Fic Request - Blog Posts

need a destiel fic where castiel's obsession with dean borders on creepily obsessive but dean is a little freak so he likes it

this is gonna sound like a stupid ask but i can’t find ANYTHING sooo

destiel fics with cry-until-your-face-is-sore heavy angst on deans part that takes place in canonverse? preferably fix-its for the aftermath of s15e19? also if available, some sam really trying to get dean back on his feet but it’s just not working… love y’all 💋

aching for a forbidden love royalty AU destiel fic but can’t find one anywhere someone help please im going crazy

Looking for MDZS transmigration fic recs on Ao3

Does anyone know any good fics about transmigrating into MDZS? Like as Wei Wuxian or another existing character. Also where the person transmigrating has knowledge of the universe. Hopefully something already completed or has a reliable update schedule.

My brain is finally working!!!

I can finally start getting these requests done!!!

As soon as my brain function returns and I can string my words together properly

Y'all are cooked

hihihi i wanna ask for a drst request but firstly! for what characters you write?

I'll write for anyone as best I can. Obviously I have favorites, but I'm fairly open to all characters

First of all: I'm so sorry for making you cry and sad! 😭😓

I'm that anon that requested the sad promt of reader being able to save only Stan or Xeno 🥲

Second: This made me question if you have any topics or themes you would not want to write about like do you have some limits for the requests that we should take into account?

So sorry making you cry earlier 🙇

You're forgiven ♡♡

As for limits, I honestly have very few. I'm pretty easygoing when it comes to this kinda stuff. I write a lot to process my own trauma, so i have few issues with most things

My hardest line is that I will not write NSFW stuff with real people or literal actual children (I'm talking characters who are clearly stated to be under the age of consent)

That's basically it. So long as you're respectful with me (which everyone has been) and understand that I may need to research certain topics before writing about them, I'm fairly open.

All of the requests from yesterday/this morning should be finished and posted here soon!!

I have so much fun doing this stuff seriously I love it

Siren anon here! Just wanted to say I loved your take on the request! Much better and clever than what I could had imagined so I'm very happy of your work! ＼(^o^)／

I'm so glad you liked it!!

Senku pulling an Odysseus-esque move and playing a mind game (like Gen taught him let's be so real) was so fun to me

I might do more with Senku and the siren...I'm considering it~

A cute little reminder that my requests are always open for Dr STONE related fics/headcanons/idle thoughts

You can ask me about anything, up to and including my OC

I can also do other fandoms too, so long as I'm at least somewhat familiar with it :3

hiiii could u write a one shot or something in which the reader/oc is senku's older sis and is a x stanley one pls ty. Fluff if better i was thinking when they revive him for the moon mission

Absolutely I can

Stanley x Senku's Older Sister

This was harder than it had any right to be

Warning: Manga Spoilers Ahead

It had been an accident, you hadn’t meant to fall in love with him. But spending 100 days being dragged around with him as he chased your brother and his team to South America did something to you. It forced you to understand him, to learn who he was and who he had the potential to be in the future. You looked past all his sharp edges and rough words and found something worth holding onto. 

You spent night after night talking to him, somehow going from sitting far away, to being right at his side with his arm snaked around your waist and your head on his shoulder. 

You told him about your and Senku’s parents deaths, about living with Byakuya, and what it was like being constantly compared to your little brother by others. And in turn, Stanley would talk about growing up with Xeno, making his devotion to the other man grow clearer and clearer. 

Though, when you jokingly called their relationship romantic, Stanley’s nose curled in a way that told you it really wasn’t like that. 

But as your relationship grew, so too did your fear of what happened when Stanley finally caught up with Senku. He’d started this trek across the world determined to kill him for taking Xeno hostage, and yet the two of you had become close. You would have to pick a side, and though you knew that there was no way you’d abandon your little brother, leaving Stan behind was going to hurt. 

You loved him, and you think maybe he loved you too. At least a little bit, anyway. 

He almost kisses you the night before the world is petrified for a second time, and it’s the only thing you can think about while trapped in stone for the next several years. 

You remember how his fingers had felt, warm and rough with callouses from years in the military. How he’d caressed your face in a moment of pure quiet between the two of you, before tilting your chin up so that you were forced to look him in the eye. The heat in his gaze had made your heart jump into your throat. His other arm had curled around your middle, pulling you into his chest and holding you there for what felt like an eternity, but as you both leaned in, you’d been interrupted and forced apart with a promise of next time. 

Except next time didn’t come. Not for a long while. 

Stanley doesn’t get freed from the stone like the rest of you do. He instead just gets thrown onto a ship and stored away where only a few knew where he was, you being one of them. 

You find time to visit his statue every day after working on the rocket, talking to yourself about what was going on as if he were listening, and keeping him tidy. He owed you a kiss, and Senku an apology at the very least after all. 

-

“I’m sorry, we’re freeing who?” 

The whole group is shocked at the announcement. Not only was Ryusui giving up on going to the moon, but he’d offered his spot to Stanley of all people. 

“It makes logical sense,” Xeno says, Senku nodding along with him. “Stanley is the world's greatest marksman, and he’s an experienced combat professional. He will no doubt be a great asset on the moon.” 

“But he tried to kill all of us!” Chrome says, and even you have to agree. Stanley may have shoved you out of the way that day, saving you but he’d been hellbent on gunning everyone else down. Just because you loved him, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still dangerous. 

“We are no longer on different sides. Stanley is a soldier who will follow all orders given to him to perfection,” Xeno says. 

“I suppose we could call this atonement,” Kohaku muses. “For everything he’s done so far.” 

Your heart is hammering hard in your chest. They were going to wake him up, and not only that, they were sending him on the most dangerous mission ever concocted. You couldn’t figure out whether you were excited to see him, or devastated that you may never lay eyes on him again in your lifetime.

Your startled from your thoughts at the sound of your name. 

“Are you coming, my dear?” Xeno asks, head tilting slightly. 

