#but we’re having fun with it

[silas-png]

Shadow of the Blessed

Hi, guys. So I wrote this little story for fun because I wanted to start writing the stuff for my ocs. So here's a little story about a gay bird and an even gayer plant lord coupled with small angst and very bad writing. im very sorry its kinda bad lol

also this is originally an English project so that’s cool shout out to my English teacher

tags: slight angst, small gore at some points, really bad writing, kinda rushed

word count: 4534

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It was the first time Peter had ever seen something so terrifying. He had woken up from his sleep in the middle of the night to see himself in his room. At least, it looked like him, but everything was so much darker. It was just a silhouette, but Peter could tell something was wrong. Darkness spread from the figure like an abhorrent bacteria, sticking to everything as if it were glue, and causing so much fear in Peter that he could swear he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stick upwards. Yet, as quickly as it came, the figure vanished, leaving Peter with lingering paralysis. He simply stared at where the figure was for what felt like hours.

The next morning, Peter waited until the light was sifting through his curtains to get up. When he walked past the spot that the figure was in the previous night, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He walked out of his room with a scowl as he saw his younger brother. He disliked his brother; he was too adept at everything for Peter’s taste. It made him jealous, furious, and contemptuous. He passed the rest of his family silently as he quickly grabbed breakfast while going outside to eat. When he was outside on the house’s porch, he ate. The air was cold as a chilling knife against his skin, but it reminded him that he was safe.

Peter looked to the forest below the mountain. From what he could see it looked mostly normal. Mostly. Creeping up behind the largest tree; an old oak that had been rumored to be there for a couple hundred years-- a rumor that Peter didn’t believe-- was a growing shadow. He walked off the porch onto the cold rock, silently thanking himself that he was wearing socks, and slowly walked to the edge of the mountain. He would’ve gotten a closer look-- until a certain voice cut in. 

“What’cha lookin’ at, Petey-Bird?” The voice was mocking and overconfident. Peter sighed in anger and closed his eyes before taking a deep breath. He turned his head with an even bigger scowl to see none other than Anwir, a member of a nearby village on a close mountain; as well as a personal annoyance to Peter. Anwir was known for being a cocky know-it-all who didn’t let anyone else get any glory. Peter hated him with a passion. Anwir was followed by the village elder of his village and Peter's village. Anwir’s village elder only stared off, but the elder that Peter was familiar with spoke gruffly. 

“Darkness approaches,” He said, gently combing through his beard with one hand; the other was holding a cane in front of himself. The other elder nodded curtly, putting her hands behind her back. Peter glanced back at the forest, losing himself to thought. Surely they can’t be serious, right? He thought, a thousand other thoughts running through his mind simultaneously. Anwir chimed in with the same irritating hum; “I can go to check it out!” Peter shot him a glare, now pulled out of his thoughts from the words. 

“That won’t be necessary, Anwir,” The female elder murmured, her voice brisk. “We’ll wait to check it out,” She added, looking at the other elder. He nodded.

“Come with me, Anwir. There is much to talk about,” The female elder murmured, already starting to walk off. Anwir followed, smiling. The remaining elder turned to Peter, who had a very discontent expression and had put a hand on his hip, clearly distrusting of the second elder. 

“You go check it out,” The male elder murmured, trying to keep his voice relatively quiet. His squinting eyes were now looking at the looming shadow. Peter’s discontent expression tightened. 

“Really?” He asked, his voice holding a surprised and sarcastic edge to it. He moved his hand from his hip to hover aimlessly. “You’re serious?” He asked.

“I never trusted Glaudusa,” The elder replied.

“Neither did I.” Peter glanced backward at Glaudusa and Anwir walking to their homeland. The second mountain was around the corner of the growing shelf of clouds. A storm would hit soon. “You know I can’t go, right?” Peter asked.

“You have to. You’re the only one who knows, and the only one I trust, at that,” The elder said, haste filling his voice. Peter’s lips pursed. I’m not the one to do that. He thought. I don’t like this at all. 

“I can’t do that,” Peter said. If I refuse he won’t make me go, right? Peter thought. However, his refusal and denial were cut short by the elders’ reply.

