#Steepe

[writingforfishes]

Hicvember: Royal and Library

I have zero idea how to write royal shit. I don't know any history and am only drawing from the feel of other shows that have royal history things in them. (Like...Jane and the Dragon...you know...the mature ones.)

So, please suspend every belief and I hope my writing style doesn't get in the way of being able to read it. I wrote in a way that seemed...I dunno...royal or something?

Meet Winston and Steepe.

CW: Talk of weight, talk of seeming womanly being an insult, self-deprecation, implications of oral, implications of a hand job, insinuating same gender couples not being accepted, sort of a weird romance novel vibe to be honest??

The archival library was dimly lit by torches. The windows, which normally let in light, were dimmed by the night outside of them. The stars and celestial bodies offered a dim glow permeating the archives, but not enough to illuminate them to what was needed when sorting and restoring.

It was the middle of the night. Usually, the stout young man who inhabited the hall wasn’t up so late, but he was charged with restoring a royal family parchment for show tomorrow and, if not for a particularly annoying bodily interruption he’d have had it done by now.

So, in lieu of the drying ink he’d so far restored with on the parchment which sat on the table across the room, he did busy work until his body gave him permission to continue his assigned task. He only hoped it didn’t wait too long to stop its infernal jerking which prevented him from having a steady enough hand to paint and write by.

Winston was not who anyone in the society he lived in would call a handsome man. If he were a king with his round soft shape and his 5’6 frame he might’ve been lauded despite his physical attributes. His plumpness might have indicated wealth or health of some sort. But in his case, Winston’s physique led to very little but being called “womanly” for his soft curves and pale coloration which was prone to blushing.

Honestly, though, a great number of women in Winston’s life made that derisive title more honorable in his mind. His mother and sisters proved to him the intelligence and strength of females. He was proud to hear his form was one to be compared to people who seemed to him to be in many ways superior to men, despite the obvious insult it was meant to imply.

Winston’s mother had sold him to the palace he now worked as an apprentice. He didn’t blame her, and she wasn’t absent from his life completely. He simply wasn’t created to work the way other men did. And, fortunate for him, he was clever and learned quickly. As a child, the archives and writing had been a bit of a savior and a respite to him. And to know he was providing for his family in some way was all the better for it.

None of that mattered now, though, as he searched the shadows in one of the aisles for the ladder he kept to reach the higher scrolls so he could sort them into a better way of organizing, as he had been doing with his spare time these past few days. But as his body’s jolts became faster in the frustration he was experiencing, it became even more difficult to accomplish even the simplest of tasks. If only he were just a few inches taller, though.

The guard could hear him from yards out. Olive skin stretched into a smile as he met the doorway to the library. Great gulpy squeaking told him where the archivist was. The sounds were coming from the shadows where the torch light didn’t hit. The annoyed muttering accompanying the rest was amusing and would’ve been more so if a shiver didn’t hit his body as the squeaks got faster and harder.

“I heekulp! hope you’re ne-eep-ever charged to heeulp!-to be a sp—spy, Steepe,” Winston groused after hearing the heavy boots on the stone floor. But he grinned, too. Perhaps too widely. The archivist hoped the flush to his face would seem more from the effort before than emotion.

Winston looked up at the taller man, an unlikely ally in the castle but one who had developed into something more fairly quickly in their friendship. Of course, neither one would talk plainly about their relationship. Speaking in subtleties and implications was the most which would be accepted by the others in the castle.

This is not to say there weren’t plenty of other relationships like theirs, defiance of the accepted gender pairing, but they were handled in much the same way. You knew but you didn’t say. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked.

“Hmm,” Steepe replied casually. “Perhaps I wanted to be heard.”

The guard watched as the top of Winston’s large belly bounced a few times, the fabric clinging to his pudge in a way that made Steepe clear his throat. Winston scoffed at his reply causing a high HEEURK! to erupt from him. He put his hand on his chest with a breath. That one had hurt a little. Perhaps he deserved it, though.

