fucking whore."

Childe moans, loud and shameless, and his free hand flails to scratch his nails down his own skin. "D-don't stop, fuck, don't stop—"

You stare at the scarlet railroads left on the pale skin of his stomach, and with your free hand yank up his shirt to his chest. Childe lets out a startled sound, looking at you with round, surprised eyes. His torso is littered with scars, raised and pale and dark against freckled skin. He is pretty. You love the marks of his exertions and pains, a history of his losses mapped out over his body. One of his nipple has a healed slash running right through it; when you reach up and tweak it, Childe shudders.

"Anyone would think you like losing," you murmur.

Childe looks at you weakly, crying out when your hand resumes at a faster pace. "Like it when—hnn—when it's real. I like it when they don't hold back. 'S why I'm just—hah!—e-enamoured with you, I guess."

"'Cause I'm ruthless?" you quip.

Childe flutters his lashes. "Nice enough to let me come, I hope," he says sweetly, and it makes your cheeks burn momentarily with embarrassment, the brazenness of his statement. "I'm not above begging."

"I liked you better when you were quiet," you mutter, and swipe your thumb hard over the slit. Childe yelps, muscles melting like butter, and when you start rubbing cruelly like you've found some sort of button his face flames, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a wailing noise, legs thrashing.

"Archons," he keens, but with your free hand you seize and handful of his hair and pull, hard.

"No Archons," you snarl. "Just me."

Tears prick at the corners of Childe's eyes as he rolls his hips to meet your unrelenting strokes, whimpering. "Y-yes, yeah, just you, just you, do that again."

You oblige, dig your fingers into the red hair so deep your nails scrape his scalp, and tug. The tears spill over Childe's lashline as he chokes on the moan that bursts from him at the movement.

"Keep it there," he begs, thighs shaking. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"You close?" you ask innocently. "Already?"

There's no more pretence; the fine line of pleasure and pain seems to have wrought Childe down to only basic instincts, as his hips roll against your hand as you fist his length rough and quick, head tipped right back against the ground, exposing the heaving column of his throat. The toned concave of his stomach flexes with each punched-out breath, the scars coiling and elongating respectively.

"Please," Childe sobs in answer. "I'll be good, be real good, I'm close..."

You surge forward, digging your face into Childe's neck as you speed up your pace, and sink your teeth into the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough for blood to bubble under your lips, hard enough for Childe to let out a strangled scream as he comes all over your hand, spilling over your fingers and his stomach in pearly arcs.

He's panting when you pull back, winces as you dislodge your teeth and unwind your fingers from his hair. He touches the bite mark with a wince and hiss, examining the blood on his fingers with light interest. It really shouldn't surprise or arouse you nearly as much when he dips them into his mouth and licks them clean.

"Degenerate," you tell him. Childe smiles crookedly, the flush on his face still stark red.

"There's this old saying about a pot and a kettle," he says, voice still weak and shaky.

The bite mark is leaking. As he reaches for you, you get the fleeting thought that it will leave another scar to add to his masses, another permanent trophy of another loss.

A loss to you.

And you smile.

#🫀.scribes #genshin x reader #childe x reader #childe smut #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #tartaglia smut #ajax x reader #ajax smut #childe oneshot #sub!childe #sub!genshin #dom!reader #genshin x dom!reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x gn reader

[kingkatsuki]

— when he stands up for you

Masterlist.

Ahh this is the first one from these little drabbles I’m posting! I really hope you enjoy these as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them💕

Warnings: none.

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x f!reader.

Word Count: 1.3k.

Recruitment days were always a busy time in Dynamight’s agency. Most of the time Bakugou was lucky and could avoid doing the hiring and firing, his HR department more than happy to take care of the payroll. But looking for new sidekicks was important, and these were interviews that Bakugou wanted to deal with personally. He’d already spent the better part of a fortnight shortlisting candidates, Pro-Hero Red Riot had arrived into the agency to help him go through the shortlist. Although you were unsure whether he was more of a help or a hindrance, as the redhead would give you a bored smile whenever he’d escape to refill his coffee mug.

You’d never seen so many interviews scheduled, all appointments for the day postponed in favour of hiring a new sidekick. Smiling softly as you offered each new up and coming Hero a seat as they waited for their turn to impress the number two Dynamight.

You gave him a small smile each time you’d introduce a new interviewee, laying their file and information down in front of him so he could read through their history.

A few hours later you’d finally managed to work your way down the list of candidates to the last name- a young, cocksure hero with a strength quirk. The standout achievements on his resume was that he’d managed to get his hero license before everyone else in his class, saving a coach full of people from falling to their deaths by bending the girders on a bridge. On paper, he sounded pretty impressive. But face to face—

“Oi, how much longer is he gonna be? I got shit to do.” The man shouted from across the room.

You were sympathetic to him, he’d been waiting about fifteen minutes already and usually Bakugou had prompt timekeeping. But a last minute, unexpected call from Uravity had him delayed.

“He’ll be ready to see you soon, thank you for your patience.” You gave him a warm smile from behind your desk as you continued to type out an email to Red Riot’s agency.

“Why don’t you stop checking your Facebook for five minutes and go let him know I’m waiting.” He rolled his eyes.

“Mr Dynamight knows you’re here.” You clenched your jaw to stop yourself from giving a sarcastic retort.

Who the fuck did this guy think he was? You were already hoping that he wouldn’t get the position, already dreading the prospect of having to work alongside this man.

“If he knew I was here I’d be in there already,” He sighed, “So fucking incompetent.”

“Excuse me?” You were used to dealing with all sorts of irate people as Dynamight’s secretary, but you’d never experienced such attitude from a potential recruit.

“Is it too hard for you to understand, sweetheart?” The man scoffed, “Now hurry up and let him know I’m here.”

You were certain this was going to be the day you lost your job, a slew of angry words on the tip of your tongue as you tried to keep your disposition cheery. But you could feel the corners of your lips drooping down as your brows furrowed in a glare.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Your professionalism was slowly morphing into anger as you stood from your chair behind your desk, glaring at the ma n.

“What did you say?” Your head snapped towards the door to Dynamight’s office which was now wide open, your boss stepping out onto the floor as he’d cleverly heard the commotion.

“Dynamight, sir!” The man’s sneer quickly turned into a disingenuous smile as he made his way over to Bakugou in quick strides, reaching his hand out for him to shake, but Bakugou’s gaze remained focused directly into his eyes.

“Is that how you talk to my staff?”

“She wasn’t doing her job—” The young sidekick dropped his hand as he turned to glare at you, “She wouldn’t let you know I was waiting.”

“She,” Bakugou mimicked his tone, “Was doing her job perfectly. With that kind of attitude you’ll never make it as a hero.”

You felt your heart racing as you watched the scene in front of you, swelling with pride that Bakugou was defending you in front of his asshole as you couldn’t help but admire how pretty he looked when he was irate.

“Get out.” Bakugou spoke over the man who was currently talking about his work history, his patience already thin as he walked directly past him and made a beeline for your desk.

You’d never felt so glad that Bakugou was such an excellent judge of character, thankful that you wouldn’t have to deal with a man like that inside the agency each day.

“— I recently finished my work study with Fourth Kind.” He continued.

“One call and no one in this city will hire you,” Bakugou snarled.

The young man looked as though he might cry as his lower lip wobbled, frozen in place as Bakugou crossed his arms over his chest.

“I won’t repeat myself again,” He continued, “Get out.”

You felt vindicated as you watched the man leave, the once cocky persona reduced to nothing as the elevator doors dinged to close. Your entire body felt as though it was on fire from how protective Bakugou had been over you, a heat rising to your cheeks as you avoided eye contact. Afraid you’d give away your feelings for him if you met his gaze.

“Hey,” Bakugou rasped, “You good?”

“I’m okay,” You smiled, “Pretty used to assholes like him.”

“That don’t mean it’s right,” He continued, “Fuckin’ prick.”

“I mean, he was your last interview so at least on the plus side you’re done for the day.” You smiled.

“Let me grab us some coffee and you can help me pick someone.” Bakugou smiled back, already walking towards the machine at the end of the hall.

“I don’t think I’m qualified for that—“ You called out to him.

There was no way you could pick his new sidekick, especially if you picked an annoying one. You’d never hear the end of it.

“You saw the list of people.” Bakugou continued, “And you met them all today, same as me.”

“Well yeah, but—”

“So, it’s settled.” He grinned, checking his watch, “Shit, I didn’t even realise how late it was.”

“Yeah, it’s been a pretty long day.”

“Okay, so new plan.” Bakugou smiled, turning towards you as the coffee machine was still heating up, “Dinner at that little ramen place and you help me pick my new sidekick.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to ask Kiri- Red Riot?”

“I trust you.” He gave you a genuine smile.

The words had you melting beneath his gaze, crimson eyes locking with your own as you felt your knees begin to go weak. Trying to push your feelings for your boss to the back of your mind as you prayed the butterflies would stop fluttering against your ribcage.

“Okay, but you’re paying.” You grinned.

“As if I’d ever let you pay, sweetheart.” Bakugou smiled back.

If you’d been paying attention you would’ve noticed the way Bakugou stood a little closer to you that night as you walked side by side to the little hole in the wall ramen bar, he’d blame it on the brisk winter air if you asked, but it was really because he wanted to wrap an arm around you to shield you from the biting chill.