“Unfortunately, Peter, it has to be you,” He says as he steps towards the cliff. His cane makes a clicking sound as it hits the rock below. Peter’s lip curls upwards in discontent as he stares off at the forest. He sighs, then murmurs, “Fine,”

“You cannot tell anyone,” The elder said. Peter nods and says, “Yeah, yeah, I know,” 

The elder pauses, then holds out a small shortsword. “It’s dangerous to trek this journey alone. Take this,”

Peter waits until the afternoon to set out. No one sent him off. He chose to go out without a word. He told his mother he was being sent to collect supplies for the village elder and then left. He got down the mountain quickly by gliding with the wind as his guide. He reached the forest within a few minutes of walking once he got down. He lifted a tree branch over his head after he made it to the dense forest. “This is going to be a long day,” He muttered, stepping over a tree root.

After a couple of hours of trekking through the forest, Peter finally came to the center point. The giant oak was at least ten feet in diameter and twenty feet tall. Peter felt tiny compared to the behemoth of a tree. Heaven almighty… He thought, his jaw dropping a couple of centimeters.

“Your people don’t usually appear this far into my forest,” A voice called out. It was very calm and soothed Peter’s small bud of anxiety. Peter turned around. Behind him stood a very, very tall man. The second thing Peter noticed was his eyes; an alluring shade of pale green. Peter was almost star-struck. He didn’t expect someone to live out here. It was a no-mans land.

“Well, we thought it was, like, deserted,” Peter said, unusually stumbling over words. He coughed and hit himself in the heart to calm himself. The taller man chuckled lightly. It sounded almost melodic.

“Well, it is not,” He said. His eyes lit up. “I almost forgot--” He held his hand out. “-- I’m Pax,” The man said, waiting for Peter to introduce himself.

“I’m, uh, Peter,” He said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. He took Pax’s hand and shook it. Pax’s skin was warm and comforting. Peter had to force himself to let go. 

“Okay, this is nice and all, but I seriously need to get back to what I was doing--” 

“Ah, right. Looking for the answer to the darkness spreading through the forest, yes?” Pax cut in.

“How-- How did you know that?” Peter responded, doing a double take. Is this guy psychic? He thought.

“I figured your people would send someone down sometime soon. I can feel the darkness spreading,” Pax replied, shrugging. “You should stay at my place for the night.” Pax gestured to the sky, which was growing darker by the minute. “It gets dangerous here at night now. You don’t know what lurks in the shadows,”

Peter felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at the last comment. He felt the same feeling of fear and anxiety from when the figure of himself appeared before him. He shivered, feeling a breath of sharp, cold air on his back. His wings shook slightly, attempting to shake off the cold. Pax noticed, and asked, “You have seen it as well?”

“What?” Peter asked, trying to control his voice. He didn’t know that other people saw them as well. “That shadow thing?” He asked. Pax nodded.

Then Pax started walking towards the tree. Peter suddenly didn’t want to be alone and followed him, jogging to catch up with Pax’s strides. 

“They’ve been following me around for the past couple of days,” Pax explained as he walked. He walked to the large oak and then opened a hidden door. Inside was a small shaft with a ladder in it. Pax climbed the ladder, Peter following suit. When the two reached the top, it was a spacious area that looked like a small cabin. The ‘windows’ were the holes in the branches of the tree, shaped in small circles. It was a lush area, with multiple ‘potted plants’ formed from the wood and branches with leaves. There was a bed, a small bookshelf, and a small counter-- probably a makeshift kitchen. 

“And we’ll be safe… in this tree?” Peter asked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow. Pax chuckles in response and nods. 

“The door is hidden well. They don’t know that someone lives up here. Think about it; did you know I lived here?” He asks. Peter thinks.

“No,” He says.

* * *

The next morning, Peter woke up tired. Pax was already awake and sat on the floor attempting to map something out. When he noticed Peter being awake, he motioned Peter to join him. “I’m trying to map out where to find the darkness,” He said.

Peter blinked very slowly before saying, “What time is it?”

“It’s ten a.m.,” Pax replied.

