#I keep calling these drabbles and they keep turning into 1k+ beasts

[asha-mage]

Rand/Elayne, secret 👀

[Send me a character or pairing, and a one word prompt, and I'll write you a drabble!]

Here is what the people of Andor know-

Queen Elayne Trakand, Radiant of the Light, Lioness of the Sun, is the finest Queen they’ve had in a very long time, maybe the finest in Andor’s long history. She is brave and compassionate and wise in equal measures, unafraid to be ruthless and cunning when duty demands, but unwilling to be cruel or harsh without cause. She keeps trade open and the granaries full, the nobles in check and the alliances that make up the Court of the Sun strong. If there is one fault to be found in Queen Elayne it is the fault of all Trakand rulers, the fault that had ended her mother’s reign and almost destroyed the world, though she has kept it better checked then her predecessors. A fault that is all to human, and yet easy for the bard’s to romanticize and rationalize away- the kind of thing that will fit neatly into both her legend and her her history books, and something that is easy enough for her subjects to forgive given all else she does.

After all, what doe sit matter if the Queen has a truly terrible taste in men? The Queen can do as she wishes as long as duty is satisfied and the rule of law kept and the realm stays prosperous. So what if she had loved a traitorous Darkfriend? She had taken his head during the Last Battle in the end. So what if their had been some rough handed mercenary? Was a woman not allowed to enjoy making a scarred man bend to her will? So what if she had taken her new Captain General to Warder and lover both? The man she would be grateful to rise so high on her esteem. So what if a some dark haired bard slipped in and out of the palace’s private chambers? A woman had needs.

Queen Elayne Trakand was the most powerful woman in the Dragonlands, perhaps the world. She was Aes Sedai and twice a sovereign and the leader of the stronger alliance to ever been seen, and even if none of that was true she was the Queen. She could do as she pleased, and if anyone had any aspersions to cast, the meanest crofter, the lowest beggar in all of Andor or Cairhien would raise a hand to silence such.

Here is what the palace knows-

The Queen has no husband and never will. It is not an unheard of state of affairs for a leader, particularly one with a secure heir already in place. If some of the nobles and dignitaries are nervous about the lack of a second in line after the Daughter Heir or the missed potential of a marriage alliance, well it was their job to fret about such things.

The Queen was the Queen, and her duty was to provide an heir which she had done. Her private affairs beyond that, where her private affairs. The why is not that important. Rumor in the palace would name a thousand different reasons, but the most common accepted is that she had seen what love had done to her mother’s reign, to the rules of countless men and women throughout the long history of the Dragonlands, had tasted it herself with that snake Mellar and thought better of laying herself so bare in heart and soul. She was wedded to her realm and that was more then enough. Pretty musicians and handsome commoners who would ask no questions and be grateful for their Queen’s attention, could fulfill any other required need, without risk. It was no more then her due as Queen, after all.

And if there is one particular dark haired musician who stays for irregular but frequent periods in the royal apartments, well. Maybe she just likes his singing voice.

(The rumor that she had loved the Dragon comes up too from time to time, that he had been father to her children and first flame of her heart, but it it’s solidly in the middle of the pack in terms of believers, and evne it’s adherents would never begin to guess at the full extent or truth of it).

Here is what the Lion Guard knows-

The rumors of a bond with Mellar where trash, any woman of the Guard could tell you that. Captain General Guybon is her Warder and Captain General, but no more. There had been a mercenary at one point, though he had been more of a fop then a rough sort, and belonged to the Seanchan now these days. And there had been a man with a face like misshapen clay, a rough laborer whose smile could curdle milk.

There had been an Aiel woman too, sometimes, beautiful as the sun and sharp tonged as a viper, but soft and gentle for the Queen. She still visited sometimes, when her duties as Wise One did not call her away, but there was a distance there too, created by the Aiel’s role as peacekeepers.

But the Dragon? That was foolishness. A rumor cooked up to strengthen morale, to lend the First Prince of the Sword and the Daughter Heir an air of mystique, of divinity to their legacy. A pretty thing for the legends, and the footnotes of history books. The Dragon had never looked twice at Queen Elayne as far as her personal bodyguard knew- and there was no way such an affair could have been carried off without their knowledge. Certainly not.

And none of them, not Dragon, not mercenary, not laborer or Aiel, or Warder or Darkfriend traitor could claim the truth of the Queen’s heart. That honor when to the pretty dark haired man who sang the sad songs for her in the Old Tongue, who juggled and told stories to make her laugh and lounged with her long evenings on the garden.

It was him who taught the First Prince how to use his sword, who listened to the Daughter Heir cry out her night terrors, who played games with them, and read to them, and showed them the affection and love and devotion of a father. The matter of blood was irrelevant really- weather they where the laborer's or Cauthon’s or hells the Dragon’s didn’t matter. It was the gleeman they called father, and it was the gleeman who fulfilled that duty.