“They’re quite hard today, Winston. Jolting your...entire body around quite a lot,” Steepe teased mildly.

“Mmm hee’ulp! and you hee’ulp! standing there hilp! enj-hng’ulp enjoying ilp! my pa—pain! Heeyurp! Oh dear,” he said as he rubbed his belly with a frown as it continued to bounce below his hand as the hiccups quickened.

“Hopefully not too much pain, dear,” Steepe said as he dropped the act for a moment and closed the distance between them worriedly.

“No no heeulp! It’s not t—too bad. Hng’lp!-hilp! Guh! Just ner-ERP!-ves, I think,” he said quickly, though he appreciated the strong hand on his shoulder. He’d have preferred to have it elsewhere on his body, though. He felt his face flush again.

“If that were true, my dear Winston, you’d have them all the time,” Steepe noted.

“I do h-hu’ip!-have them quite fre-ngk’up!-frequently though heengk! you must admit!” he said.

“I may have noticed…” Steepe said, trailing off.

“I bet heenk’up! you have! Emmp!” Winston said but huffed in frustration and rubbed his tummy again.

Steepe’s cheek and neck darkened as he looked down and took a gulp of a swallow to contain himself. The largest hurdle in the depth of their relationship, once they admitted their feelings, was revealing how much it moved the guard to see Winston in such a state. The fluster it caused him was tantamount to lust.

It was lust. It was primal and Winston was more than accepting of his odd preference. Though he had mistaken Steepe for not finding the archivist attractive except for those little spasms leaving him to declare his desires for Winston for more than just his...unfortunate nervous quirk.

The guard didn’t lie when he said he found Winston attractive. The short fair ginger man with delicate eyelashes and a beard framing his round cheeks was, in Steepe’s mind, breathtakingly handsome. And Winston claimed much the same of the tall, broad, dark man Steepe was. Winston had never once been intimidated by him. He was curious more than anything. And his wit was so sharp it took Steepe by surprise. But Winston was even more surprised when he learned Steepe was just as clever, if not quite as learned and smart as the archivist. But they kept up with each other quite well...in more ways than one.

“I can...offer assistance with those pesky interruptions if you’d like,” Steepe offered shyly. “I know you have much to do tonight, and it would be no good for you to be tired out at the presentation of the scroll.”

Winston looked a little sheepish for a moment. But at his head being tossed back roughly at another hiccup he decided to let his misgivings go. He didn’t want to use the man, but he also knew in many ways he was happy to be of service as Steepe was using him, too. And the dark-haired man did have a way of curing which was especially delightful for them both.

So, tucking away in a well-worn corner of the library, starlight their only illumination through a small window, the two disrobed and cuddled together before Steepe commenced with the cure.

“They are...very hard tonight, Winston. Are you sure they don’t hurt you at all?” Steepe asked as he cushioned his hand on the other’s belly.

Steepe felt the power of Winston’s chest caving in at the same time his belly popped, jiggling in the aftermath just slightly. The guard could even hear the thump of air displacement throughout his belly and chest and the slight slosh of whatever he’d consumed earlier.

The hiccups had sped up again for obvious reasons. Winston shrugged.

“A lit-HEEP!-little hee’urp! Oh. Per-erp!-haps a heeyup!-a little more th-hngk’up!-than a little,” Winston admitted.

The cure was unconventional. It initially increased the magnitude and speed of Winston’s hiccups with the excitement it caused. He never imagined he could have someone give him such powerful arousal and completion with just their mouth. He hadn’t even known it was possible. He’d never had schooling in such things. And, yet, Steepe had been eager to teach him. And Winston had been eager to learn.

As usual the apex of the experience lead to the cessation of the inconvenient spasms and, as usual, Winston thought it was only right to return the favor, though he was less confident with his mouth than his hand. Steepe didn’t seem to might the inequity, though. And, with the guard being already so aroused the act of favor returning usually didn’t take long at all.

“You have them on your belly, too,” Steepe muttered in afterglow.

