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heartsforhavik · 5 months

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hey!! could you write a havik x earthrealm reader celebrating Valentine’s Day at the reader’s request?

heart to heart (havik x gn! reader)

warnings: gore i guess? and both of you being weirdos but its ok ur weirdos in love. there’s also a rickroll at the end.

summary: kinda funny story of havik celebrating valentine’s day with gender neutral reader!! (cuz i can’t imagine him celebrating valentines in a normal way LMAO he’s chaotic ok.)

a/n: anon… did u read my mind.. cuz i was gonna write a valentine’s themed story with havik but i decided not to bc it wasn’t valentine’s yet.. but i have an excuse now 😈 also i went off the rails with this I’M *REALLY* SORRY ANON!!

“what is this.. valentine’s day you speak of?” havik asked. you had brought up the idea of valentine’s day with him, since the day was coming up and you wanted to see if your lover was interested in celebrating with you.

“well, it’s a holiday in earthrealm. not everyone celebrates it, but usually we use it as a day to appreciate our significant others. we gift them candies or some other goods.” you explained.

“…what else?” he asked, genuinely interested in your home’s customs.

“hmm… we put up decorations i suppose. a lot of red, white, and pink everywhere. and hearts. usually people gift their partners something heart shaped.” you added.

a comical lightbulb appeared above havik’s head as soon as he heard you say that.

the next day, which was valentine’s day, you awoke to a box in front of yours and havik’s bed. it literally smelled like shit. did someone send you shit in a box???

“good day, my beloved.” havik greeted, sitting up in bed and looking as if he woke up before you.

“good morning, havik. did you send me this?” you asked. he nodded, gesturing you to open it.

when you opened it, it was as if havik gave you his heart.

literally. his heart was in the box.

you looked over to him and he had a giddy expression on his face as if he did the funniest thing possible.

“what? i heard you earthrealmers gave each other your hearts!”

“NOT LITERALLY.”

(real life image of havik giving you his heart drawn by me :333)

(ok ok now i’ll take it seriously LMAOOOO)

“good day, my beloved.” havik greeted. he was standing over the bed you both shared, looking strangely excited.

“good morning.. you look excited.” you pointed out, getting up out of bed.

“you should look outside.” havik grinned mischievously.

you gave him a confused look before you stepped outside to see a few bloody clothes on the ground.

“whose clothes are these?” you asked.

“these are the clothes of every person you ever wanted dead. surprise.” havik cackled. damn, he really killed them for you, he’s a keeper.

“i see..” you knew it was wrong. but damn, you wanted them dead so bad. and he did it for you, as a valentine’s day gift. you knew he wouldn’t give you a traditional gift since he’s a chaotic guy, but you definitely didn’t expect this. in your own twisted way, you were deeply grateful for what he did.

“thank you so much, love. i appreciate it.” you told him.

“that’s not all… i also made sure you don’t have any duties for today. you may choose how you want to spend your.. valentine’s day.” havik said, proudly. he was giving you the freedom to choose how you wanted to spend your day.

you chose to spend your day with him. you didn’t really care how you spent it, you were just glad to be around him. he felt the same towards you. havik refused to follow society’s traditional rules of valentine’s day. he wanted to be a little chaotic and mix things up a bit, but he understood that you just wanted to appreciate each other that day.

you wouldn’t change it for the world. he’s a bit strange and refuses to do anything traditionally, but at least he is being himself and still loves you. he loves and appreciates you a *lot* but he just shows his affection for you in a.. unique way. you are the light in his life and he would never give you up or let you down. just let him be a little weird with how he expresses his feelings, and you’re good.

(even tho he refuses to admit it, he does sleep that night in peace with you and clings onto your sleeping form like a sloth to a tree. he’s just so relaxed because he had a good day with you! a weird day. but when do you *not* have a weird day with havik? maybe you two will do this “valentine’s” thing again next year.)

#havik x reader #havik #mk havik #mortal kombat 1 x reader #mk x reader #i guess this is a crack fic?#im sorry its not very romantic #hes just SILLY he cant take anything seriously #love him sm #hes so weird i love him

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stevebabey · 6 months

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this is pure stupid hell crack that took more time than it should’ve to finish BUT i’m ready 2 release it from my drafts <3 this is actually technically written partially w @corrodedcoughin in mind bcos i think u will mighty enjoy it! for cockney eddie!

It comes with the territory, the accents.

Drama kid or dungeon-master, either one could be credited with contributing heavily to his affinity for all of Eddie’s little voices.

There was the deep, low raspy one reserved for trolls in campaigns — and a nasally high one he used for goblins to pair. Wise wizards giving out crucial advice sometimes had a strong Scottish drawl to their words. And Dwarfs? Always English.

So, yeah, Eddie has a couple different accents in his different repertoire. Pulls them out as he needs — a regal tone when referring to Hawkin’s very own royalty or a buried Southern twang used when he’s in trouble with Wayne. The most common is a shoddy Cockney accent for when any conversation dips too far towards awkward or boring.

It's why it's not so surprising anymore when they just... slip out sometimes.

He's learned more now, when specifically not to do it (Mrs. Donnell had not found his plea for a re-sit, in a heavy Irish accent, endearing in the slightest). But with friends who know Eddie, they know the accents come along too.

Steve fucking loves them.

The first time one had taken over his voice, some New Yorker twang to carry a joke, Steve had laughed so hard he’d snorted. And god, had Eddie lit up at the noise— loved knowing that, deep down Steve Harrington had a delicious wonderful ugly laugh that he only showed to people he trusted.

Basically, it’s hardly news to Steve then, all of Eddie’s little voices.

But well, even Eddie didn’t expect… okay, the truth is he never expected to be in this situation at all.

It’s a Wednesday evening when it happens. Steve is over round the trailer like he is every Wednesday, keeping Eddie company while Wayne is out on the double night shift.

It originally had started out as ensuring wounds were checked and dressed properly — considering half of them had scaled up his back, where Eddie couldn’t reach — for the both of them. Then, when technically Eddie could manage the worst of his words, Steve was still coming around. Dustin’s insistence, he’d said.

Then it was… because Eddie asked Steve to come around, to stay a little longer.

So, Steve Harrington is in his kitchen and it’s a Wednesday ritual that they have together and that’s not even the weird part of the evening.

(And somehow, neither is the fact that Steve is, as of a few months ago, his boyfriend.)

Steve’s cooking. Something simmers low on the scarlet glowing hob, bubbling quietly and releasing aromas of spices that percolate into the Autumn evening air.

Eddie feels his stomach growl in its own twist of hunger as he follows his nose. With one hand still scrubbing a towel against his wet hair, he ambles down the hall, fresh out the shower, ready for love — be it the form of food or, he thinks giddily, kisses.

Steve’s not watching the food as Eddie enters, his eyes fixed somewhere across the room. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, an indication of his deep thought.

