#cookie writes
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"I don't want to talk about this." Kim doesn't have anyone he can talk to about this.
Porsche takes three shot glasses out from behinds the bar and lines them up. Fills each. "Drink," he orders.
Kim side-eyes the glasses. Looks around the bar; near-empty at this hour.
He drinks, one after the other. It burns going down.
"I'm still not talking about it," he says.
"I know." Porsche pulls a single shot for himself. Kim admires his restraint. Then again, only one of them can afford to get laid out, and Porsche has decided it's going to be Kim.
Kim taps one of the glasses, and Porsche obliges him with two more pours. By the time he sets the second face down on the bar top, he feels it. Warmth in his face and cotton in his head. He can convince himself he's barely tipsy, so long as he doesn't move his head, because then the earth tips out from under him. Tipsy.
"Ready to talk about it?"
"Ask me."
"Are you trying to sleep with my baby brother?"
Kim hums. Shakes his head. Regrets it. "Nope, not ready."
Porsche whistles, impressed, and pours another shot.
"You're going to be so fucked up tomorrow."
The six shots Kim sucked down slam him twenty minutes later. He should have expected it; Porsche probably did, and that's why he's laughing at Kim now, snapping pictures of him slumped over the bar and moaning in misery, offering no comfort. It was Porsche's idea to get him loose-lipped with truth serum in the form of alcohol, but Kim let him do it, so it was his fault, really.
Once Porsche has gotten enough blackmail material to last a lifetime, he closes up the bar, then drags Kim over to a booth so they can talk.
"So. Porchay."
"Porchay," Kim agrees, a lyrical slur into his arms.
"You wanna tell me what's going on there?"
"I like him s'much. He's so, so-mmm, good, he's good, and nice, and..." Kim trails off, mumbling something incoherent. "Kissed him."
"What?"
"I kissed him. On his face. I missed. He smells s'good. I wanna kiss 'im again."
Porsche laughs. "Are you trying to sleep with him?"
"Mmmno. Maybe?" Kim tries to push himself upright, and only manages to slump enough enough that he can side-eye Porsche as he says, "Dunno how."
"What?"
"Are you gonna be mad?"
"Probably not. What do you mean, you don't know how?" Kim makes a miserable sound. His eyes are fever-bright, and his cheeks are flushed, and Porsche is pretty sure it's not just from the alcohol. Kim buries his face back in his arms to hide. "Kim, are you-?"
"No." He waves a hand at Porsche. "Kinda."
"Kinda."
"You know."
Porsche does know, but he a mean part of him wants to make Kim say it, because he's an asshole, and bullying little brothers is what he does. He's definitely not going to bully Chay about this, his poor brother would die. So he can harass his own boyfriend's younger brother instead. He relents, though, because Kim looks all kinds of pitiful and sad when he next surfaces from the sanctuary of his arms. Scratch that, he looks distressed.
"I think I want to, I do, I want it - but I haven't - and Chay - I don't want to - what if I'm not-"
"Take a deep breath, kiddo." Kim does. "What, you're afraid of disappointing him?" A small nod, and Kim looks so young, and nervous, that it pulls at Porsche's heart. "Aww. You couldn't."
"Yuh-huh," Kim mumbles.
"Nah. Trust me. That kid is so gone on you." This makes Kim smile. Bright and beautiful and bigger than Porsche has ever seen. In person, at least.
"I love him so much."
"Yeah?" Porsche knows for a fact that Kim has not told Chay as much. He already knows how smitten Kim is, and has for a while - it's why they're having this conversation at all, because Kim is over his head in love, and doesn't know what to do about it, and God forbid he talk about it sober - but the confirmation is nice to hear.
"I gotta - gotta tell him." Kim squirms around until he successfully gets his phone out of his pocket, pushing at the buttons on his lock screen in an unsuccessful attempt to open it. Porsche careful reaches across and take it from him.
"Hey, no, absolutely not. The first time Chay hears that from you is not going to be in the middle of your drunken ranting. He deserves better than that."
Doesn't mean he won't want to know about it later, though, which is why Porsche has had his phone on and recording this entire exchange. He'll save it for their wedding.
"I'll write him a song," Kim declares. "I'll write so many songs, a whole album. all about him, I'll-I'll-" He seemingly loses his train of thought, patting around the table like he's looking for something. Probably a pen. Porsche helpfully hands him one, and Kim latches onto it, scribbling lyrics into a napkin. Porsche can't wait to see what he comes up with later.
"Why haven't you talked to him?" Porsche gently prompts, interrupting his creative flow. He's pretty sure whatever lyrics Kim is coming up with right now are nonsensical anyway.
"Afraid."
"Oh what? Of him rejecting you? Because that's impossible."
Kim shakes his head, looks like he's about to throw up, manages not to. "The other thing."
"What other thing?"
"Him wanting me." Except Chay does want Kim, and Kim has to know it. He's not blind. Porsche tells him as much, and Kim shakes his head, says, "He thinks so, because he doesn't have me. But if he does, and he doesn't want me anymore, because I don't, I don't..."
Porsche thinks Kim might say, I don't know how to be loved, and it breaks his heart. He slides around the booth so he can pull Kim into his side, and tries not to react when Kim bursts into tears. He didn't know Kim knew how to cry.
"Chay's so good, he's everything, and I'm not, I'm not, I don't-"
"Hey, hey, stop that. Calm down, it's okay, you're okay. Come on, what's all this?" Porsche ruffles his hair and laughs. "You're Wik! You're Khimhan Theerapanyakul.