“Yeah, sure,” You say, hoping you sound nonchalant. You had a feeling he’d caught on to your affection for his right hand man a long time ago, and the way he smiles slightly at your response buries that idea even further into your head. 

You follow slightly behind everyone else while you get your thoughts on the matter in total order. Xeno seemed to know, or at least suspect, that you and Stanley had formed something, but was he the only one? Or had you been way more obvious than you thought you were? It wasn’t a big surprise that Senku hadn’t questioned it, assuming he also figured it out. He’d always stayed out of your relationships, claiming that they never mattered to him in the slightest. 

It feels a little strange to have so many people in the cave with you, but you figure the numbers aren’t a bad thing. If Stanley wakes up and chooses violence before hearing anyone out, the more people there to stop him, the better. 

He’s changed out of the vines that had been hurriedly thrown on him so long ago now and into a new outfit made for him by Yuzuriha, and you watch with bated breath as Xeno pours the revival fluid over him. 

The waiting is the worst part. Sure, the revival fluid so far had a 100% guarantee to work, but what if this time it didn’t? What if the stone stayed solid, instead of cracking and crumbling away? What if Stanley never breathed again, and you’ve forever lost the chance to build something with someone you cared so deeply about?

But, as expected, the stone does crack and crumble, and Stanley does suck in a breath, letting it out slowly when Xeno offers him a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Few words are said between him and Xeno, even fewer between him and everyone else. It’s only after Senku confirms Stanley’s absolute skill that his eyes drift past the two scientists and land on you. His gaze flits across your form, a tiny smirk growing at the corner of his mouth. 

“Hello beautiful,” Stanley finally speaks to you after what feels like an eternity, his words sending heat to your cheeks.

“Hi,” You say back softly. Senku lets out a soft ugh, and makes quick tracks for the cave entrance. 

“You two do whatever this is in here, we’re going back,” He says. Chrome and Tsukasa hesitate before following Senku, and Xeno is the last to leave. He pats your shoulder as he walks by, offering you a small nod before he, too, vanishes from the cave. 

The two of you stand in silence, the only noise being the waterfall and the distant sounds of birds beyond the watery doorway. You watch Stanley take a couple more drags of his cigarette before dropping and snuffing it under his boot. 

“You gonna come over here, or are you gonna make me come to you?” He asks, and it’s like a switch finally flips in your brain. 

You jolt forward, running the handful of steps it takes to reach him and slam into his chest. He doesn’t stumble back, doesn’t even seem to budge at all when you do, his form firm and steady. You wrap your arms around him, inhaling a long breath, letting the stench of his freshly put out cigarette fill your nose. You feel his chuckle more than you hear it, the sound vibrating in his chest as he holds you in return.

“I missed you,” You whisper. Stanley lets out a low hum in response. 

Your heart falls into your stomach when he pulls away from you, but he doesn’t allow you to sink into despair. Both his hands rise to cup your face, his clawed gloves cool against your heated skin. His eyes have the same heat as the night he nearly kissed you.

“Missed you too,” He says softly. 

You start to respond, but he doesn’t give you the chance. He dips his head and presses his lips against yours. He kisses you like he’s been starving for it, like it was all he’d been able to think about for all that time he spent petrified a second time, and it leaves you totally breathless and feeling a bit drunk. 

“Th-this doesn’t make up for shooting my little brother,” You blurt out without thinking. It makes him laugh. Not chuckle, not hum, laugh. 

“That’s fair,” He says. 

“Can you do it again?” 

“Gladly.”

omg hi!!! i saw you take requests so…if you’re comfortable and willing too, could you pretty please write a smutty fic about stanxeno in a throuple with the reader? thank you sm! love your writing!

Y E S

StanXeno x fem!Reader

CW: mild smut, language, sexting (i did not go into as much detail as I could have for the sake of getting this done in a decent amount of time)

The cold breeze nipped at your bare arms as you leaned against the balcony railing of your apartment. The city was awash with light, chasing away the heavy darkness of the late night hours, the sounds of the people and cars below making it seem just a little less lonely. 

If you cared to check your watch for the seventh time, you’d see that it was passing 1am. If you cared to check your phone for the fifteenth time, you’d see the confirmation text of another late night, your love apologizing for not being able to make it on time again. 

You were used to this, honestly. Between one lover being a NASA scientist, and the other being a Special Forces soldier, you ended up home alone more often than not. It wasn’t that you didn’t understand, their jobs were both incredibly demanding and required their full attention; but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. 

Being outside, you don’t hear the front door of your apartment open and close, nor do you hear the kicking off of heavy boots and padding of socked feet searching for you. It’s not until a soft tapping on the glass behind you sounds in your ears that you even realize someone was there at all. 

It makes you jump, whirling around with a gasp and a curse, your body immediately relaxing when you recognize the man leaning against the doorway of the balcony with his arms crossed, his uniform jacket long abandoned inside, leaving him in just his pants and an undershirt. 

“Jesus, Stan!” You huff, pressing a hand to your chest. “Way to scare the life out of me!” 

“My bad, baby,” He hums. He uncrosses his arms and lifts one, signaling for you to take the handful of steps towards him and sink into his arms. 

He reeks of smoke and gunpowder and travel, but he’s as real and warm as when he left several weeks ago. You just lean on his chest, letting his arm drape around you, holding you against him lazily for a long, quiet moment. 

“Where’s Xee?” He asks, after a while. 

“Work, I think. I texted him like two hours ago, dunno if he’s gotten back to me or not. I left my phone inside,” You mumble unhappily. Stanley lets out a hum that mirrors your annoyance, his arm tightening around you in a much firmer hug. 

“Guess we just gotta celebrate my comin’ home early without ‘im,” He says, heat in his tone. You huff out a laugh, shaking your head and looking up at him. 

“It’s late,” You say.

“And?” 

You laugh again, deciding that he makes a fair enough argument. 

“Kiss me.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

You missed his lips against yours, the way his hands roam without restriction. For a man who seemed so distant to others, he was always so touchy with you and Xeno. 

