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monstersandmaw · 2 years

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If you are doing the one-word prompt game, then, scarecrow for my prompt

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

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Wow. This one really got away from me, but then again, I probably owe you a longer story after all these years anyway! Thank you for the prompt! (heavily inspired by this haunted village ambience video on YouTube that I listen to a lot while writing).

Contents: a rather lonely male scarecrow x artistic gn reader, haunted village, a cheeky magpie, a cute rabbit, lots of soft fluff, sfw Wordcount: 2987

(prompts closed)

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The last rays of sunlight glanced off mounded clumps of moss that choked the old, drystone wall on your left, and gave them all a little glint of gold. Part of you almost believed that if you were to risk a closer look into the cracks between the stones, you would find fairy coins and gems stashed there for safe keeping. Mud splashed up your boots from the rutted, potholed road which wound away down the hill, and off to your left, the looming beech wood whispered and rustled constantly, sending spiralling copper leaves out into the open fields to the right of the road.

Between the trees, twilight now began to pool and stretch, spreading like an ink stain over the carpet of fallen beech leaves and driving off the sun as night took its turn to watch over the woods and all the creatures who dwelt there.

A tawny owl took up a call from somewhere nearby. The broken half-refrain that sought a mate to complete the melody rang softly between the still trees, and you sighed, hoping he’d find a mate.

You’d heard about this place, the abandoned village in the valley, and had been travelling on foot for days to reach it with your sketch book in your bag and enough food to last you a week if you were careful. To your surprise, you glimpsed bright, fat, round pumpkins growing in the fields on your right, their coiling tendrils spreading merrily across the roughly tilled earth despite the place having lain barren and empty for generations. No one who lived within ten miles of this place ever dared come down this road, and yet there were fresh crops still growing in abandoned farmland.

“Full of ghosts and demons that place is,” the old baker’s wife had hissed at you that morning when you’d bought a loaf for the journey at the nearest town. “Don’t you go wandering around there…��

As you’d left that small, riverside town, with its creaking water mill and ringing blacksmith’s, a tall young man in a dark green cloak had come up to you and pressed a charm into your hands. He’d had a sharp, serious face and deep, black eyes, and people had whispered in the pub the night before that he was the witch’s son. You’d looked down at your hands and found a smooth disc made of antler with a familiar stave rune carved into it.

“To keep you safe,” he’d said, and turned away. You watched him walk a couple of paces before he stopped, sighed, and turned back to you. “I’ve been there,” he said. “To the village. Don’t take anything from there unless it’s given to you first.”

Unnerved by his odd advice, you’d just nodded, thanked him, and donned the protective amulet. It had warmed against your skin as it hung on its leather cord around your neck, and you ran your fingers over it a few times as you walked, thinking about this words again.

Now, as you peered over the planks of a rotting, dilapidated fence overlooking the village, you caught sight of a twisted old apple orchard swathed in evening mist in the wide, verdant valley off to your right, and what seemed to be a dark figure standing in the centre of it. Your heart fairly stopped beating until you realised that they weren’t moving at all, and it was only the faint breeze tugging at the corner of an old coat that was catching your eye. It was a scarecrow.

You camped that night in the only house that still seemed to have a solid, thatched roof, lighting a fire in the cold grate and sleeping in your bedroll on the flagstone floor rather than occupying the empty bed that had been left behind. It felt rude and presumptuous somehow.

After a spot of breakfast the next morning, you banked the fire and left your belongings neatly by the hearth, and looked around the small, single-roomed stone cottage before leaving. “Thank you for letting me sleep here,” you said aloud to no one in particular.

It seemed a bit silly, but it also important somehow, and you nearly jumped out of your skin when a magpie flapped its wings in the rafters above and laughed at you. “No harm in saying thank you,” you muttered to it, and stumbled out of the door, embarrassed.

Your morning was spent wandering the village, getting to know the layout of the old, tumbledown buildings, but your afternoon took you to the ancient apple orchard where you found the scarecrow again, standing sentry in the centre of the trees with his arms spread wide, almost in welcome.

You came to a halt in front of him and looked up into his weathered face, surprised at how friendly his features were. Sure, his face was made of sack cloth and bits of pale straw stuck out at the cuffs and hem of his linen shirt, but the roots that had been chosen for his hands all had four fingers and a gnarled thumb, and the branches that made up his legs beneath the brown broadcloth trousers stuffed with straw were in proportion with the rest of his body. He had big, leather boots on which, like the rest of his clothes and the wide-brimmed, leather hat he wore, were in far better condition than they had any right to be after he’d been presumably hanging on his post for a hundred years or more.

“I almost want to offer you an apple,” you chuckled nervously. “Don’t worry, I haven’t come to thieve from your orchard. I’ve just come to draw the trees. I hope that’s alright. You mind if I sit with you a while?”

Obviously, you got no answer from the silent scarecrow, and although his face was warped with age, it seemed to have a kindly, almost curious set to its vague features, and the stitched mouth seemed to smile a little at the corners.

You sat with your back resting against his post and lost yourself in the careful skate of charcoal and graphite over paper, drawing the speckled feathers of a thrush as it hopped about looking for snails, the curve of the old, white gate that hung off its hinges at a jaunty angle, the lines of the roofs of the village with their ribcage rafters showing, the twisting trunks of the trees like gnarled hands reaching up from the earth to share their fruits with the world. Your magpie joined you for a while and hopped about, chattering away to himself, and you laughed as he began to play with a fallen leaf for a while before flapping off and leaving a single feather behind. You drew that too, lying in the dewy grass, but left it where it lay. The warning of the witch’s son reminded you not to take what had not been offered.