Kim wheezes, "Not good," and Porsche crushes him in a one-armed hug that Kim doesn't even try to fight.
"Good enough for my little brother. Kay? Trust me, I'm the expert, and I'm giving you my blessing. So pull yourself together."
"Nnng?"
"Yeah, idiot, I'm giving you my permission to defile Chay."
"I wanna hold his hand and kiss his cheek and take him on a date. A real date. Imma get him flowers. What kind of flowers does he like?"
"He's allergic."
"Oh."
"But you can still do the other stuff."
"Oh." Another brilliant smile. "Yay."
"But before that..." Porsche waits for Kim to put it together, but he doesn't, blinking up at Porsche with his big brown eyes and waiting for direction. Porsche finishes the thought. "You have to talk to him first."
"Oh. Not yay."
"Hey, at least you already know what the answer's gonna be." Porsche cuffs his shoulder. "Do it for Chay, so you can have all that filthy hand-holding and cheek kisses and dates."
-
The next day greets Kim with the worst hangover he's had in his life, his body violently rejecting every ounce of alcohol he forced into it. When he can stop throwing up long enough to string together a coherent thought, he texts Porsche to inform him he's the worst person alive, his ideas are horrible, Kim is never trusting him again, and he's going to kill him the next time he sees him, just for good measure. His body hurts in ways he didn't know were possible, and it's Porsche's fault, and vengeance will be had. Just as soon as he can walk again.
Drink plenty of fluids! Porsche cheerfully replies. And don't forget to talk to Chay. Or else I'm sending him the video of you last night.
Well.
Fuck.
#cookie writes#kimchay#this is so stupid#but I love the idea that Kim really DOES want to talk but he CANT#physically CAN NOT#so Porsche is like hey what if we get you drunk#and Kim is like bet#anyway#Kim goes to see Chay the next day and he looks like a wet cat#Porsche is like are you really going to confess to him like this?#Kim is like you don't get to judge when this is literally your fault#it's a good thing Chay likes cats#i'm exhausted I'm going to bed now lmao
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A gift for @cmofirstaid! Hope you enjoy this as much as do <3
A Helping Hand
Summary: First Aid has been daydreaming about you and your touch. When you walk in on him, you decide to give him a bit of a helping hand.
Tags: oral sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, x reader, bot!reader, 1300~ words
First Aid bites his lips, stifling a whimper as he drags his servo along his spike. He slowly pumps it, taking his time to feel the texture of his biolights and ridges— all the while imagining it was your servos touching him.
The idea makes him whimper again. Frag. Would you tease him like this, slowly dragging your servo along his spike? Or perhaps you'd like to play with the slit on top, wringing out droplets of transfluid that you'd lick up.
"Ah, fragging Primus—" he moans, gripping his spike hard as he staves off an overload. He didn't want this to be over so quick—
"Need a hand?"
First Aid startles, squeaking in surprise as his facemask slams shut instinctively. Primus above, he wasn't actually expecting you to show up. He knew doing this in his office was a risk, anyone could walk in, but you? Of all mechs? He feels mortified, but his spike still twitches in his servo, betraying is arousal.
"I-I. It's. Frag me. I wasn't expecting any— Haven't you heard of knocking?!" he sputters, still painfully hard and exposed. He knew he should've gone with his valve, he could've closed his panel then, nevermind the inevitable mess!
"Oh, I did. You didn't answer, so I got a bit worried. Color me surprised to see this delicious sight," you purr, "You never did answer, Aid. Do you want a hand?"
He sputters for a moment, processor whirling as he tries to understand that curveball that just slammed into him face first. He's not sure that this isn't a wild processor dream, and he runs a quick diagnostic to make sure.
Yep. He's awake.
He watches you take a step forward. "C'mon now, show me that handsome face again," you crone, reaching a servo out.
He lets his faceplate slide back with a soft clink, mesmerized by your optics. Ever so slowly, you lean in, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. He whines slightly, optics flickering behind his visor as you pull him deeper. He opens his mouth against your insistent glossa, the kiss quickly morphing into something more messy and desperate. Clearly you had been wanting this as much as he has— the thought makes him dizzy.
"Please," he begs breathlessly against your lips, his own grip upon his spike slacken.
Who are you to deny him?
You pull away, his lips swollen and flush from your kisses. How pretty, he looks. Kneeling down in front of him, you pull his slackened servo away from his straining spike and replace with your own.
First Aid's vocalizer hitches the slight touch, hips bucking up. You tut, swirling a finger around the pre-fluid already decorating his spike.
"Look at you, so desperate for my touch. Don't worry baby, I'll take care of you."
And with that, you begin to languidly pump, eagerly watching him for his reactions. You drink in the sighs and twitches and moans as he falls apart under your talented fingers. His servos grasp hard at the chair's arms as you drip a finger into his slit, his head tossing back as he loudly moans.
"That's it baby, make all those pretty noises. Let me know how much you're loving this."
"Ah, Hng— F-frag, please!" He whines, writhing under your touch. Broken moans laced with static pour out of him.
You lean in, taking the tip of his spike inside your mouth.
"AH—!" He cries out, delirious with pleasure. You hum around his spike, savoring the sweet flavor of his transfluid. Swirling your glossa around, you tease at the nodes lining the head, before dipping down into his slit.
He babbles broken pleas above you, and you feel copious amounts of pre-fluid leak from your actions. Seems like you found a sensitive spot. Good to know.
You double down, wanting to pull more of those wonderful sounds out of First Aid. He does not disappoint.