#soft bakugou #Bakugou x reader #bakugou drabble

[olivianyx]

Hey babe, I'm not going for my sad story but I struggled for 2 years ,it's not like success story but Now I have friends, my family I'm feeling good. My others thinks are also perfect. But all I want is to enter void coz I want my perfect dream life so bad , but I have really packed schedule for my school , please tell me something At night I get really tired And slept .

I really want to enter void

OKAY THIS IS FOR EVERYONE TRYING TO (BECOMING AWARE OF) ENTER THE VOID STATE

Heyy! Sorry for the late response 😭😭 school's beating up my ass as well.

Okay, the overrated void community here. So as I always say, void isn't difficult. It's easy as fuck and you always enter it while you fall asleep. Only thing you gotta do is be AWARE in the void.

Well that's where everyone over complicates it. Just become AWARE. Ik it's instant for some people, while some take patience, practice and consistency to enter the void.

Well this applies for the people who take action (action in the sense changing the story they focus on), discipline themselves and do whatever consistently.

And not to the people who know all the info and still choose to complain or procrastinate. Well I don't blame you for being this way, since you're programmed to be this way since childhood, and it's not your fault. But, it's your fault if you know it, and don't program it the way you want it to be.

So I'll be going to give you sone tips that everyone and anyone can use.

TIP NO. 1

SELF CONCEPT

I won't stop mentioning this in my posts. IT'S THE KEY TO MANIFESTING. YOU'RE LITERALLY CHANGING YOURSELF TO SEE THE CHANGE OUTSIDE! I recommend reading @/meraskii posts on Instagram, she explains self concept better than I do, and she's got a challenge you can try it for yourself. I recommend watching these YouTubers

Rita Kaminski

Dylan James

Sammy Ingram

Hyler

Kim Velez

Indigo Detry

Manifesting with Kimberly

Manifest it, finesse it

Electrasoul

They're excellent coaches, you can watch their videos. All of their videos changes your lives!

TIP NO. 2

Read COPY OF ROTTEN'S PRACTICAL GUIDE TO SHIFTING REALITIES

Here's, she explains very well of the infamous FOCUS 10 STATE, which is nothing but MIND AWAKE, BODY ASLEEP state. Try using Monroe's gateway tapes, she's linked it in the guide herself. Follow her instructions. It's really good to use it at the night time especially. But don't use it if you're really tired that you fall asleep when you hit your head at the pillow. Use it when you're more relaxed and not tired.

Use it till you effortlessly enter the focus 10. Again don't ask me 'hOw LoNg Do YoU tHiNk It TaKeS?' Tf?? Like literally, people don't understand the meaning of living in the end??? Like fulfill it this moment and fucking let go. For some people, because of their mindset might get into focus 10 in one listen or one try. Others may get it in a week, in a month, and longer. So have patience. Have some self discipline, and maintain consistency. It's like practicing to play piano. You won't get how to play it in one try, you'll practice it everyday until you get it. The same concept. Get your lazy ass up and go do it. Practice this now, for an eternity of bliss.

Like you know how useful this focus 10 is?? Like you can shift realities, get into the void, manifest whatever the fuck you want and so on. It's literally wonderful.

When you can get into focus 10 effortlessly, you can go to advanced focus 10 tape. There's proper instructions in the guide. Get your lazy complaining ass go through the guide once (compulsorily!) since she's mentioned many things you never know you needed.

After you practice with these gateway tapes, and you're perfectly in a state where you can get that BODY ASLEEP MIND AWAKE state, you're good to enter the void with this state!

TIP NO. 3

Enter the void! And fucking go live your dream life! I wanna see y'alls success stories.

- Olivia 🤍

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 6

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Sinker, Comet, Boost

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.7k

Author's Note: Sorry about no fic last week. I had surgery on Friday and didn't get a chance to post the fic I wanted to post, so to stay on schedule, I'm forgoing that fic for another update of this one! Yay! This part is going to be tough, but it was absolutely necessary for Cara and Wolffe to have this moment together just as much as the bath time moment. Let's just say, breakfast doesn't go as planned. (oops it got longer) As always, please enjoy 💚

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

After bath time is done, and they've both dried off and changed into new clothes, it's time for breakfast. Wolffe really hopes his pack brothers came through and made a decent breakfast for all of them. He's starving, and he knows Cara must be hungry too. He is a little worried since he didn't give Boost any directions, but there's foodstuff in the conservator, he thinks, or, well, he hopes. Knowing his wife, she would've stocked up when she found out he was coming home.

Wolffe walks into the kitchen with Cara following behind, but stops in his tracks at what he sees.

"What in the…" Wolffe says as his eyes grow wide. It's a mess. A complete and utter mess. He's not even sure if this is still a kitchen. "I said make breakfast, not fight breakfast!"

"We did!" Boost grins.

"Sweetie," Wolffe says as he looks down at Cara. "Do you know what that is?" He points at Boost.

Cara shakes her head.

"I'm gonna teach you a new word," Wolffe smiles. "That is a di'kut."

"Dee… koot," she repeats.

"Hey!" Boost exclaims, clearly offended by the remark.

Wolffe snorts. "You're the one who said it's never too late to start."

Boost opens his mouth to argue, but then closes it because Wolffe is right.

"Anyway," Comet chimes in. "Breakfast is served!"

Wolffe sighs for what feels like the hundredth time this morning, and walks Cara over to the table to eat whatever breakfast his pack brothers created. She climbs up onto her chair next to him and he makes sure she gets seated properly so she doesn't fall off. Sinker then walks around the table and puts the plates down with their homemade pancakes on them. Wolffe eyes the oddly shaped and multi-colored pancakes suspiciously and raises a brow up at his brother.

"What?" Sinker asks.

"Is it edible?" Wolffe asks.

"I made them," Comet adds. "So, yes, they're edible."

Wolffe snorts. Of course Boost and Sinker couldn't be left alone to make breakfast. It's a good thing they picked up Comet when they did or they'd all have starved by now.

Cara tugs on Wolffe's pants and he lowers his head so he can hear her.

"Where's mommy?" she asks.

The room goes silent and Wolffe sighs. Not this again. "She's not here, sweetie," he answers, then pulls her plate a little closer to the edge of the table. "Now, eat your breakfast for me."

"We can't eat without mommy," Cara says, then pushes the plate back.

Wolffe bites back his frustration and pulls the plate towards her again. "You have to eat."

"Not without mommy!" she yells and pushes the plate with more force, knocking the fork on the floor.

"Cara," Wolffe warns, his patience wearing thin. "This isn't a debate."

"I don't want it!" she screams.

Cara climbs down from her chair, sits on the floor, and cries loudly. She's in a full-blown tantrum and Wolffe doesn't know what to do. He looks over at Comet, Boost, and Sinker with pleading eyes, but the three of them only shrug. Her screaming gets louder and pierces Wolffe straight through the head, making it throb and ache like earlier. Somehow she's reached a frequency that makes him want to scream too. He tries to keep himself under control and calm her down.

"Sweetie," Wolffe says as he rubs his temples. "I need you to stop screaming, please."

She continues to wail from her seat on the floor, tears streaming down her face as her cheeks turn red. Wolffe can feel the tension in his head rising as it threatens to boil over and explode. Why can't she just stop crying? Why can't she just understand? Why does he have to keep explaining it to her? He tries to think of his best options, but her incessant screaming is grating on his nerves. If she doesn't be quiet soon, the neighbors are going to think he's hurting her.

"Cara!" Wolffe barks. "I said stop!"

Cara stops crying and, for a moment, Wolffe thinks it's finally over.

"I want mommy!" she starts screaming again. "I want mommy! I want mommy! I want mommy!"

The tension snaps and Wolffe's chair scrapes across the floor as he violently pushes it back. He takes a few steps towards Cara, drops to his knees, and grabs her little shoulders so she'll look him in the eye. "She's not coming back!" he yells. "Do you understand me? She's never coming back! She's dead! She's gone! So, just stop it already!"

Wolffe pants and hangs his head between his arms, the anger and frustration slowly dissipating. The words he spoke so ferociously, not only to his daughter but also to himself, echo in his mind. He picks his head up and looks at his wide-eyed daughter, then feels a pain shoot through his heart. She looks confused. She looks helpless. She looks scared. She looks scared… of him. Remorse washes over him like a tidal wave and the panic of what he did floods his brain.

"Oh, kriff," Wolffe breathes as he releases his grip on her tiny shoulders. Cara backs away from him until she bumps into Comet's leg. Wolffe's breath hitches. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Baby–"

Wolffe reaches out his hand, but Cara turns and grabs onto Comet's leg.

Comet looks at Wolffe with a pained expression, then down at Cara, and sighs. "Come here, ad'ika," he soothes. "I've got you." He picks Cara up into his arms and she grabs onto his shirt with tight little fists while burying her face in his chest. He readjusts her on his hip, then locks eyes with Wolffe in a silent word. Wolffe hangs his head and Comet leaves the room with Cara. Once Cara is out of the kitchen, Wolffe pounds his fists onto the floor and yells in frustration.

Sinker kneels beside him and places his hand on Wolffe's shoulder.

"What have I done?" Wolffe chokes. He wants to vomit. "I grabbed her and I yelled at her. I've never… I wouldn't… How could I…"

Sinker looks up at Boost and gestures for him to go do something else. Boost nods and leaves the kitchen.

"Maker forgive me," Wolffe's voice quivers. "She's just a child, and I… I treated her like a cadet. Like a kriffing shiny!"