Eddie grins, approaching without any attempt of being sneaky, (Steve’s as good as comatose when he’s distracted as he’d found) and jabs his boyfriend’s calf with his toe.

“Thinking mighty hard there, Stevie. That’s dangerous.”

Steve jolts, snapping out of his thoughts. He straightens up automatically, then seems to recall the company he’s keeping, and relaxes back down.

He scowls affectionately at Eddie’s barefoot, still jabbing into his leg, and reaches out to flick it with his finger.

“Dickhead.”

Eddie’s faster. He dances away and laughs at the instinctual pout that forms on Steve’s lips.

“What ponders thy mind, hm?” Eddie drawls, a lilt of a Regency style accent in his voice. He sinks into one of the kitchen chairs and drops his task. The towel hangs over his neck, his damp curls resting against it.

Steve seems to jolt again at that, his shoulders rising for a moment. He spins, picking up the wooden spoon beside the stove to swirl the contents of their dinner around. Eddie admires him, broad shoulders and long back, ripe for his taking. Silently, he sighs dreamily on the inside.

“Just… what movie we’re gonna watch tonight.” Steve says unconvincingly. “I’m not doing another re-watch of the Fly.” He adds lamely, an attempt at his usual bitch.

Eddie lets him have it. With one final squeeze of the towel, trying to wring out all the droplets in his hair, Eddie abandons it on the chair as he stands. He waltzes forward, into Steve’s space, and hooks his chin over the other's shoulder.

“You know, that’s what you said last time.”

Steve side-eyes him, his eyes narrowing into a minuscule glare; bitch personified. Eddie grins. Then bats his eyelashes.

It makes Steve laugh, shrugging Eddie’s weight off politely as he gives their dinner another stir. There’s still this tenseness to his frame. Though, maybe it's one Eddie can only notice because he’s paying such close attention.

“Alrightttttt,” He pretends to relent dramatically, his hands coming up to give Steve’s shoulders a quick squeeze. “I’ll let you pick the movie tonight.”

He drops his hands back to his sides, smarmy grin already plastered on as Steve turns to face him, the wooden spoon placed down on the bench.

“Oh, you’ll let me, will you?” He gives this incredulous look, even if there is this playfulness toying at the corners at his lips.

“Uh huh,” Eddie affirms with a severe nod, then begins counting on his fingers as he lists off. “No badgering, wailing, complaining, of any sorts I—“

Suddenly, Steve’s reaching out, his deft hands reaching out to snag the waistband of Eddie’s pyjama pants. It supposed to be a smooth move he’s used countless times before; fingers looped through belt loops to pull a girl in for a kiss. It usually works like a charm.

Except, there’s no belt loops— and when Steve tucks his fingers beneath the waistband and tugs him forward, Eddie shrieks.

“Fucking christ, Steve!” He bats Steve’s hands back without thinking. Steve holds them up defensively.

“Sorry! I was just—”

“What are you doing sticking your hands in my pants?!”

“It was a move!” Steve insists, voice a little whiney. “God, you’re dramatic- I was trying to pull you closer, numb-nuts.”

“Oooh,” Eddie switches up in an instant, hands shooting out to grab Steve’s own. He pulls them forward and settles them on his own waist, shuffling in closer like he hadn’t just shrieked a minute earlier. “Continue.”

Steve chuckles, delight peeking through on his face. His hands, large and slender, curl around the skin of Eddie’s waist and Christ, he’s still not used to that. Eddie’s too focused on repressing his shiver to see the shadow of nervousness cross Steve’s face.

“I was actually thinkin’ about,” Steve starts lowly, eyes skirting off Eddie’s face, over his shoulder. His fingers tighten their grip. “How—”

He sucks in a breath, like drawing in courage, and meets Eddie’s gaze. “About how much I love you.”

There’s the smallest tremble to his voice, giving away the immense emotion behind the words.

And here’s the situation that Eddie never expected to be in, ever. His breath catches, his eyes widen — his heartstrings tangle and knot themselves as he soaks in Steve’s admittance. Love, love, love — he loves me.

His lips part, a raspy noise escaping as he tries to compute, tries to think of anything to say because the longer he stays silent, the more crushed Steve’s expression becomes. And then—

“Well, I luv ya too.”

The words fall out, thick in that godawful Cockney accent.

Steve's face doesn't change but Eddie's does, contorting in an amalgamation of pure cringe and panic as embarrassment crawls beneath his skin. He slaps his hand over his own mouth as if it can take back his awful reply to being told he's loved by Steve.

"I—" He starts, speaking through his fingers, except it still comes out in a funny accent. Eddie squeaks, his grip over his mouth tightening, brown eyes wide in his panic. Oh God, never in stupid silly life has his accents come back to bite him in the ass so magnificently.

"I'm so sorry," Eddie whispers-yells in his regular voice, finally dragging his hands off his face sluggishly. "Jesus H Christ, I didn't— that wasn't making fun of you, I— oh god, you know that happens when I'm nervous sometimes. Shit. Shit, I'm so sorry, Steve."

Steve hasn't moved, his hands still resting on the small of Eddie's waist. His expression is guarded, nothing betrayed. His dark eyes scan across Eddie's face and just before he speaks, the smallest glimmer of amusement glitters across his face.

"Well," Steve begins, heaving a faux large sigh. His hands squeeze comfortingly at Eddie's waist again. Eddie who is still frozen, still cursing himself internally, still echoing around the apparently true fact that Steve loves him— well, maybe not anymore with how awfully Eddie responded.

And then Steve opens his mouth and the most appalling attempt at some accent comes out. It makes his words all garbled and Steve's pink in the face, obviously embarrassed but trying to commit to some shoddy Scottish when he says, "Aye, that's al'right."

Eddie stares at him. Steve stares back.

The moment of silence is broken as laughter seizes him, a guffaw bursting from his lips and holy fuck, Eddie loves him so much. Steve laughs too, the two of them relaxing and sinking into one another. Eddie's hands, previously fluttering and unsure, find their natural place curled in underneath Steve's jaw and when he leans in, he's fighting off his laughter. His grin is unbearably wide, cheeks aching.

Steve's got this shine in his eye, his hands sliding further around to pull Eddie in closer, his pink lips quirked in delight. Eddie practically purrs, so close to kissing him but not quite closing the gap.

"Yep," He says, eyes bright as they bounce over Steve's face to drink in his boyfriend's love-soaked expression. He loves him. Steve loves him. Eddie sounds as lovesick as he feels when he whispers, "It's decided. I think you're it for me, Stevie-baby."

He presses forward, lets his mouth find their home in the curve of Steve's lips. It's warm like nothing he's ever felt before, softened by their gooey-grins of love. It's an in love kiss.

"Even if you're terrible at accents." He murmurs against Steve's mouth.

"Shut up."

Steve hisses, but he’s still grinning. The dinner bubbles behind them, still cooking away behind them. "Like I'm ever going to let you live that down."