He wails in pleasure as you descend further down his spike, servo pumping in time.
First Aid doesn't know how much more of this he can take— he feels his overload approaching fast.
"I-I'm-! Frag— ah! I'm close!" He chokes out. You hum around his spike, delighted.
He convulses, moaning loudly as overload washes over him. He unloads a gush of transfluid down your throat— and you continue to suck and pump, eager to milk every last drop from him.
His spike gives another few twitches under your ministrations. He moans lowly, panting as he recovers.
You still don't stop.
He shifts under you, whining slightly. And then louder. You still continue.
First Aid thought you were done after he came, but evidently you were not. His vocalizer hitches as you prod his slit with your glossa again.
"Wha— what?" he stutters weakly, head lolling.
You pull off slightly, still slowly pumping away. "I'm not done yet, baby. Just hang on a little more. I know you can handle it. Let me hear you," you murmur.
First Aid only nods, mouth wide open as he pants, charge begining to simmer once more. He loses himself in the swirl of your glossa, letting you bring him back up to that peak once again.
Another hard suck and swirl, and he breaks, moaning weakly as his second overload crashes over him, transfluid bursting once more into your awaiting mouth.
With a slow pop, you pull away
"Good boy," you grin. His spent spike twitches at the compliment.
You give him a moment to recover, his fans blasting after the two back-to-back overloads.
You weren't done with him yet.
With a gentle servo, you tap on his valve panel.
"Huh—?" he says, picking his head up to glace down at you.
You grin up at him."Baby, I said I take care of you. I've treated your spike, but I have yet to see your valve. Open up? Please?"
First Aid contemplates it for a moment. Hng. He just had the best blowjob of his Primus damned life. That glossa on his valve? Would probably kill him. But what a way to go.
His panel slides open, a silent invitation.
His valve is absolutely drenched in lubricant from his past two overloads. The plush white folds gleam, highlighted by his pulsing red nodes. You lick a stripe along one side, gathering that delicious lubricant, letting put a pleased hum as he twitches under you.
You delve into his swollen folds, spurred on by the gasps and moans he gives. Digging your glossa inside of him, you trace every nook and cranny you can reach. Your servos grip tightly upon his thighs, stabilizing yourself. You flick your tongue to his bright node, swirling around it before gently sucking.
A loud, broken wail escapes First Aid. It was so much. He bucks his hips at the overstimulation, it was still so soon after his previous two overloads— and yet a other was coming at him like a freight train.
Another suck to his node. First Aid feels tears gathering in his optics. Frag. He's so close.
He lets out a sob as you continue, your vice-like grip not letting him pull away from the onslaught of your glossa upon his folds. Tears trickle down his cheeks, mixing with the drool that clings to his messy, flushed face. He grinds down, chasing the overwhelming pleasure.
First Aid tosses his head back, spasming as overload once more overtakes him. An absolute flood of lubricant squirts out of him, drenching your face and his thighs as he cries and whines, mouth agape.
You pull away, futilely wiping your face as he crumples into his chair.
....He's probably going to need a new chair. This one is absolutely soaked in his transfluid and lubricants.
Standing up, you cradle his limp head with your servo, giving him a gentle kiss. His mouth still open, he whimpers at the taste of his own lubricants.
"Good job, baby," you whisper, "Let me know if you ever need another hand."
#cookie writes#valveplug#first aid transformers#x reader#dacryphilia#CMOFA: man i sure wish there were some x reader fics where you catch FA in the act and then you help him#me: say no more#ENJOY!!!!
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Top shelf - Rocinante x reader (GN)
Genderneutral reader
Warnings: none
Word count: 713
More and more clouds were rolling in, blocking out the bright rays of the sun. Judging by the color, it would rain soon. With a sigh, you walked to your closet and grabbed one of your sweaters. It seemed summer was officially over, and fall was coming. The thought saddened you a little. For 3 months, you had enjoyed the rays of sunshine on your skin, sitting in front of the fan, having an excuse every single day to go swim... but now, that was all over.
Not wanting to ruin your mood, you started thinking about everything good about fall. The beautiful colors of the falling leaves. A nice hot beverage to warm you up from the inside. Soft blankets to sit under. Nobody forcing you to go outside because ‘it’s such nice weather’. And how could you forget? Sitting side by side with your lover, his coat wrapped around both of you.
There was something safe about sitting together with Rocinante like that. You were never sure if it was his height, the warmth of his body and his coat, or the way he’d always casually sneak his arm around you to hold you close.
A cold wind coming through the open window snapped you out of your thoughts. You closed the window and left your room, hoping to find the person who had been occupying your thoughts for the past few minutes. You found him pretty easily, standing outside to smoke. You smiled and opened the door, peeking only your head out, wanting to stay in the warmth of your home.
“Cora, I’m a little cold so I’m gonna make hot cocoa. Do you want some?” It was as much a question as it was a subtle hint. ‘I’m cold, so come snuggle me’.
Rocinante only nodded in response, still pretending to be mute in case someone overheard.
Satisfied with the answer, you walked towards the kitchen, ready to make some hot cocoa. First you opened the fridge, noticing the milk was on the top shelf. You grabbed the little stool you had in the kitchen, just for occasions like these. The house was made for Rocinante’s size after all, and you were smaller. Once you got the milk, you went to grab two big mugs. Noticing the bottom shelf of the cupboard was empty, you groaned. You looked at your trusty stool, but realized that you’d have to get something bigger to reach the mugs. The chairs at the dining table would do.
