nomazee - Tumblr blog

nomazee · 1 day

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O hey guys… so i got over 30 requests + the ones Ive posted already so unfortunately i’m probably not going to get around to all of them in a timely manner 😭 the plan is to finish around 10 based on what i have ideas for and have them posted and then the event will be finished!!!

i’m so so sorry i realize that this was probably poor planning on my part and i definitely should’ve set a limit i did not expect to get this many requests,,, i might eventually come back to any requests i didn’t finish and write something for them but as of right now, requests for this event and general requests are closed and i will be finishing off around 10 drabbles in the next couple of weeks!

thank u for ur patience everyone i realize this is less than ideal 💔 LOVE YOU ALL AND THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR PARTICIPATING!!!!

nora's mix-and-match 1,000 follower event

HEY GUYS... this has been a long time coming... i have been obsessively trying to figure out what i should do for this event in fear that i will disappoint everyone but i decided it's time to have fun. this is a joyous occasion and yes i was going to make everyone battle to the death but instead you get to pick a bunch of things and request a drabble from me ISN'T THAT BEAUTIFUL??? thank you all so much for the support, this blog is so old and i have had many hiatuses and it just makes me happy that people enjoy my writing... thank u all. I LOVE YOU.

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to request a drabble for this event, send in a character + a trope, word prompt, and/or timestamp! you can pick from one category or two or all three!

pick a pairing trope: (if you want one that's not listed here, just send it in!) 1. friends 2. roommates 3. coworkers 4. enemies/rivals 5. classmates 6. teachers/professors 7. celebrity and assistant/bodyguard 8. model and fashion designer 9. artist and nude model 10. neighbors 11. arranged marriage 12. fake dating

pick a one/two-word concept or prompt: some examples (but send in anything u think of!): sunlight, plant pot, beach, hands, linen, kitchen, stars, trust, soil, computer, whiteboard, sneakers, textbook

pick a timestamp: some examples: 7:29am, 9:35pm, 12:01pm

it’s mix and match, so have fun with it!!! if ur confused on the rules or anything--when in doubt just ask!

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my rules:

no nsfw requests! everything will be sfw or suggestive at MOST

everything will be character x reader

all requests will be drabbles (300-1000 words)

i will most likely default to romantic fics! if you want ur request to be platonic then let me know

one character per request since these are drabbles, but you can send multiple (separate) requests if you want!

you don't have to be following me to send a request!

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characters i write for (excuse the extensive list):

honkai star rail: dan heng, march 7th, welt, jing yuan, bronya, sampo, natasha, argenti, aventurine, dr. ratio, blade, kafka

genshin impact: kaeya, diluc, jean, albedo, childe, zhongli, xiao, ganyu, keqing, kazuha, thoma (i haven't played any quests since 2.6-ish so please keep that in mind...)

stardew valley: sebastian

jujutsu kaisen: gojo, geto, shoko, urahime, yuuta, maki

bungo stray dogs: dazai, atsushi, ranpo, chuuya, yosano, gin, higuchi, sigma

gokurakugai: alma, tao

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event taglist form linked here if you want to be tagged on all the drabbles i post for this event! everyone on my normal taglist will already be tagged!

requests for this event will close may 1st

any questions feel free to ask :* THANK YOU ALL :heart:

#nora hits 1k #thank you so much if u requested seriously i feel awful about not being able to get to all of them but i looked at the sheer amnt of things #in my inbox #and i was like Oh wow this is not getting done #even if i did 1 drabble per day it would take me a month…. this was awfulnplannning on my part #been on tumblr for years now and i STILL can’t run an event… Damn… they got my ass

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nomazee · 2 days

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THIS EVENT IS SO CUTE!!🩷🩷😭

could i req childhood best friends dan heng x reader word(s) is sneaking out if you want a timestamp, it's 11:42 p.m. thank you so much!!!

THIS REQUEST WAS SO CUTE i had way too much fun with this this hit 1.5k words which is way over the limit i set for myself... but i do not regret it at all. I LOVE CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND DAN HENG AAAA THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING

my 1k event!

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The ringing of your phone is cut off by the automated voicemail message for the nth time in a row. Your neck hurts from how long you’ve been staring up at Dan Heng’s bedroom window, where the lights are off and the curtains are drawn and he’s definitely asleep.

Anticipation makes you bounce on your feet, itching to just break into his front door and shake him awake yourself. Fortunately for Dan Heng’s family, it doesn’t quite reach that point, because your phone suddenly vibrates in your hand with Dan Heng’s contact flashing on your screen.

Incoming call. Jackpot.

“Dan Heng,” you answer the call with no formalities whatsoever, because those aren’t needed after knowing him for so long, “come outside! I’m here to pick you up.”

“What is wrong with you,” he grumbles out. The grit in his voice is endearing and familiar and makes your breath stutter. “It’s— almost midnight.”

“I know, and you’re already asleep? You’re such a senior citizen,” you hear the exhausted sigh he makes at another one of your old-man-Dan-Heng jokes. “There's a carnival tonight. Like, one of the cool ones that only open at 10 o’clock. March just texted me about it, she’s already there with Stelle!”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me earlier?” You hear shuffling, and spot movement in your peripheral vision. Craning your head up to look at his window yet again, you see the flicker of his bedside lamp being turned on (and you can already picture it from how well you know his room—that goofy-looking toucan table lamp that you got from some vintage store years ago for him), and the curtains pull back to reveal Dan Heng in all his half-asleep glory. He looks terrible, bangs sticking up and his corny galaxy-printed sleep shirt all wrinkled. It’s a charming look, though.

“I told you, March just texted me about it! Literally five minutes ago.”

“So, you ran here just to tell me about it?”

“Well, yeah, duh,” your tone is incredulous, because he should know by now that he’s the first person you go to for anything. The first person to hear about your failing grade in calculus, or your embarrassing run-in with your middle school ex girlfriend, or the bitter orange that you had as an afternoon snack. Dan Heng’s call history is probably full of your contact (which is just your name, no fun emoticons or inside jokes, and no profile picture, much to your everlasting dismay), and every call would show that he answers every single one without fail.