You wish you’d known he was coming home, you could have pulled out that lacy little number that drove him crazy, instead of your current sweatpants and sweater combo. Not that it seemed to matter to him at all, since he was hellbent on taking it all off of you anyway. 

He drags you inside, letting go only long enough to slam and lock the balcony door before he’s back on you, pressing kiss after kiss into your lips. His arms wrap around you, lifting you with the kind of ease that only comes from experience, and he carries you back through the apartment and into the bedroom, where he dumps you unceremoniously onto the bed. His impatience shows in the way he pins you, clothes going whichever direction he tosses them.

Quick, desperate sex was normal for Stanley after his deployments, regardless of whether they’re a few days or a few months, and you had absolutely no qualms with that. It showed that he’d missed you just as much, that he was just as miserable without you as you were without him and Xeno. 

So when he works you up until you’re an absolute mess and then stops, you think maybe he’s lost his mind a little bit. 

“Don’t move,” He says, kissing you hard before sliding off the bed and vanishing into the hall. You wait in frustrated confusion, your whole body vibrating with need, for him to come back and finish what he started. 

He returns in a flash, your own cellphone in his hands. He says nothing as he climbs back over you, situating himself between your legs, one of his wicked smirks growing over his face at the way you squirm and whine, aching for more. 

“Xee’s on his way home,” He says, voice thick with mischief. “How ‘bout we send him a picture? Show him how fuckin’ pretty our girl is when she’s like this so he knows what he’s missin’.” 

A giggle bursts out of you, your head nodding wildly. This was definitely a first, but you were into it. You can imagine Xeno’s expression when he opens the text Stanley is sending him via your phone. The picture of you, bare and desperate, would have his face flushed, and there was no doubt that he’d, as Stanley would put it, get his ass in gear, and speed home to you.

The message is sent with a soft whoosh, the phone is tossed onto the side table, and Stanley wastes no more time in getting what he wants. 

Time becomes meaningless when he’s making love to you like this, every touch making the desperate race to pleasure hotter and more intense. 

Unlike when Stanley arrived, you hear very clearly when Xeno slams the front door open, the sound of his racing footsteps loud against the floor as he races down the hall and into the bedroom. Stanley sits up, keeping himself seated inside you, and looks over his shoulder with that same smirk from earlier.

“Look who’s finally home,” He hums. “We thought you’d never make it.” 

Xeno laughs, sounding mildly delirious as he stares with wide eyes at the two of you.

“If I’d known it was going to be such a party, I would have made myself more available,” He says, slinking into the room. Stanley simply hums in reply. 

“Xee~” You reach a hand out to your other lover weakly. “C’mere.” 

“Shall I, my love?” 

“Better make it quick, we’re almost done,” Stanley shifts, sending a shudder and a whine through you in order to make his point clear. 

Xeno chuckles again, eyes dark and filled with want. 

“Very well, if you insist.”

Complete☁️Comfort

hi! could i request for fluff and comfort with ace? there was this one reddit post i saw abt a guy who rambled abt being so grateful and happy that he's loved by his girlfriend, and the post described how he felt that way when they were having a bath together (nonsexual, i promise! feel free to look the reddit post up). i thought the prompt suited ace so much, esp since the guy in that reddit post mentioned that he cried out of happiness, so maybe smth like this with ace x fem!reader?

ofc, feel free to skip if it makes u uncomfy ^^

~ ♠️ anon

shower me in your love | Ace x Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x GN! Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Genre: Fluff, Comfort

Warning(s): Nudity (non-sexual)

A/n: I loved this idea so much anon, I was so excited to write it for so long TT but post-exam creativity block really hit hard so this is a bit later than I had hoped to put out. Also, you asked for fem!reader but I think this fic never specified any body parts or pronouns at any point, so it ended up gender neutral haha... This is my first time attempting to write Ace, so please forgive any oocness ><

Please do not ask me the mechanics of a bathtub on a pirate ship and let's just pretend that can work out because the sea is on my side, 'kay? I hope you enjoy ♡ and thank you for the request!

also available on ao3!

The sun had dipped beneath the horizon but the sky was still clinging onto a fading orange. Above him, it was already starting to look like a dark midnight blue mixing into violet. Ace's shoulders slouched, the tension seeping out as he made his way to his sleeping quarters. The day had been hectic, and even the usually energised division commander was feeling a bit exhausted.

Ace couldn't wait to drop into his bed and fall asleep but the plan went out the window when he opened his door to find you sitting on his bed, your back to him.

"Hey," he called out, making you snap your neck around. Just the sight of your bright smile got a little more tension out of him. You bounced up to him, hands immediately coming up to cradle his face. You pulled him into a soft kiss and Ace exhaled slowly, pressing his body into your own soft one.

Out of the two of you, Ace was definitely the one with the higher body temperature but somehow, when you hugged, he couldn't help but feel that you were more… warmer. It was a different sort of warmth than physical– more emotional, he supposed. You felt a little bit like coming home, like coming to a fireplace after a day out in the snow.

"Hey," you said quietly, pulling back just enough to admire his face. He didn't have to say anything; he could see the understanding on your face with just one glance. "It's been an exhausting day, huh?"

"Mm," he didn't feel like talking about it, instead opting to drop his head on your shoulder. Ace pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, taking the familiar light scent of you. You giggled at the sensation, playfully pushing him without any real strength to it.

"That tickles!"

"You smell amazing," he whispered. You blushed, pushing at him with a bit more strength now.

"I'm sweaty, what do you mean?" You huffed out another short laugh. "And so are you, mister. C'mon, how about a nice hot bath, hm? I already set it up for the both of us while waiting."

Ace finally pulled away, looking at you with the softest expression. This time, he was the one to cradle your face in his hands. Pressing a light kiss on your forehead, he murmured a quiet admission of love. Gentle hands guided him toward the bathroom, shutting the doors behind him. Ace stood there as you removed his clothes and accessories with somewhat practised hands. When the both of you were undressed, you pulled him into the bathtub and sat down in between his legs.