That was enough for the Lion Guard. He might never been Prince Consort in name, but in all the ways that mattered he was one of the House od Trakand, and so, they would spend their lives to guard him, for the sake of their Queen, and their realm, and the man himself.

Here is what the children know-

It is a secret. A very very important secret.

Your father saved the world once their mother had explained to them, time and time again. It nearly cost him his life. If it is found out he still lives, it will cost him the rest of it.

Cethlyn does not mind, not really. She is a bright girl, and can put together the pieces as they stumble into her hands growing up. The tale of the boy who had climbed the garden wall, and the Dragon who had given everything over to saving the world. The way mother laughs when she is in father’s arms, the same laugh as when she dances with Aunt Avienda or Uncle Mat in the small hours of the morning, or hidden away at the secret cabin that they only ever visit by Gateway. They form the whole picture in time, and she keeps her silence and lets tongues wag. One day she will be Queen in turn, she knows, she will have to put up with worse said about her.

It bothers Shevan a bit more. He hates people thinking some filthy Darkfriend’s blood runs in his veins. But he knows duty, and he loves his fahter, and can’t stand the thought of anyone taking his father away from them forever. As it is they see him rarely- and though he always returns with a song and a laugh and a new story, Shevan is hungry for more. Hungry to travel with him, to know him, to be trained by him in earnest, even as he is to shy to ask.

Neither child doubts or questions or wonders, why they look so different from the dark-haired man their mother calls Rand. It dosen’t really matter. The world is full of impossible and strange things. What is one more?

Besides, when their parents hold their hands and laugh, when they gaze into each other’s eyes and smile, when father sings in the soft lilting Old Tongue and their mother seems to breath it in like air- their can be no room for doubt. Not witnessing the raw love that fills them both, the admiration, the bond.

It seems a shame to keep it secret, and yet it seems right too, to hide this fragile brilliant light from the world, lest it be broken by the eyes of those that can not be trusted.

Here is the secret-

Elayne Trakand loves Rand al'Thor, despite all that lays between them, and maybe because of it. Their are others too, other compartments in their vast hearts, and that dose not preclude their love for each other. They have a family together, and Rand does his best balance his wanderings, and his abstaining from events, and being their father too. He has earned his peace and Elayne does not begrudge him it.

It should be tawdry and scandalous and dangerous. But it isn't. It is shockingly, almost disappointingly wholesome and pure.

They love each other, and it is a secret, but changes nothing. When it's true love, it never could.

#WoT #WoT Fanfic #Wheel of Time #Wheel of Time fanfic #elayne trakand #Rand al'Thor #WoT Book Spoilers #AMOL Spoilers #randlayne #No beta we die like 'rand' #Geo Political Polycule #lightly implied #drabble challenge #I keep calling these drabbles and they keep turning into 1k+ beasts #but I don't think anyone minds

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

🌿🌹 Garden Inspection 🌹🌿

i was deadheading my roses this morning and this happened. a small 1k drabble about married gallavich inspecting their plants after vacation and being cute. for the good vibes. [ now on archive of our own ]

The Chicago sun is shining nice and bright when Mickey steps down into their backyard, a pair of scissors in hand. 

It took them half a day since coming back home from California - Ian insisting they unpack and throw a load of laundry in during a jet lag nap - but they’ve finally made it to the much-anticipated event. 

Garden inspection.

And while Mickey is reasonably invested in all the rest of it - the veggies, the sunflowers, the strawberries that he’s pretty sure are gonna take over their yard, despite his husband’s further insistence - there’s one spot in particular that he’s keen on. The overseer.

“Alright you little fuckers, lets see the damage.”

Mickey plants his ass in the grass and pulls the small pot of miniature roses in front of himself, their blooms bouncing on healthy stalks. 

And before you go casting aspersions like some kind of freak, Mickey knows it’s a sight to see. He knows he’s not a rose guy. Or at least, he wasn’t. Until a few months ago, when he woke up one morning after an absolutely shit night and walked into them sitting on their kitchen table, a stickynote with Ian’s handwriting laying next to it.

I’m happy you ~rose~ to greet the day today Mick. ~Leaf~ your troubles behind and come have coffee with me in the back ♡

And when he had opened the cabinets to grab a mug from the cupboard? Another note.

~water~ you doing baby I already have a cup ready for you outside

And he did. The sappy fucker.

So yeah. Call him soft all you want, but Mickey is gonna keep these little assholes alive, even if it kills him. Which seems to be the first task on their agenda today, judging from one look at the handful of dying flowerheads before him.

“How’s she lookin’...?”