“Hmm?” Winston asked as he looked down at his belly with a concentrating frown.

“The freckles. I’ve never noticed it before now,” Steep said. How hadn’t he? Perhaps the star and moonlight illuminated them more clearly than the other times.

“Oh, they’re everywhere, I’m afraid. I’m positively covered in them. A gift from my mother and grandmother, I’m told. Ginger hair and these spots everywhere,” he said in mild derision.

“I like them,” Steepe said in a small voice.

Winston looked up at him and leaned against his chest as he did.

“I don’t know why. But then, aside from your unconventional attraction, I don’t know much why you like me. But I won’t argue with it too much lest you might realize your mistake,” he said as his eyes watched the other man as if seeing a dream.

“I hope you might one day believe my desire for you is more than my odd fixation and that you, merely as you, are enough to attract me to your countenance,” Steepe said as he rubbed circles on Winston’s stomach.

Winston sighed and took a bigger breath before letting it out.

“Perhaps just you believing it will have to be enough. For now, I must redress and finish restoring the royal family before my light and candle depletes or burns the whole place down, one or the other,” Winston said wryly.

“Mmm, I suppose I’ll let you do so. The rest of the guardsmen are probably-oh who am I kidding? They rarely notice me when I’m there let alone if I’ve left my station. But I suppose I should do my duty anyway. Besides, I am protecting the royal records, of a sort, by protecting the royal archivist from his own body’s betrayal,” he gruffed.

“Here, here!” Winston agreed.

And, with that, the two dressed and parted ways with lingering touches. Steepe’s brown eyes lingered on the Winston’s wide hazel ones. One final look before they continued their duty to the crown.

[dire-vulture]

*puts goggles on a coatl* *puts goggles on a coatl* *puts goggles on a coatl* *puts goggles on a

[reallypheelingit]

Wanted to draw my coatl Steepe! A young salty coatl..as in actual salt, they love the stuff. They will go out on the beach to collect saltwater to evaporate into salt for use in Florabrisa's kitchen. They also enjoy making salt lamps, and they believe increasing the salinity of their den helps with their migraines, though local doctors aren't convinced.

happy fat dragon friday :D!!

[slavicafire]

we've been living in this apartment for two months now, and while we've observed most of our new neighbours (my slavic Windowsill Watcher Grandmother gene already activated), I don't think they had the chance to see us often enough to recognise us yet.

I do know, however, from my observations, that the tiny funny dog upstairs is called Gucio. I've passed him once or twice during his walk and heard his owners use the name - and, while both the dog and his owners are oblivious to our existence, Gucio became an apt topic of discussion in our house. you know, we hear barking, ha, that's Gucio, he must be home alone again! or there's a stick left by the building door, that must have been brought by Gucio and he was forced to abandon it before entering! a household name, really.

yesterday as I was leaving to go to the store, walking down the narrow staircase, there he is! tiny funny looking dog, slightly startled by me suddenly appearing on the floor he just reached on his tiny funny looking legs.

"good morning Gucio!" I say joyfully, the most natural thing in the world.

well. remember that Gucio doesn't really know me. so he looks at me in the most flabbergasted way a dog can look at a person. he is positively aghast. agog! not sure how aware dogs are of their own names but he seemed genuinely puzzled at the apparent stretch of social convention.

and as I try to contain my laughter, I see his owner standing on the stairs below. the woman is sort of awkwardly frozen, speechless, and she looks at me.

"you... know each other?" she asks.

is that not the funniest way to phrase it. is this not the funniest question she could have asked. ma'am do you know my dog? you went to school together perhaps? you've met? do tell, are you old friends? maybe you worked together? you know each other, my dog and you? this dog? you know him? he knows you? he never mentioned you I'm afraid

[newttxt]

crisis of disbelief

[omercifulheaves]

police to formally adopt ED-209.

[yeyinde]

the morally questionable relationship between John Price and the darling little starlet he picks up off of the street during the golden age of Hollywood would be such a treat.

because producer!John Price is known as the best of the best in Hollywood. He has an eye for talent, they say, and a keen ability for spotting the diamonds amongst the rubble.