Eddie finds he doesn't really mind all that much — God forbid his boyfriend ever remind him they're in love.

"Shut up," He still says, then sticks out his tongue, like he's ten years old. "You love me."

"I do." Steve admits easily, his fingertips dancing along the small of Eddie's back. Eddie has to tuck his bottom lip behind his teeth to restrain his wild grin.

"And I love you." He says, properly this time, jabbing his finger into Steve's chest — so there's no absolutely mistaking it.

#watch me edit this over the next couple of days…..#cos it’s like a first draft #😚✌️#it’s ok i just wanna post something before i go back offline for a bit while i do finals + get a JOB #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie crack fic #it honestly it but also isn’t lol #steddie fluff #[shrugs] enjoy i guess

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theminecraftbee · 3 months

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okay so. hear me out. but. au concept--

joel is one of many people affected by a Vanishing. its a phenomenon sweeping the country--people simply not showing up for work, school, life one day, as though they've vanished from the face of the earth. it's almost possible to mistake for normal missing persons cases, if it weren't for the way a few of the higher-profile Vanishings have happened to people who shouldn't have been able to vanish at all, let alone in a way that wouldn't be noticed until too late. look at joel's hometown. the people monitoring the dam were supposed to be redundant, and yet--

anyway. not like he cares or anything, except for the fact this stupid disaster or whatever has left him without anywhere to live or anyone to live with, and he still has a year of high school left, so he can't just do whatever he wants. luckily there's this school in a town called new hermiton that agreed to give him a scholarship to finish his education in the name of recovery and solidarity or whatever, and it's kind of a shwankier school than he'd normally go for, but it's free and, more importantly, they're willing to pay for his lodging, and he can't really turn that down. and it's not like he has a choice but to upend his entire life now. so packing what few of his belongings survived into a bag and getting on a train and moving across the country to a new school it is, he guesses.

(he's been having nightmares that inexplicably feature swarms of blue butterflies. last time he checked, lakes don't have butterflies in them. although maybe it's a metaphor or something, on account of the butterflies saying stupid stuff about how people who are remembered can't disappear, and even a false world cannot be erased if it's watched over, and how fate depends on him holding people in his heart. thanks for saying the same stupid shitty platitudes his social worker told him, just more cryptically, butterflies. real cool.)

new hermiton, it turns out, is a small city. while new hermiton academy is a newer school, much of the city is older. he's moved into a nice enough flat in an older apartment building. he has another cryptic butterfly dream. he thinks he remembers someone trying to urgently warn him of something, but it's all... shaky. that morning, he goes to the school for the first time. he's greeted by a fellow transfer student, skizzleman, although apparently he already knows some of the other folks in town, and transferred here so he could stay with them. but it's at least someone else in a similar enough situation to joel, especially since joel can just tell by the way people are looking at him that skizz didn't have much of a choice but to be here, either, and best friends with impulse or not, he's on his own too.

so. a friend. maybe this school won't be that bad, even if joel keeps having nightmares, and even if the weather here is weirdly cold for july, and even if his new homeroom professor keeps on looking at him really weirdly. (aren't professors supposed to be better about stupid rumors anyway? what's that mr. hills's deal?)

and then, two days later, he waves skizz off at the end of the school day, and gets skizz's friend, impulse, at his door, desperate to hear that skizz had just come to stay the night in joel's shitty lonely apartment, because otherwise it looks like--come on man. joel's already having a shit time. the universe deciding to go after his one existing friend too? he promises impulse to help investigate that night, in the vain hope that Skizz isn't one of the Vanished. joel gets a splitting migraine trying to follow their path back, though, and they have to stop for the night.

skizz is reported missing the next morning. joel resigns himself to cutting himself off from the people around him, as per usual. then, strangely, mr. hills corners him as he goes home.

"you'll need this," he says, and shoves what feels like a cheap butterfly knife into joel's hands. "uh, remember, trust your heart! you'll know how to use it."

"what," joel says. "hold on. you're supposed to be a teacher. why are you giving me this. i know for a fact my file says i have like, ptsd or whatever, which is stupid, but you definitely aren't supposed to be giving me a knife, you weirdo?"

"you'll know how to use it," joe hills says again. "goodbye! believe in yourself!"

mr. hills sprints behind a building before he has to explain anything else. joel is left standing on the sidewalk holding a knife, staring after him.

so. that's weird as hell. joel shivers in the cold and continues on his way home. the butterfly knife feels heavy in his pockets. he should probably report that guy to his social worker or something, but actually talking to his social worker feels like conceding defeat. joel can take care of himself. he can prove he can take care of himself. just watch him. step one: go out to get ramen because he forgot to buy any food for his apartment.

he sees impulse putting up signs as he eats. impulse looks miserable. joel thinks about how skizz, just in the short time he'd known him, had sort of unintentionally given away that he felt isolated after his mother Vanished. that impulse was a great friend, but impulse didn't understand what it was like. he never really SAID as much, but--

it's not fair to impulse, for that to be the last thing impulse remembered of what was apparently a friend since childhood. and joel doesn't care about any of these guys, but he can still pay his check and go out and help impulse go looking. he's no good at comforting people and doesn't know this guy, but joel had been alone too, sitting on the roof and crying, when the helicopters came.

except when they go back to the path by the school, joel's head starts to hurt again.

he looks up and there's a butterfly.

"hey, impulse, are butterflies common here?" he asks, a little desperately.

"i mean, not really, why?" impulse says.

"uh," joel says, and gestures. the two of them stare as the strange yellow butterfly circles in place.

"okay, so that is kind of weird," impulse admits.

"right?" joel says. "the only way it would be weirder is if it were blue." impulse gives him a look. joel does not explain.

it starts to fly away.

"we should follow it," impulse says, his voice getting a little dull. "yeah. we should follow it."

"what? no! no we should not follow the haunted butterfly, are you nuts?" joel says, but it's a bit too late. (maybe this is what the knife is for: stabbing impulse. it would be an effective method of stopping him!) he chases impulse down, down to the river, where yellow butterflies are swarming. impulse, as though possessed, simply steps into the swarm and falls through them to the water.

joel's, uh, freaking out more than a little bit? he'll admit he's freaking out. he dives forward to try to grab him, only to realize that he doesn't see impulse anywhere.

a single blue butterfly lands on joel's shoulder. "do you hold his heart next to yours?"

"i'm going insane," joel says.

"no heart is meant to be completely alone. do you hold his next to yours?"

"this isn't happening," joel says. "this is like a stupid manga or something. it's not happening."

"there is still time to save them; you must hold your heart strong, or the consequences will be dire. i believe in you."

the butterfly vanishes.