Mickey makes a little grumble of a noise, Ian’s shadow passing over him for a second as he joins him out back, on track to the veggies. He tugs at one of the wilting flowers. Dramatic bitch. “Couldn’t wait to cause a scene, huh?”

“Mm. Kinda like someone I know.”

Mickey chooses to ignore that sentiment. He was actually very well-behaved on this trip. No scenes. (Even though that toddler on the beach was asking for it.) “Gotta do damage control.”

Further out in the garden, Ian inspects the bed where the tomatoes are, seemingly unphased by this. “Two weeks is a long time, Mick. Even with Gloria.”

And that’s…true. He guesses he can’t expect everything to be the same as when they left, even with Ian enlisting their old-ass neighbor’s help to come water while they were away. (She was thrilled to do this, to be clear. Way too excited.)

But still. 

God damn.

Mickey grabs the scissors, starting in on the process of trimming all the dead, wilted stuff so the plant can use its energy on the stuff that’s still alive.

‘Deadhead’, apparently. Which he thinks is probably the most metal shit he’s ever heard, considering he’s got a face full of roses right now.

He carefully snags a crusty looking flower, its once soft red petals now dark purple and saggy. 

Snip!

Another one, very close to the first. Dried out completely and shedding like goddamn Beauty and the Beast as Mickey pinches it between his fingers and gets the scissors in close.

Snip!

“Looks good over here,” comes his husband’s voice, just as he moves on to the next. 

A small bud. Dead before it got to bloom.

There’s something poetic about that, ain’t there?

“Oh! We got a pepper!” 

Snip! 

Fuck, he got pricked.

“Mick, you hear me?” Ian’s turning his head toward him now, his voice clearer from where he’s sticking up out of the garden like one of the sunflowers, one eye squinted into the sun. “Pepper - jalapeño, I think.”

“Yeah that’s real great, man…” Stupid fucking thorns… “Toss it into some-a that guac you stole the recipe for.”

A beat. Probably rolling his eyes. “I didn’t steal it.”

“Damn near-”

“I asked her. Nicely-”

“Yeah, three fuckin’ times.” Mickey’s never seen his husband as unrelenting as his constant badgering of their server that second night. Using all his best manners. Buttering her up. “Good thing she was so sweet on your puppy dog ass.” Had her calling him mijo and shit.

“Hey, I got us free tequila shots, did I not?”

Mickey rolls his eyes, but can’t help the smirk that dances across his face at the memory. 

That was the start of one criminally sexy night, god damn…

Snip!

“Fuck…” 

Mickey’s smirk falls with the perfectly good rose that got caught in the way during his daydream, now landing in the palm of his hand. Damn it…

But just as quickly, his disappointment is washing away, Ian’s voice joining right in front of him.

“Can I help…?”

Mickey glances up at him. Eyes over the sunburn that’s left his cheeks and the tops of his shoulders nice and rosy.

“No,” he says. But when Ian squats to come eye-level with him, he goes with the flow, taking the perfect bloom and plopping it on top of his husband’s head.

“How do I look?”

Cute. “Gay.”

But it leaves his chest warm. His lungs light. Has his smile blooming when Ian says it, “Love you…” just as sweet. 

And it’s like Mickey didn’t just spend two uninterrupted weeks with him, falling for his goofy ass all over again and in every single way, “Love you too…” because the need to touch is insane.

And the feeling must be mutual, because Ian’s grinning slyly, the flower falling from his head as he sneakily pulls the rose pot out from between them and then closes in on his knees - presses a kiss to Mickey’s lips - keeps pressing, until Mickey’s back hits the grass and he’s made himself comfortable over him.

The rest of the trimming can wait. 

Time for a different kind of head.

#gallavich #shameless #i should drabble more #ray writes

[miscelunaaa]

masterlist | miscelunaaa

Please read my disclaimer post before reading and/or interacting. Minors, do not interact. Please respect both my boundaries and the boundaries of others so that we can keep this a safe space.

∞ As always, be sure to read the notes that come with each work or chapter before reading it, and always read the warnings!!

∞ I no longer have a permanent tag list. The best way to get notified when I post something is to subscribe to my work on AO3. 

k e y

[s] smut

[f] fluff

[a] angst

[c] crack/chaos

[wip] work in progress

n a m j o o n

∞ booty jorts [ s, oneshot ] 2.3k

Namjoon looses a bet and his punishment turns out to be more stimulating than you expect. established relationship pwp.

∞ cuffing szn [ c, s, mini series ] 21.3k

complete! All Namjoon wants is some peace and quiet after a long, shitty day at work. Thanks to a party upstairs and Jungkook’s sticky fingers, he’s stuck with you instead. this namjoon is tooooo hot. strangers to lovers. ft. a soft-bodied/plus-sized reader. personal favorite.