"Wolffe–"

"No!" Wolffe yells and smacks Sinker's hand away. "There's no excuse."

Sinker sighs and sits back on his haunches. "Give yourself a break, will ya? Your wife's dead."

Wolffe flinches at the bluntness of the comment, but maybe that's what he needs right now.

"Maker, Wolffe," Sinker continues. "It's only been what? Twelve standard hours? And in that time you've lost your wife, your home, your belongings, and you almost lost Cara too. You really thought you could get through this without losing your temper a little?"

"I'm a commander–"

"Kriff being a commander," Sinker says with an eye roll. He moves around the floor to face Wolffe. "You're still human, commander or not, and Cara doesn't need Commander Wolffe right now, she just needs her dad. You know, the one who loves her?"

"But I scared her…" Wolffe laments, the words burning in the back of his throat. "She was scared of me."

"She'll be fine," Sinker says with a wave of his hand. "Just apologize and move on. She's a tough kid. Tougher than you might think." Sinker smirks. "You are her dad after all."

A small smile forms at the corner of Wolffe's mouth. Sinker is right about one thing. She is the daughter of a clone commander, not just some random natborn off the streets. His genetics, and his wife's, run through her veins. She's sensitive like her mother, but she's got his resilience and also his attitude. Plo's words ring true. He needs to take each moment as it comes and do what's needed, even if that means messing it up once and a while. She'll forgive him one day.

Wolffe takes a deep breath to compose himself before Sinker offers a hand to help him up. He accepts it without complaint. Looking back at the table of untouched food, now getting cold, another sigh escapes his lips. Cara still hasn't eaten and he's not sure if they have any more time for delays since they have to leave soon. He decides to pack some of the pancakes in a container and hopes that Cara will eat them like that. It's not ideal, but it's better than nothing.

After putting the food away, Wolffe takes another deep breath, then releases it slowly before walking out of the kitchen and towards the living room. He steps to the threshold, and just as he thought, Comet is sitting on the couch with Cara on his lap. He'll never understand how Comet got so good with kids, but he's thankful. With slow and soft steps, Wolffe approaches them. He sits on the ground and fiddles with a piece of the carpet while he gets up the nerve to speak.

"Cara," Wolffe says softly.

Cara lifts her head from resting against Comet's chest to look at Wolffe.

"I'm sorry I got upset and yelled at you," he says. "It was wrong."

"It's okay…" she mumbles into Comet's shirt.

"No, baby, it's not," he continues. "I know… I know this is scary. Daddy is scared too, but that doesn't make it okay for either of us to get upset at each other." He pauses, gauging her expression and understanding of what he's saying. "So, how about less screaming and more listening, for both of us?"

"Okay," she says. "I'm sorry, daddy."

Wolffe smiles weakly and releases another shaky breath. He opens his arms. "Can I have a hug?"

Cara nods and squirms out of Comet's arms and into Wolffe's. He holds her tight against his chest, careful not to hurt her, and kisses the side of her head. He starts rocking her in place and looks up at Comet, who has a warm smile on his face. Wolffe mouths a simple thank you to him and Comet nods. Wolffe doesn't know what he would do without his pack brothers, and it pains his heart that it took a tragedy such as this for him to realize just how much they mean to him.

"Daddy," Cara mumbles into his chest.

Wolffe leans her back so he can see her face. "Yes, baby?"

"Is mommy ever gonna come home?" she asks.

Wolffe bites back his emotions. "No baby, she's not."

"I'm gonna miss mommy," she sniffles and her eyes turn watery.

Wolffe touches his forehead to Cara's and lets his own emotions show. "Me too, baby. Me too."

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List: @nahoney22 @commander-sunshine @sunshinesdaydream @padawancat97 @verndusk @sun-roach @coraex @lickylickylicky @homemade-clones @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @starrylothcat @moonwrecked @ladyzirkonia @stunkbiggu @cdblake1565 @ladytano420 @moonlightwarriorqueen @anxiouspineapple99 @clonethirstingisreal @dreamie411 @trixie2023 @cw80831 @ca77m3anna @reader6898 @kimiheartblade @dukeoftheblackstar @arc-trooper-8008 @knightprincess @kell-of-storms @skellymom @roboticsuccubus83 @totally-not-your-babe @rinwritesfics @t3mpest98 @asyas-daydreaming @vithe-potato @haybellewrites @unicorngirl17

Join my taglist HERE

Tip me a tea on Ko-fi HERE

#tbbb writes #commander wolffe x fem!reader #commander wolffe x reader #commander wolffe x you #wolffe x fem!reader #wolffe x reader #wolffe x you #clone x fem!reader #clone x reader #clone x you #commander wolffe #tcw wolffe #wolffe #the clone wars #clone wars #tcw #star wars #clone wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfic #clone wars fic #tcw fanfiction #tcw fanfic #tcw fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

[blinkysrewatchparty]

OFFICIAL REWATCH PARTY SCHEDULE

Hello Sniggles, Nighthawks, PEIP Agents, and even the occasional Timberwolf (we see you, Paul Matthews)! It's been a long time, much longer than I'd hoped, but the results to Blinky's survey have been tallied and I can now announce the Official Watch Schedule for Blinky's Rewatch Party!!

The schedule for Round 2 will be released sometime in April, though there are no plans to deviate from the current Saturday times.

HOW CAN WE WATCH ALONG?

I'm glad you asked! There will be multiple ways to participate in the Watch Parties.

Here on Tumblr, we will be using the tag "Blinky's Rewatch Party." You can use the tag to liveblog your Watch party experience, or wait until the story is over to post any and all thoughts at once. If you can't make either of the chosen times, that's okay! The tag's not going anywhere; simply watch and post your thoughts whenever you can. And remember to check out the tag to see what other people are saying!

We will also be hosting the Watch Parties on Twitter, with the hashtag "#BlinkysRewatchParty." This site will work much the same way--you can livetweet your thoughts or just wait until the end to post anything you want; it's flexible for however you best like to watch.

We also strongly encourage people to use the Youtube comments section of the episodes themselves; the more comments we leave, the more the Langs will know that we're still invested in Nightmare Time and desperately want some more.

And of course we will be hosting communal Watch Parties on our official Discord server! This will involve everyone watching the server stream together, but since the whole point of this is to keep the Nightmare Time viewing numbers going up, we will be STRONGLY encouraging everyone to pull the episode and have it playing muted in another tab if at all possible.

And that's about it! Thank you so much to everyone for your patience and kindness while I've spent the last couple of months hitting real life like Max Jagerman hit the Waylon Place floor. I'm so excited to get started, spread the love of Nightmare Time far and wide, and hopefully get us that much closer to Nightmare Time 3!!

See ya' at Watcher World!

#blinky's rewatch party #nightmare time #hatchetfield #starkid #npmd #tgwdlm #black friday #nerdy prudes must die #bliklotep #nmt #nightmare time 2 #the guy who didn't like musicals #honey queen #perky's buds #abstinence camp #daddy #killer track #yellow jacket

[kawaiikenna]

YOU! Is there going to be more for Dad From Mars?

Oh big oof. Your ask is from way back in November ‘23. I’m only just seeing this now. 😅😅😅

Uhhhh… short answer? Yes. Longer answer? Also yes but idk when. 😓

I’ve intertwined this specific fic quite closely to my own mental health and how I’ve dealt with my own grief from losing my dad. That being said, I’m much farther along in my own personal journey through my grief than Danny or Jazz or anyone else in the fic for that matter. Which means that I’m no longer feeling those feelings at those levels anymore. Sometimes it spikes which results in a new chapter but there’s no way for me to know exactly when these ‘episodes’ will happen. Which then makes it harder to write characters dealing with those feelings and experiences in the moment when I myself have grown and moved past them. For now I’m trying to figure out this new direction in my life as well as what this means for the fic.

I have no intentions of abandoning or discontinuing this fic. So rest easy in that aspect. ^w^ But I also can’t guarantee when the next chapter will be finished and posted. I do appreciate your (and everyone else’s!) support and patience with my EXTREMELY wonky and SEVERELY inconsistent posting schedule. 😅 I haven’t gotten much of ch10 finished but I do have a oneshot for this specific au mostly finished. So please look forward to that! ☺️💜💜

#danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dadfrommars #DFMficao3 #dadfrommarsao3 #ao3 #ao3 author

[deathblacksmoke]

Dramamine—Part 3

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Nick Ruffilo

Series Summary: Cynical, brooding bartender Nick meets too-earnest, pretty boy singer Noah when The Rabbit's Foot starts hosting an open mic night.

CW: oral sex (m receiving), angst, self-doubt, hints at past trauma

*Content warnings will be updated by chapter*

Word Count: 2.2K

Taglist: @concretenoah / @ladyveronikawrites / @circle-with-me / @darksigns-exe / @xxrainstorm / @monotoniscreaming / @agravemisstake / @iknownothingpeople / @cookiesupplier

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future fics!

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this so far 🤍 I'm still working on a posting schedule for updates and I appreciate (mostly) everyone's patience.

dividers by @cafekitsune 💐

His mind keeps dragging him back to it.

When he pulled up outside Noah’s apartment—much further out of his way than he would normally go for a stranger, but close enough that he could justify it—Noah had snatched Nick’s phone like it belonged to him. When Noah held the face ID up and it unlocked, it felt a little bit like being held hostage. He will never admit aloud that he liked the bravery of it, the unabashed way in which he forced himself into Nick’s car and his life.