And, really, if you’re going to be honest with yourself (which you really hate doing), there’s a hopefulness twitching in your fingers tonight, something carried to you through the wind. You’re thinking of the carnival, about the sticky sweet snacks that you’re going to split with Dan Heng, the ferris wheel cart that you’ll be cramped in, the view of the stars from way up there and the tender way he’ll look at you.

Because he does that, sometimes, with no explanation, and you’ve never had the strength to respond in any way but a hesitant smile and a smack on his shoulder and a stupid joke. But there’s a tote bag slung around your arm now, full of money and two water bottles and the weight of your heart.

“Listen,” you tell him after a bout of his reluctant silence, “I brought you a jacket and your scarf, because I know you’re vitamin deficient and you’ll blow away in the wind unless I hold you down. It’ll be so fun if you come with me! Please? And I’ll get you home before your family notices!”

Both you and Dan Heng know that’s a lie, because you have a tendency to drag him out for long periods of time where both of you forget to check your phones. In your opinion, it does more good than harm, because it lets you live in the moment—or so you tell Dan Heng’s parents when they question you about keeping their son out past sundown.

“I’m not vitamin deficient,” Dan Heng tells you, but the argument is weakened by the fact that you’ve had to carry around a spare jacket for Dan Heng since you were both stumbling on your tiny baby legs. He must realize that, too, because you can see the way his face softens as he looks at you from his window, peering down. Despite the minimal light, you can still see the vibrant sheen of his eyes, the way that his mouth presses into a thin line to hold back a smile.

It takes only a moment of contemplation before he lets out a yielding sigh and mumbles, “Okay, fine. I’m coming downstairs to let you in and then I’ll get ready. Don’t be loud.”

“I’m never loud!”

The call ends with a click and Dan Heng slides his striped curtains closed. Circling around to get back to his front door, you made sure to be as quiet as possible and not trample his family’s gardenias. When the door opens to reveal Dan Heng’s beautiful, sleep-swollen face, an overwhelming warmth blooms in your chest and leaves your lungs dry and aching for air. The smile that appears on your face is instinctual, as most behaviors are for you around Dan Heng.

“Hi,” you whisper, really truly whisper, because he told you to be quiet and sometimes it’s good to do what Dan Heng wants (only sometimes). His lips are still tightened into that thin line, and you think, I’ll make him laugh tonight, which is a goal you’ve always set for yourself, ever since you befriended him in first grade with a paper flower and a loud, blatant, childish proclamation of best-friend-ship.

“Wait on the couch,” he directs you quietly, stepping aside to let you in. “Get a water from the fridge and pack it.”

“I already brought two for us,” the apples of your cheeks strain with the force of your smile, and you’re trying not to giggle. The water thing—that was established forever ago, too, just like the spare jacket, and staying out late, and the toucan lamp, and the paper flower. You always shared a water bottle, reminding each other and passing one between your hands until the last drops were wrung dry from it, and then you’d spend half an hour trying to find a fountain to refill it because you never packed more than two on any given day.

“Dan Heng,” you stop him with a hand on his shoulder before he can go back up the stairs to get ready in his room, and he looks back at you with the same look that you were envisioning before. The color of his eyes has gone dim, but in a fond way, in a way that tells you his breathing is even and his pulse is steady.

You take the brief moment where his attention is on you to wrap your arms around him, the sleeves of your jacket pulling him close, warm, tender to you. Your tote bag dangles awkwardly to the side, but you try not to let it stop you from squeezing him tight, letting him know you’re here, right here.

“What’s this about,” he mumbles into your shoulder, hands going up to grasp at the back of your sweatshirt and tug you just a few millimeters closer. A gentle weight sits between your hands and in your chest and you stifle a laugh into his barely-covered shoulder.

“Nothing. Just really happy you’re coming.”

“Okay,” he says, because he’s awkward and awful and so are you, but his hands still squeeze between your shoulderblades and keep you against him. A whistle of wind makes the gutters of the house creak, and you think of the stars that you’ll see from the top of the ferris wheel tonight, glinting in the sky and in Dan Heng’s eyes.

“Let me go so I can change.” His voice is monotone, seemingly disinterested, but you don’t take offense to it, you never have. Reluctantly, you loosen your grip around him, and let him pull back the rest of the way because you can’t bear to do it yourself.

The look, the glimmer, the depth of his eyes are all still there, accompanied by a new rosiness in his cheeks that you know isn’t caused by the heat of your hands or the cold wind outside. You don’t get the chance to laugh at the waver in his mouth as he fights back a small laugh, because he’s already turning back to rush up the stairs, stance wobbling as he tries to hide from his own embarrassment, and it’s so terrible and familiar and you ache with the urge to burrow into this home and make it your own.

Your phone is flooded with dozens of texts from March, you’re sure, but even as it pushes midnight, you take your sweet time walking to the carnival, fingers clasped with each other as your jacket hangs off of Dan Heng—like it always has, like it always will.

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gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @flower-yi

event taglist: @confusion-star

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

#nora hits 1k #hsr x reader #dan heng x reader #honkai star rail x reader #danheng x reader #honkai x reader #dan heng hsr x reader #dan heng drabble #hsr drabble

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nomazee · 2 days

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the concept of a "drabble" has obviously been lost on me because this last request just hit 1500 words.

#nora speaks #my horrible sense of word counts and plot development is why this event has taken me literally forever #i dont know how i was writing 400 word drabbles with such ease years ago #now im like “no.... i need more i need to write an encyclopedia” and my google docs crashes with every new page i load #this is hell but also so fun #i am going to maybe try making them shorter just so i can get through all the requests but i dont want to sacrifice quality but i dont wa #nt to take forever but also i dontzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz (the sound of me tazing myself)#dan heng drabble in t minus five minutes... i know i promised aventurine he's coming soon TRUST.