∞ driving me @&#%! [ c, a, f, wip, drabble series ] 3k+

member x member, posting only on ao3. Namjoon has to learn how to drive. Yoongi’s teaching the driver’s ed class he enrolls in. Namjoon may or may not have asked him out when they were in high school. Yoongi may or may not have rejected him. What the hell are they supposed to do now? Pretend they don’t know each other? modern au. aged-up hyungline, high school-aged maknae line. chaos. 

∞ flat sprite and saltine crackers [ f, oneshot ] 2.1k

Being a parent on a normal day is a challenge. When you add a sudden stomach bug to the mix, you and your husband have to play in master mode. parenthood au. personal favorite.

∞ in the midst of the earth [ a, oneshot ] 5.7k

After your grandfather is hospitalized following a massive stroke, Namjoon watches you pick up the pieces and try to hold them together all by yourself. a meditation on grief and suffering. 

∞ sacrificial [ a, s, series ] 74k 

complete! posted only on ao3. There's a beast out in the woods and your village decides to offer you up as a virgin sacrifice to make him go away. Good thing the beast is actually kind of a nice guy, if not a little awkward because he's spent so much time alone. Maybe this is for the better; you never really liked the other villagers anyway. strangers to lovers. historical fantasy au. slow burn. often referred to as lorge namjoon fic or white whale no.2 in passing. 

∞ shell-ter [ c, s, oneshot ] 7k

part of the series animals in predicaments. While walking on the beach and avoiding your responsibilities, you stumble upon a line of hermit crabs waiting to exchange shells. It should be an exciting moment for you, but instead there’s this random naked guy yelling at you to leave his friends alone. Why can’t a stroll on the beach ever just be a stroll on the beach? strangers to lovers ft. hermit crab hybrid!namjoon and a soft-bodied reader. personal favorite.

∞ the sins of other hearts [ a, s, short series ] 12.8k

complete! posted only on ao3. Months have passed since your father died, leaving you to care for your little household and its dwindling resources. In a final bid for security for your family, you decide to make your way to the palace for the bride parade that the king has called for his son. What awaits you when you get there will be a test of your fortitude in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. a fairy tale retelling ft. a cursed namjoon, ambiguously placed historical setting, and an accidentally soft-bodied reader.

∞ things left unsaid [ a, s, oneshot ] 1.4k

After hearing of a near miss you had while riding on the trails, Namjoon returns home to see you’ve escaped mostly unscathed. Your hearts are another matter. strained established relationship. historical au.

∞ also featured in: spin cycle

 s e o k j i n

∞ feathers [ f, drabble ] 1k

It’s time to say goodbye to one of your favorite parts of your partner. established relationship au ft. a soft bodied-reader.

∞ flurious [ drabble ] 3k

it's fine, you're not mad at your best friend at all! in fact!! you're so fine that you're going to work off some steam just to prove how fine you are!! meet cute. college au. based on real events. 

∞ love, lust, and life mushrooms [ s, c, oneshot ] 7k

Jin has had a very specific fantasy for a long time, and he’s decided that he wants to make it a reality. Will your relationship be strong enough for the strain this puts on it? Or will the two of you come out of it stronger than ever? established relationship au.

∞ strawberry whine [ f, drabble ] 1.1k

You can’t stand strawberries, but your fiancé has taken you to his uncle’s strawberry farm to see if he can change your mind. ft. the life mushroom couple.

∞ also featured in: give yourself a try and shell-ter

y o o n g i

∞ desperate [ c, s, f, drabble ] .9k

member x member, posted only on ao3. Jungkook is very done with Yoongi’s shit and takes matters into his own hands. Brought to you by Calvin Klein. Written for a dear, enabling friend. 

∞ driving me @&#%! [ c, a, f, wip, drabble series ] 3k+

member x member, posting only on ao3. Namjoon has to learn how to drive. Yoongi’s teaching the driver’s ed class he enrolls in. Namjoon may or may not have asked him out when they were in high school. Yoongi may or may not have rejected him. What the hell are they supposed to do now? Pretend they don’t know each other? modern au. aged-up hyungline, high school-aged maknae line. chaos.

∞ give yourself a try [ a, s, twoshot ] 24.6k

complete! You’ve got an enormous crush on Yoongi, the machine tech, and, if Jimin is to be believed, the feeling is mutual. A broken espresso machine and a snow storm are all it takes to bring everything crashing down around you. released as a two shot ft. a plus-sized reader. personal favorite.

∞ sodium vapor [ a, oneshot ] 2.1k

Yoongi doesn’t have much going for him, but you don’t need much to grow attached. It’s a pity, then, that you loose each other as quickly as you were found. missed connection. personal favorite.