This close, you could feel that Ace was running warmer than even the hot water around you. He quickly pressed a peck on the tip of your nose to surprise you, then grabbed the bottle of shampoo and soap to start but you stopped him. You took the shampoo out of his hands and smiled warmly when he looked at you with curiosity.

"How about I wash you today?" There was a hint of shyness in your voice, along with a sparkling in your eyes. Ace just nodded dumbfoundedly, watching you carefully squeeze out some of the shampoo into your hands. "Alright, stay still, I'll go sit behind you."

You stood up, the water splashing a bit as you carefully manoeuvred around to sit on the edge of the tub that was attached to the wall. Ace let your free hand guide his frame in between your legs and waited for a few seconds.

The moment your shampoo lathered finger dipped into his hair, he felt boneless. You weren't even doing much, just carding your fingers and working out the tangles as you ensured that the shampoo properly washed the roots and the tips, but it felt so good.

Ace couldn't really remember the last time someone touched him with such gentleness, such care and love. (He couldn't even remember who would have touched him like that the last time. Was it his mother?) You hummed a song he had heard you singing in passing, as you pressed your fingers into his scalp for a slight massage.

Another shaky exhale left his mouth along with the last remaining tension in his shoulders. Ace closed his eyes. With a soft hum, he pressed his head back into your stomach, heart singing at the sound of your giggle echoing in the small bathroom.

"Hey!" You said indignantly, pushing at his foam covered head. "Don't put your shampoo on my stomach."

It made Ace smile and he obliged, leaning his head away. You didn't touch him for a few minutes and he cracked his eyes open to look around at you, to find that you were shampooing your own hair now. You slid down into the tub and he made some space between the wall and him so you could sit properly. Once you were done, you wiped off the foam on your hand and switched to the soap.

"Alright, c'mere, my big baby," you grunted, trying to pull him by his arm. He blinked then let you pull him into the position you wanted. And then you are sitting in his lap, soap being lathered onto his skin with diligent hands. He didn't say anything and just stared quietly at you from the close proximity.

Normally, having you in his lap would get him a little… excited, but today, the action was so non-sexual and domestic, it seemed to hurt. Every movement and word you had said felt mind-numbingly relaxing. Half a year ago, if someone had suggested he would be in this position with you, he would have laughed and called them to get their marbles checked.

Right now though, he couldn't believe his own luck as your fingers dragged over him with a gentleness he had yet to experience from elsewhere. He was strong. Everyone knew that. You knew that. But even knowing that, you always touched him so softly, so gently, that it made him feel like he was made out of fragile brittle glass.

He kinda liked it.

To be vulnerable in front of you only was something he could agree to. No one had ever been this patient and loving towards him, and the fact that he loved you too much to even put it into words crashed around inside him as he watched you soap yourself up.

You were beautiful, obviously. He had to be blind to not notice how gorgeous you were. But sometimes, he couldn't help but think that your real beauty lies in how you just fit in with everyone so well. You were understanding, you were kind and you were there whenever anyone needed you. You were there when Ace needed you. And even though you were there for him, silently understanding what he needed, you never expected anything back for it. It was purely an act of love.

He wasn't talking much like usual today, but you didn't say anything about it. You only continued in your actions, washing away the soap and the shampoo with the water. Ace continued to stare at you, wondering if you were really real.

You were so good to him. He remembered when Marco had mentioned after you announced your relationship that you were good for him. He hadn't really understood the depth of that sentence until now. Until this moment, sitting in his bathtub that was definitely not made for two people, as you washed him even though he was a grown adult who could do it himself.

And it wasn't really about the ability to do it, was it? It was more about the feelings and the thoughts behind the action– it was about the care you felt. Of course you knew he could do it– but you wanted to do it for him anyway because you loved him.

You loved him so much, he couldn't help but feel thoroughly loved and blessed. You, who could have fallen in love with anyone, had fallen in love with him. On his down days, he couldn't help but think that you deserved better than him. Right now though, he couldn't think of anything else but the fact that he was so grateful that you chose him out of everyone.

Whatever made you choose him– he would forever be grateful to it. You were the best thing to happen to him.

"Ace?" Your concerned voice startled him out of his thoughts, and he looked at you. You were done cleaning off both of you, but you were back in his lap. Familiar hands came up to wipe away what Ace realised were tears streaming down his face. He felt a little mortified that he cried over something so small but, like always, it was like you could read his mind. "It's not insignificant if it makes you feel something so strong. Just let it out, hm?"

He didn't really need your 'permission', but the moment you said that, his body seemed to take it as the cue to cry even more. Warm tears rolled down his cheeks and he felt you guide his face into the crook of your neck– you knew he felt embarrassed about crying in front of you. You just did it to let him save face; you let him hide his face in your embrace.

Ace sobbed into your neck, body shaking as he felt your fingers card through his hair and draw hearts into his back, over his tattoo. The two of you stayed like that for a while until the tears finally stopped.

"Let's dry up?" Your eyes were soft as you helped him stand up and out of the bathtub. "And then we can cuddle in bed all night. How does that sound?"

You didn't need to say it out loud to let him know how you felt. Ace watched you wrap a towel around him and then yourself, the unspoken words lingering in the air alongside the steam.

"Sounds amazing."

I love you too.

°•❀•°

all likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated ♡

★ Taglist for Ace:

@toertchen | @boomboom-tanjiro2019 | @katiemrty | @writingmysanity | @akaashi-todorki

let me know if you want to be added/removed!

Does anyone have any fics where Shen Yuan transmigrates into PIDW, but in his original body? Maybe any LiuShen ones?

…

@shanuraru ‘s art got to me…

Yk what I love?

The au where izuku didn’t get into UA and he’s kinda okay with that but he still fucking hates bakugo bc he… yk terrorized him all of middle school. And maybe bakugo still grows up and feels so super guilty abt everything and they meet like on the street or something and bakugo is trying so hard to reconcil but izuku is just like “can u fuck off?”