It was only when a cool breeze caressed the back of your neck like a lover’s breath that you jolted and realised how long you’d been sitting there.

The had light faded unnoticed from the brilliant pinks and oranges of sunset to the calm, quiet lilacs and blues of dusk that you blinked, and you could barely see three feet in front of you now. It was only because your paper was white that you could see the marks after all. Fog rolled in from the edges of the low-walled orchard, but despite the way the white fingers crawled across the grass, it didn’t seem threatening in the least.

Groaning and rolling your neck to ease the built-up tension and stiffness, you set your sketchbook down and clambered to your feet, joints creaking after so long in one pose, and you stretched out your back as well. You looked up at the scarecrow and frowned. You could have sworn he had been looking towards the gate when you’d arrived, but his head was bowed down now and looking in your direction.

“You’ve been watching me sketch, have you?” you said, not sounding quite as confident as you’d hoped. Perhaps he’d just moved in a breath of wind earlier. “Well, don’t judge me too harshly, hm? It’s the having fun that counts, not the end result. I’m sorry I intruded on your peace for so long though.”

Again the softest, gentlest breeze wafted around your face and the pages of your sketchbook fluttered open until they stopped on one you’d done of the scarecrow himself.

You cocked an eyebrow. “You like it?” you asked, not really believing that you were actually communicating. “I’m not sure I captured your smile quite right. I can come back again tomorrow and try again though. You’ll tell me if I’m not welcome, right?”

In a flash of black and white wings that came down out of nowhere and made you yip in surprise, the magpie landed on the scarecrow’s shoulder and gave another harsh, laughing chatter at you. He almost seemed to be mocking your startled reaction. Then he fluttered down onto the grass, hopped around a bit, and stooped to pick something up. When he flapped back up to the scarecrow’s shoulder and hopped about, he had the iridescent feather in his beak. He cocked his head a few times and then stuck his neck forwards towards you.

“For me?” you asked, reaching slowly for the feather.

The bird nodded, and as you took it, he spoke. “For you.”

Your eyes went wide and you almost dropped the feather. The black and white bird danced around, apparently enjoying your surprise. Then he made another few cawing noises, flapped his wings, and then disappeared off through a gap in the apple trees. “Well, thank you,” you croaked into the silence he left behind. You knew that corvids could imitate human speech, but that had all been very… precise.

Patting the scarecrow’s chest near his shoulder in an informal farewell, you turned to pick up your sketchbook from the dewy grass and looked back one last time at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

When you stepped over the ruined gate to the orchard the next morning, you made deliberate note of where the scarecrow was looking, and it had definitely changed overnight. Now he was looking across at his right hand that was stretched out wide on the cruciform support from which he hung. In it, you saw a flash of white and a few flashes of colour, and frowned. He hadn’t been holding anything the previous day.

As you approached, you could see better what it was that he was holding, and you exhaled slowly. It was a beautiful bunch of silvery dried grasses, with bright dandelions, red poppies, and dusky blue harebells, all wrapped around with the fluffy heads of old man’s beard that loved to ramble freely over the hedgerows and walls.

“Is… Is that for me too?” you asked. “How did you get them?” An idea lodged itself in your mind and you couldn’t shake it. He was definitely able to look in different directions, so that must mean… “Can you move?”

Only the wind answered you for a long, stretching moment. Then, with the kind of aching slowness that made your heart stop, his head began to turn. Slowly, carefully, he nodded once.

You swallowed and took half a step back, heartbeat thudding. “Is it… Is it alright that I’m here?”

Again, to your immense relief, he nodded again. He moved like the rusty hinge of an old barn door.

“Can you speak?”

He paused, and for a second you thought perhaps he hadn’t understood, but then he nodded a third time.

You licked your lips nervously and looked at the flowers. “So… are they for me?”

Yet another nod was your only answer.

“Did you gather them yourself? I mean, can you… get down from there?” The idea of him roaming around the fields while you’d been fast asleep was partly terrifying and partly rather sweet, and it prompted another question before you’d even waited for the first to be answered. “Are we the only two people here?”

A warm, amused chuckle, like the crunching of autumn leaves, sounded from the scarecrow. He shook his head slightly.

“‘No’ we’re not alone or ‘no’ you can’t get down? Or ‘no’ you didn’t get them yourself?”

The gnarled fingers of his left hand twitched and then the rope that seemed to hold him lashed to the support loosened a fraction and he held up a finger in a gesture that asked you to wait, to slow down.

“I’m sorry,” you said, stepping back again. “I get a bit ahead of myself sometimes.”

Another friendly laugh sounded and you watched the stitched gash that formed his mouth stretch upwards at the corners. His hollow eye sockets lifted a little too and his whole face expressed a gentle mirth. “I can speak…” he said in a rasping, reedy voice. “Though I have had no one but that wretched magpie to talk to for years.”

He spoke fondly enough of the creature, despite his words, and you smiled.

“I can move and get down, though it takes… effort.”

“Oh. Do you mind if I stay and draw some more?”