"fuck it," joel says. "if i drown then it's nothing people haven't expected of me anyway."

he steps through the swarm of butterflies.

that night, he drags both impulse and skizz out of the river. they're all freezing cold. shadows and strange, yellowy liquid still cling to all of their skin. also, joel stabbed himself, which like, glad to know that's what the knife was for, apparently, and the scar is warm and comforting. he can feel his--persona, and don't ask him how he knows that--shifting under his skin, under the mark on his hand. it said its name is pygmalion; it says it is a piece of joel's soul.

this is all patently insane. but skizz and impulse are alive and NOT eaten by shadow monsters, so even if they're both a little unconscious, joel takes that as a win.

they lie on the ground outside the river. someone stumbles across them. "well give me some teeth and call me an alligator. you got out on your own," breathes a fellow student clutching a dagger. joel thinks he's in the class across the hall. also--

"what are you talking about," joel wheezes.

"you found it on your own. you can find them?" the student says. his eyes are wide. something in joel's soul recognizes something in the student's. something in joel's BRAIN puts two and two together and realizes why mr. hills gave him a knife.

"no. no, go away, i don't want to be involved in this," joel says.

"well, don't you think it's too late for that?" the student says, and joel passes out. he's pretty sure the butterflies have to be laughing at him. in fact, as though to mock him further, after passing out, he doesn't even get to avoid it forever, because he wakes up in a glowing blue boat. there is a man with white-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a blue outfit leaning over him, poking him.

joel takes no responsibility for punching him. he'd do it again, too, as the long-nosed man sitting next to the unmanned steering wheel welcomes him to the velvet room.

(this, joel realizes later, all rather sets the tone for what the next year of his life is about to become.)

#hermitcraft #joel smallishbeans #smallishsona au #THAT'S RIGHT BABY ITS THE PERSONA AU I WAS WAFFLING ABOUT #because i'm playing p3re right now this is pretty p3 inspired but also expect elements of p4 (my fav) and p5 #i. do not know enough about p1 and p2 to be using all these butterflies but FUCK IT WE BALL.#a bee fic #KIND OF I GUESS I'LL PUT THIS THERE.#anyway the idea is that this au is half a crack au and half DEEPLY SINCERE #because the JOKE is that joel hates every minute of being a persona protagonist #but the OTHER bit is that joel is genuinely an extremely loyal guy who would do VERY WELL as a persona protagonist #you just have to drag him there kicking and screaming #(sort of in a very. p3-esque way)

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dyinggirldied · 1 year

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danny fenton: superbat’s illegitimate son conspiracy

Danny, who is so bad at hiding his powers (flying, super strength, glowing beams, etc) and looks like Bruce when he was a child.

Everyone else: Danny, are you secretly Bruce and Clark’s illegitimate son?

#i dont know #a crack fic i guess #the people asking danny might be bat siblings #and young justice league #who knows bruce is batman at least #now that i think about it bruce and clark have dark hair blue eyes #danny fenton #danny phantom #bruce wayne #clark kent #superbat #batfamily #dpxdc #dp x dc

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teecupangel · 3 months

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[Desmond Miles has successfully saved a Levantine village during the Third Crusaders after waking up in the past.]

Grateful civilian: Thank you, stranger! You have saved our village from the cruelty of war. May we ask who you are so we may know the name of our savior?

[Desmond Miles believes he cannot say ‘Desmond Miles’ because that might accidentally create a ripple effect in the future.]

[Desmond Miles believes he cannot use any of the names of the ancestors who haven’t been born yet especially the Kenways because of how important they are to his history.]

[Desmond Miles has not yet processed the shock of dying a painful death and waking up in the past and his brain is blanking.]

Desmond: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.

[The people Desmond Miles have saved now believed their savior’s name is Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.]

[Desmond Miles has committed identity fraud.]

[… and he will continue to commit identity fraud.]

#we interrupt teecup’s attempts to replying to all the pending replies + asks #to post this half-crack(?) idea #brought by joongdok identity fraud love language #im sorry guess ive been taken in by orv #one day i might even get an actual orv x ac idea #for now…#assassin's creed #desmond miles #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #altaïr ibn la'ahad

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starrayblogs · 4 months

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Not So Rock-Hearted || Floyd (Trolls) x Reader

a/n: a little something before christmas :3 likes and reblogs are appreciated, have a fun read!! ALSO my asks are open to questions about this fic c:

another a/n: tags~ @brights-place

✩ previous chapter

iv. There You Go

“Aww, do you have to go?” Viva pouts, holding onto your hands. You chuckle.

“Yes, Viva, I have to.” You reply, rocking her hands in yours a bit. “I’m not the only one leaving either, you’re going too.”

“Ugh, I know- It’s just that it’s gonna feel like forever until we see each other again.” She turns away, pulling her hands away to cross them. You lean your body to put yourself in her field of vision, smiling. She makes eye contact with you, and her frown eases, a giggle bubbling from her throat.

“We’ll see each other next week.” You lean back, before your entire body jumps a bit from Poppy surprising you from behind.

“And we’ll be doing the second Trolls Kingdom Secret Holiday Gift Swap!” She says, fists to her face with a wide grin.

“What’s that?” Viva and Branch’s brothers collectively ask.

“Oh, I’m so excited! Okay, so, basically, I send an invitation to all the Troll tribes with the name of someone inside the letter. Then, whoever you got is the troll you have to give a gift to!” Poppy exclaims, proceeding to grab Branch after the explanation.

“And we’ll be delivering the letters three days prior.” He says, looking to everyone else before back to Poppy.

“I’ll be looking forward to it, Poppy. And telling Barb about it so we don’t get flooded again.” You follow up the last part with a chuckle.

“You’ve gift swapped before?” Floyd speaks up, and you let out an exaggerated ‘phew’.

“Yeah, it happened… a few days after the World Tour, actually.” You look to Poppy for confirmation, who nods her head. “And I’ve never even met the troll I got, so I was kind of panicking until Poppy pitched in an idea.”

“You’re welcome!” She says, and you chuckle. “I’m so excited to see who you’ll get this time.”

“Please let it be Barb, that way I know what to give this time.” You joke, leaning onto your motorcycle behind you.

“Well, we’ll just have to see whose name lands in your hands!” Poppy sings with a cheeky grin.

“Right…” You smile back, getting a weird feeling in your gut about her grin.

“Well, I’m so pumped for this gift swap thing!” Clay quite literally pumps a fist in the air. “But we better get going before it gets too late.” He says, rolling his hands before reeling it behind him.

“Right! Well, it’s been a fun weekend, you guys. I can’t wait to see you for the holiday!” Viva waves bye to everyone as JD calls Rhonda, who is a sentient car (to your surprise).

Your head tilts as you feel yourself already starting to miss Viva, even after spending almost your entire weekend by her side. She meets your eyes and runs up to give you a tight hug, which you return just as tight. “See you again, Veev.” You tell her softly when she pulls away.

“I can’t wait to spend holidays together again, amiga.” She says quietly to you, and you giggle.

“Get home safely, okay?” You let go of each other and watch as she walks away.