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nomazee · 2 days

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another thing i love about melodramatic reader is that not only to they feel every emotion intuitively, they broadcast them without shame to the right person. other character might complain, but reader ultimately trusts them with their grievances and monologues and rants,,,

auuughfhhhh

GWEN ur so true so real so right... melodramatic reader and their seemingly thoughtless rambling but everything they share is so deep and intimate and raw their partner doesn't even realize that they're hearing everything for a REASON... they are the most trusted person in their life and all reader's secrets and inner thoughts are safe with them no matter the sheer volume of things they share

also love the idea of a reader ONLY being dramatic around their partner and when that character asks around and is like "what do you mean they don't sit you down and make you listen to their hour-long spiel about their annoying coworkers and also what they ate for dinner and also the birds they saw on their morning walk" and everyone is like Hey that's actually JUST you

#nora answers #i love writing dramatic readers #dramatic and theatric and loud #when they get a mild cough they're writhing around in bed begging for mercy #and their partner is like “can you be normal for a minute” but they relent to reader's theatrics after exactly ten seconds #and you could ramble so exaggeratedly about every single detail of your day but they'd still remember it somehow because Of Course They Wou #like yes i find you annoying but not actually and i will care for you and listen to you always #hm... veritas ratio and dan heng... every fic i write abt them is like this #idiots in love but its one loud idiot (reader) and one oblivious reader (character)#this is how i felt writing the dan heng drabble about the reader getting drunk in belobog #“dan heng put me out of my misery” while ur clinging onto him and holding back love confessions #and he jsut makes you rinse your mouth with mouthwash because he has no clue how to address The Elephant In The Room #what an idiot.............love him forever

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nomazee · 3 days

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putting myself in a straightjacket and chains and submerging myself in a tank of water like an escape artist just to stop myself from writing another fic that has mild sickness as the main plot point

#nora speaks #sick fic my beloved #i feel like the amount of times i've actually written sickfics is lower than what i THINK it is #in my head i've written twenty dan heng drabbles about the reader being sick or crying #time to write another!#aventurine drabble tonight i think.... oh dear...... my lovely man

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nomazee · 3 days

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lay your life down and pretty

various hsr x gn!reader | wc: ~2k

In which you die (or they've already lost you).

tags/warnings: character death (reader), it's implied in dh's part but explicit and semi-graphic in hanya's, descriptions of mara and the insanity that comes with it, hardcore angst, hurt no comfort, there may be Lore Inaccuracies

notes: this was originally supposed to be four parts. i'm sorry it's only two but it's just been uhhh... hope you enjoy & thanks for the incredible support lately <3

Dan Heng makes the best pancakes.

You’ve expressed this undeniable fact to his face multiple times, louder in their progression just to see the tips of his ears burn that endearing red. These declarations are reserved for breakfast. At this time you also chide him for trying to weasel his way out of eating the most important meal of the day!

And he’d sigh, letting you hound him about food options until he’d crack under the weight of your grin and end up mixing batter at 7:30 in the morning.

(“I tried flipping them in the air once and the pancake slapped me in the face,” you’d regaled, head resting idly on your fist.

Dan Heng stared into the black of the skillet. “...Somehow, I don’t doubt it.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” you huffed.

He almost let not-quite laugh slip then, but because of his stuck-uppery, he just managed to look peeved. “I would appreciate it if you passed me the butter.”)

Instead it is around 9:00 in the morning, and Dan Heng is alone.

He’d stayed up late the night before doing some reading, causing him to oversleep and rush the process today. He’s almost burned his hand on the stove eye twice, nearly dropped an egg on the floor, and has just narrowly avoided burning the batch. Dan Heng is not clumsy (not like you were), and he is painfully aware that he is late.

After he plates the food, the oven clock reads 9:19. He gathers everything, including two sets of utensils and one awkward wad of napkins - before setting the table by heart. Your plate goes in front of the chair closest to the window, and his goes in front of the one adjacent to yours.

The rhythm of distributing each item eventually leaves him with empty hands. Everything is ready, but there is still something colossal missing from the scene.

Dan Heng stares hard at your empty seat before taking his own.

The pancakes are blackened around the edges, but it’s nothing a good heaping portion of syrup can’t fix, and the smell that wafts upward is sweet and inviting. The sun’s rays shining in from the outside world paint the kitchen in flecks of light that occasionally catch on his arm when he brings his fork to his mouth.

Resigned, his silverware clatters noisily to the table.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, “I’m sorry that I was late.”

Predictably, there’s no response. Dan Heng’s throat feels like it’s closing up on him, and the syrup definitely isn’t helping. He dabs his mouth with his napkin for a good long while.

He is sorry. It wasn’t enough that he’d stayed up late the night before, but that he deliberately kept glancing at the clock and counting the hours until daylight arrived - reminding himself that if he drifted off, the next day would come much sooner.

He isn’t the type to procrastinate either. Even when you’re not here anymore, you seem to have a profound effect on his character. Dan Heng pinches the bridge of his nose. The sound of his voice echoing off the walls of the lonely kitchen is unwelcome. “Happy birthday.”

It’s strained, imperfect, and painful; which only serves to remind him of your insistence on celebrating his birthday as well. You had practically prostrated yourself at his feet, begging him to let you fuss over him - even if it made his vision hazy and palms sweaty. He needs to return the favor, even if the mere idea of another important date passing him up without you makes him want to hide.

So here he is.

Here he is, floundering terribly, missing you terribly, loving you terribly. Dan Heng wrenches his hand from its secure position in his lap to drum on the table.

“I got you something,” he says. “I… I didn’t know which color you’d prefer more, so…”

You’d tease him into an early grave if you were able to see the knitted oven mitt he’d picked out over two months ago. It’s an almost hideous shade of teal that he’s sure you’d love, especially since you forced him to bake with you regularly.