“Not at all,” he said.

“You’re welcome to come down and join me. I could even draw you again… see if I can get your face right this time.”

He laughed, and the ropes uncoiled on their own, gently lowering him down to the grass. He was about your height, though he stood crookedly, leaning against the support behind him. He kept the brim of his hat tilted down as if to shield his face from you, and he shifted self-consciously as you looked at him. He held out the flowers and you watched the way his hands moved like living flesh, though they were undoubtedly made of the roots of a tree.

You took the flowers carefully from him and felt oddly choked. “I can’t remember the last time someone brought me flowers.”

“There’s not much out at this time of year, but…” he shrugged. “I found what I could. You were kind to sit and chat with me yesterday, even though you didn’t know I could hear you, and the magpie said you were polite in Old Rose’s cottage…”

“Thank you.”

Setting the flowers down beside your satchel, you drew out your sketchbook and sat cross-legged on the ground nearby. He sat as well, stretching his legs out in front of him and letting his hands lie softly in his lap. For a while he just watched you and then seemed to doze as the sun rose and lent a little weak warmth to the autumn day.

After a while, you began to ask him about the history of the village and why it had eventually been abandoned, and he talked in his rasping, faltering way for hours. A rabbit snuffled through the grass as the day wore on, and you froze, not wanting to startle it. It came right up to him, ears forward, nose twitching.

“Hello,” he murmured with a fond chuckle, and the creature leapt straight up into his lap. He cradled it and you carefully turned a new page in your sketchbook to try and capture it.

Luckily, the rabbit was in no hurry to leave, and he stroked his fingers through its fur long enough that you got three decent sketches out of it before it hopped off in search of the dewy dandelions growing between the trees. When he looked up at you and found you watching, he dipped his head again in a clearly bashful gesture.

“Want to see?” you said, waggling the sketchbook.

He nodded, and you went over to sit beside him. His finger shook as he trailed it carefully around the edge of the sketch, mindful not to smudge it, and then he looked up at you. This close, you could see the weave of the sack cloth that made up his face and the crinkles where the material pulled around his mouth and empty eye sockets. “You… I… Is this really how you see me?” he asked in a whisper barely louder than the breeze through the grasses.

With a frown, you turned your gaze back to the sketchbook to look at the drawings more critically. Was he offended? You thought you’d managed to capture the gentle way he’d cradled the rabbit’s soft body, the way his gnarl-knuckled hands had gracefully stroked its fur, the fond tilt of his head as he’d regarded the vulnerable creature in his care, but you’d also taken your time to match the way he listed slightly to one side, his broken-branch spine and crooked limbs not keeping him perfectly upright. It lent him a soft, shy quality, and you nodded. “I think you’re beautiful,” you said and then flushed hot with embarrassment.

He turned his head away and then looked back again, regarding you from the dark, shadowy hollows of his eyes. “No one has ever found me beautiful,” he said. “Not even the farmer who made me. I’m supposed to be frightening, you know? All the village children used to be afraid of me.”

“I’m sure you could be if you needed to be,” you said. “If I were here to steal apples, I mean. The rabbits aren’t a threat, and the magpie is only playful.”

“You could take anything you liked,” he breathed. “I wouldn’t stop you.”

“But could you if you wanted to?”

He paused. “Yes.”

You brought your hand to his cheek and found the sack cloth warm beneath your palm despite the autumn chill in the air. “Let me stay and sketch a while longer?”

“As long as you like,” he whispered back. “You’re welcome here as long as you like.”

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| Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar)

#scarecrow #male scarecrow #scarecrow monster #scarecrow x reader #(but not DC scarecrow!!)#just an ordinary old scarecrow lad #monster boyfriend #exophilia #one word prompts #gender neutral reader #gn reader #male monster #male monster x reader #male monster x gender neutral reader

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quinloki · 10 months

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Whiskey 🥃

>:)

You grin. "Of course it tastes better this way." You insist, straddling Mihawk's waist, glass of whiskey in hand. "Victory makes everything taste better."

The sharp-eyed man regards you neutrally for a moment before he smiles, his features softening. His hands are on your sides, holding you steady.

"Very well. I'm certain this is some foolishness you picked up from that red-haired dolt." He asserts, grumbling slightly as you raise the glass.

"Remember, the loser swallows." You remind him, taking a sip of the aged whiskey.

He simply smiles as you lean down, the soft pleasure of your lips against his giving way as you both open your mouths. The strong liquor floods the exchange, soft moans escaping you as Mihawk takes control of the kiss, hands hard against your back.

You set the glass down and lose your hands in his hair, fighting with all you have to wrest control from one of the most precise men in the world. The liquor burns a little, but it's nothing to the persistent kiss, and wild heat already building in your core.

Mihawk grabs your ass suddenly, squeezing and causing you to squeak and swallow the whiskey. You cough a little, wheezing to catch your breath, and smack his chest playfully.

"I'm not the only one learning bad things from Shanks, it seems." You tease, a shiver running up your spine as he grabs your gaze.

"Don't confuse who taught who."

I've been challenged.

#SIR.#quin answers #quins been challenged #x reader #dracule mihawk #one word prompts

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mikeisthricedeceased · 1 year

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Lick 👅 with Frank castle 👀👀👀

To make up for my misunderstanding last time, this one is mostly about Frank’s tits lmao I also got carried away so this took longer than I expected (I know there’s a lot of biting in this too, I just have my own kinks for Frank and I can’t help it lol)

It began with a little impromptu ice cream party.