∞ troparion for a summer’s evening [ a, drabble ] .5k

You wake to find yourself alone in bed when there should be someone next to you. features no use of gendered pronouns. personal favorite. 

h o s e o k

∞ domesticated fluff [ f, a, oneshot ] 1.7k

He’s the person you’ve always wanted. He’s your sunshine. You just want him to be happy. After an admittedly rough start, will you be able to bring Hoseok all of the joy he brings you? non-romantic adopted dog au.

∞ quiet time [ f, drabble ] 0.45k

You haven’t had a quiet morning alone to read in a long while, and that’s why it seems suspicious. a dad!tan drabble using no gendered pronouns. 

∞ whispers in the dark [ a, f, oneshot ] 1.4k

Hoseok just doesn’t have it in him to make you even more miserable right now, so he tries something a little different. sleep paralysis demon hobi ft. a gender neutral reader. personal favorite. 

j i m i n

∞ untitled wind sprite jimin fic [ a, s, wip ] likely 10k+

outlined. currently avoiding alskjfdhgfjhgf. this one’s going to fucking hurt; as such I've been avoiding it even though this might be one of my favorite story ideas ever. I'm very serious about writing this at some point but i just have to get in a particular headspace for it. it deserves the utmost care. probable warnings include fae trickery, second chances, and a near death experience. little mermaid au if you squint. may end up being a minion fic instead of reader insert. *shrug*

∞ also featured in: give yourself a try

t a e h y u n g

∞ engorged [ f, c, drabble ] 0.83k

You and Taehyung get along better than you could have ever imagined, but all bets are off when you have a disagreement about a “friend” who makes a surprise visit. On his face. established relationship au.

∞ no shade in the shadow of the cross [ a, oneshot ] 5.8k

After his life in the city falls apart, Taehyung moves into his late grandmother’s home so he can heal and forget. When a little boy appears on his back doorstep, everything changes. supernatural/fantasy horror. heavy angst. read the warnings. personal favorite.

∞ also featured in: cuffing szn

j u n g k o o k 

∞ desperate [ c, s, f, drabble ] .9k

member x member, posted only on ao3. Jungkook is very done with Yoongi’s shit and takes matters into his own hands. Brought to you by Calvin Klein. Written for a dear, enabling friend.

∞ spin cycle [ f, s, drabble series ] 12.5k

complete! This random guy has started doing laundry at your favorite laundromat each week (at the same time as you, no less!) and to be honest, it’s going to be a problem. You’re just not sure how yet. strangers to lovers. idiots to lovers. really slow burn. 

∞ three minutes [ f, drabble ] 0.9k

You can’t stand the thought of Jungkook feeling alone while he’s sick, so you take matters into your own hands. non-romantic/platonic drabble ft. a gender neutral reader. personal favorite.

∞ also featured in: give yourself a try and cuffing szn

m i s c ; 

∞ the deluge, a fic depicting an unnamed bts member x reader. personal fave. 

∞ my favorite reads for the year, 2022

∞ kinktober 2022 over on AO3, October 2022

∞ Ask My Muse Masterlist, March 2022

∞ Fic Title Prompt Game, April 2022

∞ “soft-bodied” reader-insert characters and inclusivity, an essay

∞ misc asks mlist

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©miscelunaaa 2021-2023. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work. Thank you.

last updated: 11.10.2023

#miscelunaaa #masterlist #bts fanfic

[i-need-air]

RECIPES – BAKUGOU KATSUKI DRABBLE.

Domestic Bakugou. Fluff. 1k words.

Is it still a drabble if it has almost 1k words? Let's just go with the flow and accept it as a drabble. What a weird word... drabble...

The blond rolled his eyes as he chewed slowly, getting impatient with your so called pestering.

"This is so good~!" you moaned, almost choking on the food he diligently prepared for both of you.

"Course it is, I made it." he said, not even bringing himself to be disgusted by your antics. Seriously, close your mouth while you chew though? You looked like a beast that hasn't eaten in months but all Katsuki could see was his s/o just being absolutely adorable, dreamy, cute while eating and it seriously confused him because, again, you looked like a death row prisoner having their last meal. So the man decided to just take it as a compliment... ish... towards his food. "Eat slower, dumbass, or you'll choke."

"So are you going to give me the recipe for this?" you asked between bites, half in daze considering you're eating the best food you've ever had in your entire existence. Your plan, formulated by those 2 brilliant brain cells you still had working, consisted of playing it cool. It was obvious how much you were failing since you had trouble chewing and breathing at the same time before shoving another spoonful of rice in your mouth. And Bakugou noticed.

"Tsk. No." as always, his response was curt about it.