As you were pulling the chair to the cupboard, Rocinante entered. He smiled as you struggled with the size of his house. From the moment you had moved in with him, it had been an obstacle. But no matter how often he had offered to grab things for you, you’d always insisted on doing it yourself, climbing onto everything in the kitchen to get what you wanted.
“Babe.”
You were standing on the counter, your back facing him, holding on to the shelf you were looking into. Rocinante recognized the tone in your voice, and already was struggling to suppress his laughter. You slowly turned to face him, holding the bag of cocoa powder in one hand, while holding on to the shelf with the other.
“Can you stop putting everything on the top shelf?!”
Rocinante couldn’t hold it in anymore, laughing loudly at your outburst. He had been putting everything on the top shelves on purpose as a way of teasing you. For weeks now, he had been waiting for you to notice. And your reaction was worth it. Seeing you standing on the counter, a little frown on your face, holding on to the bag of cocoa powder. You looked so small. And so done with his shit.
Noticing your struggle to safely climb off the counter, Rocinante walked towards you and picked you up, pulling you into a hug.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s just that you look cute climbing on everything like that.”
“I am not cute!”
“If you say so. Now, let’s make that hot cocoa, you went through so much effort to grab everything, after all.” Rocinante couldn’t stifle his laughter anymore at the end of the sentence, laughing loudly while still holding you against his chest.
“Oh fuck you, Roci”
#rocinante x reader#donquichote rocinante x reader#corazon x reader#corazon x you#rocinanite imagine#corazon imagine#rocinante x you#donquichote rocinante x you#donquichote rocinante#corazon#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece imagine#cookie writes#queued post
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A short fix in where reader is incredibly down bad seeing part of könig face acts like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time. Likes and reblogs are appreciated 🙏��König x black reader
Last Saturday of the month, free time, when almost everyone goes out. Spirits are high. You're making your way out when you see him
He's sporting a balaclava and not his usual hood, yet you'd recognise him anywhere. Alone by the wall only further cements your guess. Its könig
You stand, just looking. You're not sure why. Maybe you're just looking, maybe you want him to look at you too, to feel a spark and share a moment with him when your eyes meet.
A large cigar that rests between his fingers makes it way his mouth. You hadn't noticed his balaclava had moved now resting at the top of his nose.
It's relaxing, you think. the way the smoke works through his body, momentarily easing the pain in his muscles as he rolls his shoulders back with a sigh. Though not enough to ease the pain deep in his muscles. The smoke leaves his body through his lips this time.
You reach to touch your lip, eyeing his. They'd look nice, his lips, if he took care of them, if he wasn't a soldier. But their rough and blistered. They're nothing like your own,You'd run your tongue over them, feel the cracked dry skin. Bite them to no reaction.
would he carry it in his kiss? Would you taste that same smoke on your lips?
You stare for little while longer, watching every part of his exposed face with great intensity, focusing on every bit of skin you saw. The scars that fell past his lips, the discolouration that peeked through the bottom of the mask.
Back and forth back and forth, your eyes stayed captivated by his face.
"Hey, you coming?" You hear them call for you, but you don't stop looking. You don't even turn away from him. You looked over his face once more, commiting the little piece that saw. You'll keep it locked away in your mind, pulling it out whenever you think about him whenever you see him. The rough skin, blemishes , are all the things that assure you he's human
#könig x black reader#könig x reader#cod x black reader#call of duty x black reader#black reader insert#call of duty x reader#my writing#cookie writes#x black reader
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You are like starlight
So far away, yet dazzling before my eyes
I reach
And reach
And reach for you
But like the stars, you are out of my grasp
So I simply smile
And admire your view
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Oikawa was hellbent on setting his best friend up on a date. Even if it meant that Iwaizumi would wring his neck the next time he saw him.
You were a perfect match for him as far as he knew. Sweet, pretty and interested in volleyball! And to top it all off you seemed to be interested in Iwaizumi too.
You visited most, if not all of their practices, showed up to cheer them on during matches, filled up their water bottles when their manager was running late and didn't fall for his (Oikawa's) flirting.
As for Iwaizumi, he was a tsundere. He always looked out for you, and once, blushed when you complimented him.
This was a match made in heaven, as far as he was concerned.
Now all he has to do was to set the both of you up....
.
Iwaizumi wasn't blind. He saw the glances you threw at him when you thought he wasn't looking.
He knew how you always made sure to give him his water bottle last, just for a chance to talk with him, even of only for a few moments.
He heard you cheering the team on, and couldn't help but notice how you cheered for him a bit louder than the rest.
And he could definitely see that Oikawa was plotting something.
Usually, he'd have put a stop to whatever Oikawa was planning, considering that his so-called ''plans'' always ended disastrously.
But for this once, Iwaizumi decides to play along. Not to entertain Oikawa, or to make fun of you, but because he was actually interested in you too.
And he genuinely wanted to see where it goes. With, or without Oikawa's meddling.
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a blanket against the chill seeping in through the window-glass
“Is this okay?” Marinette asks, her crimson suit still glowing in the hotel room lit by only the orange haze of dusk.
Adrien gives a nod of affirmation, not wanting to risk sobs spilling out of his mouth.
He feels her smile against his shoulder, a calming, reassuring little thing, and a weight releases itself from his soul, floating wherever it is that heaviness goes when it is not in the crook of a person’s being.
Here, in her arms, Adrien feels shielded; like, no matter how many flaming torches the outside world throws at him, none would even come close to penetrating their embrace.