Someone write a ficcc!!! Please!!!

I want to take prompts requests for stories it doesn’t have to be from this list, just in general as well. I’m open to doing Teen Wolf, Avengers or Harry Potter fics mainly because I know them best. I’m pretty flexible on ships from any of those fandoms. Though not Sciles or Stucky or Hinny. My favorite ships to write are Sterek, Steter, Stackson, Tony/Bucky, Stiles/Bucky, Stiles/Clint, Steo, Drarry, Snarry, and Lucius/Harry. But I’m fairly down to write anything. Just send me a message or an ask and I’ll probably be down for it.

Festive Prompt List

“Is that mistletoe?”

“Are you- are you pulling down mistletoe?”

“I don’t care about tradition, you try and get me to kiss you under the mistletoe and I will punch you”

“If I hear one more Mariah Carey song I will riot”

“Remind me why I can’t kill the carolers?”

“Hum one more note of that carol and I will stab you”

“My house, my rules. The Christmas music stays on” 

“If you throw that snowball you’re declaring war”

“You’re kidding, right? I’m not going out in that snow storm!”

“I don’t care what you say, The Nightmare Before Christmas works for Christmas and Halloween”

“I can’t believe you did all this, for me”

“You don’t have to go to all this trouble, you know”

“You didn’t really think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?”

“You’d make a really terrible Santa”

“It’s a time of good will, not whatever the hell you’re doing”

“Aren’t you just Santa’s Little Helper?”

“You call this decorated?”

“How on earth did you get tinsel there?”

“Wow, you really go overboard with decorations, don’t you?”

“It looks like Santa threw up here”

“What are you doing to that poor wrapping paper?”

“Exactly how much more hinting do I have to do?” 

 “Have I told you how much I hate Christmas shopping?”

“Secret Santa is bullshit”

“Tell me what you want for Christmas”

“Why are you so impossible to shop for?”

“Can’t I just give you $20 and you can buy something for yourself?”

“Please tell me you aren’t searching my room for where I’ve hidden the presents”

“I thought we weren’t doing gifts!”

“I got you a Christmas sweater!”

“How many Christmas sweaters do you own?”

“You’re wearing the Santa hat, whether you like it or not”

“One normal Christmas, that’s all I wanted”

“I’m sure what ever threat is out there can wait until after Christmas dinner”

“You invited how many people over for Christmas dinner??”

“You really can’t cook, can you?”

“Who the hell turned off the oven?!” 

“This calls for eggnog” 

“I can’t believe no one has spiked the eggnog yet”

“Just how much eggnog have you had?”

“I’m starting to regret having taught you about gluhwein”

“Oi! That’s my hot chocolate”

“Spam is not a suitable replacement for turkey”

“No offence meant, but I do not trust you to carve the turkey”

“I don’t care about anything else, the pudding is all that matters”

“Hey, binge eating at Christmas is totally justified!”

“You made gingerbread zombies?”

“Step away from the cookies.”

“Who ate all the advent calendar chocolates?!”

“Normally I’d say no, but I’m on my 14th candy cane, so why not?” 

Proud Dad Odysseus (Fic Request)

can i get a fic that's just odysseus telling everyone at the trojan war (kings, soldiers, slaves, ANYONE who will listen) about his precious baby boy and how much he loves him and misses him and wants to gets back to him?

or a fic with telemachus visiting/talking with people from then and them all just reminiscing about ody's gushing about his beautiful genius wife and his adorable darling son and telemachus having all the feels about how much his father loved them? (can be before or after odysseus's return)

Can someone please write a crossover of PMMM and TCF?, I don't dare write it because of the angst but I really want to see it o(TヘTo)

Hello!₊˚⊹☆

You can call me Sprat/Kilka (whatever you like more)!

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I go by any pronouns

I’d rather keep my real age a secret, but you should know that I’m a minor!

I can speak four languages (still learning two of them tho) and English is not my main one, so I apologize for any mistakes.

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Fandoms I’ll post stuff about:

Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared (DHMIS) 𓆟

Object shows (mostly ii) 𓆟

Wings of Fire (WoF) 𓆟

The Amazing Digital Circus (TADC) 𓆟

Dandy’s World 𓆟

Regretevator 𓆟

Animation Vs Minecraft/Animation Vs Animator (AvM/AvA) 𓆟

Woodwalkers/Seawalkers (book series by Katja Brandis) 𓆟

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I’m a beginner artist and a fanfiction writer. I started writing fics about a year ago and I really enjoy doing it! A few months ago I decided to write not only in my mother tongue, but also in English ;D

(My ao3 account there I post some of my fics: KoshkaDark)

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And that’s all! Thank you for reading this post ₊˚⊹♡

Pawns in the Game

Anon Request

If you would like a Faceclaim for Sierra Seven, my anon suggested Bill Skarsgard!

Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)

Pairings: N/A

Type: Gen, One-Shot

Words: ~3.4K

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence

Six had spent years in covert operations. He’d studied faces and evaluated threats for a living; he knew what an operator looked like when a fight was over, and what they looked like when a fight was about to begin. His survival depended on thinking ahead, and through pure expediency, he’d thrived. Long distance sniping, close quarters fighting, edged weapons, Krav Maga, long guns, short guns, explosives, poisons… 

But God, he sucked at Chess. 

With a renewed irritability, he watched as Chief Cahill knocked his King off the board–an unnecessary amount of force sending it careening underneath the dusty couch that he’d taken residence on the last few weeks. Something about that was oddly poetic, as if she was continuously reminding him of his place while she took the only other room in the safe house that wasn’t the bathroom. His face attempted a smile, but it morphed into an awkward little grimace as Cahill maintained eye contact with yet another victory. 

Her chin settled on her palm, raising her eyebrows.

“You do realize that you’re above Special Forces? Strategy is supposed to be your specialty.”