And of all the stars in the world, he sets his sights on you. Pretty little thing. Bright and blinding—Betelgeuse glimmering on the precipice of a supernova. All you need is a little push. A backer. A chance. And he gives it to you. Ushers you into stardom with a crooked grin around the butt of a cigar and a wicked gleam in his eyes that you—in all your artless, sheltered naivete—chalk up to pride.

The problem with sweet little darlings like you is that they all sing the same song. Yearn for the same thing. And it's so easy to mistake his interest as fatherly when the name on your birth certificate reads John Doe. And when he tells you his name is John Price, well—

It's fate, isn't it?

He told you he's been married once but had no children, and the longing in his eyes must be for the family he's never got a chance to have. So, you promise to give it to him.

Problem is: the devil lives in Hollywood and drinks his whiskey neat. You told him you'd be his family, giving him the one that left him behind. Signed your soul to blue eyes for the big screen.

Not that you'd know this, of course. To you, John is a sad widower with a heart of gold. Your overprotective bear who snarls at the directors and actors who get a little too handsy with you on set. His darling little star.

It's easy to wave everyone off when they express concern about these blurring lines between employee and employer. Boss and—

Father figure.

They just don't know him like you do.

And how funny, you tell him one evening with a wry twist to your lips, eyes swimming with sheltered mischief. They thought we were lovers, Mr Price. Isn't that just the damnedest thing?

This little quip has the opposite effect, and if only you looked a little bit closer at the gleam in his eye, the clench in his jaw, you might have seen the storm gathering on the horizon before it hit. Instead of laughing with you at the director's gall, this hilarious joke, John feels you slipping through his fingers just a little bit more. And that simply won't do.

You want a father figure? Then fine. That's what he'll be. Convenient, of course, because he's been thinking about fatherhood a lot lately, too. It's only natural that he decides to cash in on that promise you made all those years ago to make him a proud dad.

[pooptoucher4000]

billford for dinner again

[is-this-even-relatable]

DC PROMPT #2:

When Captain Marvel gets hit in a fight that was a little too magical in origins for everyone’s comfort, he turns back into Billy Batson, scrawny homeless kid (actually a teen now, thank you very much), a clear difference from his healthy, strong adult form.

Billy knows that he is fine, he just needs to rest a bit and he’ll be back to being Cap. He is freaking out for a second about getting his cover blown. That is, until-

the rest of the Justice League, who on the other hand do NOT know that he is fine-

think that one of their founding and most senior members, their heavy hitter magical expert dude, is suddenly de-aged due to an attack of unknown origins.

Billy just decides to go along with it.

———

Billy, dragging himself out of the rubble of a building: “Aw shit.”

Wonder Woman, flying over after tying up the bad guy of the day: “Oh Zeus! Captain Marvel, are you still yourself? Do you feel alright?”

Billy: “Uh—”

Flash, dashing over: “What’s going on, what was that bright light— HOLY SHIT IS THAT CAP?!?”

Billy: “Ye—”

Batman from the Watchtower: “Wonder Woman, please report.”

WW: “It seems that Captain Marvel was hit by some sort of magical attack.”

Billy: “Well—”

Batman: “Is he compromised?”

Flash: “BATS HE’S A CHILD?!”

WW, sighing: “Yes, as Flash put it, he has been turned into a child.”

Batman:

Batman: “Bring him back to the watchtower and we’ll see if we can fix this.

Billy: “Shit, aiight I guess”

[lonionjon]

Skrunkly (Cat!John) and Martin based on @ultramarinaa's design and @thestrangepoet's fanfic

The smaller I draw him the happier I am ...