Frank had brought home a big bottle of chocolate syrup for some dessert recipe you were going to try making tomorrow. You dug out the big tub of ice cream left over from the last birthday you’d celebrated and Frank managed to reach the jar of cherries that had found its way to the very back of the fridge’s top shelf. You also snagged the small bottle of strawberry syrup that was stuck amongst the other condiments, glad to add more options, even if the whole selection was still pretty basic. No bananas or waffle cones, not even a can of whipped cream.

It was nice, chatting and laughing, making sugary abominations before settling on the couch and putting on an old show you’d been rewatching lately.

You’d both overestimated how much could fit in your bowls, which became a slight problem when everything started melting.

Frank got a glob of ice cream on his shirt because it was barely solid enough to stay on a spoon, and your generous syrup drizzle had dripped down the sides of your bowl and onto you. You missed a good five minute chunk of the episode while trying to clean the drops off the coffee table and rinse some of the stickiness from your hands.

Once everything was reasonably cleaned up, you paused the show and followed Frank into the bedroom so you could both change out of your (hopefully not permanently stained) clothes.

That should’ve been a pretty quick and easy process, but you were feeling giddy and happy and maybe a little frisky.

A very nice night combined with a suddenly shirtless Frank Castle often had that effect.

“Honey?”

Frank didn’t look up from where he was trying to pick a shirt from his drawer, but he tilted his head to let you know he was listening. “Hmm?”

You toyed with the hem of your own shirt, eyes tracing the lines of his back and shoulders. “Would you be willing to try something really quick?”

He paused in his search and you could see the beginnings of a smirk on his face as he tilted it just a little bit more. “I might be.”

“It might get a little…sticky,” you told him, taking a step closer. “And I kinda lied about it being really quick.”

He pushed the drawer shut and turned to face you fully, arms crossed over his bare chest. “Listening.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing that he was completely aware of what he was doing.

He wore that small, self-satisfied smile he got whenever he guessed where your mind was going.

“No restraints,” you said, silently pleased when his brows lifted in mild surprise. You loved tying him up. “But I do want you to lay down with your hands over your head.”

“No touching?”

“Not unless I say so.”

He nodded, his gaze flitting to follow every move you made as you stepped closer again. “And?”

You made a show of trying to decide, lips pursed. “I think… I’ll make some art,” you drawled, taking a step. “I’m gonna go get those bottles of syrup” another step “and use you as my canvas.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Do I get anything out of this deal?”

“My endless love and devotion,” you said sweetly. With a shrug, you added, “Maybe an orgasm.”

A small grin pulled at his lips even as he shook his head. “I’ll grab a towel.”

You beamed and quickly went to get the syrup back out.

When you got back to the bedroom, a very nice sight was there to greet you.

Frank had stripped down to his boxer briefs and was lounging on the bed, towel already spread out beneath him.

You took a moment to simply admire him, mouth watering at the thought of what you were about to do. Cool, sticky-sweet syrup on warm skin.

“Didn’t know if you wanted me fully nude,” he said, a hand tucked behind his head as he looked you up and down.

You shook your head, stepping forward to put the bottles on the bed. “This is good, for now.” You stripped down as well and climbed onto the bed with him, scooting the syrup bottles onto the towel so they would be within easy reach. Swinging a leg over him, you straddled his hips and rested your hands on his broad chest. “I always get so many ideas when I see you like this,” you told him, fingertips pressing lightly into his skin. “Makes it hard to focus when we first get started.”

“Just means there’ll be more fun in the future.” He slid both hands up above his head, arms flexing with the move, muscles in his chest and shoulders shifting in the process.

It did nothing to help you focus.

He was only doing what you’d told him to.

You cupped his face in your hands and looked him in the eye. “I know you’re the hottest man alive and everything, but can you give me a second to think because I had a plan.”

His eyes widened. “You told me to lay like this,” he defended, laughter edging into his voice.

“Yeah, but you’re being sexy about it.”

“Because we’re about to have sex!”

“No,” you corrected, “I’m painting. You’re making it about sex.”

Frank rolled his eyes but said nothing.

You took it as an opportunity to figure out where you wanted to start. You had a vague plan for what you wanted to ‘paint,’ but the first move wasn’t as clear. Picking up the strawberry syrup, you popped the cap off and leaned over Frank, assessing the planes of his chest, his stomach, his neck.

Your gaze settled on his collarbones. Tipping the bottle, you traced a careful line across his skin from the curve of one collarbone to the other. It ended a little shaky and you bit your lip. You could leave it. You could wipe it off with a corner of the towel. Or…

Leaning down, you swiped your tongue through the end of the line of syrup. It was still cool, and sweet as candied fruit.

Frank stilled, breath halting for a moment before he exhaled slowly as you rose back up. “Didn’t know you were gonna tease me,” he grunted.

You scoffed as you fixed the line. “I’m not teasing. You’d know if I was teasing.” Squinting, you considered your next move.

“Well, I was expecting something like temperature play but sticky, and now you’re licking me.” He shrugged. “I feel like licking is a tease.”

“A tease for what? Biting?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You scowled at him. “Rude.”

He grinned. “Never said it was a bad thing.”