“Chess takes two people.” Six replied easily, glancing down at the stark difference between their remaining pieces on the board. He would have suggested a two out of three, except that it would require him to have a point to barter a tie with. “And nobody is going to bring a Chess board to a gunfight, so.”

Cahill rolled her eyes at the quip, but Six could see the start of a smile before she’d turned away and left the table. The rickety legs shook from the force and the last of his pieces made a home on the equally unsteady floor boards. It wasn’t the best of safehouses, but it was a means to an end until the heat on her died down.

“I’m going to call Fitzroy in the morning and tell him to close the contract,” she went on absently, fishing a cigarette from a pack in her suit jacket. 

“Close the contract?” He echoed. 

“Fitzroy has reason to believe that my trail’s gone cold, and he’s already forwarded the compensation to your bank account,” she turned to him expectantly, lighter in hand. The sparks snuffed out with the confession, and she covered the flames with her hand to shield it from the sudden draft. “You’ve done your job and Fitzroy has another job laid out for you.”

Six should have expected that. So many days with nothing and the clear indication that Chief Cahill was itching to get out of the safehouse and back to some semblance of normalcy–he hadn’t personally thought about what would come after. He’d spent plenty of time moving around between places similar to this one, and most even worse, figuring it out as he went. 

The idea left him unsettled.

“Does he know who ordered the hit?”

“A third party not worth my time, trust me.” She took a drag from her cigarette. One flicker of her eyes up to his face sent her reprimanded him before he had the chance to respond. “They’ve been given a phone call and a financial incentive, and since there’s been no sign of the assassin, it’s safe to say they took their payment and ran.” 

Six didn’t believe that, but maybe it was his own bent moral code and too many years on the job.

“Did Fitzroy look?” 

“One man is not worth our time.” 

“He’s worth mine.”

Cahill sighed, fixing him with a glare that would have brought any other inferior to their knees. If anything, it only made him more determined to go against her orders.

“Your job was to protect me, nothing else. You are not to pursue this.” She pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. “Tomorrow you’re going to be on a plane bound for Europe. Understood?” 

Six worked a tick in his jaw, nodded, only to answer with a flat: “Understood.”

“I’m serious, Courtland. You’re going to be facing disciplinary action–”

“I hear you.” 

Cahill was unconvinced, but for the sake of a headache that only he could cause, she dropped the subject in favor of taking her cigarette out into a less confined space. He wasn’t far after her, but she was beyond conversations about Chess and his lack of social etiquette. 

She dropped her cigarette to the ground shortly after, snuffed out by snow and ice. One last slithering string of smoke drifted up from its tip and disappeared. Any arguments about the possibilities of her would-be-assassin were drowned out in that last puff of smoke. ~~~~

Six’s life had been dedicated to killing men, and there was one out there that he’d missed. If he was going to break the tie with something, it may as well have been something that he was good at. 

Threats of penalties to his paychecks and future support likely awaited him when he got back because he had decided to run off and play the patriot. He didn’t mind, he guessed. He took the time to think about the contract, about the assassin. Someone that worked in service to someone easy to pay off, and that much made it a little easier to narrow down. 

Looking a little closely into Fitzroy’s personal accounts had handed him leaps and bounds as well, backtracking until he found the third party, and then backtracking through the third party to find the culprit. Not a name, or a face, but a general location at the very least. It brought him to the heart of the states, just West outside of D.C. 

West outside of D.C. and directly into a trap that had flipped his car over and turned it to ash. 

Snow had piled onto the roads, but he hadn’t run into much trouble with the car so far. It was finally warming up, the death grip on the wheel loosening to a more relaxed handle as he steered around a corner. Angelic, feathery ice crystals kissed the windshield, and rubber blades squeegeed them away, melted water streaking along their tips. The car passed under the streetlights, illuminating the inside of the cab and casting soft shadows over his face, pulsing and fading, brief but alert all the same.

His hair was damp, frizzled strands out of place while his fingers tucked around the damp ends of his jacket. Six molded over what had exactly led him to this point, but they were moving too fast for him to keep up with. His solution was to grab one and hold onto it. 

Suddenly there was plenty to distract him from. 

Bright lights flashed somewhere to his left. Car brakes desperately needing changed squealed, and with a curse that lost itself under a breath suddenly yanked from him, the tires slid and the wheel whipped to the side and locked. His seat belt snapped into place and his spine bounced against the seat. 

The next thing he could make sense of was that he was suddenly upside down. A crash reverberated against his eardrums, shards of broken glass pelting none too gently against his face. He tasted blood in his mouth. 

Six took a breath of thick and rotting air to rocket forward, to shove up in defiance of impending death. Unbuckling the seatbelt, he fell against the car’s roof. A fierce kick and the door shot open, landing on frozen concrete. It wobbled, metal grinding on ice, then it settled into silence. 

When he’d dragged himself from the car, he’d landed right on one of his wounds, of course. Dark blood squelched upon impact, his breaths ragged as he flipped and sat up, the sound of people nearby soft and muzzled by distance. Six didn’t want to deal with the passersby quite yet. It risked a scream at least; a forcible visit to the hospital at worst. 

A filthy hand dragged down his face. He sat against the car he’d clawed his way out of and took a moment to breathe, one leg folded in, the other stretched outward. A glass shard embedded loosely in his stomach earned a look of utter contempt.

Unconsciousness was taunting, fluctuating, and smug. It left as it desired, only to return before Six had any chance of jolting up and identifying his surroundings. He seldom made it past opening his eyes before they rolled back and flickered shut. 

This was the closest he’d been to death in… he didn’t know how long. Long enough. It was an inconvenience, either way.

A man strode forth through the glare of the hazard lights blinking on and off. His pointed shoes crunched against bits of car, and the Sierra learned very quickly that it was not a good Samaritan coming to help, rather someone with purpose–one that likely ended with his brain matter all over the concrete. 