Noah typed away on the phone momentarily before slipping it back into the cupholder. When he looked up and they met eyes, Noah’s smile was dazzling. Nick couldn’t put a finger on why he didn’t feel annoyed, instead finding himself laughing and smiling back.

“See you around, Nick.” Noah had said, slipping out of the car and nearly skipping up the stairs. He tripped a little and Nick’s heart clenched.

He pulled his phone out once Noah had gone inside, still open to a text. The message read Nick’s name with a pink heart emoji, and he found himself overwhelmed by the butterflies gathering and fluttering in his tummy. His cheeks were hurting from how wide he was smiling and he didn’t recognize the new happy version of himself.

He didn’t want to let himself get used to it, but it felt nice. He found himself typing out a text.

Goodnight, Noah.

He sat outside the building much longer than necessary. He was sure that he could have stayed there for hours, until his phone lit up with a text that made his cheeks heat.

Sweet dreams, Nicky.

Nick finds Noah’s name on the list this time—he bites back a smile as he sets the list back down on the bar and busies himself with stacking glasses. Folio gives him a pointed look.

“Isn’t that my job?” Folio asks.

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thanks for the help’, Folio.”

“Thank you so much for all your help, Nick,” Folio says in a mocking tone. Nick can’t help but grin, even as he’s rolling his eyes.

When Folio comes back minutes later with a dish of mint, Nick no longer has it in him to be annoyed, because he hears the familiar sound of Noah introducing himself and the opening to a Bright Eyes song. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him.

The sincere nature with which Noah performs should make him feel ill. With anyone else, he would either be nauseated or talking shit, most likely both. Nick has been making fun of people like Noah for years. 

He almost regrets it, but he more regrets that he’s allowed Noah to make him soft. It almost turns his stomach when he realizes he’s listening to a Bright Eyes song with a smile on his face.

The end of paralysis, I was a statuette Now I’m drunk as hell on a piano bench And when I press the keys, it all gets reversed The sound of loneliness makes me happier

When Noah comes to the bar after, he still doesn’t need to be asked. There’s a Yuengling waiting for him, and Nick isn’t putting in an ounce of effort to wipe the grin off his face. He almost rejects it when Noah hands over a $10 bill, but he hasn’t gone quite that soft yet.

“Nice job tonight,” Nick tells him. The corners of Noah’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and Nick has to blink away the hearts in his eyes. Goddammit. “Are you parked illegally again?”

“I had just enough in my account to Uber here.”

“You need a lift home,” Nick says, feigning annoyance. Noah looks awfully shy when he nods. “You expect me to be the one to take you again.”

“No, you don’t have to, I—”

“I’m just fucking with you, pretty boy,” Nick interrupts, basking in the way the blush heats Noah’s cheeks. He can barely make it out in the dim lighting of the bar, but it hits him just right when he ducks his head and smiles. He could watch that over and over. “It’s still early, but if you can hang around for a while, I’ll take you home.”

When Nick pulls up out front, Noah is fidgeting with his hands, staring at his lap. It’s almost painfully cute, and Nick could sit here watching him until the sun rises, but he kind of wants to get home to his bed.

“Do you want to come up?” Noah asks suddenly, and when Nick looks over, his gaze is still focused on his hands in his lap, picking at his cuticles. “You don’t have to, it’s just that my roommates aren’t home and I just thought maybe—”

Nick doesn’t know exactly what’s gotten into him. He doesn’t know what Noah is just thinking, but he doesn’t even let him finish the thought before he’s deciding that his bed can wait.

He’s never decided before that his bed can wait.

“Relax, Noah,” Nick says, and when Noah meets his eyes, they’re a little wet. His hands are shaking, Nick can tell from here, and it’s all too endearing. “I’ll come keep you company.”

When Nick shifts the car back into drive, he swears he can see Noah’s eyes sparkling.

Noah’s apartment, decidedly, is a shithole. Not that Nick has any room to talk.

The walls are cracked, the paint chipped, the furniture mismatched in a way that you can tell it’s at least secondhand, but more likely plucked off the street. There’s that little bit of historic charm that makes it so Richmond. The art brings it all together for him—the wall-hangings, framed prints, records lining the walls. It’s all so Noah that it hurts. He wonders about the roommates, what hand they have to play in the decor, but it screams Noah more than anything.

Noah handed him a cup of tea ages ago and they’ve been sitting in silence since. It’s a little awkward, but he finds it comforting somehow, sitting in Noah’s company in his home that feels just like that—like home. He’s itching to thumb through the boxes of records in the corner by Noah’s turntable setup when Noah breaks the silence. Nick lets out a deep breath, relieved.

“Would it be weird if I wanted to play you something?” Noah asks, and he sounds awfully timid, like he’s afraid to ask. He’s never seen Noah look so small, shrunken down more than seems possible for someone of his height. Nick almost wants to reach out and touch. He wishes he could.

“Do I finally get to hear a Noah Davis original?” Nick asks, teasing. Noah’s returning look is uncertain and a little nervous. Nick hadn’t meant to push him, but Noah pushes it off quickly, laughing in an instant.

“Not yet,” Noah says, and Nick has so many questions that he’s not going to ask.

He wants to know so much about Noah that he doesn’t. He wants to know what Noah’s originals sound like. He just knows that he has them—the ultra-earnest types always do. He wants to know what it is that makes a boy with talent like that so shy, so seemingly uncertain of himself. He finds the little moments of confidence so enthralling, loving that side of Noah. The shy moments get him even more. He wants inside of his head so bad it pains him.

“There’s something I think you’ll like even more,” Noah continues, pulling his acoustic into his lap. He wonders how many times Noah has used this move—if it is a move, or if he’s just this painfully cute—and he wonders also when he became the teenage girl that falls for it. Nick’s interest is unequivocally piqued, whether Noah actually knows him in the way that he thinks he does, somehow.

When Noah starts playing, Nick’s mind travels back to the first night he ever saw him. Nick was wearing his favorite ratty old shirt—The Cure. Nick had been paying attention, from the moment he laid eyes on him. He had been paying such close attention that he had to slip out and have a panic attack into a greasy paper bag on the dirty, wet ground next to a dumpster. He never would have guessed that, even then, Noah was paying attention too.

It’s such a small thing, but he hasn’t felt seen like this in a long time.

He finds himself singing along, and Noah’s face lights up in a way that makes Nick’s stomach twist. He leans his head against the back of the couch—no doubt swiped off a Carytown curb—and closes his eyes. He feels happy in a way he hasn’t felt in years, safe in a way he hasn’t felt in over 700 days. He loves it here, in this shitty apartment with this terribly sweet boy.

He doesn’t quite know how he’s meant to feel about that.

However far away I will always love you However long I stay I will always love you Whatever words I say I will always love you

He’s so lost in his own world, lost in the comfort of the moment, that he doesn’t realize when Noah’s stopped playing. He’s taken out of his trance slightly when he feels a finger ghosting across the back of his hand, but he decides to stay in it a little longer.

“Nicky,” Noah whispers. Nick can feel breath ghosting across his cheek. Something in him twists when he lets it settle in that he doesn’t despise the nickname when it’s coming from Noah. “Nicky, can you look at me?” Nick opens his eyes and tilts his head—Noah is right there. His breath hitches, and Noah matches it. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

He has no idea what’s come over him. Deep down, he knows that he shouldn’t be doing this. He also knows that looking into Noah’s eyes, looking back at him so hopefully, he hasn’t wanted anything more in a long time. He doesn’t answer with his words, just leans in and captures Noah’s lips with his.

Noah sighs into it, promptly settling, cupping Nick’s cheek. Nick swipes his tongue along Noah’s bottom lip, savoring the way that Noah opens up for him without skipping a beat, letting Nick in. They kiss for what feels like ages. Nick has practically melted into the couch, feeling at once like he’s floating and sinking, and he’s so dazed that he almost doesn’t notice when Noah slides to the floor between his legs.

Noah doesn’t say anything. He places his hands on Nick’s thighs, and he can feel the heat radiating from Noah’s palms through his jeans. He knows what Noah wants—despite his best judgment, he really wants it too. He knows that Noah isn’t going to ask. He can see the anxiety in his expression. There’s a question in his eyes as he looks up, and Nick nods.

Of course you can, Noah.

Noah’s hands are shaking as he undoes Nick’s jeans, pulling his cock out. His stomach flips, not in the way that he’s used to. He doesn’t feel nauseated, twisty like normal, but he’s buzzing with it. He’s so singularly focused on Noah, on the way it feels when Noah licks around the head, sucks, sinks down further.

He tries not to feel embarrassed by his moans. They don’t even sound like they’re coming from him. They’re coming from somewhere far away, from someone else entirely. He forgot what this was like. He forgot he sounded like this. He forgot he could feel like this.

Noah is really talented with his mouth. He rolls his eyes, because of course he is.

“Fuck, Noah,” Nick groans, threading his fingers through Noah’s hair. He yanks on it a bit, not enough to pull him off or hurt him, just enough to make him moan and feel as it vibrates through him.

Nick keeps his hand in Noah’s hair, while Noah reaches for the other, grasping it in his own. Noah’s thumb grazes along his knuckles and the touch gives him butterflies.

His eyes travel down at their joined hands. He doesn’t normally look at his hands like this, and his stomach turns from butterflies into a painful twisting. Beneath Noah’s thumb, in the dim light of the apartment, he sees them just right. 