(He was shopping with March 7th when he’d seen it and then reflexively dumped it into his basket. His companion only asked him if he was planning on using it as kindling for the fireplace.)

Dan Heng closes his eyes and slides it over to your placement. For a second, he almost fools himself into thinking you might magically appear to brush fingers when you accept the gift with a bright smile. He has no such luck.

Your breakfast is getting colder, and there’s nothing to be done today; his friends, as much as he can say he appreciates them - also meddle quite a bit. His schedule was mysteriously cleared up and he was gently encouraged to go home and take the day off. The feeling of three pairs of eyes drilling holes into his back as he complied was a bit too potent to be coincidental.

So he sits there and pretends he’s eating with you for as long as he can. The stutters in the familiar rhythm that comes with today are things he can smooth out over time, even if it feels like a betrayal to you. You would never see it like that, which is why he can even live in a home without you in it at all.

(The oven mitt rests beside your full plate until the afternoon, because he cannot bring himself to clean up just yet. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready to.)

Dan Heng is not a man who can afford to hope, but he’s already been in debt since the moment of his birth. If just one of his prayers is granted, he hopes it’s the one he runs through his mind every night:

In the next life, please let us cross paths again. And if there’s room for it, please let me love you for as long as I can.

He’s never been one for optimism, but it’s all he looks forward to.

Hanya’s hands cradle the expanse of your face.

Her fingers ghost over any healthy glow remaining in your cheeks. You’re slipping, rightfully so, but does it make her a monster if she wants to claw and rifle through the sands of time to search for any universe where you were spared from this cruel fate?

(She thinks it does.)

You can’t get the words out, but there’s a resigned film that glazes over your eyes - one that tells her that she needn’t lie about where you’ll be going. Your mouth forms silent syllables punctuated by wheezes that will surely send her careening under the depths of the unconscious at record speed.

“Han.. ya,” you croak, “Stay.”

“I will,” she promises, because she needs to - over and over, until you remember it always, even when you’re gone. Even when you’re suffering through the last moments of your fledgling life. “I will remain here.”

Her duty as a Judge of the Ten-Lords Commission is to oversee life and death on the Xianzhou. When Hanya drifts aimlessly like a spectre between inky darkness and blinding daylight, it has occasionally struck her that one day she might have to oversee yours.

Presently, your mind is being swallowed by the maw of mara, a madness that she’s all too familiar with; faced with her dull countenance, she must have witnessed thousands succumb to the fate of infernal life.

“D-Don’t cry,” you beseech. There isn’t much time until you’re no longer Hanya’s secret reprieve, but instead a writhing abomination - and she only has herself to blame. Had she not embraced you so tightly, would you be free of this curse? Would you still be smiling and dragging her by the hand through Exalting Sanctum?

“I will not send you there,” she breathes, “You are not deserving of—”

The agonizing cry you let out next is still beautiful. Even now you can mitigate the emptiness that’s dug its claws in her heart so deep that it’s become symbiotic with the organ. However, instead of the empty, Hanya feels its distant relative: the pins and needles. The hollow white noise crackles until she’s pierced with an arsenal of skeletal knives.

She could take it, and she would take it, if it meant that you weren’t about to die and then awaken again as a monster that desecrates the very concept of you.

She releases your now matching tear-stricken cheeks before seizing both of your arms. The thrashing has crept in, meaning that there isn’t much time before you start sprouting leaves and weeds like a statue abandoned by its devotees.

A sharp inhale through clenched teeth. “You have… to. M’gonna hurt—” you convulse in her grasp, “—somebody...”

Of course you’re worrying about others right now. Kindness is a relic of the past that you’ve somehow managed to exhume, restore to its full glory, and gift to Hanya like she deserves to touch others’ lives in the same way you have.

Every shopkeep knows your name, face, voice, and smile. Your warmth is infectious - even before she knew you in person, she knew of you by word of mouth. Xueyi had told her that the reason Huohuo was so resolute in her duties lately was because of “the person who defeated a bunch of reprobate hooligan bullies tormenting her”.

If her big sister held you in high regard, she figured you were one she wouldn’t mind exchanging greetings with if you ever crossed paths. However, the thing about you is that you always give more than you take; you too eventually gave her your smile over tea, your opinion on her writing, and a perspective from the light she usually only smothers upon first contact.

It seems that it was just a matter of time before Hanya extinguished you.

“You are not ready,” she begs pitifully, “You are not!”

She knows it’s never about being ready. Bad things always happen to good people - to sons, daughters, friends, big sisters, and lovers.

Lovers.

The word is foreign on the tip of her tongue. It’s strange to be actualized and even stranger to ascribe that label to your relationship, but Hanya doesn’t know what else to think when the knives stab her over and over to the elegy of I love you, I love you, I love you.

The trek from Fyxestroll Garden to the Alchemy Commission is sizable. The Dragon Lady could see you and do her best, but she’s seen where that’s led; best efforts gone to waste, inconsolable loved ones given false hope because they were too stubborn to let go.

Is that what she is? Too stubborn to let you go, even when she’s brought this karma upon you?

(Yes, something ugly whispers, this is your penance. Now it’s theirs too.)

“I...” you let out a strangled groan, and when your chest jerks upwards, it barely registers that you brush your lips against hers. There’s tears and snot everywhere, and you’re getting stronger - too strong for her to hold. Hanya’s forearms ache with the strain as gingko leaves begin to ravage your humanity and rip you apart.

The transformation process is cruel, but she promised to remain by your side. Twigs protrude from your neck, nestled between thorny brambles that poke and prod. You are not a Cloud Knight, so your screams aren’t muffled by armor - or muted by the numbness she feels when dealing with other cases.

It’s too real, it’s too much, and it’s not enough.

Drowned out by the previous mantra of I love you, the background vocals of I’m so sorry peter off into whispers that are soon lost among the sickening squelch of Xueyi’s blade cutting through you in one clean motion. The tip of the sword rests over Hanya’s heart, stained with your blood.