“Of course, get back safe too!” Viva replies, waving by the car door before making her way inside.

You watch Branch and Floyd huddle around the car door to say goodbye to the rest of their brothers. The sun is setting when Rhonda drives them away, JD saying a quick ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can!’ to Floyd and Branch.

You hum, turning your back and getting on your bike. “Are you sure it’s safe to drive back at night all alone?” A gentle voice approaches you, making you look up just as you are about to turn the key.

You turn to Floyd, who looks at you with furrowed brows. You smirk, leaning on top of your fuel tank. “Worried about me, Cotton Candy?”

His eyes flutter for a moment before stammering a reply. “Well, yes, I am. What if you get hurt? I wouldn’t want that to happen.” He says.

You perk up a little from the tank, your eyes widening as your smirk is wiped away. “Ah, well… You don’t- you don’t have to worry, I’ll travel safely.” You reply, stuttering over your words a bit.

He lets out a smile as he sighs. “Good…”

His relief about you getting back safely makes your chest feel light.

“Make sure to have your lights on when it gets dark, alright?” He walks closer to you, holding one of the handles on your bike and causing you to sit up straight. Your cheeks are warm again. “I wanna see you for that gift swap, you know?” He looks at you with that gaze again—that gaze he held with you when he performed with his brothers.

There’s so much care in his eye, accompanied by that sweet smile on his lips. He doesn’t break contact as he waits for your reply.

“Right… I… I wanna see you too, so I’ll be sure to get home in one piece…” You utter softly, not even sure if you are loud enough for him to hear. He chuckles, pulling his hand away from the handle.

He says goodbye, following with your name leaving his lips in a way that makes you melt a bit inside. “Have a goodnight.”

“You too, Cotton Candy…” You manage to give him a reply, before watching him give a small wave and turn his back as he walks back further in Pop Village.

When he’s further away, you feel a smile spread across your face as you laugh to yourself quietly. You catch yourself and quickly cough, turning the key to turn on the bike. “Okay, cool.” You tell yourself, beginning to turn the vehicle around. “Stay cool! He’s just…” You shrug your shoulders as you begin to drive outside Pop Village.

He’s just a regular troll! Sure, he’s cute, and his voice is as pleasant as whatever those classical trolls play, and- You groan, picking up the speed as you ride through the night.

“Oh my gosh, Barb is going to tease the hell out of me.” You realize. You throw your head back quickly and groan louder before quickly facing the road again. “This is not cool.” You glance at yourself in the mirror. “This isn’t ‘rock’.” You tell yourself, glancing back up again.

You inhale deeply and lean closer to the bike, kicking up the speed again. You can’t let yourself get attached, not this easily. You’re not risking it with a world as cruel as this, taking things away no matter how much they mean to you. Keep it cool. You look at yourself one last time in the mirror. “Hard as rock.” You tell yourself, before looking ahead with a frown.

You woke up the next day. You came back home quietly, heading straight to your home while everyone was already in theirs. You slap your hands to your eyes as you collectively cringe and smile about your thoughts last night.

When you bring yourself to a stop with a long exhale, you sit up from bed. You get ready for the day before riding your bike to Barb’s Fortress, calling out to her to show that you’re back.

You hear her voice exclaim your name and feel her hand ruffle your hair from behind you. “What’s up!? How was your little vacay in Pop Village?” She says, leading you to the lounge area.

“It was great.” You reply, chuckling as you think back to it briefly. “Thank you for letting me spend time with Viva.” You follow up, taking a seat with her on the (rather roughed up) couch.

“Hey, no problem.” Barb reassures. “That’s what best friends are for, right?” She smiles softly, her hand on your shoulder. You huff out a laugh and nod your head.

“Yeah…” You say, patting her hand on your shoulder before she pulls away. Then you remember what Poppy said. “Oh, yeah, we should be expecting invitations from Poppy for the Holiday Gift Swap in a few days. So, we probably shouldn’t get flooded like last time.”

“Oh my gosh, again?” Barb says in a breathy voice. “I hope I get someone I know this time.”

“Honestly, I hoped I would get you.” You chuckle, punching her in the shoulder.

“Ohoho, that would be awesome.” She laughs, nodding her head in agreement. “Anyway, what happened on your trip back to Pop Village? Anything interesting?” She asks, turning herself on the couch to face you with crossed legs.

“Oh, you know. Poppy decided to hold a small get-together reunion type-of-thing,” you explain, rotating your wrist. “Actually, it wasn’t just me and Viva catching up. You remember those trolls on stage when we arrived at Vacay Island?”

“Oh yeah, the dark green one-”

“JD.”

“And the other green one-”

“Clay.”

“And there was the purple one-”

“Bruce.”

“And the pink o-”

“Floyd.” You say his name faster than you said the name of the other brothers, catching Barb off guard and widening her eyes a bit.

“Alright, they were there too?” Barb follows up slowly.

“Yeah, and they’re Branch’s brothers. Then we kinda all got to hang out together. But when we left the party, me and Viva caught up a bit more by ourselves.” Barb hums.

“What happened at the party? Were there nachos? If there were, please tell me you brought back some.”

“No, there was menudo- which you should still totally try.” You chuckle. “Anyway, they convinced me to perform a rock song for them.” You recall, smirking a little.

“Aw yeah, rock rep!” Barb pumps a fist in the air before turning back to you. “And then?”

“Then Brozone, that’s the band of Branch and his bros, did a song too. Floyd’s a real performer, you know.”

“Oh?”

You let that compliment slip out a little too nonchalantly. Your smile turns to a laugh, which turns to a cough, which turns to a forced smirk. “Y-yeah! He caught my eye, ya know? Just with how, you know… he kinda looks like us, but less rugged, yeah…” You try to explain coolly.

Barb squints her eyes, raises her brow, and leans forward toward you, quietly staring for close to a minute. “You think he’s cute, don’t you?” She blurts.

You begin to cough violently, feeling your cheeks warm up as you try to cover up your violent reaction with a laugh. “Wha- ha, Of course not! I think he’s interesting!” You correct her.

“Right… You think he’s cute.” Barb leans back, raising her hand with a smirk. “No judgment, by the way.” She says before crossing her arms.

You hide your face in your hands and groan, dragging them down your face. You glare at her smug face with your flushed face before sighing, shoulders slumping too. “Okay, maybe I think he’s cute.”

“Knew it.”

“But! I don’t… I…” Barb’s smirk falls as her face shows concern, her hand unfurling to reach out to you.

“What? What’s wrong?” She asks.

“I don’t want to get too close. What if something happens?” You say quietly, hugging your arms.

“Like what? Nothing’s going to happen, I mean- those bergen things don’t eat you anymore, and all trolls are united. What’s got you scared?” She places a hand on yours. “Doesn’t mean that we’re hard rock doesn't mean you gotta act that way.” She says, chuckling a bit. “I mean, you’ve seen my dad.”