The scars along the back of his hand, his knuckles, his fingers. He’s taken back to his reality, to brick, to crashing glass, to screaming—

“Noah, stop,” Nick says, but Noah must not hear him. His voice is cracking, he can barely hear himself through the whooshing in his ears. His vision has tunneled and he can barely see. “Stop.”

When Noah pulls off, he doesn’t have a moment to speak before Nick is standing up and rushing back into his pants, rushing for the door. “I’m sorry, Noah.”

He’ll feel guilty about this later. Right now, he has to get out of here, have his panic attack alone in his car instead of in front of Noah.

“Nick, wait—”

But the door is already slamming behind him.

#bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #nick ruffilo fic #nick ruffilo fanfiction #nick ruffilo rpf #nicholas ruffilo fic #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo rpf #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian rpf #noah sebastian x nick ruffilo #noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo #deathblacksmoke works #fic: dramamine

[sheisjoeschateau]

update on “oh, so we do love steve…” 🤍

First off? Thank you all from the bottom of my f*cking heart for loving this series. This story has really become a comfort for me, and the fact that it’s been such a hit for you guys too? No words. The author in me is a very happy human.

Second. Thank you guys for reposting, sharing, commenting and reaching out to me about it. Literally all of you have been so kind, and I’ve yet to come across one single negative thing yet in my inbox or elsewhere. Your patience means a lot. As a writer, I refuse (profusely) to rush any of my work. That will definitely cause delays, and I know sometimes I’ll drop chapters faster than others and I don’t have a specific schedule to which I stick for my passion fueled writing. (I work full time as a copywriter and ghost writer for blogs, so balance is key. That’s the only thing that has a deadline in my writing life.) So if I’m ever taking longer than usual, rest assured: my work will not become abandoned. :) It’s simply still being worked on, and it will find its way to you all when it’s ready.

That being said — DO NOT BE SHY. Ask me how it’s coming along, tell me your favorite parts, give me your thoughts and ideas on it… It truly keeps me inspired while writing. 🤍

Steve is my man, and I love him with this Bauman reader so much it’s like…scary. They’re fr my comfort couple. 🙊 STEVE X BAUMAN IS THE HILL I DIE ON.

We ready for the next chapter soon…? Should I maybe post a tiny blurb?

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x you #mishas masterlists #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

[buckymorelikefuckme]

how to marry a millionaire | chapter one

mafia bucky x spoiled brat reader

words: 3k

warnings: s*exual language, no smut (yet hehe)

a/n: eeeeep!!! i'm so excited for this fic, y'all have no idea omg. with that said, though, i don't have a posting schedule for this, so pls be patient with me while i write it and post chapters whenever i can ♡ any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated! xoxo

masterlist

This club is doing absolutely nothing to lift your spirits. Honestly, you hadn't had high hopes that it would when you'd decided to come earlier in the evening, but you were fucking bored sitting at home all alone and feeling sorry for yourself. After all, pity parties are much more enjoyable when you have at least one other person to share the pity with. Instead of bitching to someone else, though, you sought to drown your sorrows in Amaretto Sours and loud music.

You sigh heavily, swirling your straw in slow circles in your drink as the news you received that morning paraded in the forefront of your mind.

Henry Spofford III, your most recent sugar daddy, died in his sleep at the ripe age of 88. He'd been in excellent health, mostly because the best doctors and healthcare money could buy were at his disposal—which had been the deciding point in you coming to an agreement with the old bastard—so to hear of his passing had come as a shock. Your lip curls in annoyance when you recall the conversation you'd had with his lawyer over the phone.

“Henry died in the early hours of the morning,” he said in lieu of a greeting when you accepted the call. “I'm sure this is hard for you, and I'm very sorry for your loss.”

“I—what?” you stammered, coming to a standstill in your massive closet where you'd been trying to pick out an outfit for the day.

“I regret to inform you that, while Mr. Spofford had intentions of including you in his will, his untimely passing prevented him from doing so.”

You suddenly felt like the room was spinning, taking staggering steps over to the chaise in front of the floor to ceiling windows that overlook Central Park. Before you had a chance to utter a response, he continued.

“As you are aware, Mr. Spofford paid the lease on your penthouse for the year. Since we're approaching August, you have five months left until the lease is up for renewal. Obviously, what you choose to do then is entirely your business, but you will no longer have his money to support you.”

“Right,” you replied faintly, bringing your clammy palm up to your forehead, feeling a migraine coming on. “Of course.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” he repeated, and you were pretty sure he wasn't talking about just Henry.

You drain the last of your drink, slamming the empty glass on the bar probably a little too forcefully. What a fucking joke. You knew you shouldn't have gotten into that relationship. Not that there was anything romantic about it, not for you.

“Another?” the bartender asks, raising his voice to be heard over the music, nodding to your glass.

“Keep them coming,” you instruct.

See, the thing is, Henry dying is terribly inconvenient. He was the wealthiest sugar daddy you'd had so far and was so easy to manipulate into giving you whatever you wanted. You'd had your eye on a brand new Bentley Continental GT and were so close to convincing Henry to get it for you. Looks like that will have to wait a little while now.

God, why was the universe so cruel to you?

A fresh drink was placed in front of you and you grabbed it, taking a long sip without thanking the bartender.

This puts you back at square one. Searching for replacements always made you cranky. You'd have to kiss so much ass to find somebody as rich as Henry, and you were already dreading it.

“You are much too pretty to be pouting like that.”

You don’t try to hide your eye roll. “How original,” you drone, not even looking beside you where the voice came from.

The man laughs. “Oh, this one has bite,” he muses.

You look heavenward for patience. “Listen, unless you have obscene amounts of money to support my truly heinous shopping habits, I’m not interested. Fuck off.”

“Would a Birkin get you to actually look me in the eye?” he asks.

With an aggrieved sigh, you let your gaze fall to the man occupying the seat to your left. And then you promptly feel your thighs clench involuntarily.

Holy fucking shit this guy is gorgeous. Dark hair styled expertly, stubble across his sharp jaw lightly peppered with gray, light blue eyes dancing in amusement. He's leaning casually against the bar, his arm resting on top of it, dressed in an admittedly expensive looking suit, no doubt tailored to his exact measurements. Your eyes catch on the watch on his wrist and you nearly moan. You know a sixty thousand dollar watch when you see one. Perhaps you were too hasty in blaming the universe for your misfortunes.

Interest sufficiently piqued, you shift slightly to face him a bit more. His lips quirk up on one side.

“I don't want just any Birkin that every other basic bitch has. I want the diamond encrusted crocodile one,” you say, tilting your head and smiling sweetly.

“A woman with taste,” he praises, smirking.

“Clearly,” you acknowledge as you raise a challenging brow.

He laughs again, his eyes crinkling on the sides. It makes him look charming, but if there is anything in your years of being a sugar baby has taught you, it's how to read people. This man reeks of power, and not in a typical CEO or old money way. Even the way he's sitting screams easy confidence. He’s oozing danger and normally you would take that red flag for what it is, but you're just tipsy enough to ignore it.

You rise from your barstool, smoothing out your dress and fluffing your hair. He watches your every move with extreme focus. Thank god you picked a curve-hugging dress that showed off your body.

“I expect my Birkin within the next two days,” you inform him, blowing a kiss as you turn and walk away.

A man like that will know how to find you. Call it a gut feeling. You knew, one way or another, he'd come across your path again. Whether or not he would have the promised bag remains to be seen, however.

~

You're returning home from some retail therapy. As much as you absolutely adore spending money, especially when it's someone else's, you weren't completely irresponsible with it. You always saved at least half of whatever Henry gave you in a separate bank account from the one he'd wire your allowance to. So, with a fat chunk of change collecting dust in the aforementioned account, you figured you deserved to treat yourself to some goodies after the previous harrowing day you had.

“Hi, Walter,” you greet as you enter your building with arms laden in various shopping bags.

“Good afternoon, miss,” the doorman returns with a pleasant smile. “I believe your friend stopped by while you were gone.”

You pause, frowning. “My friend?” you ask.

He nods. “Yes. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes.”

“Oh.” A smile tickles your lips. “Is he still here?”

“No ma'am. He said he only wanted to drop off some things for you.”

You're practically vibrating in your skin. “Are they up front?”

“He said he had a key,” Walter replies with a knowing grin. “Finally settling down, miss?”

A key? That has your smile faltering, makes something unsure twist in your stomach. But as soon as the feeling appears, your mind recalls that Walter said he’d dropped off things, as in plural, and just like that, you dismiss whatever uneasiness that tried to make itself known within you.

“Thank you, Walt,” you say sincerely.

You quickly make your way to the elevators, impatiently pressing the button for one of them to open. It only takes a few seconds and then you're ascending to the top floor where the penthouses reside. There's only two, and you have the one with the better view, because fucking duh.

You dart out of the doors before they're even opened all the way, jostling your shopping bags in the process. You huff, adjusting your grip on them as you make a beeline for your apartment. It's a struggle to dig your keys out of your purse and unlock your door, but you eventually do and hurry inside, carelessly dropping your shopping bags in the entryway and kicking off your heels. Rounding the corner, you stop in your tracks once you see the display in your living room.

“Fuck,” you whisper, heart hammering.

Not only do you spot the beloved Hermès logo on a tan velour dust bag in the center of it all, but there are also Dior boxes, and Chanel, Prada, Givenchy—there are so many brands in front of you, and the sheer amount has your panties growing damp. You bite your lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Your hands shake when you pick up the Hermès dust bag, slowly opening it and taking a peek inside.