“...That’s not them anymore,” her sister says. It’s off-kilter, the way her brow is furrowed in a silent apology.

One can only hope.

taglist: @flower-yi, @moineauz, @aphrodict, @nomazee

#nora recs #oh my everliving god #i have no words #gwen you are evil but also a literary master #the use of past tense in “Dan Heng is not clumsy (not like you WERE)” oh just kioll ME KIL ME AAAAA #the misery of repeating the same domestic tasks over and over even though the person you love isn't there any more #trying to get into a routine even though it will never be the same #oh m god.. making panckaes on the reader's bday but theyre DEAD... im ... sick.... to my stomach #and the oven mitt #gifts to the dead to continue their memory #I'M ILL #hanya's part actually shattered me from ths inside out oh my gdo #i think that death by mara is actually the most tragic thing ever #and the way you wrote it is heartbreaking #literally cradling ur loved one as they turn into something inhuman #and xueyi having to kill them bc hanya couldnt #this is SICKENING IM SICK #“this is your penance. Now it's theirs too.”#im bedridden #words cannot explain how beautifully you wrote this entire thing oh my god like the grief and the agony is palpable #BEAUTIFUL WRITING YET AGAIN.

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nomazee · 3 days

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hii nora!!! just wanted to drop by and inform you for the taglist i've changed my url from hanyi-writes to flower-yi<3

HI HANYIII THANK U FOR LETTING ME KNOW!!! i love ur new url omg and ur whole blog theme is gorgeous

#nora answers #IT HAS BEEN UPDATED INN THE TAGLIST!!!#jealous of ur blog theme it’s beautiful

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nomazee · 4 days

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thinking about aventurine again….. ouuughzzzzzzz….. aventurine……. hallo aventurine……

#nora speaks #save me from this endless cycle #he’s just a guy hes my favorite guy #i’m…… tire d…. i love you aventurneeeZzzzzz #i rolled for him and got him in one ten pull #ooohu😭😭😭😭😭😭😭ausghhaszzzzz😭😭😭😭😭

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nomazee · 4 days

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Hello, congratulations on your milestone! 🎉

May I have (for the mix-and-match 😚) Dr.Ratio and the word-concept "bathtub"? 🫢

Take your time! ❤️❤️

this one was fun to write too (as per usual with ratio) i've written for dr ratio so much in the last two weeks i think i am becoming him.... Im slowly morphing into veritas ratio please save me... THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING this was lovely :3

my 1k event!

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“No way. You take bubble baths with a rubber duck?”

Veritas freezes for no longer than a millisecond before whipping his head around to see you in the doorway of the bathroom. He’d been relaxing just moments ago, sinking into the hot water with his eyes closed, and yes there was a rubber duck in the bath with him but that was not by choice. It just happened to be there when he ran the bath, and he opens his mouth to argue but is quickly cut off by your endless rambling.

“Anyways, I came to wash your hair. One of your assistants told me you just left in the middle of your usual work hours, and I thought, ‘wow, how odd, the Ratio I know would never do that!’ And then I thought, what better way to cheer my dear friend up than keep him company and wash his hair! It did look a little greasy today.”

“I am not your dear friend,” he argues mockingly, but the bite in his voice falls short when you circle around the bath and set down your paraphernalia on the tiles next to you (a microfiber hair towel, shampoo, conditioner, some miscellaneous hair foams and sprays that he really does not trust you with). “You are the most insufferable person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Get out of my bathroom.”

“This is our bathroom now, Ratio. We’re a community, you and me.”

“It’s ‘you and I.’”

“Exactly! You and I, a community. You’re getting the hang of it now.”

Veritas sighs, surrendering any potential of a relaxing evening to your whims. This is, unfortunately, how it usually goes, and he has yet to make a real effort to stop it. A voice in the back of his head taunts him because at his core, he has zero desire to stop it at all.

“Come on,” you keep babbling, threading your fingers roughly through his already-damp hair. It’s not a pleasant sensation at all, and he winces and holds back a pained yelp. “It’s kind of like going to a spa, or whatever. I’m trying to pamper you. Be grateful!”

“There’s nothing to be grateful about when you’re trying to scalp me,” he could push your hands away easily, bat you off and make you leave. Instead, though, he gives you a minute to tame your inelegant movements into something gentler. He hears the sound of a bottle uncapping, and then your hands are back on his scalp, lathering honey-scented shampoo into the layers of his hair.

“Is this better?” you ask cheekily, tracing circles in his hair, digging your fingertips in and scratching just a little bit, hard enough to feel it but light enough that it’s still soothing. Veritas sighs through his nose, deep and heavy and sinking back into the water. There’s no mocking retorts, no quips, no sarcastic tone, just the even cycle of his breathing and the rhythm of his heartbeat thudding in his ears. If he tries hard enough, focuses enough, he can hear yours too, but it makes his stomach twist with an uncomfortable, unnameable feeling.

In your bundle of things that you brought, there’s an empty plastic cup, and you use it to scoop water from the tub and rinse the foam from his hair. Veritas feels wholly exposed, for obvious reasons among others, and the urge to kick you out still sits heavy in his chest. Right next to it is a warmth, though, something holding his sensibility hostage, something that finds this more comforting than it would be if he’d sat in the bath until the water went cold, all alone, without your hands washing his hair clean of oil and grime and the weight of his research.

You break him of his reverie, but the sudden sound of your voice isn’t as intrusive as he anticipated. “You know, you should start using this oil thing for your hair, I got it from one of my coworkers,” by now, his hair is completely rid of any remaining shampoo, and your hands are rubbing a thin layer of conditioner into the ends of each strand, “and it’s supposed to help your hair grow. I think you’d look great with long hair, Veritas, don’t you agree?”

“What, do you think about that often?” It’s supposed to be something snarky, something to shut you down before you dig too deep, but you never catch the hint—it’s your best and worst quality.