You sigh. “I know, it’s just… It’s what I’m used to. You know that.” You look up to her slowly, meeting her eyes with your furrowed brows.

Barb nods her head slightly. “I know… But I’m telling you that it’s okay now. You’ve got this, there’s nothing to worry about.”

You hum, inhaling deeply as you fix your posture and feel her hand pull away. “Okay… Okay.” You reply to her, but say it to reassure yourself at the same time. You two sit in comfortable silence before Barb speaks up again.

“You know, I think you two would actually look cute together.”

“Barb!” You groan, slapping your hands back on your face and sinking into the couch. You were right when you said Barb would tease you about him.

✩ next chapter

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yakuza-emulation · 6 months

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Shoutout to this one YouTube comment for being the funniest motherfucker I’ve seen. For it being so funny (to me at least), I wanted to draw it lol

Under the cut is the original comment (with some more context lol)

This was posted under a Gacha video featuring the Glam-Mike theory prevalently. I don’t think OP even gave any evidence (aside from maybe Freddy’s classic: “I am not me.” line.)

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lordgrimwing · 26 days

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How Elwing Lost A Silmaril

The first letter—sealed with an eight-pointed star pressed into red wax and delivered just before dawn—left Elwing trembling in her small office, stomach rolling and the taste of bile thick on her tongue. What was she to do? What could she do? Her parents’ murderers were coming here.

The letter didn’t say as much outright. The writer (Maedhros, she’d learned his name eventually, but he would always be the red-haired orcish monster that took her home away and haunted her worst nightmares) veiled every threat behind eloquent lines of meaningless placations and enteritis for the silmaril. He asked her, granddaughter of a thief, to return it to him, eldest son of its maker and rightful heir. But she could read what he did not say: that if she did not bend to his will he would do to Sirion as he did to Menegroth. He would come with his fell army and slaughter everyone in his way.

But how could she give up the jewel? It protected them, kept the forces of darkness at bay just enough for the refugees to eke out a living on the shores. And should Eärendil, her dear, brave husband, find a path to Aman, its light might be the only thing that could stay the Valar’s Doom long enough for them to listen to him. She could not give up their hope.

The second letter—sealed in red wax and delivered as the barley fields were harvested—brought more promises of horrors unnamed falling upon the settlement. She wept after throwing it in the fire. She could not do this on her own. The city council was terrified into inaction at the thought of what lay before then, and Eärendil was still out at sea. She missed him. She missed him so terribly when the councilors looked at her with fearful eyes and asked for her decision.

The fifth letter arrived in the hands of an underfed Mannish girl as the first winds of winter blew in from the sea. Elwing gave her food and a family offered a spot in their home, but the girl said her lord instructed her to go nowhere else until she had a reply for him. Elwing thought of banishing her from the city unanswered, of telling the guards with their rough-made weapons to see that the Fëanorian did not return. She regretted the thought nearly as soon as she had it. The girl was young and it was not her fault that her parents joined themselves to a mighty Elf lord. She could stay for a day.

Tell me whatsoever you desire, the greatest or smallest need of your heart.

The letter said in handwriting that was fast becoming too familiar.

I will give unto you that thing and greater still if you would part with my father’s Silmaril. I would bring you all the provisions of my camp, all the weapons of my army, every other precious thing of power left in this land if you would but willingly part with that one small thing that I must otherwise be driven to take by force in the spring. Tell me your desire, and I will give it unto you. Let this not end with blood.

She fumed in her office, angrily pacing the thin rug gifted to her by the weary-eyed wife of one of her father’s guards who fell in the tunnels of Menegroth. She does not need anything from the murdering bastard! Sirion has all it requires. They would be safe if only they were left alone. How can Maedhros think that he could ever give her anything to make up for what he’s done, to convince her to do what he wants? He’s a monster and a coward who wishes to soothe his conscience by acting as if the attack is all her fault, an inevitable consequence of her resistance. He wishes to absolve himself of yet more evil.

She will not let him. If it is the only thing she can do, she will defy him.

Elwing takes up precious ink and paper. She throws herself into her chair and leans over the beaten desk, pouring her anger and helplessness into the words she scratches across the page.

You’ve taken everything from my people. You wish to take everything from me again. You are monstrous, servant of Morgoth. May the Valar stand against you as I cannot. What would I have, you ask? I would have what you’ve taken from me restored: I would have Dior, my father, and Nimloth, my mother; I would have Eluréd and Elurín, my brothers, alive again and in my arms. But I shall never have them for they died at your hands and at your command. You cannot give me my parents. You search for my little brothers but still cannot give them to me. So, what would I have? I would have your brothers. Give me your two youngest. I have lost my twin brothers for this gem. You must do the same.

She signed the bottom with a vicious strike that split the quill’s nip, blotting the page with ink as dark as orc blood. Her heartbeat in her chest, thumped against her ribs under her breast as though it would escape fate. Her letter would change nothing and she hesitated for a moment before dripping wax from a flickering candle for the seal, tempted to throw the paper to the fire.

She’d written in a tantrum, a final kicking of her feet against what would come in an impotent rage. But what did it matter? Did she not deserve to beat her fists against the Doom once? Everyone looked to her for leadership and guidance as Dior’s heir but she felt like little more than a child. This would be so much easier to handle with Eärendil at her side but he still had not returned and at times she doubted he ever would (what Doom had befallen him on the waters? What lonely fate for him and the crew on the waves?). She would send this letter then say goodbye to all childishness and face what came bravely as her parents and grandparents did.

Resolved, she dripped the wax and sealed the letter. She’d give it to the messenger tomorrow with what small food they could spare so the girl did not starve on the journey. And then…

And then all would be out of her hands and fate would fall as it would.

The sixth letter came in the hands of two red-haired Elves on tall horses. The men sat straight and tall in the saddle, their heads held high. Elwing would have called them haughty if they hadn’t dismounted and bowed deeply before her, falling to one knee as one might before royalty. A third Elf, dark-haired and somber-eyed, rode with them, though he kept himself aside and astride his steed.

“Queen Elwing,” one of the red-heads said, his face fire-scarred. He paused, waiting for permission to go on.

She nodded and waved her hand impatiently, wondering what new trick Maedhros was playing or if this was how he announced an impending slaughter.

The speaker went on, looking up slightly though he stayed kneeling. “We are Ambarussa–” he gestured to the other– “youngest sons of Fëanor. We give ourselves up at your request in exchange for the silmaril.”

Elwing stood in frozen silence as he continued, icy sea breeze biting at her fingers and face.