He wishes they could stay like this forever - on this mattress, barren of all the memories of old, a frozen creek in the middle of winter; just waiting to grow anew.
On this strange bed, in this perfectly-manicured room, Adrien could almost pretend he was normal. That his father (Gabriel, some part of him whispers, he doesn’t deserve that title) had not been revealed to be Paris’ infamous supervillain, and that his miraculous wasn’t sitting innocuously on the bedside table, wrapped in a zip-lock bag.
He couldn’t ignore the way her eyes darted to it, sometimes, when she thought he wasn’t looking, her fingers twitching in indecision. His gaze follows, landing sorely on the one piece of jewellery his father had worn that hadn’t been seen by anyone else.
When Adrien feels Marinette stiffen around him, he wishes he could take it back.
“We do need to do something about that,” she says, her words not revealing anything about the circumstance they’re in, “but that’s an issue for another time, okay, chaton?”
“But, the brooch-”
She places a gloved finger over his mouth. “Won’t fall into the wrong hands if we don’t immediately put it back.” At this, she leans back in, and Adrien sighs as the warmth rushes back into his body, a blanket against the chill seeping in through the window-glass. “We can take this one moment at a time, okay?”
He doesn’t respond, not immediately, and she holds him tighter, softly humming to herself to fill the silence.
Here, in her arms; shrouded from his father, the media, anyone outside of the two of them, Adrien feels safe enough to cry.
…
“My Lady,” he asks, as the sun has fully dipped below the horizon, leaving them caked in the light of stars, “can you stay here, tonight?”
“Of course. Of course I will, mon chaton.”
Adrien feels something like a smile slip onto his face - there’s no one else in the world that he feels safer to have by his side.
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Hello my friends! This is my sideblog, for posting anything about my ocs, including art, writing, an∂ anything else! You can ask me any questions about my ocs here, im happy to infodump about them! You can also request who to draw next
#Tag list:#cookie's art#-art#Cookie writes#-writing#cookie song analysis/ocs#-analysing songs but its just my ocs#I will use this blog at some point i swear#Oh another tag! -->#Oc intro (or oc introduction)#-introductions to my ocs
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There are two versions of Astral in my head:
One can't swear to save his life
The other can and will always accidentally begin swearing before seeing the kids (Yuma + Numbers club) and without dropping a beat change it to another word. Example, "Oh sh-" sees Yuma "-itake mushrooms." And Yuma didn't even realise what he was doing until they were adults. He just thought Astral used weird phrases. (Kaito also tries this but he fails every single time to cover up his swearing, and he hates how well Astral pulls it off)
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𝙱𝚊𝚋𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔
Headcanon that Regulus hates the nickname baby black. In most fics he gets disgruntled and slightly snappy when the nickname is mentioned but I think he would have a full blown panic attack at that name. It’s an embodiment of everything he is trying to forget. It puts him in a shadow of Sirius black and he is being called a literal baby in comparison to him. Regulus has tried to outshine him in every opportunity and suddenly people are calling him Baby Black because they only see him as a younger version of his brother, they don’t even consider him another person.
And in some cases it’s gonna remind him of everything he is trying to escape. He’s trying to distance himself from his parents, secretly meeting more muggleborns and spending time with Gryffindors only to have someone turn around and call him Baby Black like it’s not the name he’s trying to get rid of, not the name that he absolutely hates.
Personally I think if Remus or James or anyone in the corridor just yells baby black tor Regulus he would go really silent and get triggered
#cookie rambles#random things#cookie writes#regulus black#jegulus#marauder era#harry potter#angst#sirius black
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There was a teen in the cave.
A teen no one knows and looks like he could be a wayne, stands in the cave.
"Actually, I'm a wayne." He says with a shrug.
Bruce, Batman, carefully thinks of the implication.
"Not yet," The teen, Danny, doesn't say anything. Simple smiles. "You're not a wayne, yet. You will be. But not yet."
Then Bruce sighs, dropping the batman mask in order to take in the teen.
"Does future me know of the time travel?"
Dannys smile grows into a grin, deciding to take pity on the man. "You, grandbat, have..." He makes a vague gesture. "Theories, which none of your children ever confirmed."
The bat's mind short-circuits at the choice of words
Dick is sputtering incomprehensibly, there are Baffled expression all around.
Because.
Because that child isn't Bruce's, but one of theirs.
"Who is it?" Jason demands, hand clenching his gun uselessly.
Danny continues to smile, a hint of mischief now peeking out.
The cave is filled with theories, some yell, some sob, yet all eyes leave danny.
All but one pair.
She had known the moment his body language switched just enough for her to read.
She had known the moment he disappeared before the clan.
Had known when his hand found hers, shoulders bumping.
Her heart clenches, throat dry and memories of her childhood flooding to mind.
So she asks, voice soft and hesitant.
"Am I a good mother?"
And danny looks up at cass, adoration and pride laid out plain for her to see and accept.
"You're the best."
And so they both watch the clan together, silent and comfortable.
(Cass doesn't question when she finds him, how and why. All she knows is that she's more attentive when out on patrol, looking and waiting.)
(This is how Cassandra Cain-Wayne returns one night from patrol, a child, barely out of toddler stage and clinging to her form.)
(This is how the Batclan officially meets one Daniel James Cain-Wayne, freshly washed and clothed, a cookie in hand and hiding shyly behind Cass.)
(When they meet, all they say is "Welcome home, danny," and "Good to see you again.", Danny doesn't necessarily get it, but that's okay. Maybe his new mom will explain it one day when he's bigger.)