"C'mon, 'Suki–" another spoonful "You never give me your recipes!" eyeing him sharply, you couldn't help but hate his godly cooking skills and his resistance to give you at least one of his brilliant recipes. That little shit, keeping his secrets to himself.

"Shut it or I'm not cooking for you again. HEY! I said eat slower!" now it was your turn to roll your eyes at him. He was such a mom sometimes. Or you were being such a brat. Didn't matter.

"It's just so good, Katsu... I really wanna cook this by myself some other time, you know?" giving another try to your flawless strategy, you gave him a pout and puppy eyes, not noticing how his eyes focused on your lips and on the rice grain glued to your cheek.

What an idiot. He thought, his heart hammering in his chest. Even if he questioned himself why the hell he ended up dating you, he knew his brain would instantly pull out a 2k pages mental PowerPoint with reasons why. And now this image of you [red faced, rice on your cheek, pouty mouth, pleading eyes] was added to that said mental presentation. And he was okay with it.

What he wasn't okay with was giving you his recipes. Why the hell would you need them? Why would you need them when he would cook for you any other night? Why would you ask for them knowing he enjoys cooking for you? Well, he hasn't verbally confirmed it but you must know, right?

"Whaddaya mean, idiot? If you want to eat something, just tell me and I'll make it for you. That didn't stop you before..." he muttered the last part, looking down at the food, already knowing you were smiling with a mouthful.

"You're saying you'll cook for me all the time?"

"Hah? Don't I already do that?" he answered sharply, not liking the teasing that much. He did want to say things in a nicer way but it did take him some courage and nerve, and even if the man was now in his mid-twenties and finally established living with you, he sometimes still acted so emotionally constipated.

"True, true, Gordon Ramsay, but what if I want to cook for you? Or what of– Oh, fuck, this is delicious– What if you won't be here? Hmm?"

"The hell?" he raised his gaze on you again, studying your expression, irritated that you were so casual about that last question. "First of all, dumbass, do I need to remind you about the last time you cooked? Hmm?" he teased you, tone still harsh but amusement clear in his eyes. "And second of all. What does that mean?" he grumbled.

"Well, you're very busy, Katsu! I love your cooking but I can't expect you to cook for us every time... You come home exhausted, sometimes you sleep at your office, sometimes you're on night patrols and when you come home you're almost dead... I just..." you waved your chopsticks around, not really knowing how to finish the sentence, completely missing how his expression softened. In his insecurities he thought you'd imagine a future without him in it [even if the ring on your finger screamed otherwise] but here you were, worrying for him... while still eating like an animal.

"I'm always going to be here and I cook 'cause I like it. Also don't you remember our deal? You have to wash the dishes after." Apart from the small detail that he really didn't want to have your newly bought house burned to the ground.

With a giggle, you knew arguing with him about it would just lead to a double-stubborn petty fight, so for now you'd let it go.

"About that... I saw this dishwasher today–"

"Oh, you're trying to avoid that now?!" he accused, hiding his growing smirk.

"But it was perfect, we have a good spot in the kitchen for it and it was on sale, Katsu! On sale!"

"You'll show it to me either way or even worse, you'll show up with it at our doorstep anyway, so shut it."

Before you could open your mouth to tell him that you actually did buy it and it's arriving tomorrow morning, he grabbed a towel and rubbed your cheek with it.

"You have rice all over your face. Seriously, what the hell, [Y/N]?!" that was your cue to drop the conversation, admiring his mom-like attitude as you let a Cheshire cat smile fall on your lips. He was blushing, grumbling and had rice on his face too. Wasn't your fiancé adorable?

#boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #mha #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #Bakugou #Domestic Bakugou #Fluff #Bnha drabble #Noire writes #Bakugou x reader

[recurring-polynya]

Fanfic Round-up 2020

Look, the upshot is this:

This was up ever-so-slightly from my 2019 number of 266787, although I keep trying to talk myself out of considering this as an accomplishment, since about half that was Call Me Back, most of which was written in 2019. Then again, the 2019 number was inflated somewhat by having two copies of Portions for Foxes, so  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯  Word counts are such a hugely subjective thing. This feels like an enormous number to me, but a lot of people get much higher, and I can’t ever manage to impress anyone irl with this number.

Furthermore, this year was extremely taxing on my mental health, something I didn’t fully appreciate until about a week ago, so I suppose there’s something to be said for hanging in there. Anyway, here’s a short summary of everything I wrote this year, in case you missed it, and at the bottom I’ll list my over-ambitious goals for 2021.

Call Me Back When the War is Over. This is probably the best thing I have ever written. It’s very long and it’s funny and heartfelt and it has illustrations and I have no idea how I finished it in a fugue of bad anti-depressant reactions. It’s a Soul Society slice-of-life story about Rukia passing her Lieutenants’ Exam while trying to sort out her feelings for Squad Six’s two top men.  I will never top it, a thing I feel sad about sometimes.