With a huff, you closed the strawberry syrup and grabbed the chocolate. You had it open and upturned quickly, squeezing a generous amount of the syrup onto the center of his chest.

He jolted, letting out a curse as goosebumps rose on his skin. “Jesus! That’s fucking cold.”

“I thought you wanted temperature play,” you said sweetly. You didn’t miss the fact that, even with the shock of cold, he had kept his hands up. He was usually very clear about when he wasn’t on board with something, and his continuing to follow instructions was a good sign that he liked where things were going.

Leaning down, you slowly dragged your tongue through the chocolate until you could taste the salt of his skin. Cold, followed by warm.

He was still again, chest not moving at all while you licked him clean. As you sat up, there was the faintest shiver that ran through him, his eyes dark.

“Do you like when I do that, honey?”

Taking a deep breath, chest expanding under your hand, he nodded. “Yeah.” The word was an exhale, long and low.

You abandoned the idea of making some big, specific design. This was better.

Making another line, this one from the center of his chest and across a pectoral, you gave multiple little licks along the length of chocolate, taking long enough that he couldn’t hold his breath like he had before. Once the syrup was gone, you pressed a kiss to his chest. “Good boy.”

“Fuck,” he grunted, adam’s apple bobbing.

You swapped back to the strawberry and made a circle around his nipple. The sound of the sheets shifting made you look up from your work, only to find that Frank had a tight grip on the pillows above his head. The sight made you smile. You kept your eyes on his face as you trailed after the syrup with the tip of your tongue.

A small, desperate sound left him and a twisted kind of delight warmed your chest. Letting your teeth graze the peak of his nipple had the sound drawing out until he was breathless. You kissed and licked and nipped at his skin for a long while, your hands soothing and gentle whenever he got restless from the sensations. Then, you switched to the other side of his chest.

You still made little dots of syrup here and there, but it had become more of an afterthought than the main focus. Frank became more sensitive every moment, squirming and shifting under your mouth and hands, making low, debauched noises and higher pleas for more.

It wasn’t until you bit harder into the meat of his pec, just beside his nipple, that he actually arched up, his loud moan filling the small bedroom.

Your whole body prickled with heat, the steady waves of arousal you’d been feeling coming to a crest at the sound. Rising up, you caught sight of his flushed face, his heaving chest all speckled with little bruises. He no longer had a death grip on the pillows, his arms resting limp on either side of his head instead. You glanced down and any doubt you’d had vanished at the sight of a wet spot on his dark underwear.

Cupping his jaw, you turned his face toward you. “I thought you were just humoring me with the biting, honey. I didn’t know you liked it so much that you’d come if I did it hard enough.”

“I didn’t—didn’t know,” he huffed.

You traced your other hand over his abused chest, brushing across one of his nipples and making him groan. “Or maybe you just got so sensitive that you couldn’t help yourself,” you mused. You’d have to remember that. Making him come without taking his pants off, without even having to touch him below the belt in any way, could lead to some interesting scenarios in the future.

He blinked heavy eyes up at you. “Can I bring my arms down?”

“Yes.” His shoulders would probably be stiff for a while. Maybe a little massage would help. “I’ll get you cleaned up.”

A hand on your thigh kept you from getting up off of him. Frank was shaking his head. “Let me take care of you first,” he insisted.

You smiled and leaned down to kiss him for being such an unrelenting sweetheart. “I’ll make a deal with you,” you told him. “We can either stay in bed, all sticky and sweaty, while you take care of me. Have a great time until we both realize we got syrup all over the bed because we rolled off of the towel. Then we have to strip the sheets and remake the bed. Or,” you ran your fingers through his sweat damp hair, “we kill two birds with one stone and hop in the shower. You can take care of me in there, hmm? Get clean while we get filthy?”

He hummed in approval. “I like your idea better.”

You laughed and pulled him upright. “I thought you might.”

~*~*~*~

Prompts & Headcanons Masterlist

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #the punisher #one word prompts

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my-shields-are-down · 1 year

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Bottle

REMINDER: I asked for one word prompts to trigger a fan fiction one shot. This one triggered a doozy.

==============

Seventeen year old Kai Bradford walks up to the podium and takes the microphone from his Aunt Angela and breathes deeply to calm himself. He is really nervous talking in front of all these people. But he knew this was excellent practice for his valedictorian speech in a few weeks.

He found and made eye-contact with his mom, who nodded, smiled and gave him two thumbs up and whispered - “you’ve got this.”

Tim turned to Lucy and asked, “Did you know about this? About what he’s going to say?”

Tim and Kai have not been on the best of terms lately. They seem to be having the same fight over and over about Kai’s future, his girlfriend, his clothes, the weather, you name it, they argue about it. So the fact his eldest son is now standing in front of his peers to speak is quite a bit unnerving and overwhelming for Tim.. Tim has no idea what his son will say. Lucy looks back at him and smiles. “I knew he wanted to speak - but no, honey, I don’t know what he’s going to say.” She leans into Tim and kisses him.

Tim grabs her hand and watches their son take a deep breath to calm his nerves.

Their first born - the boy who almost died when Lucy was shot.