Peter only groaned in response. He got out of his makeshift bed-- a blanket and pillow-- and stretched. His wings outstretched completely and he knocked over a book. 

“Sorry,” He murmured, walking over to pick it up. Then he walked over to Pax and stood behind where he was sitting. A map of the woods was on the ground, with a shaded area labeled as the shadow. It had taken up a third of the forest and seemed to only be expanding, as Pax drew where it had seeped to. He suddenly rolled it up and said, “We should get going.” He stood up.

Peter backed up a step and a half. He stared at Pax to see what he was doing. Pax opened a cabinet and took out leather armor. He put it on quickly and then looked at Peter. “You have some, right?” He asked.

“It’s in my bag,” Peter said, gesturing to the pouch on the floor next to his makeshift bed. He walked over, grabbed the bag, opened it, and took out some thin leather armor. He put his own on carefully, then looked at Pax, who was already walking to the trapdoor and opening it. He gestured for Peter to go first. Peter obliged and climbed downwards. He opened the door at the bottom to see Anwir standing outside. Peter cursed to himself quietly and looked up to see Pax coming down the ladder. He whispered, “Hey, there’s another guy here,”

Pax looked down and replied, “We should greet him--” “--No. Not. He is a liar, an eyesore, and an overconfident ogre,” Peter cut in, whisper-yelling furiously. 

Unfortunately for Peter, Anwir heard the string of insults and walked over to the open door. “Petey-bird, you didn’t tell me that you would be here!” He chimed an excited hum in his voice. Peter grimaces and grabs the bridge of his nose; contrastingly, Pax emerges from the door and holds out his hand. “Hello,” He greeted. Anwir responded in kind; shaking Pax’s hand.

“You must be the forest spirit!” He said excitedly. “I’ve heard so much about you-- all good things, don’t worry,” He added.

“Really?” Pax asked. Peter nudged Pax and muttered, “We’ve gotta get going,”

“Oh-- yes, we do. Are you heading to the darkness as well? We could go as a group-- the more the merrier!” Pax spoke softly, kindly. Anwir nodded. 

“Yes, I am!” Anwir responded. Peter facepalmed.

* * *

The three set off soon enough, and within a couple of hours, they reached the base of the darkness. It was attached to everything like a sticky mold, growing by a few centimeters every few minutes. It was black-- as one would expect-- but had a blue hue. Whatever the substance was, it was gross. Anwir touched a leaf that was engulfed in it, and it exploded like a pimple; a pus-like substance splattered all over him. 

Peter’s upper lip curled upwards in pure disgust as he stepped backward. His wings folded inward. Pax tried not to look disgusted but failed; he looked like he just saw a pile of feces on the ground. 

They trekked through the sticky swamp for several minutes before Anwir started to complain. “This stuff is… odd,” He said, trying not to be rude. Peter nodded, and Pax silently agreed. A low hum started to grow in the background. It sounded like a low growl. The hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood up. Anxiety crept into his bones as he suddenly felt very, very cold. He looked backward. Standing there was the shadow he saw. He started to back away. It caused Pax and Anwir to turn around. Pax instinctively yelled, “Run!”

The group started to sprint away, Peter the fastest. He would rather be flying, but there wasn’t enough space in the dampened forest. He ran as fast as he could, adrenaline and instincts completely taking over his body. When he reached a clearing in the forest, he calmed down. It was sundown by now, and Pax emerged from the forest a moment later. Anwir… didn’t. Peter couldn’t care less and instead focused on Pax.

“That was… scary,” Pax murmured, looking shaken. Peter walked closer to him, subconsciously begging for the soothing aura Pax had before. But it was gone.

Suddenly, the clearing started to get more sparse. The edge of the clearing started to become more dense, and soon enough both Pax and Peter were locked in. The pus-like darkness crept through the small cracks and crevices, circling the two. Then it started to move faster and faster until it manifested itself into an amalgamation of both Peter and Pax. Peter’s face was massed below Pax’s and was contorted into an expression of horror; his mouth wide open and almost falling off of its’ hinges. A spider crept out of the mouth, also made of the substance. 