“Oh my god,” you whine upon seeing the specific diamond encrusted crocodile Birkin you asked for.

You have no fucking clue how he managed to actually snag one of these. Not only are they one of the most expensive designs, but they're fucking rare and hard as shit to find. God, he really must have so much fucking money and connections to have acquired it in less than a day. You've hit the goddamn jackpot.

The next thing you reach for is the small Tiffany & Co. box, opening it to reveal the Victoria Vine drop necklace that you know is at least twenty thousand dollars. After that, you're like a kid on Christmas morning, and soon you're sitting on the floor in a sea of empty boxes, bags, and tissue paper, the smell of luxurious leather filling the air. Your earlier purchases are all but forgotten on the entryway floor at this point. Glittering jewelry and clothes and perfume and so much more all around you. You could weep, honestly.

There was an envelope resting on top of one of the boxes that you had ignored in favor of finding out what the contents were within. Now that there's nothing left to open, however, you finally rip it open to pull out the card. Jesus, even this fucking stationary smells luxurious.

In scratchy handwriting, the card reads: Have I passed your test?

An address is listed, followed by, 8pm. Don't be late. -JBB

You run your fingers over his signature, suddenly realizing you don't even know this man’s name, or anything about him for that matter, other than he's ridiculously wealthy and even more ridiculously handsome. But you're much too intrigued by him to pretend like you have to think about whether or not you’re going.

Checking the time, you curse under your breath when you see you only have four hours to get ready. You already have an outfit in mind, and you smile smugly to yourself as you undress and step under the warm water. He's not gonna know what hit him.

If you take an extra ten minutes to use the showerhead to get off, no one else is around to know.

~

Whoever this man was, he was doing everything possible to show off his wealth. You'd just been putting on your finishing touches to your makeup when you'd gotten a call from the concierge downstairs saying a car had arrived to pick you up.

When you stepped outside and saw the black SUV, an Escalade to be sure, you had to tamp down the excited thrill that wanted to rush through you. The driver was waiting by the back door with his hands clasped behind his back, dressed in an all black suit and tie. He'd greeted you with a polite nod and opened the door for you to slide into the backseat.

Now, as you’re driven through the bustling streets of the Upper East Side, you allow yourself a moment to appreciate the car. You’ll always love the feel of buttery smooth leather against your bare legs.

A gratified smile toys at the edges of your lips. You've had a taste of what this man can offer and you'd be damned if you let him slip away. You will make sure he's wrapped around your pinky finger before the night is over.

Fifteen minutes later, you arrive at your destination. While the driver is making his way around to let you out, you check your reflection in your small compact mirror and quickly put it back in your gold clutch. As you step out of the car you gain the attention of a few passers-by. Honestly, you’d expect nothing less. You know you look like sex on legs.

You're wearing a cream colored dress that has a high neck, but the back dips low, resting right above your ass, and the hem is more on the indecent side. For your hair you'd gone for a very 90s Pam Anderson updo, looking both effortless and sexy. You kept your makeup simple yet sultry and your jewelry is tasteful, a few dainty gold bands on your fingers and some teardrop diamond earrings.

The stars of the outfit, though, are the Kate Strass Louboutins he'd gifted you. The way they sparkle makes it hard for you to keep your eyes ahead of you because you just want to stare at them. These aren't your first pair of red bottoms, and you're positive they're far from the last, but they are your new favorites.

Upon entering the restaurant, you immediately notice how quiet it is. A peek into the dining area explains why. It's empty, from what you can see. You huff a quiet laugh. Oh, he’s trying hard.

The hostess rounds the corner and greets you with a smile. “Good evening, Miss. Mr. Barnes is waiting at his table for you. Follow me.”

Barnes. Now you're getting somewhere.

You walk behind the hostess quietly as she leads you to a table where a lone man waits patiently. He's wearing another form fitting suit, all black and incredibly sexy, and the same watch from the first time you saw him is glinting on his wrist in the low light of the room. He stands as you approach, coming around to pull your chair out for you with a small smile.

“Your waiter will be with you shortly,” the hostess says as you sit down and Mr. Barnes returns to his own seat.

As she walks away, he relaxes back in his chair, crossing one of his legs over the other as he takes you in. “You look stunning.”

“I know,” you reply, smiling when he laughs. “Thank you.”

“I'm surprised you're not using your new Birkin,” he replies.

“That's not a date bag, silly,” you inform him playfully.

He grins. “My apologies. I do see that you're wearing the shoes, though.”

“I am,” you confirm, delicately sticking one foot out to admire the sparkling heels. “I can't stop staring at them,” you sigh wistfully.

“I'm happy to see you like them.”

You hum and return your gaze to his. He’s staring intensely, his blue eyes calculating.

“Do I get to know your name now?” he asks.

You smirk. “Are you pretending you don't already know it?”

His lips quirk up on one side. “Yes,” he decides.

You roll your eyes. “I think you should tell me your name.”

“You don't like the mystery?” he wonders, tilting his head.

“Something tells me you'll want me to know for later,” you tease coyly.

He laughs. “Touché.” Sitting up straighter, he leans in. “My name is James Barnes.”

Your brain perks up, trying to recall where you've heard that name before. You know you have, but honestly, it's hard to keep up with who's relevant in Manhattan anymore these days.

“It's a pleasure to officially meet you, Mr. Barnes,” you purr.

“Believe me, the pleasure is all mine.”

You grin. This should be fun.

James lifts a hand, beckoning someone. The waiter rushes over, introducing himself and asking what you'd like to drink.

“We’ll have the Montrachet Grand Cru,” James replies without even looking at a menu.

“Very good, sir. I’ll be right back with that.”

After the waiter leaves, you cross your arms and rest them atop the crisp, white tablecloth. James matches your stance.

“So,” you begin, a slow grin etching across your lips, “how much did it cost you to rent out the whole place?”

“Why would it cost me anything to rent out my own restaurant?” he asks in mock curiosity.

Your eyebrows raise ever so slightly. His restaurant? Impressive. That still doesn't explain the absurd amount of money he spent on those gifts, though.

“You won't lose profit closing it like this?” you prod.

With a secretive smile, he explains, “I have my hand in quite a few… business endeavors.”

“I see,” you respond.

You have a feeling his other so-called “business endeavors” aren't quite as legal or upstanding as a high dollar restaurant. It should send off more warning bells in your mind, but it only proves to further pique your interest.

“Besides,” he continues, “shouldn't a spoiled princess like you get the royal treatment?”

A surprised laugh escapes you. “Spoiled princess?” you repeat.

“Don't act like you're not,” he says with a knowing grin.

“You say it like it's a bad thing,” you reply.

“Oh, on the contrary, I love it.” His smile turns sly. “I love when a woman knows exactly what she wants, and how to get it.”

You lick your lips, noting how his eyes drop and follow the movement. “Well, it's a good thing I do then, huh?” you say quietly. “I've got my sights set on something big, too.”

“Bigger than you think,” he smirks.

You roll your eyes with a laugh. “God. I guess I set myself up for that.”

He leans back, elbows on the arms of his chair and rubbing at his bottom lip. “I've got my sights set on something, too,” he tells you, voice low and contemplative.

A pleased thrill hums throughout you. This man is the whole package. Everything you could ever dream of wanting in a man, conveniently wrapped up in a perfect, little bow is sitting right in front of you. Handsome, funny, and most important of all, filthy fucking rich.

You're gonna sink your claws into him and never let go.

#avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #mafia bucky barnes x spoiled brat reader

[the-demons-writings]

You're safe with us

(Hermitcraft x child! Dragon reader)

I appreciate all the patience and apologize that it's been so long, the post after this will be of my own personal lore but over all this is still one of my biggest projects, I'll get to all the requests soon! Thank you all for being so patient.

❦ ════ •⊰❂⊱• ════ ❦

[part 1] || [part 2] || [part 3] || [part 4] ||

The morning came and you awoke with a groan , safe to say you'd gotten some really shit sleep. Maybe it was the fact you didn't fall asleep at your usual time, in your usual place. Or maybe it was the facr Xisuma had woken you up far earlier than you are used to.

"Morning kid, time to get ready, we've got a longer day than usual."

He smiled as he gently pulled the blankets off of you and set a rather fancy-ish looking outfit on your bed.

Alright, I need you to take a bath and get dressed, breakfast will be after, I know it's different from your usual schedule but we gotta do it, okay?".

You huffed at the notion your usual schedule would be interrupted, however you couldn't stay mad for long with how happy Xisuma seemed to be about things. Slowly you do as asked, taking a bath , getting dressed and then waiting at the table for breakfast. Xisuma happily provided something he called French toast as well as bacon.

After breakfast he asked you to gather things you'd like to take out, you quickly gathered all of your usual toys as well as the book Xisuma is currently reading to you and the book you write in. He happily packed those up for you and offered you a hand. " Alright, ready Y/n?"

You nodded with a small uneasy smile. "Yes?.." You questioned nervously looking up towards Xisuma as he took your hand and began to lead you along. As you two walked you met up with Doc and Grian who smiled when they saw you.as a group you all simply continued further to a large building. To your liking the roof of the place was decorated from head to toe in large crystals and other sparkly objects. Quietly you excited yourself over the gems as the adults talked.

Once their conversation had finished Xisuma took your hand and started up your walk inside the house. Once inside Xisuma sighed as he brought you to a corner to sit. He set your things down and smiled.