Six shoved his hand into the folds of his jacket and noiselessly withdrew a pistol–the attached silencer longer than its barrel. He then rolled, prone and locked into a cramp that seized his entire body. When his stubbornness ran its course, and Six finally surrendered, the horrific pressure waned. He sank into crushed remnants of glass and car parts. 

His shoulder shrieked, but not so mind-splittingly as the wounds beneath his chest. Nausea licked up his throat, though he kept the acid down. His hip and leg weren’t doing so hot either, and with exploring fingers he investigated each source of pain. 

Once he was sure that he would live, his forearm braced against the side of the burning metal, attempting to find the strength to pull himself up. 

“Hey, big guy.” A sharp pain behind his knee sent Six buckling with a quiet grunt. His hands slammed into a patch of black ice, saving his face from impact, but he lost his gun. The air dropped into a vicious chill. Snow fell harder, but even it could not bring a quiet serenity to the chaos of the flames and Six’s irritation speaking louder than his words could. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to answer some questions for me, could I?” The voice was like silk. “I’ve been told that I can be very persuasive.” 

“I’m convinced.” A wheeze pushed from him, lungs struggling, burning as he took in the frost. One hand lifted, drained even further of color. Six attempted to rise, soon lifting his other hand to show they were both empty.

Darkness concealed only half his features now as he stared up into the unnerving mug of an old comrade’s face. They’d all visited him in the form of the word ‘DECEASED’ in bright red print on a file. He saw their fleeting shadows, their drowned bodies in the rivers and lakes. And after all this time, one wandered down the side of a street in D.C. with an incentive to kill him.

They’d all had it coming eventually. Every last one of them. It was easier on his conscience to call the extinction of the other Sierras an act of due justice, and his own survival an act of his stubbornness as well as luck. It wasn’t as though Six grieved any of them, but he remembered. 

Especially this asshole.

“You remember me?”

Six squinted, not a single protest leaving him as he analyzed his face. He’d always been a deathly looking man, wearing the lives he’d expunged on his sleeve and shown bare to the world. 

“Sierra Seven?”

“You’re worth a lot of money,” Seven mused. “I won’t need any work for the next few years.”

“You had the lowest contract completion rate.” Six spit through grit teeth, a sudden boot coming down on his hand making him cry out. He clenched it into a fist, hearing a loud snap. Through the pain, he carried on through grit teeth and a breathless gasp. “I’m not surprised you need it.”

A combat knife gleamed in Seven’s right hand, twirling before it came to rest in his palm. 

Six maneuvered onto his hands and knees, wiping a grimy hand over his mouth. “How much do you weigh? One-sixty?” He extended his arm, waving a finger up and over the man’s torso. “The jacket with the–with the blue cuffs. I like it.”

Begrudgingly, but not unexpectedly, the other Sierra sprang toward him just as Six grappled for his gun. Deft fingers raked through his hair then clutched. Not a heartbeat to spare. Seven dove the knife forward in an attempt to stab a jagged gash through Six’s jugular. A pistol fired, grazing Seven’s right calf. Another shot missed, landing squarely in the car’s side.

Six caught the agent’s wrist after a third bullet went flying, the knife slicing his hip. An airy grunt left him. He wrenched the knife away, sending it across the concrete and glass arena. Fists flew and collided while they quietly wrestled for control. They were taught not to go at each other snarling like animals, rather similar to a dance where the two opponents knew the steps of the other quite well. Six managed to catch the agent’s arm and snap it clean at the elbow. A sickening crack reverberated through the open space. 

Another crack. A groan, wet with agony. Six shoved forward, busting the agent’s face into a glistening red pulp. While he struggled for another breath, one hand unhooked itself from Seven’s coat to tear his pistol out of its leather cradle and shove the barrel against his abdomen. A few derogatory clicks followed the realization of an empty chamber.

Six’s face scrunched into a grimace, then he sighed. “Shit.”

A fist sailed directly into his nose, a sickening crack sending him slumping with his spine against the remnants of his car.

Another, softer grumble. 

Six ran a thumb over the middle of his face, the broken bone and the stench of blood square in the center, shoulders stretching back in some pitiful attempt to regain his senses. He half-ducked half-fell to the ground. A thud above him reverberated against the metal, a sudden weight on his back that kept him pinned down, writhing underneath him like a cornered animal with no viable chance at escape. His breathing became labored, but not panicked.

His fingers grabbed blindly for his ankle, grabbing his knife that he twisted around and drove directly into Seven’s calf. A garbled yell deafened in his ears, one of his arms grabbed and shoved up against the car, his arm repeatedly beaten against it until he was forced to drop his knife. It skittered across the concrete with a resounding clang. His hair was a grimy mess of scarlet tufts, one eye shut and bleeding from an open wound at his eyebrow. When he breathed, he spit up blood.

A quiet, displeased grumble shook Six’s chest. The reflexes to follow were sharp, cruel, cold. A large hand lashed forward, gathering the collar of his coat in a row of deadly fingers to jerk him forward and lift. Seven leveled their faces. It was with one, the other dangling at his side in two awkward pieces connected by flesh.

The resistance eroded. Seven set his jaw and gave him a single, very harsh, shake.

“One reason,” he growled. “Give me one reason not to pop your head off like a fucking cork.”

“I’ve been told I have that effect on people, but I’m going to have to ask you not to do that.”

The bitter irony was lost in their heated space as he shoved him hard against the driver’s side. Pain exploded through his back, but his defensive demeanor never waned. The angle of his arm narrowed against Six, adding pressure to his windpipe. “Where’s Cahill?”

“Who?”

His elbow sailed into Six’s nose, making him wheeze. Irritation pinched at his eyebrows, tucking his head back against the man’s bated breaths. “What do you want? An apology?” Six choked. “Catch up over coffee and talk about it?” 

Seven chuckled, amused by the defiance but not any less inclined to change his mind about killing him. He enjoyed the pain that he inflicted, the pressure added gradually and with no other intention except to make him suffer. 

Six took it in stride, between one wounded animal to another, a message had been relayed–his, more clearly. He was going to die, left in the streets without a name attached to his face. A ghost. His vision twisted and distorted, black fringing the outside corners and moving in.