#the ambarussar are hers now i guess #will this change everything or nothing?#i have my ideas #maedhros is the worst of the sons of feanor actually because he will justify doing anything for a silmaril #crack fic #but i'm treating this crack seriously #elwing #amrod #amras #maedhros #ambarussa #elwing's ambarussa au #grimwing writes #the silmarillion #the silmarils #sirion #third kinslaying #(except it doesn't end up happening now)

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firenati0n · 2 months

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several sentence sunday <3 :)

hello friends :) thank you to @sparklepocalypse @onthewaytosomewhere @captainjunglegym @magicandarchery @getmehighonmagic @bigassbowlingballhead @junebugclaremontdiaz @violetbaudelaire-quagmire (HBD!!!!) @itsmaybitheway @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @anincompletelist for the tags <3

proposal au titled "the full spectrum of human emotion" coming eventually. there is spanking involved:

Alex leans closer to Henry's ear, watching a lone drop of sweat slide down the man's temple, and whispers, “I did say you were allowed, sweetheart.” Henry's cheeks go a lurid shade of pink, almost glowing from within under the lights. He takes a second to assess, landing on a decision surely meant to end Alex's life prematurely. Extinguished in his youth; death by over-the-clothes lap dance spanking. He raises his hand and brings it down with a swift crack and Alex feels it through his jeans, all the way to the blood vessels pounding in his temples. But Henry doesn't stop there. No, he goes the extra mile, goddamn overachieving fuck he is, and squeezes. Alex is going to die in this fucking bar. If the bull didn’t do it, and the dancing didn’t do it, it’s definitely going to be the fucking spanking. The patrons are wolf-whistling, Nora is yelling all sorts of dirty encouragement, and Alex. Well, Alex is over the fucking moon. “That's the best you got, baby boy?” “I suggest you don't push me right now, Alex, if you don't want to cause a scene in this lovely bar.”

xoxo roop

+ tags below the cut and open tag as always <3

@ninzied @dumbpeachjuice @wordsofhoneydew @saturntheday @leaves-of-laurelin @inexplicablymine @sherryvalli @littlemisskittentoes @heybuddy-drabbles @priincebutt @whimsymanaged @ships-to-sail @futureseaempress @happiness-of-the-pursuit @theprinceandagcd @tintagel-or-cockleshells @cricketnationrise @tailsbeth-writes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @myheartalivewrites @onward--upward @celeritas2997 @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex @14carrotghoul @rmd-writes @indomitable-love @anchoredarchangel @gay-flyboys @cultofsappho @welcometololaland @gayrootvegetable @rockyroadkylers @suseagull04 @eusuntgratie @orchidscript @cha-melodius @candyspandemonium @kiwiana-writes

#roop writes #several sentence sunday #rwrb #rwrb fic #i don't know what's going on either so #here you go i guess #i wrote this in the dairy fridge of a costco #godspeed #to the costco patrons i am sorry you watched me struggle to write this bc i was somehow sweating in that cold ass fridge #my apologies to the child in the cart who saw me try and fail many times to italicize the word “crack” on my phone #fat fingers: 1. roop: 0 #fic: tfsohe

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fabbyf1 · 1 month

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Use Your Hands (And My Spare Time)

“You want GP to sit in a chair and... what? Watch me fuck you?”

“Yes,” Charles replied grumpily.

“And you want him to talk me through it like I’m on a hot lap?”

“Yes!” Charles said, a little less grumpy and more relieved.

"You want Gianpiero Lambiase to tell me how to fuck you,” Max clarified.

OR: The GP Fic™

Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen/Gianpiero Lambiase | 15k | Read on AO3

Part III of lestappen + guest series.

#........ hi besties #REMEMBER WHEN WE WERE ALL JOKING ABOUT ME WRITING THE GP FIC?#well guess what it was never a joke #this was supposed to be a crack fic and somehow turned into....... this #I AM SO ENDEARED BY GP OKAY #gp fic #my fic #fic rec #f1 rpf #AO3 #charles leclerc/max verstappen #gianpiero lambiase #charles leclerc/max verstappen/gianpiero lambiase

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ao3-shenanigans · 8 months

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Y’all Hozier himself is a character is this crack-chat fic

I am astounded, astonished, flabbergasted, even

He’s helping save the world by singing a parody of the Wellerman in an abandoned wax museum

#time to play guess the fandom #gosh I love this fic #it makes some sense in context #well #as much as a crack chat fic can #anyways #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #fanfic #Hozier #fandom #ao3 shenanigans

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cuffmeinblack · 9 months

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Richard Jackdaw.

#richard jackdaw #just planning my ridiculous multichapter gothic romance crack fic now #fuck canon i guess #spent more time generating pretty pictures than i have writing so far

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honeyhotteok · 10 months

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thank you @razypie for suggesting i post my nonsense <3

summary: you and gun beef over the last pack of your favorite cigs.

"I'll have a pack of Marlboro Purple Burst," you and the stranger next to you say in unison.

Your head snaps to see who just said that. Some guy all decked out in a suit and wearing sunglasses indoors at 11pm like a freak, apparently.

The convenience store cashier pulls down the last pack of Marlboro Purple Burst from the display shelf. "Um, we only have 1 pack of that left, would either one of you perhaps like an Ice Blast instea-"

"No." The two of you reply in unison.

You side-eye the fuck out of him again as you readjust the gym duffel bag strap sitting on your shoulder.

"Well. To be honest, I don't get paid enough for this so I guess the two of you can just sort it out amongst yourselves," the cashier sets the pack of cigarettes down on the counter with a tight-lipped smile before going back to their phone.

You turn to the nuisance standing next to you and give your opening argument first. "Dude, you're like, 30. Just let me have my cigs, I need it after finishing my training session."

"First of all, I'm 19, not that I see why that's relevant here."

This grown ass looking man is 19?!

"Secondly, I will not be engaging in whatever petty argument this is." He reaches into his wallet to pay and swiftly takes the pack in his hand.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." You can't help but laugh at his audacity, and step in his path. "Listen, buddy. I've had a long ass day, and to be honest with you, not a big fan of your attitude so far. So why don't you do me a favor and hand those over, yeah?"

He sighs and takes off his glasses, revealing his pitch black eyes and a large scar stretched between them. "Move." he glares.

So what this guy has some freaky eyes? You've seen weirder shit. You glare back at him with your feet firmly planted.

When he reaches for your wrist to pull you out of the way, you front kick him into the shelf of cookies. You rip open a packaged swiss cake roll and smush it into his eyes.

"Sorry!" you call out to the cashier.

You snatch the cigarettes out of his hand. He wipes the cake off his face and swiftly grabs your forearm in an attempt to throw you into the air. But you move even more quickly, elbow striking him in the face followed by side kicking him in the chest, sending him flying back into the shelf of snacks.

You turn and run out the store, the cigarettes still safely clutched in your hand.

Gun stays seated on the floor for a moment, surrounded by fallen shrimp crackers, trying to process what the hell just happened. He finally sighs and dusts himself off before walking back to the cashier.

"I guess I'll have a pack of Ice Blast."