"Alright Y/N I'll be over there sitting if you need anything come get me,” He pointed towards the head of a very large rectangular table “After the bigger part of the meeting finishes you can come meet everyone, they're all really nice I promise." Xisuma sighs with a smile as he ruffles your hair and goes to take his seat.

The meeting provided as usual, server updates and new pop up shops being talked about as well as things that have happened, accidents or not. A general healthcare check and a mental health check for everyone. As the meeting was nearing it's end Xisuma smiled as he spoke.

"Pardon me hermits! I have one last important thing to announce!" He started as the hermits began to quiet down. " We have a new member on the hermitcraft server, they're shy and quite skittish so let them approach you at their own pace,” He gestured over to you getting the musing and quiet concerns of the other hermits the. “Yes they're the child in the corner. Their name is Y/n and they are an official member of our server and i'd like to ask all of your help in taking care of them."

You looked up hearing your name only to realise the many , many pairs of eyes on you. It made you feel nervous almost to the point of curling up. Your wings raised, fanning out as you backed into the corner. Grian, Pearl, Impulse , Scar and Cub are the first ones to recognize the not only frightened but partially hostile look. Grian is the first to speak up walking over to you and fanning his wings to hide you.

“As a collective we should all put in the work to research dragon hybrids,. Clearly they’ve been through a lot so they may have a more hostile or timid approach to most things but I’d like it if we could welcome them all with open arms. If it's any consideration I'll be taking them first.” He glanced over at Xisuma to confirm it was okay.

“As collective caretakers it's only fair we help them heal, and grow up no matter their interests, it could be building, Redstone, Breaking the rules of reality,” He spared a quick knowing glance towards Doc “Or any of the infinite things we could offer them!”

Small talk started between the hermits all with too many things to bring up, that was until Joe spoke up.

“I think it's fantastic! We were all getting a little bored, and I think we should take the chance to become someone special in someone's life.” He smiled glancing past Grian’s wings to offer you a small smile.

Xisuma nodded. “It would be good for all of us , Grian can start us off and slowly the rest of you could get acclimated and take turns with them as well.”

Grian nodded as he picked you up, placing you on his shoulders. “Me and the kid are going to have a great time! Trust me , there will be nothing but reasonable mischief and teaching them the important basics!”

#x reader #x child reader #dragon #x dragon reader #dragon reader #minecraft #platonic #hermitcraft x reader #hermitcraft fic #hermitcraft x dragon reader #YSWU

[garf-lover96]

Astarion Ancunín x Julian Devorak crackship hcs

ah i see your endless comparisons between them, so i know this is not a post for too niche of an audience..... i just had this thought about them actually being together and my brain started working too fast so i just had to write it all down

disclaimers: for simplicity reasons, let's assume they meet on some ambiguous middle ground between their worlds; these are headcanons for spawn!Astarion (after killing Cazador) and upright!Julian (minus the mc i suppose) because i wanted to make them healthy and fluffy

———

a little exposition:

• they meet in a tavern (obviously!). Julian falls first and buys Astarion a drink, Astarion falls harder later on

• it takes Julian quite a bit of courting to get Astarion to agree to go on a date with him, but when he agrees, he's rewarded with the most romantic (and brilliantly planned) night of his life

• Astarion really appreciates Julian's patience and understanding when he finally opens up about his past. they exchange some stories of the hard moments in their lives

• somewhere in the middle of those comes up the fact that Astarion is a vampire which gets a "well, obviously...?" reaction from Julian. Astarion is a little embarrassed about that

• eventually, they agree to be in a relationship! they warm up to each other at a incredibly fast rate and start living together after more than a few exciting adventures together (but it doesn't mean they plan to stop going on them any time soon)

living together/relationship dynamics sillies:

• getting right into it, Julian obviously enjoys getting bitten and is more than happy to let Astarion feed on him. he asks Astarion to do it whether he's hungry or not. are you sure you don't need a snack?? absolutely sure????

• Astarion learns how to make a few simple meals for Julian. he notices when Julian forgets to eat for a longer while and wants to make sure he doesn't collapse out of starvation. he says that he's doing it only so his blood tastes better, but Julian knows he's just worried about him..

• Julian's sleep schedule is messed up as is so he definitely doesn't mind having to become nocturnal for his partner. hell, he can even stay awake for the whole 24 hours! maybe even 48 hours, occasionally. which always results in a crash and he ends up sleeping through at least 12 hours straight to make up for it

• when that happens—and Astarion has nothing better to do—he tends to just orbit around him the whole time he's asleep. he usually picks out a book and lays down close to Julian's chest so he can listen to his heartbeat while enjoying some literature

• Astarion was a little sceptical of Malak when they started living together but it turned out they actually get along quite nicely. Astarion praises him every time he steals something..

• Julian is very interested in the logistics of being a vampire, and now that he finally has the chance, he wants to know all there is to know about the topic. the lack of heartbeat, the heightened senses.. the teeth.. he gets a little giddy thinking about them. or seeing them of course

• they both get haunted by nightmares but since half of the time at least one of them is awake while the other is sleeping (or in that damn reverie when it comes to Astarion) because of their confusing sleeping patterns, they make sure to calm each other down from them. they breathe together, cuddle and mutter words of reassurance to each other

• their morbid interests go quite well together. of course, while Astarion's specific interest lies in stabbing people sometimes and Julian's lies in anatomy and the more theoretical stuff in general, Astarion actually enjoys it when Julian goes on one of his medical rants and explains in exhausting detail. for instance: why someone bleeds out faster when they get stabbed in the neck rather when they get stabbed in the stomach

• Julian is always acting as Astarion's mirror. he's there for every request and makes sure to compliment Astarion plenty whenever he gets the chance. he lives to serve and reassure. Astarion is immensely grateful for that

• they're both consent kings, they always make sure to discuss anything requiring it. they check up on each other even after agreeing to it anyway

• they absolutely love using pet names. they can barely go without using "darling", "dear" and "my love" every other sentence

• Julian teaches Astarion how to dance. it takes a little convincing, but when Astarion realizes that Julian is actually a pretty great teacher, he relaxes and lets himself be guided. now they make sure to make time for it at least once a week

• Astarion loves hearing Julian's silly stories from his travels and always asks sarcastic follow up questions. think the "oh, and were there dragons there?" kind

• even though there's a big height difference between them (5'9 and 6'4), they pick each other up all the time. Julian started it by picking Astarion up when he least expected it. but since Astarion is no longer limited by the tadpole, is eating well and Julian is skinny anyway, he's more than capable to get his revenge on him as often as possible

———

broke: Astarion and Julian are pretty similar to each other!

woke: they're actually in love and married and they kiss each other on the lips mwah mwah mwah

#I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS #heres to hoping itll reach the people that experienced the pipeline #hope this wasnt TOO long tho... #julian devorak #the arcana #astarion #bg3 #crackship #garf lover96 creation

[ugh-yoongi]

Jewel, I know your requests are closed but I desperately need to hear your thoughts on who in BTS would do this: https://www.tumblr.com/writing-prompt-s/739417828719034368/you-a-powerful-demoness-have-just-been-summoned

and why is it Namjoon (the potential for crack with this 148 IQ man who is also way more innocent than we think acc to one park jimin just takes me out)

i'm so sorry it took me so long to finish and post this but thank you so much for sending it bc i have been cackling about this scenario ever since.

the prompt: you, a powerful demoness, have just been summoned to earth. this man, this human, wants you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a few days so his parents will get off his back about it.

the gang summons a demon

pairing: namjoon x f. reader genre: supernatural au; crack warnings: reader is a demon and engages in demon behavior, swearing, namjoon makes mention of not being straight, heteronormative parental expectations, jk learns about arcane things on tumblr (which is not an original idea; i read a fic ages ago where taekook are tumblr witches but i cannot find it, so credit to that author or whoever came up with it first), unedited so any mistakes are mine. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 2k

It’s been years since you’ve been to Earth—even longer since you’ve been to South Korea.

“I haven’t been here since 1910,” you say, staring at the gobsmacked man across from you. He’s tall, with tanned skin and a bleached buzz cut; a smattering of tattoos dotting his toned arms—whites and rich hues of blue, imitations of some kind of ceramic art, you think; a golden hoop through his nose; cheeks with dimples so deep you’re sure they’ll crater. “People here definitely didn’t look like you back then, so I’m going to assume we’re pretty far into the future.”

“It’s 2024,” he answers, seemingly still a little dazed. He’s staring at you with wide eyes, jaw dropped. Normally it’s nice to be looked at like that, with all the reverence and awe you deserve, but Earth is not your favorite place to be. Doesn’t even crack the top fifty, if you’re being honest. “Did you say 1910? As in the beginning of the—”

You sigh. “Uh-huh. Hey, if you wouldn’t mind hurrying this up, I’ve got things to do.” The man continues staring. Could be a trick of the light, but you think he’s turning paler by the second.

Minutes tick by. Nothing but silence.

“Are you even listening to me?” you snarl, quickly losing patience you were never given. “I said I’ve got shit to do. My schedule’s booked solid for the next eight centuries, so I really don’t have time to be dilly-dallying in mundane human affairs. Your problems are always so boring.”

More silence.

Which is irksome, sure, but what’s worse is this stupid fucking circle you’re trapped in. Drawn crudely on the floor of (seemingly) this human man’s actual apartment, which would’ve told you all you’d needed to know, if you’d taken ten seconds to take in your surroundings upon first being summoned. This place has got books stacked floor to ceiling in every available inch of space, but you’re certain this person is a fucking idiot.