Who spent hours on Tim’s bare chest as his lungs and heart grew strong; who listened to Tim talk about his mom and how much he loved her and needed both of them to live; Who said “dada” and walked way ahead of schedule; the kid who followed Tim everywhere and asked him a gazillion questions; the one who used to look at him with awe and wonder; the natural athlete who swims, and surfs, and catches anything thrown in his general direction, who brings his mom flowers just because they remind him of her; the one whose love of the ocean forced Tim to get over his aversion to it; the one who brought home creatures and plopped them on the dining room table with cheers of victory and squeals of “science!”; the one who is just like his mom, full of kindness, brilliance, humor and sunshine; who stands up for the little guy and treats everyone the same; the one who will wave and say hi to his mom on national tv when he catches the winning touchdown during a future bowl game despite the thousands of hours of drills run with his dad. The human he loves almost as much as Lucy. Tim loves this boy-almost-man more than life itself.

Kai turns to the audience and nods when he says, “Hi everyone. I’m Kai. Thank you for coming tonight to my parents’ 20th Anniversary Party. I’m here to speak for the kids - me, Diana and TJ. Besides being the oldest and most eloquent, everyone knows I’m the favorite - mom’s little sunshine miracle boy.”

He blushes and rolls his eyes - as the audience laughs and nods in agreement.

Because Kai was the first born, they had all seen videos and pictures and heard stories of everything he has ever done. The soccer games, the school plays, the boys playing in the dirt, the backyard camping adventures, the wonder and annoyance at his little siblings, the failed clarinet career, the gifted athlete, the wickedly smart and clever kid, etc.

Lucy has a large orange and green fire breathing dragon on her office wall - drawn by Kai in 7th grade art class. Tim had it framed for her office shortly thereafter.

Everyone at the party has watched him grow up and turn into the charming, smart and handsome young man before them.

At 17, he now is just an inch shorter than his dad, strong, athletic, with dark wavy hair, a golden honey complexion and stormy blue-gray eyes.

But there was a time when he lived in a NICU incubator for several months, weighing under 5 pounds, while his mom recovered from two bullet wounds and his dad tried not to sink into a pit of despair.

“I love my mom so much - she’s my best friend, my biggest cheerleader, my closest confidant, my favorite person.” Kai waves at Lucy who smiles and waves back.

“But my dad? My dad is my hero.”

And just like that - all noise in the ballroom stopped - you could hear a pin drop. Tim’s breath catches in his throat and a single tear falls down his face. Lucy smiles at Kai and squeezes Tim’s hand.

“What do I mean by that? Good question. Wikipedia defines a hero as a person who, in the face of danger, combats adversity through feats of ingenuity, courage, or strength.”

That’s my dad. I know him as my stay-at-home protector, but I’ve heard stories from all of you, all of my life about the danger he faced day after day as a cop; how he came up with creative solutions to immediate problems - like the drilling of a hole in a car floorboard to spray pepper spray into a car to stop a carjacking or making a donut place the main lunch stop for cops so the gangs avoid it or digging through the dirt with his bare hands to dig up the barrel holding my mom as she died waiting for someone to find her.

None of my siblings or I would even be here, if my dad had given up on finding her. Well that and you know, them admitting they were crazy about each other and all the sex - no no no - Aunt Angela, I cannot say that - gross”… the audience including his parents start laughing loudly.

“Where was I? Oh right… My parents could not be more different - she’s sunshine and he’s grumpy. We kids know how to be exemplary humans because they showed us how.

My dad as a man is who I hope to be when I grow up. I measure myself against who he is in the world. He’s not perfect - just ask my mom about his “sock problem” - but he is my role model for how to treat people and how to exist in the world.

When I was 6 years old and getting ready for my first day of school, he sat me down on the bench by the door and tied my shoes and said the same thing to me he says every year - his yearly “Tim Talk” as mom calls it:

“You look your classmates in the eye, Kai. You speak to them with respect and honesty and kindness. I don’t care if they did you wrong, or if you are having a bad day. You always treat everyone you come in contact with as if they are special to you, as if it’s the best part of your day. You smile at your teachers, your classmates, the janitor. You laugh at bad jokes. You congratulate people on their accomplishments. You become friends with everyone and learn about them. What makes them excited and scared? What are their favorite things? Who are their favorite people? You be the one everyone smiles about when they remember. okay?”

All three of us live and die by this advice every day. We are all well liked by our classmates, teachers, coaches, parents neighbors and friends. Our parents - mom by telling and dad by showing - gave us the foundation upon which we stand and live.

My mom taught us how to love big, my dad taught us to love small.

My mom taught us to hold tight, my dad taught us to leave space.

My mom taught us to be confident, my dad taught us to be humble.

My mom taught us to grateful, my dad taught us to be of service.

My mom taught us to be loud, my dad taught us the value of silence

My mom gave us a love of nature, my dad gave us a love of sports.

My mom believes in second chances, my dad prefers to measure twice and cut once.

My mom taught us about forgiveness, my dad taught us about loyalty.

My mom taught us to be strong, my dad showed us how to be vulnerable.

Dad sends flowers to his ex-wife on her birthday every year. He loved her a long time before mom came along and while it wasn’t always pretty, he thanks her for loving him and letting him go.

He and Kojo and then later Jack and Diane (Di’s chinchillas) never missed a tea party with Diana and her real or imaginary friends.

Dad dances with mom in the kitchen when her favorite song comes on the radio.

He came to every recital and game, chaperoned every field trip and dance.