#uhh disclaimer: dont smoke kids!! lol #anyway i truly dont know what the hell this is LOL #a reader who can rival him in both fighting and his bad smoking habit i guess #also idk if this even counts as a crack fic tbh #gun park x reader #i hesitate to even tag this shit lmao😭#lookism x reader #gun park #lookism

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milksuu · 6 months

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semi-spoilers for my cleaninglady!reader x heartsteel fanfic ahead. subject to always change.

istg it's basically a Hangover movie script. One of my ideas im jotting down is literally them crashing a 50+ and over cruise vacation. And they use cleaninglady!reader's master of disguise to pretend they're her bodyguard's (and grandsons form like 6 other dads) I literally blame it on listening to "Pump It" by The Black Eyed Peas. Because things are getting wild:

Aphelios somehow has lobsters from the buffet aquatic tank hidden inside his jacket for no reason at all (but apparently, it's valid and turns out to be useful for a quick escape into some ceiling vents)

Sett has to fight off some buff old man with a triple black belt, since he's been accused of trying to steal his wife (Martha--who also has dementia and thinks Sett's her grandson. She also thinks Aphelios is his girlfriend/fiance. She also loves bingo.)

Ezreal accidentally swaps places with one of the show people, and ends up on stage as the John Lennon impersonator (those glasses are a hit). Granny's are throwing those panties for sure. I think one has a heart attack in the crowd (seriously grab the defibrillator)

Kayn somehow manages to wind up in a strange cruise suite with a bunch of elderly people doing questionable things, in some questionable attire, doing some questionable drugs. He gets a pack of gum out of it. Cool for him, I guess (?)

Yone is carrying around a very special black briefcase. And a group of undisclosed men in black suits are trying to get their hands on (?) But he swears it's just cleaninglady!reader's very expensive dentures.

And K'Sante is at the casino making bank. Only for the casino staff to accuse him of possibly cheating, and inevitably, chaos ensues in a wild goose chase. And let me tell you, scooters are zooming, walkers are flying, and canes are swinging.

Oh. Did I mention at some point they literally jump off the cruise in the middle of the ocean ? (cleaninglady!reader is obviously screaming for dear life) So yeah, that's happening.

#heartsteel #heartsteel imagines #heartsteel x reader #sorry mom im the new cleaning lady for heartsteel #i guess i am writing a crack fic #but it all makes too much sense really #so is it really a crack fic?????#i am not well

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nerevar-quote-and-star · 2 months

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Dangerously close to plotting a real Skyrim/Lord of the Rings crossover for after Keeping Count because my secret desire for Leara/Glorfindel has reared its head again

Shhh Don't question it.

#look look now i must explain #the explanation is that leara simply works well with literally every male character I like at least for the most part #anyway #it'd be funny #i wish i could write a leara/astarion fic but i do NOT understand d&d at all alas #I understand lotr/silm on a crazy level so i guess sunshine hero elf it is #this is fine actually #actually what i really need to do is edit and finish my funny Skyrim/hobbit crack fic but that's a ten year old project #no really #I do NOT KNOW i am just having thoughts and i'm sharing them on my blog because it's mine and I can #also i was in the glorfindel/ofc tag on ao3 like five minutes ago and it looks empty and sad #so Leara can fix it #one day there will be more leara ships than there are for hermione granger jk maybe #i should make a list #I am talking out of my hair it is unlikely that i'll ever do anything the fact that keeping count even exists is a bloody miracle #mod post #oc: leara roseblade

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i-like-anything-water · 7 months

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here, have sum crack:

The next time she'll see Rose and Juleka, she'll gift then a basket of treats. Some of said treats will also have some beef cubes rather than bean paste as a form of payback. Because, good God, she shouldn't have listened to them the moment they said:

"It's a story about a reincarnated girl and her bully but it's really nice!"

Marinette blinked at the duo, who were holding up a set of novels. They've decided to have a spontaneous anime marathon after school and because of different reasons, Alya, Mylene and Ivan couldn't join them.

She read the title of the novels, 'I favor the Villainess' in pink lettering.

The two girlfriends insisted on watching the anime which was apparently complete and there hadn't been an akuma attack yet so she let herself get dragged into it. The story was interesting, very very interesting.

And Claire seemed very very familiar.

Perhaps she should have stopped Juleka and Rose when it was already past 10 pm and it was a school night. Maybe she could have gotten some bit of sleep before an akuma decided to annoy everyone in Paris by rampaging across the city at bloody 2 AM. Ladybug was irritated, moreso when Chat almost slammed into a building out of sleepiness. Thankfully, the Akuma wasn't much of a nuisance.

The lack of sleep, however, made up for it.

Maybe she should ask Master Fu if there's any way to recruit more Miraculous holders incase of Akumas in ungodly hours. They were still students after all, plus she doubts Hawkmoth doesn't work as well. Maybe she could ask Hawkmoth instead to create a schedule for all the Akumas. Negotiate and stuff.

Anyways, going to school sleep deprived, irritated and having an anime marathon the night before was brewing for disaster. Maybe her Ladybug luck can spare her for today.

"Well if it isn't my favorite person, Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Nope. Tough luck.

Marinette groaned, her irritation rising as Chloé's haughty voice reached her ears. Truthfully, the blonde wasn't that annoying anymore ever since she decided to get the help she needed. She's actually been doing pretty well, if her small progress at being a better version of herself was to go by.

However, Marinette was sleep deprived, hangry, and also very much a bisexual disaster.

Chloé Bourgeois, former bully turned hesitant all- wait, bully? Bully, bully, bull- oh. Aha, bingo. Didn't Rae almost made Claire back off because she kept flirting with her?

"What's with that creepy smile on your face, Dupain-Cheng?!"

Marinette smiled, her remaining braincells evaporating as she looked up at the startled blonde, "You're so pretty."

"W-what?!"

Marinette shrugged, completely unaware of everything happening around her, "I mean, if you're going to call me by my full name you can have it. Chloé Dupain-Cheng, it suits you."

Everything was dead silent. Dead ass? A voice eerily similar to Rae Taylor in her head, asked.

Dead ass, Marinette replied.

She doesn't remember much after what happened but she does remember Chloé going red in the face, sputtering something that was too fast that could give Hawkmoth's receding hairline a run for its money and Alya asking her after Chloé practically ran from the conversation if she's finally lost it.

Okay, Alya, rude.

After some explanation from Alya, a two hour breakdown and panic attack, and a three hour talk with Tikki, she was already down in their bakery on a school night to prepare Chloé's favorite treats.

Was she purposely making herself sleep deprived again to actually give the treats? Maybe. Would they talk about it? Hopefully.

Is she excited? Well.

Raise Y/our hands was playing in the background and Rae Taylor seemed to be lifting her spirits. And maybe her chances of being a masochist as well.

#chloe bourgeois #marinette dupain cheng #chloenette #rae taylor #claire francois #i'm in love with the villainess #i favor the villainess #crack #short fic #i wrote this in under ten minutes #mention of juleka and rose #pre relationship?#i guess #have sum crack

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