“Hello?”

The man shakes his head. “Oh, sorry, I just—I’m Namjoon? Kim Namjoon.”

“I don’t care.”

“Right, right.” He sucks in a deep breath. “Well, you’re probably wondering why I summoned you here today”—you roll your eyes—“and, uh.” Namjoon scratches at the back of his neck, anxiety oozing from every pore on his body. Definitely paler. “I am too, to be honest.”

“You what—”

“I didn’t mean to!” Namjoon hurriedly adds, all of that anxiety shifting quickly into pure panic. “It’s just—it was a joke! Mostly! Jeongguk said it as a joke, because everything he says is a joke, and I should’ve known that, but—I don’t know! I’ve tried everything else, and the longer its gone on the more desperate I’ve become, and suddenly what Jeongguk said as a joke didn’t sound so much like a joke anymore! I’m sorry! I didn’t think it’d actually work!”

It takes your brain a minute to translate and decipher the useless slush that just came out of his mouth, but when it does… oh, when it does, you feel absolutely murderous. “You summoned me as a joke?”

Namjoon must see it, too. There’s no way you’re looking cool, calm, and collected right now, because you’ve seen the faces of others that have witnessed your wrath, and they were almost always on the brink of (if not outright) shitting their pants. This stupid, clueless human in front of you doesn’t appear to be faring much better.

So you continue, just to watch him squirm. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

“Um,” comes his brilliant response. “Yes?”

“And who am I?”

He holds up his pointer finger and digs through the back pocket of his jeans. Pulls out a crumbled scrap of paper, nearly soiled from ass sweat and time, and his eyes squint as he tries to read it. “I—well, it’s probably not an accurate translation, you know, since—”

“What does that piece of parchment say, Kim Namjoon?”

“Nothing,” he lies. “I can’t read it anyway, so… a-haaa…”

Patience officially worn thin, you snap your fingers, delighting in the startled shriek that escapes him as the paper goes up in a plume of smoke. “I am going to give you one chance to be honest with me,” you explain slowly, leveling him with a look. “Who do you think I am, and why am I here?”

Namjoon pales further. Looks like he’s trying to melt right through the floor into a puddle of useless slush, and you’d be more than willing to speed up the process if it weren’t for this god forsaken demon trap.

“Can I—can I sit down for this?”

Kim Namjoon, you learn, has a friend named Jeon Jeongguk.

Jeon Jeongguk, you also come to learn, has learned magic from a website called Tumblr.

“There, uh. There are definitely blogs for that sort of thing,” Namjoon explains, tattooed fingers scratching at the back of his neck. He takes a very quick glance at you. “Clearly not very accurate ones.”

You hum. “That’s the only smart thing I’ve heard you say since I showed up in this shithole.”

Namjoon gawks. “Hey, my apartment isn’t a shithole! It’s the best I could afford, alright? There was just an article in The Business Times about how archaic of a system jeonse is—”

“Uh-huh. And this… website?”

Namjoon goes red. Coughs into his fist. “Oh, right, yeah. I’m gonna be honest with you—”

“I already said that—”

“—my parents are coming to visit from Ilsan in a few days and I need a girlfriend.”

You blink. Once, twice, three times. Long enough to replace the rug that had been pulled from under you, because you’re pretty sure you heard this human man allude to having summoned you so you can pretend to be his girlfriend.

All things considered, you’re impressed by how calm you are. This is not a trait most demons have, you especially, and it makes you nostalgic for the days you used to rip men apart limb by limb for less.

“Are you insane?” you ask simply.

“In my defense,” he explains around a wince, “Jeongguk said it was a love spell.”

“A love spell.” Namjoon nods. “And you wound up summoning a demon.”

“It… appears I may have done that, yes.”

“And you want a demon to meet your parents?”

“I mean… when in Rome, right?”

“I’ve committed at least four-hundred and sixty-seven separate atrocities there, so no, probably not when in Rome.”

Namjoon’s jaw drops. He tucks his knees closer to his chest. “Christ, that’s a lot. How did you have the time?”

“I’m immortal,” you deadpan.

“Right, right. Anyway, to answer your question: yes.”

Your eyes narrow. “How bad are your parents that you’d want me to meet them?”

“They’re fine, mostly. I just… am not what they expected in a son? Like, I have the hair and the tattoos and I dropped out of my engineering program in university to pursue art and poetry, so the least I could do is find a wife and settle down and give them grandchildren, but I don’t even know if I want to ever settle down. I’m also not… heterosexual? Entirely? Do you see that a lot—”

You sigh. “Misconception. Not to launch you into some kind of existential crisis, but the gods really don’t give a shit who you humans sleep with.”

“Gods? As in plural?” You snap your fingers. Namjoon’s fingers immediately go to his temples. “Damn, I have a really bad migraine all of a sudden.”

“Yeah, that was me.”

“What’d you do?”

“Made you forget something.”

“Oh. What’d I forget?” It takes a second. “Oh, right, yeah. Um. What was the last thing I said?”

“Your parents wanted you to be an engineer and have a ton of kids but you like art and also not-women, sometimes.”

He flushes again. “I—yes.”

You sigh, arms crossed over your chest. All you want to do is sit down, or open a window. This apartment smells far too strongly of patchouli. “Look, I haven’t been to this place in a long time, but surely you aren’t undesirable by your society’s standards.”

“Are you saying I’m attractive?”

You scowl. “No. I’m saying there had to have been easier ways of doing this, and also can you open a window?”

“It’s February.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“It’s really cold outside.”

“I’m literally from Hell. Go put on a sweater, then.”

With a roll of his eyes, Namjoon stands and moves to the window. Cracks it open a millimeter, just enough for the cold to seep in, before he’s stalking off toward—you’re assuming—his bedroom. You think he’s shoving a garment over his head when he calls out, “You know, you’re really fucking bossy for someone stuck in a trap.”

You vow to kill him as soon as you’re free.

It isn’t often you’re held hostage.

Usually you can spot a trick coming a thousand miles away, but since Namjoon hadn’t meant to summon you at all, you’d been caught unawares. Doomed to be stuck in a demon trap, just like he’d said, which meant you didn’t have a ton of bargaining power.

At least that’s what you’re telling yourself, because as you sit across from Namjoon’s parents at some fancy restaurant, you aren’t convinced he isn’t a crossroads demon himself.

“So,” his mother begins, turning her attention to you, “what do you do for work?”

Namjoon elbows you beneath the table, giving you a silent warning to stick to the script. You’re only here under threat of force—because Jeongguk had stopped by Namjoon’s apartment, saw you in the summoning circle, and nearly fainted before going back to Tumblr to find a binding spell.

Except that one wasn’t great, either, because it only bound you and Namjoon together for three days instead of forever. And, as penance for all the chaos you’ve sown across the universe, Namjoon’s parents’ visit fell within that time frame, so here you are.

Out to dinner. With humans.

You’re pretending to be someone’s girlfriend.

You’re in for the most embarrassing ribbing of your existence once you’re home.

“I work with idols,” you respond, as convincingly as possible, because Namjoon had thought it’d be really funny. Get it? he’d said. Like false idols? You hadn’t laughed. “It’s very secretive, of course, but—”

You don’t finish your thought, because Namjoon’s mother looks delighted: face lit up with mirth, smile blinding, eyes half-lidded under the weight of her happiness. “Oh, how exciting! Has he told you he used to do performances to old H.O.T songs? Namjoonie, what was that one song you liked—”

“Eomma, please—”

“Wasn’t it ‘Candy’?” Namjoon’s dad offers from behind his menu. It’s the first thing he’s said all evening.

Namjoon whimpers, foregoing all social decorum and lectures on posture to sink further in his chair.

You do not, under any circumstances, feel a hint of fondness.

(Which dissipates not even twenty-four hours later.

“The blog was deleted,” Jeongguk says, eyes wide as saucers. “I—the blog is gone, I don’t know how to—”

“What do you mean the blog is gone?” The poor kid is overcome with panic and fear, tries to stutter out a response that makes no sense to you at all through his sobs. “Jeon Jeongguk, what do you mean the blog is gone?”

“I—it’s—I had it bookmarked, I swear! Once the binding spell wore off I was gonna send it to Namjoon hyung so he could send you back, but the blog is gone so the post is gone, too. I don’t—what do I even search for—oh my god, please don’t kill me, I think I’m having a panic attack, I’m gonna—”

And then this human man vomits all over your feet. Namjoon sighs as he goes to fetch a bucket, and you think it’ll be a miracle if any of these people—yourself included—live to see the end of the week.)

#namjoon x reader #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jewel writes #jewel answers

[salteytakesonmanga]

Hello again, apologies for the longer-than-expected absence. I’m sorry if my last post had anyone worried. My health problems are much better, but real life stuff got super busy and the next thing I knew it was April?? 2w 7m. Thank you to everyone who sent kind messages!

I’m going to answer some of the asks folks have sent me and then we’ll get back to the reread.

There will also be a new schedule, or lack thereof. I was really excited by the idea of posting one chapter a day, but turns out I have too much to say for that to stay feasible. I’ll be posting sporadically whenever I get the chance, but don’t worry if there are interruptions. I’ll be back soon enough.

Thank you again for your patience, and for reading. And for forgiving when I accidentally queue personal posts to this blog (jesus that was embarrassing…)

And now, let’s continue the voyage!

#saltey takes on one piece #blog meta