He knows all of our secrets and gives the very best advice. We don’t always follow it, mind you, but he gives it freely whenever we ask.

Most importantly, he showed us that he loves our mom. They’ve given us three kids infinite lessons on how to love and be in a loving relationship. We are so lucky and blessed to have these amazing creatures as our parents.

So everyone, please raise your glasses, bottles, and cans and let’s celebrate our parents - Lucy & Tim Bradford.

Thank you.

While everyone is cheering and clapping, Tim stands up and walks over to his son and grabs him in a big hug and and just holds onto him tightly while smiling the biggest smile and with tears streaming down his face. “I love you too Kai, I love you too.”

——— end ———

#chenford #tim bradford #lucy chen #the rookie #tim x lucy #i love them #askandrea #andrea writes #my emotions have been all over the place #one word prompts #bottle #I can see this life they live so clearly #miss you dad #chenford fanfic

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sapphiretanto · 1 year

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I saw your post on writing prompts for TMNT. Can I ask for rottmnt TMNT 2012 character bonding? Like r!Leo with 12!raph, r!Mikey with 12!Donnie, r!Donnie with 12!Leo, and r!raph with 12! Mikey?

Hello, I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to keep building on this in segments. I will reblog and let you know. But here is Rise Donnie being protective of 12! Leo

12: Leonardo/Lee; Raphael; Donatello/Donnie; Michelangelo/Mikey

Rise: Leo/Leon/Nardo; Raph/Raphie; Dee/Donald; Mike/Angelo

Protective

It was subtle, Lee noted, but it was there. And honestly, it was a bit sweet. It had first confused the eldest in blue, but it grew on him. Upon meeting their younger counterparts, Leonardo wasn’t blind to noting he had a little duckling following him around. Once he had praised one of Dee’s inventions and the purple banded soft shell was his shadow, constantly soaking up more praise. It made Lee ache a little bit to think that Dee wasn’t praised a lot for his brilliance. Although, it prompted him to offer words of encouragement more often than he did to his own genius brother. But Leonardo was moved, if not embarrassed by the younger turtle’s protectiveness.

Dee had a great deal of respect and admiration for Leonardo. But he also felt a twinge of concern. While Leonardo was the oldest of them all, ‘Nardo was his younger twin— no matter how much they argued over it— and he looked out for his brother in his own way. Granted, giving him a shock collar to put an end to his stupid jokes wasn’t the best idea at the time… but c'est la vie. He’d find something to aid his brother’s skills. It was just a matter of designing the right thing, easier said than done. Still, he carefully observed Lee and while he felt that he himself couldn’t direct him, Lee’s brother’s could. It was mostly things that dealt with his injuries. Lee wasn’t one to complain or talk about his knee hurting, even with a knee brace, so Dee would find Donnie or Raphael and tell one of them. They’d curse under their breath before stomping off towards Lee to help him. Dee felt a bit better to see his twin’s counterpart be taken care of and fussed over by his brothers. Dee commended himself on a job well done.

#tmnt #tmnt 2012 #rottmnt #tmnt 2012 leo #tmnt 2012 raph #tmnt 2012 mikey #tmnt 2012 donnie #tmnt 2012 rottmnt crossover #rottmnt leo #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #rottmnt donnie #no bashing in this fic #Mari answers #sorry this took forever #one word prompts

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aka-indulgence · 1 year

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Fireflies

"what do you mean little flying stars? is it something like the 'stars' back underground..?"

You shake your head tugging on Sans' hand with a huge smile on your face as you lead him into the field of grass.

"You'll see."

His eyelights dart around, your excitement clearly infectious as though he tries to look suspicious, his smile is genuine. "i hope you're not pulling me out here to do something nefarious while no one's looking..."

"What, like I could kidnap a teleporting skeleton around?"

"you stole my heart, what else are you capable of?"

"Pssh- shut up!" You giggle, slapping him in his bony grin gently. "Look,"

It takes a second after turning off youe flashlight for your eyes to adjust. Adorably, Sans' immediately looks up at the stars.

"as much as i love the starry sky, i don't get...." Sans' voice gets quieter and quiter as you bring his gaze back down to your surroundings.

"what..." Sans says, breathless, "what are these?"

Little twinkling fireflies float around the two of you, unbothered by your presence. Sans looks downright hypnotized by their glowing and dimming, eyelights growing wider by the second.

"They're fireflies!" You tell him, "also called lightning bugs."

A silent 'wow' plays off his mouth, waving his hand over a small swarm of them.

"i can't believe these aren't monster bugs. they're like magic," Sans comments, eyelights lpoking around and landing on you, smiling wider. "you've got one on your head,"

You look up, and sure enough there was a tiny glowing firefly, just chilling on your head. It crawls for a bit before flying again.

A bony hand grasps yours.

"can... can we stay here a bit longer?" Sans pleads to you hopefully.

Your heart warms at his question, wanting nothing more than to pinch his face.

"That's the plan."

#one word prompts #fluff #ut!sans #hm.... sof #/w\#prompts

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creativepromptsforwriting · 7 months

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Probably LONG overdue, but I have a word for the one word prompts...

Flirty..