Rukia and Renji Flagrantly Misuse Valuable Gotei-13 Field Equipment (for Science!) (explicit!) I wrote a bodyswap porno. It’s 1000% cuter and sweeter than you might expect, I do not actually know how to write smut.

Any Proposal You Can Walk Away From A short one about Rukia and Renji getting engaged. I posted this in the early days of the pandemic to cheer myself up.

The Beast You've Made of Me (explicit!) Wow, more porn! I really started out the year on... something.

There is No Bankai in Football A very silly story about Byakuya being forced to attend a kiddy football game so Rukia and Renji can go to brunch. Anyone who has ever complimented my world-building should be forced to read this and despair.

Signs of Spring A story about Byakuya being an ass.

A Party without Cake is Just a Meeting  Yes, I wrote a story about Orihime and Renji making a Bake-Off style showstopper for their own birthday, what of it?

To Her Exacting Specifications  Another sappy Uncle B story. (If you’re into these, I made them into a series for easy perusal)

don't tell me that we've grown (for having loved a little while) I wrote an IkkaYumi story, for a request. It was really hard, but I think it turned out pretty good! I really don’t know how to describe it other than “polynya writes an IkkaYumi story.” It’s about houseplants and fist fights.

Squad Six is Jerks and other Stories I offered to take requests for drabbles on Renji’s birthday and it was a terrible idea! I overtaxed myself and burnt myself out really badly! Anyway, the results are here. I always think they’re bad until I go back and read them and there’s actually some pretty good stuff in here. It’s the very definition of “a mixed bag”-- there’s weightlifting stories, AUs, angst, horniness, and a restaurant review of a Waffle House, courtesy of Squad 3.

a little in love now and then  This started off as a prompt and never should have gone more than 1k words, and yet I fell in love with it and it’s still going. This is the first write-as-you-go story I have ever done and I’m extremely proud that I’m still on track with it. It’s probably not as good as my Heart is a Muscle stories, but it certainly has some good bits, and I’m proud of it for what it is.

Goals for 2021

I guess 250k words is sort of a benchmark now, so I guess I’ll try to hit that again.

Finish a little in love. There is... a lot... left to go.

Finish the next story in The Heart is a Muscle, which I utterly stalled out on this summer. (I have ~40k of it written, but I’m not sure how much of it needs to be thrown directly into the garbage. It was never supposed to be this long in the first place. They never are.)

Finish either my Squad 11 Self-Care story or my Last Days in Inuzuri story

Write another adult one

Stretch goal: Write something that’s... not Bleach?? Maybe?? Can I do it?

I’m writing a cute New Year’s story right now that I have every expectation of posting on time, so you can look forward to that.

Anyway, thank you, everyone for all your support and generous comments! Your encouragement has meant the world to me, and thanks for sticking with me!

#my writing #year-end reviews

[yeoldontknow]

76, lay, (pls no smut) any genre u see fit? fantasy maybe?

ahhh! i love writing for yixing! here you go cutie patootie @markmeevil because she is The Biggest Yixing Stan I Know

Prompt: 76: I think you need stitches (part of the 1K followers drabble game)Pairing: Yixing x Reader (oc; female)Summary: While hunting in the wild land, you find yourself gravely injured only to be healed by the land itself.Genre: Fantasy!AU; dramaRating: PG-13Warnings: some blood; some violenceWord Count: 1,233

No one can survive in the wild land.

From your birth you have been told this truth, told the stories of men trying and men dying only two generations separated from yours. It’s an evil place, they say, someplace cold and someplace cruel. The rocks have teeth, the elders like to say. They pull at flesh and gnaw their way to the bone, fragments of the body dripping down and down into the sea. The trees have claws, another known fact. These tear at clothes, leaving you vulnerable to the rocks, if you can make it to them that is. On the branches, the leaves are red and gold, seductive and lethal in the pleasure they offer.

These, you know, are only some the dangers waiting to greet a man. These are only some of the dangers for no one talks about the living, breathing creatures. That kind of bravery, quite frankly, does not exist.

No one can survive in the wild land, and so no one goes.

Except, of course, for you.

The secret of your excursions into the land feels like your husband, and so you cherish it, tuck it away behind your lips to stop other ears from kissing it. It isn’t that you particularly crave the terrain nor do you fancy yourself someone particularly compatible with all its rough curves and all its sharp edges, it’s simply that you are hungry.