“Maybe,” you admit, heft in your words, a density that needs to be cut open and examined. He’s good at that—good at looking and prying, but he’s the worst if he’s next to you. You’re nowhere near as thorough of a researcher as him, but he thinks (with a sense of embarrassment) that when the subject is him, you’re the most qualified person around. “Wouldn’t it be nice? With your hair all down to your shoulders, maybe. And if you really think it’s a hassle to take care of, I’ll just do it for you.”

He’s perfectly capable of taking care of his own hair, thank you very much, but the idea of having you wash it for him, brush out the tangles in it every other day is appealing to a starving man like Veritas. He aches, and the skin at the nape of his neck itches.

“You’re saying nonsense,” he says, and he can feel the way his brow has tightened and he instinctively goes to chew at the dead skin on his lips. “My hair is perfectly fine the way it is.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you respond, “just giving you options.” Your hands finally leave his hair, and suddenly the water in the bathtub feels frigid and icy, and Veritas represses a shiver. “Your hair is squeaky clean. Now, get out of the bathroom! It’s my turn to hang out with the rubber duck.”

“Would you—?!” Veritas turns to glare at you, but the impish grin on his face makes him falter. You’re incorrigible. “The duck isn’t mine! And you have your own bathroom. Stop invading my space.”

“Sigh,” you say aloud, because you’re corny and theatrics are written into every part of your personality. “Oh, grandest Ratio, I really did think we were friends, but you wound me so deeply! All this time has meant nothing to you! All this new shampoo that I bought just for you, gone to waste…”

“For gods’ sake,” he mutters, reaching for a set of pajamas that you’d so conveniently taken from his own dressers and brought with you while on your mission to wash his hair. “Turn around so I can get dressed and then you can use the bathroom. So annoying.”

“Not annoying enough to kick me out, though,” you say, and you’re completely right, and Veritas will admit that one day, but certainly not today.

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @hanyi-writes

#reblog

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nomazee · 5 days

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i was stuck in a 40 minute long unskippable cutscene and had my entire body shattered like glass from the amount of information dropped on top of my head like an anvil

there were probably a million other instances where i shouldve taken a picture but these two made me want to rip each follicle of hair off of my head and scream oh my god "get on stage fear not never look back" while he just had to look at his past child self and listen to him talk about his family oh my god stomebody just ... save me... already

also the last scene with sam and firefly. what the hell was that. you can't just leave me like that with no other information and then tell me "to be continued." GIVE ME AN UPDATE??? OH MY ACTUAL GOD???

okay confession time i actually have yet to completely finish the 2.1 hsr story update and i think im almost at the end and this is really emotional why did i almost CRY

#nora speaks #also do not get me started on gallagher #and that whole last scene #i dont wanna hear it #this is sick #my mouth was wide open in shock for all forty minutes like this was insane #i spent a quarter of that time going “NO I DONT WANNA FIGHT HIM DONT MAKE ME” until i was scooped up by the omnipresent shovel of fate #and thrown into the bucket of worms that is the aventurine fight #the worms ate me #i was eaten by the worms infact

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nomazee · 5 days

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i actually don't wanna confront aventurine i actually dont want to do it PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE AAA GET ME OUT GET OUT OH MY GOD GET ME OUT OF HERE

okay confession time i actually have yet to completely finish the 2.1 hsr story update and i think im almost at the end and this is really emotional why did i almost CRY

#nora speaks #this is hell #hell on earth

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nomazee · 5 days

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okay confession time i actually have yet to completely finish the 2.1 hsr story update and i think im almost at the end and this is really emotional why did i almost CRY

#okay spoilers in the tGs DO NOT READ IF YOU DIDNT FINISH 2.1 #okay i’m like #no this is really sad guys hello can you hear me #i love aventurine he makes me so sad i am so upset #o think i’m about to have to beat his ass #and i don’t wanna do it #the whole sequence with him following his past and future self around #why don’t you just gut and scale me like a fish #i’m tired.#nora speaks

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nomazee · 5 days

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Hello, congratulations on your milestone! 🎉

May I have (for the mix-and-match 😚) Dr.Ratio and the word-concept "bathtub"? 🫢

Take your time! ❤️❤️

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

“No way. You take bubble baths with a rubber duck?”

“This is our bathroom now, Ratio. We’re a community, you and me.”

“It’s ‘you and I.’”

“Exactly! You and I, a community. You’re getting the hang of it now.”

“You’re saying nonsense,” he says, and he can feel the way his brow has tightened and he instinctively goes to chew at the dead skin on his lips. “My hair is perfectly fine the way it is.”

“Would you—?!” Veritas turns to glare at you, but the impish grin on your face makes him falter. You’re incorrigible. “The duck isn’t mine! And you have your own bathroom. Stop invading my space.”

“Not annoying enough to kick me out, though,” you say, and you’re completely right, and Veritas will admit that one day, but certainly not today.

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @hanyi-writes

#nora hits 1k #veritas ratio x reader #dr ratio x reader #ratio x reader #dr. ratio x reader #hsr x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #veritas x reader #oh veritas my beautiful annoying obnoxious scholarly man

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nomazee · 7 days

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i want u guys to know that if you want to chat with me in my inbox u can.... Im like an open door and if u walk through you might get a surprise (ie mindless babbling)

#i had a five second flashback to when people would send me an influx of anon messages back in like #2020... dear god #this blog is too old #i must delete it (i wont)#im like a toddler rolling around on the carpet and pounding my fists and yellling “PLAY WITH ME!!!”#and the playing in question is my tumblr inbox #anyways #new ratio drabble coming out tonight! everybody get hyped.... im just... a bit of a ratio fan i suppose...#just a little...#nora speaks

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nomazee · 8 days

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hello, could I request a model! Dan Heng x fashion designer! Reader? Here’s some keywords if they might help, tiredness, praise, warmth, try-on. The timestamp is 17:57, thank you so much!

as always i had too much fun with this... i love the idea of model dan heng but i still made him an awkward wet rag in this one (because i love him) THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!!!