In what would be the few remaining moments of his life, a faint glint flickered at his vision’s edges, then a cloud of red mist exploded from Seven’s head, body collapsing forward and releasing his death grip on Six’s throat. Six slid down until he was sitting, looking over at the corpse that he felt a weird urge to apologize to.

The pitter-patter of light footsteps sounded from his left. Six’s head snapped to the side, lips parting for a moment until he recognized Chief Cahill. She bounded over the wreckage, the ice and debris hardly proving a worthy obstacle. He waved, his other arm tucked against his chest and aching.

“Boy,” she sighed, her irritation and disappointment obvious, even in his nearly comatose state. “Look at me.”

Her orders were answered only by an awkward peering through half-lidded eyes, blood pouring from every orifice of his face. Sounds had been secluded to white noise, his vision swimming in a mixture of red and purple while he struggled to keep his head up. There was an alertness in his distant expression, but he figured that if she asked him any direct questions, he might not have been cohesive enough to answer them. 

“You should have told me that you were leaving,” she scolded, removing her jacket to press it against a spurting gash in his leg. Her eyes were fixated on his face, being none too gentle in her prodding at his more life-threatening injuries. 

The corners of his mouth twitched. “You said not to, so.” 

“I told you to head to Europe.”

“Missed my flight.” 

Cahill rolled her eyes, disappointment, as well as some vague sort of nausea evident as she took in the state of him. He could only imagine how bad he looked, sitting amongst the remnants of carnage and his safe drivers discount. 

“I warned you. You might be a Sierra, but you’re not invincible.” 

“I’m disposable.” Six corrected, shrugging and grimacing at the pain that shot up his spine. “That’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it?”

Cahill narrowed her eyes. “Disposable, fine. You’re not replaceable.” He hissed at the harsh shove against a spot on his calf, strongly suspecting it was on purpose.  “You’re a valuable asset, Six. We can gladly pick any idiot to do your job, but nobody will do it as well as you.”

Through one open eye and a vision of red, he mulled over the confession. The sincerity in her gaze did not hide anything other than genuine honesty. It put him off giving up the ghost for at least a while longer, but the hand that she extended to him almost made him forget that he was injured at all. “You’re still an idiot, though.” She didn’t sugarcoat that. “And you’re still bad at Chess.”

Six laughed, then immediately coughed. God, that hurt. “It still takes two people.” He sighed. 

“Are you ready to go?”

He waved his good arm dismissively. Even his good arm felt as if it would pop out of its socket. “I’m good. I think I might sit here for a while.” 

“You’re going to bleed out.” Cahill mused. “You might go into a coma.”

“I’m hoping so,” he smirked, leaning his head back, allowing his eyes to shut. “It’ll be the best sleep I’ve had in weeks.” 

“It doesn’t look like he hit anything vital. You’ll be alright.” She clapped a hand against his shoulder, and he winced at the sudden contact, hand coming up to grasp the abused area. One eye opened to fix her with a gentle glare, but she’d already turned away, calling who he assumed was Fitzroy and advising him to bring several bags of AB and a new suit–he’d mentioned 42 regular, but he suspected that she ignored him on purpose and told Fitzroy to bring what he had. Once the phone call ended, she’d turned, only to say: “This isn’t getting you out of Europe, by the way.” 

Six offered a meager thumbs up in response. He hadn’t counted on it.

Anyone Assassination classroom x Wind breaker?

If nagisa and karma attend the Furin school?

Or if Sakura attend assassination classroom as an exchange student?

Or if just somehow class 3E (let's just pretend they are all first year) and 1-1 got together to do some mutually beneficial/ interested stuff

cause honestly I need some crossovers and they are literally just a handful of them and most of them are with the fandoms i am not a part of

So you know how there are some fic where Percy classmates read the Percy Jackson books? Ya, I would absolutely love if there was one where the whole world finds out, and you can have Percy being the leader with Annabeth, people in power questioning what the hell’s going on and them being concerned, not about the child soldier thing, but more about how Percy and Annabeth interact as they are the leaders of this really high powered “race” or “new/different” humans (Demigods). Also most of the wars were because of Demigods. And them somehow having to on live TV or something international TV maybe read the Percy Jackson books aloud.

Also, the bombshell of multiple pantheons people questioning history. All of this would be amazing. I feel like people would be questioning some things that happened and also figuring out that Heracles is still alive and how horrible he is that would be fun.

PS: Hercules is Roman and Heracles is actually Greek name for Hercules. I found out some people don’t know this but you realize his name is because Zeus wanted to name him a name that would please Hera and his name is said as HERA-cles (HERA-q-leas)

I would like to add on to this by saying that after they grew up sometimes when they was to feel safe or when something happends on instinced they hide in the cape.

I just adore the idea of Batman completely concealing his kids under his cape. Like I literally love it sm, so here’s how I think a few of them would have done it :)

Dick: hugging Bruce’s leg(when he was tinier) or his waist. I also like to think that outside of combat he would have stood on Bruce’s feet as he walked, yk?

Jason: holding onto Bruce’s arm usually, occasionally hugging him like Dick if he felt threatened. I like to think that when they were idle late at night he would fall asleep while hugging Bruce’s arm

Tim: Tim would be a bit nervous at first, but eventually ended up just huddling himself close to Bruce. He would often be peeking out from under the cape too

Damian: It took him a few months to agree to being protected in the cape, but one late night after detaining a rough arkham escapee he’s just so tired, and he’s nodding off and Bruce just gently lifts him up and holds him, and it’s so surprisingly warm and comfortable that he can’t help falling asleep. After that he went under the cape more often, huddling close like Tim used to(haha), and occasionally allowing himself to be held in his father’s arms.

Take this song and be sad with me

Anyone got a Steve Harrington as Stiles Stilinski fic recommendation? I can’t find any on ao3 or Wattpad. I mean there both bisexual mom friends with bats