Starving, perhaps, would be the best word to describe the chasm that grows in your belly. This kind of hunger means to tear you apart, grows talons inside your organs and pulls at all your softest pieces. This kind of hunger leaves entrails behind you, crimson and forcing you into the shape of a wounded thing, a bleeding thing. This kind of hunger pushes your feet over fallen branches and fallen beasts, arrow docked on your bow and ready to be drawn at the slightest movement.

This kind of hunger breeds mistakes.

And so you are not entirely sure how it happens. From your vantage point atop the rock formation, you have a clear shot on the wildebeest. You can just make out the pointed tip of its incisors, lethal and intimidating, and the strong muscle that moves beneath its haunches. Bow drawn and arrow ready, all that is left is your exhale, the swift release of breath that covers you in the Reaper’s cloak.

You take it in. You hold it in your lungs, keep it there until it screams for release, until the thing that keeps you alive starts to hurt. Your fingers twitch, eager.

And then, your foot slips and you fall.

Tumbling at this height, you find, feels all too similar to free falling, feels like the land has no desire to catch or cradle you. The snapping of your bow as it breaks sends your arms reaching wildly for the splinters and, finding none, makes your fingers grasp for purchase, receiving only scratches that pull your skin away.

The jagged edge of a rock tears away at a lot of things: your clothes, the leather of your arm brace, your skin, desperate for a taste of your blood. This is the thing that makes you scream, a call for help where none can exist, a plea that begs for a faster death, an easier if far more brutal death.

When the ground catches you, there is a brief moment of relief during which you realize you can move your limbs, albeit slowly as they learn all their new bruises. This silent reprieve dissolves the moment you feel wet warmth turning your arm slick and staining the grass red.

The cut is deep, angry, a violence you find startling. It’s hypnotizing in a way, watching yourself bleed in dark, sticky shades of burgundy. So hungry are you that, for a moment, you can almost convince yourself it is wine that seeps from the great maw of your skin. Almost.

Tearing a piece of cloth from your tunic, you wrap the wound as best you can and tie it tight. With one trembling hand, your non-dominant hand, the action takes far longer than you would like. Time now is of the essence. If your scream did not lure other beasts to your location, the scent of your blood surely will.

You are not sure how long you wander, hungry, disoriented, and exhausted from both the act of living and dying, only that the sun is nearly set by the time you settle beneath the tree. Here, in the light of dusk, death begins to feel quite peaceful and, at the very least, like something easy. Above you the sky glows purple and red, and beneath your thighs the grass is soft, unabused by paws and talons.

The heaviness of your eyelids is persistent and demanding, a burden you find you no longer have the patience for. Yes, you think, death is as easy as closing your eyes.

And so, you do.

It’s the fire that wakes you, or perhaps it is the throbbing pain that pulses in your arm, right down to the muscle. It radiates there, spreading outward into your joints and into your chest, making it difficult to breathe through the agony. Around you, someone moves as they hum noises of concern, face hidden by the hood of their cloak.

Movement eludes you, a frustrating desire that builds in your bones and vanishes almost completely as you try to bring it to life. Instead, you remain on your back, bleary eyed and becoming something ferocious. From your throat, a groan that sounds almost too much like a growl builds, tearing through your lips as you try to lift yourself, try to run, try to survive.

Hearing the noise, the someone with you turns and rushes to your side.

‘Stay still,’ he commands, yet it sounds close to a comforting lullaby. He. A man. ‘You’ve lost a lot of blood. Your arm needed stitches. I did my best, but I don’t want you to tear them.’

Finding your voice takes work, takes almost too much effort. By the time you can speak, you find you’ve exhausted yourself all over again. ‘Who are you?’

At this, he lowers his hood, and even with your slightly unfocused vision you can see he is handsome. Strong features, yet in the corner of his mouth he carries kindness. His eyes are warm, and beneath his worried gaze your heart begins to race. He is dazzling, bewitching. If you could, you would reach for him to see if he were real, something tangible.

‘My name is Yixing,’ he says, and the name itself seems to bring you comfort.

You nod slightly, as though this were always his name. As though his name could not be anything else. ‘What are you?’

Yixing smiles, dabbing sweat away from your brow with a cool cloth. ‘I’m the Keeper of the Wild.’

Many questions burn in your mind, questions on his title, questions on the patience you feel in his fingers - even through the cloth. Many questions burn in your mind, but you find you are too tired to voice them.

‘Sleep now,’ he says, softly. ‘I will not leave your side.’

This pleases you, and so you let you let your weary body relax in his closeness.

No one can survive the wild land, unless, of course, they themselves are wild.

#yixing x reader #kpoptrashtag #kwriterskollection #noonanet #lay x reader #yixing au #yixing fanfiction #yixing fanfic #lay fanfic #lay scenario #lay au #lay fanfiction #yixing scenario #exo scenario #exo au #exo fanfic #zhang yixing