#dcxdp#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc#fic prompt#writing prompt#dc x dp prompt#cassandra cain is dannys mom#time travel shenanigans lead to conspiracy theories#half of the batclan think jason is the dad#or dick#damian and tim are outruled just bc age and tim denying it with no one protesting#alfred knows#danny moves like cass#he gave them both a cookie in the shadows#danny won him over by calling him great grand bat#he tells him of all the mischief they got up to bc no one would believe the baby had alfie wrapped around his finger like that#theyre just in denial#theyre all wrapped around the finger#danny “i mastered how to wrpaonize my cuteness” cain-wayne
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Anyway, cursed!Kim who's stuck as a cat for god knows how long, eventually seeking refuge under Chay's porch after losing a literal cat fight and getting pretty seriously injured. (his reflexes are all wrong, he's so angry). Chay finding him by accident, spending days trying to gain Kimtten's trust. Offering him bowls of water and food until Kim finally slinks out from his tight little hiding place. It helps when Chay starts playing Kim his own music; it's easier to trust a fan than a stranger.
Kim, who can barely walk with his injuries, who's skinny and scraggly and starved from his weeks on the streets, lets Chay carry him inside and give him a bath, which is awful but he has fleas, and there's some primal sense that water is the Bad Place but oh god, the fleas are worse, so he hisses and groans but ultimately endures it. Then Chay bundles him up on a towel and combs through his damp fur to make sure he got them all, and scritches his nails against a spot that makes Kim melt. And maybe... maybe this whole cat thing isn't so bad, actually?
Kim needs to find his way back home, figure out what the fuck happened to him, but also... he still needs to recover from his injuries, and gain his strength back. And if in the process Chay is giving him scritches and belly rubs that make him pur, and Kim spends every night safely curled up between his chest and arms, well. It's not like anybody will know.
Until he wakes up very human, very naked, in a very confused Chay's arms, anyway.
#cookie writes#kimchay#someone write this I don't wanna#i've been trying all day and the words won't come#i barely managed to write this much#brain no word good
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OMG SAW UR ASKS WERE OPEN AND I RAN SO FAST HFJDJSBS
Anyways ok so imagine *trips over my own feet* imagine uhm baking cookies *stumbling* baking cookies with Lilia:3
No pressure ofc! I hope u will enjoy writing this if u do! And make sure to drink after and take care of urself!
Flour Belongs In The Cookies; Lilia Vanrouge
Content; Gender-neutral reader, fluff, some pining
Word Count; 650+
Author's Note; Cloudy, you do know how bad his cooking is, right? Besides that, I hope you enjoy what I did with this little prompt!
As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist
You knew full well going into this that Lilia … wasn’t the best person to leave around food. Well, you didn’t know to the full extent how ‘bad’, ‘revolting’, and ‘utterly cursed’ he was according to his dormmates (and adoptive family? Still trying to wrap your head around that one, to be honest).
Yet, as you were both adding ingredients to the batch of cookies you were making, he had done nothing to tamper with the recipe or mess up by accident. Perhaps Silver, Sebek and Malleus were just overexaggerating it? Lilia has been completely fine, a great helper even!
“So,” you cleared your throat, breaking the quiet (which was both comfortable yet awkward). “Why did you want to bake cookies with me? Not that I mind, just curious is all.”
Lilia looked up from the wet and dry ingredients he was combining and offered you a cheeky smile with a wink. “Hmm, do I need a reason to do so,” he breathed with a silent chuckle, sneaking some of the raw dough into his mouth.
You tutted, taking the bowl away from him. “I don’t need you getting sick from eating that now–”
But your attempt at lecturing was silenced by a small puff of flour being slapped gently on your cheek; a white handprint now on it. “RUDE!”
Lilia was having a good old laugh, from either getting flour on you, the shocked expression on your face, or a combination of the two (knowing him, it was bound to be the last one). He was actually getting pink in the face because of it; was he even taking breaks from laughing to breathe???
“Ah, lighten up! Plus,” he paused and covered your hand in flour and gently slapped it on his cheek, “there, we match now.”
His magenta eyes were twinkling with mischief and you found yourself gently shaking your head and chuckling. Sighing, you picked up some flour with your hands and made it look like you were just going to cover the countertop with it, but you swerved, and slapped it into Lilia’s hair.
Lilia coughed, and rubbed at his eyes, trying to get the flour out of his eyes, but once he opened them again, you were gone. So we’re playing games now? But he just wheezed in delight and gave chase, a cup full of flour on hand so he could repay the favour. After all, since you both had matching handprints on your cheeks, you deserved to be bestowed some flour on your head.
“And here you were saying it was rude of me for that first move,” he called out into the dorm. They couldn’t have gotten far now.
He heard the curtains ruffle, and he floated over, not making a sound.
Peaking oh so carefully behind the curtains, he spotted you, silently giggling to yourself. And that’s when he made his move.
“Found you!~” And he sprinkled the flour over your head; much more gently than you did to him.
You groaned, knowing it would take a bit to get the flour out from everything… but the way Lilia floated overhead made it look like he was sprinkling snow… was he always this pretty? Even with him covered in flour, you still felt your heart flutter.
You mentally slapped your cheeks though, and got yourself up.
“Guess you did… but that was fun,” you chuckled, dusting yourself off to the best of your ability.
The moment though was ruined by your smoke alarm going off; it was a wonder that those even worked, but hey, at least they worked.