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

You greet Dan Heng with your usual warm smile and a “hey, love” that never fails to fluster him. He’s heard it from you a handful of times now, visiting your studio a few times a week at your request for fittings and some brainstorming sessions. He thinks that the frequency and timing of his visits is definitely unnecessary from a professional standpoint, but he’s not planning on bringing that up any time soon. Not when your hands are so kind, light on his shoulders as you guide him through your studio.

“I started on the pieces that I showed you the sketches for, um, last week, was it? I’m kind of losing track of time.” Dan Heng wouldn’t tell you out loud, but he can tell. There’s a huge table in the center of the room, and he can barely see its surface beneath all the cut fabric and tracing paper and tangled thread from your serger. For someone working under deadline after deadline, you’re handling yourself better than he would, but he still can’t help the heat of concern flickering in the crease of his brow.

This is your debut show, he knows as much. So he won’t meddle with your workflow. Only hope that you can somehow pick up the signals that he’s sending you to please sit down and maybe drink water?

“I need you to try them on,” you tell him, a gentle command as you hand him a hanger draped in silky fabrics and delicate laces. “There’s pants and a lace shirt. I’ll turn around while you change, but you need to be wearing pretty much nothing underneath these, if that’s okay. And then I’ll hem your pants—let me get you some shoes…” you’re trailing off, passing the clothes to him before turning around in a rush to find him a pair of heeled boots.

The fabric is— it’s nice. The pants are some kind of silky, lustrous material, dark blue and cool on his skin, and the shirt is embarrassingly sheer but you’ve seen him in and out of clothes in the last month often enough that he can’t really be too sheepish about it now. What does make him flush, however, is the look on your face as you turn around to stare at him, black heeled shoes forgotten in your hands as your eyes flit across Dan Heng’s form.

He can hear the soft breaths that you take, no more labored than usual, but it feels so intimate and so quiet that his palms grow damp. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he waits for you to— say something, anything, tell him to take it off and go home or maybe stay, instead. The back of his neck feels itchy and he’s pretty sure you haven’t blinked yet.

“The, um. It looks…” you’re trailing off, again, but you’re also walking towards him until you’re so close he can hear your breathing even more distinctly than before, along with the rustling of your own clothes as you lift up a hand to play with the ornamented collar of his shirt. “The color is nice on you. It’s different from the other pieces I’ve made you try, right?”

Dan Heng only has enough strength to nod in response, the rest of his energy taken away by the feeling of your finger tips on the soft, pliant skin beneath his jaw. He’s sweating— so much, it must be gross, but he can see you chewing the inside of your cheek as you drag your fingers to the seam on the shoulder.

“I was thinking a sash around the waist, but I don’t think it suits this outfit. Maybe I can add something like that to the pieces from last week, though.” And you’re back to your usual self, much to his dismay. Your rambling is endearing and tender, but your previously weighted gaze has now lightened, focused on the waist of his pants and the hand-sewn hook-and-bar closure, and Dan Heng misses having it trained on him. You’ve never been this close, this warm, this focused on him in particular, and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to fight the urge to take your hands between his own.

“Dan Heng,” you say his name, breaking him out of his anxious reverie with a quiet call. “You have a lot on your plate for this show. You have three outfit changes, which can be a lot, but I know you’re capable. Do you know you’re capable?”

He wants to say this is silly, that you’re the last person who should be telling anybody else that they have a lot on their plate, considering that you’re sewing more than a dozen garments all on your own, with no assistants besides your in-and-out mentors who rarely find time to help. He says none of that, though, because your gaze is trained on his again and he’s busy hoping you don’t notice all the little involuntary twitches in his face.

“Yeah, I’m— I know.”

You smile, again, something saccharine and addictive and he wants to chase it, over and over and over. “Good. You’re my favorite model, you know. It’s important that you’re ready.”

Dan Heng could say a million things. He could say this is unprofessional, or joke and say that he’s currently one of your only models, or tell you that he’s always ready as long as he’s wearing something put together by you and your hands alone. Instead, he nods like a fool, stumbling over a weak “okay” and trying to ignore the way his stomach twists when you laugh a little.

“I’ll be doing your makeup for the show, too. I hope you don’t mind that. I just wanted to do something specific for you,” and it’s hit after hit with you, and his throat squeezes again because you’re still smiling and talking all about him like he’s your prized gift, and he really really doesn’t hate it. “You trust me with an eyeliner pen, right?”

His mouth is dry, but he forces himself to joke back before you kick him out for being so awkward. “I trust you with a needle more than I trust you with a makeup brush.” And you laugh, and his stomach still hurts but the tightness of his mouth loosens up into a diffident smile. It’s just a joke, really, because he wouldn’t mind you handling a brush against his face, or the gentle press of your fingers on his cheeks and on top of his eyelids, or the awestruck look you give him every time he tries something on, or the weight of your hands on his shoulders when you drag him around your studio.

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @hanyi-writes

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

#nora hits 1k #dan heng x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #danheng x reader #dan heng hsr x reader #hsr dan heng x reader #i have been progressively going more and more over the 1k word limit i set for myself

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nomazee · 8 days

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please trust that if u sent a request for my event it will get done 🙏🙏 I AM POWERING THROGUH

#i think there was like 30 requests total #I WILL GET THEM DONE #and requests for the even t are still open don’t worry #be patient with my weary soul #i’m having fun though there’s so many dan heng ones it’s like the dan heng hivemind came together #i love you dan heng from honkai star rail #nora speaks

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nomazee · 10 days

Note

The empath in me is saying you might in fact like dr ratio Correct me if i’m wrong …

Um hello! Is the 1k event thingy still up?? If so I would like to request a classmate! Dr ratio x reader at 2:47 am?

it's actually sickening how much fun i had with this i was giggling at my own jokes while typing this out... this was so fun to write THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!!

my 1k event!