[chowadoe]

having visions of role reversal au Shadow (created as a Weapon against humanity) who was eventually raised, and exploited, by G.U.N to become Humanity's ultimate weapon and Sonic, found by Robotnik

[starry-bi-sky]

Jack Fenton was a round kid. Jack Fenton was a round kid with big blue eyes and a pudgy face and a brilliant smile, with a big laugh loud enough to rattle your bones. He was a stocky kid, big and tough and strong as an ox. He was the champion wrestler at his high school. Then he grew up, and he's still big, and broad, with a square jaw and straight black hair. He can lift both of his kids with one arm and lift his wife with the other. His smile remains brilliant, he has eyes like the open ocean.

Maddie Fenton was a willowy kid. Maddie Fenton was a willowy kid with bright eyes and a round face and a mind sharp like a scalpel, with a smile that could convince anyone to do anything. She was a tough kid, thin and lanky and strong like bamboo. She was top of her martial arts class by the time she was twelve. Then she grew up, and she's still brilliant, and she's no longer willowy, with a pointed chin and eyes that look purple in the dim light.

Jazz Fenton was a thin kid. Jazz Fenton was a thin kid with bright teal eyes and a soft face and a mind like a rabbit's, with a silk-hiding-steel voice that could sink into your bones. She was a bright kid, social and bookish and brilliant. She jumps from interest to interest like they're lilypads, soaking in everything that catches her eyes. She wants to be a doctor, then a therapist, then a teacher. She's growing up.

Danny is.

Danny is...

Danny is a small kid. Danny is a small kid with pale skin and a chubby face and eyes that are neither round nor blue like the open ocean, with a quiet voice that sounds like the wind whistling through the trees. He is a quiet kid, shy and skittish and hiding. He has eyes like a lamb; big and sweet, and they will swallow you whole. His eyes are blue like a glacier, and they see right through you, curtained with dark, wet lashes. His hair is black like an oil spill, black like raven feathers.

Danny is a watchful kid. Staring and watching, silent. Observing. He stares at the stars, as his parents work, at the neighbor across the street as he tinkers with his motorcycle in his driveway. In a house full of suns, there must be a shadow. In a city covered in sunlight, the dark always goes somewhere.

Danny is an outcast kid. He is an ink blot on a white page. He is a dark storm cloud over an open field. The looming shadow behind the trees. He is young and sweet and scary, with gentle fingers that are slender and long. His laugh is neither big nor does it rattle your bones, and his mind is not quick like a rabbit's nor is it sharp like a scalpel. His mind is radiant, the nail catching on the loose thread and unraveling it all in meticulous precision, and his laugh is soft and warm and it seeps into the soil like rainwater, soothing the ground.

Danny is a kid with a face like a stone statue; sharp and cold and pale, smooth and tall and cutting. With hair black like the night, that wisps and curls behind his ears and at his neck, swooping in his swallow eyes. He squints in the light as if his eyes will never get used to it, if you listen to his heart you can hear it bleeding.

Amity Park is a city with a blue sky and white clouds and a bright sun, a postcard come to life. Pretty and safe, full of normal people and normal jobs and normal parks and normal schools and normal children. In a world of heroes and powers and magic and aliens, Amity Park is a place that your eyes slide right over.

Amity Park is not made for a child like Danny Fenton, and Danny Fenton is not made for a place like Amity Park.

[dire-vulture]

omg in the picture i did yesterday I had planned to include a few more dragons before deciding four dragons in one picture was more than enough, but i still felt like doodling these guys so here they are! the world needed to see a coatl in a bikini dfdsfg

my veilspun Samascott is still just in his normal hoodie...he's a gamer he doesnt need the sun shining on his scales

[pranpats]

They must have run out of time...They didn't cross over. They're gone. And I didn't even get to say goodbye.

[ruushes]

working on putting together a bunch of doodles and screenshot studies of everyone from over the past couple months but i like how these ones are coming along and im impatient 😘❤️🧡💛💚

[dire-vulture]

Islacura is my clan's resident doctor! She has healing magic and calm vibes C:

Steepe gets chronic migraines and Blessing taught me the meaning of the word scrunkly.

wishing you the best with everything!

I’m an ER boy today and it is very uncomfortable! Share your sickly dragons and doctor dragons?