Rushing to the kitchen, you opened up the oven to have a mass of black smoke smelling of burnt food of some sort enveloping the both of you.
“What happened?!” You coughed out, trying to open up the windows and doors to let out the smoke.
Lilia grimaced, “Ah… perhaps I set the oven too high.”
And even though you had fun making the now coal-like cookies, perhaps store-bought would have been better…
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Tags; @afunkyfreshblog @eynnwwyjth @identity-theft-101 @ithseem @lucid-stories @ryker-writes @twistwonderlanddevotee @xxoomiii
#twst#twst x reader#twst x gender neutral reader#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland x reader#twisted wonderland x gn reader#lilia vanrouge#lilia vanrouge x reader#lilia vanrouge x gn reader#just be happy the cookies burned and that you didn't have to eat them cuz he definitely messed with them when you ran#also enjoy getting flour out of the floorboards <3#how tf did i write this in under an hour???#cloudy!#cloudy do not trust this man's cooking PLEASE#lilia is a little shit and i love that for him
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How to write a cane user character
(Written by a cane user)
A few months ago, I wrote a small guide on good disabled characters and why they were good that gathered quite the attention, and I thought that doing another more specific guide this time would be interesting for writers or just people that are curious ! This guide will include general informations, some things to do, some things to avoid and some ideas that might revolve cane users's lives.
Things to know about cane users
Cane users are pretty diverse, and putting us in little boxes usually isn't the best idea if you want to make a character that has substance and isn't just "the disabled one". Here some infos about cane users that might be helpful knowledge !
Canes don't have ages. Most cane users in media are portrayed to be old, but truly, anyone can have the need to wield a cane ! I've been using mine ever since I was 17.
Can users can have a large variety of problems for their canes. Some canes are used to avoid pain from effort. Some canes are used for balance purposes. Some canes are to make walking less exhausting (works the same as walking sticks !) And sometimes, it's multiple problems at once.
Not everyone needs their cane 24/7. Some always need it, some can make small efforts without it but overall often need it, and some people, like me, can spend quite a lot of time without it. I almost never use my cane in my house, and mostly take it outside !
People with canes can run. We're not necessarily slow, I'm even faster than a lot of my friends.
Not using a cane can come with consequences, but not always. Some people might be able to walk without a cane but then suffer horrible consequences, but for others, canes are just a commodity for specific occasions.
Canes don't have to be looked down upon. Look at some characters with canes that look cool as hell ! Arsène Lupin, Roguefort Cookie, Brook ... Their canes serve their style !
We can be pretty healthy. Some people can have canes just because they were born with a bent leg and that's it. Our cane doesn't define our health status.
Canes aren't a curse. Think of them as something positive. It's a tool to make our lives better. You don't see someone sitting on a chair and think "awh, it's sad that they need a chair". It's more something like "hey it's cool that this chair is here so they can sit down"
Things to do
Make them use their cane. And when I mean use, I mean that canes are just funky long sticks usually made out of metal. Have fun with it ! Let them use it as a weapon ! Trust me, one hit in the knees with a cane and you're DOWN. Use it to reach stuff that's too high for everyone ! Have fun. Be creative.
Let them decorate their cane. It's an extension of their body ! You usually put on clothes that you like, don't you ? It's the same for a cane. If they like cutesy stuff, let them paint in it pastel colors ! If they like a more flashy style, add some stickers on it ! If they're a fancy person, give them a beautiful crafted cane with jewels on it !
You can make them a little shy or uneasy about their cane. Some people don't feel worthy of confident enough to wield one. It's not rare to see people think they're "not disabled enough to do so"
But on the other hand, you can do the complete opposite !! Make them proud of that cane ! Make them act like they're feeling pretty and more confident with it ! One thing i like to think about with my own cane is that I look like a cool gentleman. That boosted my confidence immensely.
Things to avoid
Don't make it their whole world. And by that, I do not mean that their cane shouldn't be a defining trait of their personality. Think of Toph from ATLA. She is blind, and you usually can't think of her character without describing her as blind. However, that isn't her entire personality trait. Make cane users have a goal in life, friends who enjoy them for who they are and not just pity them, have fun ... Don't just make them the disabled one.
Don't try to make the character's life just a plain disaster unless it's the focus of your story and you really know what you're talking about. Having a character who's always in pain, who feels bad about relying on their cane and/or who's angry at the entire world for being disabled is a REALLY tricky subject to use if you don't want them to be either a mass of unhappiness and angst for no good reason or some inspirational porn of the character who inside is deeply tortured but outside keeps up a facade because they shouldn't cry to avoid making others uneasy.
Do not, and I repeat, do NOT try to heal them, especially in a magical way. Bad idea. A lot of disabled people's goal isn't to be healed. It's to live a normal life. Making it so the ultimate goal for them is to be healed makes it as if they were worthless as long as they were disabled. Making their situation better physically or mentally is one thing. Curing them completely is really bad. "But some disabled folks want to be cured !" True, true. But if you are able bodied, I'm not sure if you can have the right mind to understand all of the complex details about this situation that leads to someone's life choices and the end result may look like you think the only thing that can make disabled people happy is being freed from their condition. I think it's best to just avoid it altogether. If you need a more nuanced idea, try to give them a solution that still has a few downs ! For exemple, a prosthetic that feels like a real arm, acts like a real arm and basically replaces it perfectly is a full cure. But a prosthetic that takes time to adjust to, needs repairs sometimes and doesn't look 100% like an arm can be a better narrative choice
Smaller thing, but don't make the handle uneasy to wield if you draw the character design. You can decorate most of the cane, but if you have chunky spiky decorations on the place you're supposed to clench your hand over, you're gonna hurt yourself. I've seen quite a lot of jewel handles or sculpted metal handles and usually their not good. If it's detailed metal, your hand will end up cramped in little parts and it can hurt. If it's a jewel, it's so easy for it to slip out of your hand it's unpractical.