Flirty

Flirting + Teasing Masterpost

always being super flirty, but blushing and stuttering when someone flirts back

teaching someone else how to flirt with someone

using dumb pick-up lines, but actually having success with them

never realizing when someone is flirting with them

being super flirty to get their way and being shocked when it doesn't work

acting like they are a pro at flirting, but can't do it in person

be flirted with by someone who's always flirty, so they don't realize they actually mean it this time

being really bad at flirting and it being seen as adorable

One Word Prompt Lists

#one word prompts #flirty prompts #flirting #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing community #one word prompt list

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911onabc · 11 months

Text

The one out on the water

teen & up | evan "buck" buckley/eddie diaz | 902 words

summary: On their honeymoon, Buck and Eddie try kayaking. Eddie doesn’t really want to paddle. He finds a way around this problem.

----------------------------

“Hey honey,” Buck called out from the back of the kayak as he pulled his paddle out of the water. “Are you planning on, I don’t know, paddling? ”

Once Buck stopped paddling, they were mostly just floating in the open ocean in a plastic open-top kayak.

Eddie had stopped paddling a minute or so after they had been pushed off the beach, instead leaning back and letting Buck do all the work from the back seat. After all, Eddie figured, they were on vacation.

Eddie wasn’t exactly sure what had come over him, but the second they boarded the plane the morning after their wedding, all he wanted to do was lounge. And have sex with his husband.

Because, really–wasn’t that the whole point of a honeymoon?

All of this meant that by the time they made it down to the beach the second morning of their trip, it was almost noon.

Buck, of course, still had energy. So when a resort employee approached them with a laminated picture of a kayak and a special low price of ten dollars, Buck agreed for the both of them before Eddie could even open his mouth to protest.

So, if this wasn’t even his idea, why should Eddie have to paddle?

“I don’t need to paddle,” Eddie smirked. “You seem perfectly capable of doing it alone.”

“Eddie, come on, if you don’t paddle my core is gonna get all sore.” Buck complained.

“Your core?” Eddie asked, glancing back at him. “What about your arms? Or shoulders?”

“Really, most of the work should be coming from your core,” Buck explained. “And legs. Kayaking should be a full-body activity.”

“I didn’t even know that,” Eddie hummed, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face. “So really, I shouldn’t be paddling. I could hurt myself.”

“I think you could handle it,” Buck deadpanned, placing his paddle in the water again, and they started moving. “Eddie, come on! ”

Instead of helping Buck out, Eddie leaned back further in his seat, taking a hand to rub Buck’s calf behind him.

“But you’re doing such a good job, baby.” Eddie said, his voice sickly sweet.

“Eddie–” Buck stopped, pulling his paddle out of the water again and letting the boat slowed to a halt.

“You think you can make it all the way down the beach and the back on your own?” Eddie asked.

“I mean,” Buck scoffed, his voice uneven. “Obviously I could. I would just prefer not to. Isn’t the point of being married that we help each other?”

“I just think you’re so strong,” Eddie smiled back at him, ignoring the marriage comment. “You don’t really need my help, do you?”

“Are you really trying that?” Buck glared at him.

“I don’t know,” Eddie mused. “Is it working?”

Instead of answering, Buck just let out a long sigh and put the paddle back in the water. As they started to move, Eddie got comfortable, rubbing his hand up and down Buck’s leg.

“Look at you go,” Eddie said, basking in the warm sunlight. “Doing all the work. What a good boy.”

Buck sighed, like he was trying to sound annoyed. Only he wasn’t. Annoyed, that is. Buck was something else entirely.

Really, Eddie was doing both of them a service by refusing to pick up his paddle.

“You know,” Eddie kept talking. “I’m so lucky to have such a big, strong, husband who can carry all of my weight. I bet you could go ever faster, too.”

“Hmfph.” Buck let out, not quite an approval but at least an acknowledgment. He started paddling a little harder, and the boat slid through the water faster than before.

“Honestly,” Eddie said, taking the permission to go a little further. “You’re so good for me. So good at taking care of me. I can’t wait to get back to the hotel room and lie back on the fresh sheets so you can put your big strong hands inside of me, and–”

“Eddie!” Buck all but hissed, cutting him off and stopping the boat again. “We’re outside .”

“We’re on the ocean,” Eddie scoffed. “The closest people are like, at least a hundred feet away.”

“But we’re heading towards the shore, where I’m going to have to get up,” Buck stressed. “On a crowded beach. Where people can see me.”

Eddie, of course, shone with pride. He loved how easily Buck could become undone with just his words. He also didn’t mind the idea of everyone on the beach finding that out.

But, Buck obviously did. And Eddie took pity on his husband.

“Hmm,” Eddie hummed. “Well, I guess you better paddle me around for a little longer until you calm down a little. It’s kind of relaxing, actually.”

“Not for me,” Buck whined. “ Come on, you’re not gonna help at all?”

“I was helping,” Eddie argued. “I was giving you very nice encouragement.”

Buck sighed, but put his paddle back in the water and they started moving again.

“I could get used to being carried around like this for the rest of our lives.” Eddie admitted, tossing one of his feet over the edge of the kayak to dip his toes in the cool water.

“Yeah, of course you could,” Buck mumbled. “Passenger princess.”

Really, it only stung a little bit. And Eddie couldn’t even argue. Because, as much as knew Buck inside and out–

Buck knew Eddie just as well.

#buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie fic #buddie fluff #one word prompts #911 fic #911 #911 fox #911 abc #writing tag

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