—°+..｡ﾟ｡ﾟ+.*.｡.—

A blaring, aggravating, shrill sound wakes you up. Your hands go to cover your ears, protecting your sanity from the noise ringing somewhere from the tangle of sheets on your bed. Hands flailing around desperately to find the source of the piercing chimes, you writhe around in agony until you finally latch onto your phone.

The brightness of the screen digs into your corneas as you lift up the device to see the caller ID of whoever had the guts to bother you on a school night.

It comes to no surprise that the caller name reads “VERITAS FUCKING RATIO” in all caps with no contact photo. Your eye twitches and the grip on your phone tightens, just a hair away from leaving finger-shaped dents in the metal.

Begrudgingly, you answer the call, tucking the phone next to your ear with nothing less than displeasure. “Veritas. Why are you calling me at—” you pull your phone back to check, “—almost three in the morning?”

“The works cited page,” Veritas Fucking Ratio informs you matter-of-factly. There’s no hint of sleepiness in his voice, nothing that could possibly chip away at his good image, of course. “You did it in the wrong format. It’s supposed to be APA. This is a science project, not a literature project.”

You might kill him. The project in question is to be presented tomorrow— today at ten in the morning. Ratio and you had been working on it for an entire two weeks, broken up into intermittent hour-long sessions because he was adamant that you split up the work instead of rushing to do it all the night before. Stupid self-righteous gorgeous beautiful academic genius-freak. Yeah, it definitely helped you in the long run, but he acted so sanctimonious about it that you refused to admit the benefits.

“Veritas,” you imbue the syllables of his name with poison, as much as you can when you’re swaying as you sit up on your bed and fighting demons to not fall back asleep. “This is such an easily-fixed thing. Do you know what time it is right now? Why are you even awake? You know, I am supposed to get a full seven hours of sleep every night, and I was already cutting it short today, and you woke me up before I could even hit REM sleep. Do you know how upsetting this is? Fix the goddamn works cited yourself!”

For once, Veritas is at a loss for words. The other end of the line is so quiet that you have to double check and make sure he hasn’t just hung up on you. Perspiration builds on your palms, thinking that this is it—this is the exact moment that you make Veritas-Fucking-Ratio snap and delete your name off the project credit slide, and you’re going to get a 0 because he will wipe off any evidence of your work from this plane of existence, and you will spend the rest of your measly life chasing after your MLA-turned-APA works cited page, too-little-too-late.

“I’m awake because the— well.” He pauses, and his voice sounds so far away and unobtrusive that you’re almost worried. Your breath stills in the middle of your diaphragm. Waiting. “The works cited is one thing. But I wanted you to look at the slides, if you can.”

If you can, he says, as if he’s giving you a choice, which he literally never has during this entire process. You had no role in choosing the topic, or the slide theme, or what days you worked on the project, or how often you worked on the project (because god forbid you procrastinate a little bit, right?!), but now, at almost three in the morning, Veritas is saying something along the lines of oh please my dearest project partner, I request that you open the Google Slides at once, but only if you would like to! I would never infringe on your free will at three in the morning, because I respect you as a partner. Or something like that. That was pretty much the gist of it.

A raspy sigh escapes you, and you claw your busted laptop off the nightstand next to you, opening it up and squinting at the LED screen as you punch in your passcode. “You know, I have done a good job at going along with all of your whims, Veritas, the least you could do is fix the works cited for me. Seriously, how did you even miss that? You’re so detail-oriented, but you didn't even realize the format was wrong until tonight? Who even cares, seriously… it’s just a slideshow…”

Your voice trails off as the slideshow presentation finally loads in. You see Veritas’ default profile picture blink in the upper right-hand corner, signaling that he’s viewing the slideshow with you. The slideshow which has apparently undergone a huge makeover.

It’s—pleasant to look at. This entire time, you and Veritas had been editing a default, white-background black-serif-font-text slideshow. He refused to change it, telling you that it’s unprofessional to do anything too embellished, to which you fruitlessly said, Veritas, we will die early deaths because of the hole in the ozone layer, would you at least make it easier on my poor soul by letting me choose a pokemon-theme slide? Veritas had pretended like he couldn't hear you (in a very quiet library room, mind you), but the twitch in his brow gave him away.

Now, though, the slides are decorated. It’s a really nice theme, complete with custom icons and graphic blobs of color—your favorite color, might you add. It’s—pretty. Dare you say, cute, but you think Veritas would vaporize your entire presentation if you called it cute.

“Did you— this— did you pay for this slide theme?”

“You— n— mn,” he trails off into an unintelligible mash of mumbling, and you hear a loud THUD that sounds awfully like the phone being thrown onto a mattress. Fabric shuffles around, before you hear Veritas’ voice again, clear and composed. “Sorry. I dropped my phone.” What a loser, and a liar, and an endearing freak. You really wish he video called you because you need to see his totally-very-ugly face.

“I thought this was unprofessional, Veritas,” you say teasingly, a smile lining your words as you try not to giggle right into the phone. “What made you have a change of heart?”

“Nothing,” the typical firmness of his voice has returned, much to your dismay. “The works cited is still wrong. You have to fix it.”

“Oh, whatever you say, honored Ratio,” you open up your trusty citation-generator, ready for a long fifteen minutes of copying and pasting information. “Hey, you must be free after class tomorrow, right? Since the project is pretty much over, right?”

“Yes,” Veritas answers after a moment of hesitation, only a hint of doubt in his voice.

“That’s great. Keep your schedule clear, then.”

(You fix the works cited slide, wish Veritas sweet dreams, and then wake up in the morning to completely ace your presentation. The minute the period ends, you drag him out of the classroom and into a coffee shop, paying for some five dollar pastry and joking that it’s payback for the cute slideshow theme that he definitely paid five dollars for. Veritas is an awful liar, and you tell him that, and he can’t even find the strength to deny it.)

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

#HI HANYI #thank you for your keyboard smashes i want you to know i smiled a little too hard when i saw ur reblog and i pulled a muscle in my face #laughing and giggling to myself as i see that i roped in all of you dr ratio likers (myself included)

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