List of tropes/ideas of scenes/details about canes to help you write new situations !
If you walk with a cane during winter, you can't put your hand in your jacket to get warm and there's a high chance your hand will get freezing. So after a long walk, you get an excuse for another character to hold their hand and warm them up.
If the handle is metallic, you get the opposite problem during summer. You can burn yourself so easy ! Easy accident if you want someone to help and get closer to the disabled person without it necessarily involving their disability.
Canes are SUPER useful when you're walking upon heights. They make things really easy, just like hiking poles on mountains ! I live on volcanoes and whenever we clim on a harsh slope, I'm always the first to get up there. Good moment for your character to get a boost of confidence if they get all the way up somewhere before their friends !
The first time using your cane feels magical. If you have chronic pains, it makes you feel like your pain disapear. If you can't walk right, it feels like everything is suddenly alright. The moment where a character chooses to wield a cane can be huge for character development. It's a moment of fear because of the impact a cane has on their appearance, but also a moment of confidence and relief.
Canes fall. All the time. And after a while, it becomes fucking comical. Trust me, putting a cane against the wall, seeing it fall and doing it three times again in a row while it doesn't want to stay up makes you embarrassed but also makes you want to laugh because of how stupid it looks.
When you get a cane, you stop being invisible. When you walk outside, generally speaking, people don't look at you. They don't care about you. But when you get a cane, people start to stare at you for no other reasons that you have a cane. Half of them are just curious, especially if you're young. The other half has a very specific look. The "oh, you poor thing" look. Which is, trust me, particularly awful to get, especially when you're just existing and doing nothing special. How does your character react to this ? How do they feel about it ?
I believe that is all I had in mind. I may add some more details in the future if I get other ideas, but this should already be a good start. I would be thrilled to answer questions if you have some, either in my askbox or through DMs.
I will tag this post with characters holding canes that aren't necessarily considered cane users but that some people may be interested in writing as such. Feel free to tell me if you'd like to see tags being added !
Edit : I'm highly encouraging everyone to look at the tag section under this post where a lot of other can users are sharing their experiences !!
#disability#writing#writing prompt#writing guide#fanfiction#fanfic#ao3#roguefort cookie#gingerbrave#Brook one piece#writing tips#writing advice#archive of our own#long post#spoonie#handicap#cane#cane user#kaz brekker#capn cuttlefish#cap'n cuttlefish
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Imagine:
Coming up with alien conspiracy theories with Oikawa.
Fluffing up Kuroo's hair before he puts on an unholy amount of gel.
Crying over pictures of cute kittens and puppies with Bokuto
Helping bleach Atsumu's hairwhich involves him trying to get you to bleach your's too
Having cooking battles with Osamu, which always end up with you losing but you get to eat his food so whatever.
Having naps, cuddled up with Suna.
#oikawa x reader#atsumu x reader#bokuto x reader#kuroo tetsuro x reader#suna x reader#osamu x reader#haikyuu x reader#Cookie writes
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catradora where they’re sleeping together in the same bed and one of them has a nightmare so the other comforts them 🥺
A faint hum ricochets against the halls of Brightmoon, twinkling and shimmering in nature. That’s the only indication that anyone else’s within the castle, the usual laughter of its halls dulled by the serenity of sleep.
Adora watches as the moonlight filters in through the curtains of her and Catra’s room, staining the duvet with a streak of silver, and illuminating her girlfriend’s face. She looks so peaceful in her sleep; her muscles relaxed and her expression light - it’s a shame seeing her like this had been so few and far between during the war.
From her position in Adora’s lap, Catra shifts, and her warmth spills like drops of tea onto her legs. She mutters a few words, meanings hazed by their semi-conscious nature, and her shoulders tense against her. Her hands clench into fists, and her face breaks out into something akin to a silent scream. Just seeing it makes Adora’s heart break.
Adora’s hand stills against Catra’s head. ”Catra?”
When she doesn’t immediately get a response - understandable, considering her girlfriend was very much asleep at the moment - she gently yet firmly shifts her palm to Catra’s exposed shoulder, allowing herself a short smile at the way the light illuminated the bumps and ridges that adorned it.
“Catra, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” Adora says, shaking her in the hopes of waking her up.
Catra’s eyes flutter a couple times, something troubled flickering within them, before widening; yellow and blue, haunted by the ghosts of their pasts, standing out in the dimly-lit room. Her head whips around the room; towards the raised ceiling, the plush mattress the two of them sat on, the waterfall, before squarely landing on Adora’s face.
“Adora?”
“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” Adora murmurs into the scruff of her hair. ”I’ve got you.”
Catra smiles. “I never needed you to catch me.”
“I know.” Adora says, returning her hand to Catra’s head, smiling as she lets out a hum of contentment.
“But.” Catra says, averting her gaze, “I’m glad you did.”
“And I’ll never stop.”
#cookie writes#spop#drabble#this prompt is so 🥺🥺#also hello there i finally decided to answer this <3#spop drabble#spop ficlet#catradora#catradora fanfiction#catradora fic#spop fic#spop fanfiction#ask#silvmoonsky
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