Peter backed away in terror, his back suddenly hitting the wall. His breathing started to get quicker as the image ingrained itself into his brain. Pax gulped audibly but drew out a small dagger and clutched it tightly, determined to try and destroy whatever the amalgamation was. The creature's flesh pulsated as if it were alive, pumping something through its visible veins to keep it alive. It took a step closer, goop seeping into the ground with every step. It was disgusting to see, and Pax’s hand trembled. Peter looked around for something, anything to save the two of them. His hand traced the wall until he came across an engraving on the wall. He turned around to look at it. It looked like some sort of puzzle. Peter tried to look at the entire thing to solve it, but he couldn’t make out what exactly it was.

It looked like an incomplete image of something; almost like a jigsaw puzzle, but it was made out of different shapes. Triangles, circles, octogons, polygons, and rectangles confused him. He looked behind himself. The creature was focused on Pax, and Peter didn’t dare make a sound. He did not want to know what that thing would do to him if it saw him.

Peter started moving pieces around to try and complete the image. After a few minutes, it started to look like a mosaic. A few seconds later, the walls started to disperse. The creature slowly sunk into the ground, merging with the existing darkness like melting snow. 

A moment later, Anwir emerged from the forest, smiling giddily.

“What happened here?” He asked, his voice somehow more annoying than before. 

“We got trapped--”

“--Yeah, I’m not sure what happened,” Peter interrupted. He started walking across the clearing to the other side of the forest, a glare in his eyes. 

“That… was a strange encounter,” Pax murmured, his voice low. He stared at Peter in concern. Peter just kept walking, his strides much faster and longer than before. Before long, the group was back in the darkness-engulfed woods. 

After a few minutes of walking, the group found a fork in the path they were on. Anwir started to go to the far right, but Pax and Peter stopped. Peter just glared, but Pax spoke.

“Hey, we should stay as a group,” He called, staring at Anwir. Anwir turned around momentarily before calling, “But the heart of the darkness is this way!” 

Peter and Pax exchanged glances. They both looked skeptical of Anwir.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Peter muttered. “Let’s all split up. The paths have to reconnect somewhere,” He suggested. Pax nodded. Anwir turned around and kept walking away.

“Splitting up it is,” Pax muttered, walking to the middle path, leaving Peter to the far left. 

Peter walked down the path. He didn’t trust the choice to split up, but he needed time to collect his thoughts. It seemed like a logical and perfectly acceptable choice at the time. At first, it was pretty normal for what the past several hours had been. Then it started to get chilly. He shivered, but it only got colder. Before long, his teeth were chattering, his entire body trembling, and fear starting to creep into his bones. He looked around, trying to see if anyone was nearby to help. But no one was there. He was alone.

He started to feel the same as he did when the figure appeared before him. Anxiety crept up his spine, making the hairs on his back stand up. His breathing started to become irregular, and he looked behind himself. Standing there was the figure.

Suddenly, it was directly in front of him. Staring at him. It had a suffocating aura; as if he was surrounded by thousands upon thousands of people. It terrified him. A deep, gravelly voice came from the figure, but its mouth never moved. It only hung open.

“You… Fear comes from you. Delicious fear,” It said, leaning in closer to Peter. Its jaw hung open, loose on its hinges. It looked like it was about to fall off. Peter’s expression contorts into pure terror, and he stumbles backward. His breathing escalates gradually. He tries his best to push the fear down into his stomach but fails. It makes its way to his throat, which is worse than before. 

Peter just stares back at the thing, trying his best to keep his fear down and stop himself from screaming. The creature grabs Peter's shoulders and pulls him in closer. 

“Your fear will make for a dessert worthy of the gods’,” It rumbles, its voice filled with malice. Peter’s eyes widen, and he reaches for the shortsword on his belt. His hand trembles as he tries to get to it without drawing attention to himself. The creature doesn’t notice it; for now.

Peter reaches for the sword and grabs it, pulling it out with all of his might and then slashing through the creature while trying to remove its hands from his shoulders. The creature's top half falls to the ground with a quiet thud. 

Peter stares at it while heaving. He silently calms himself down then says, “What are you made of?” He’s seemingly talking to no one, but the creature responds.

“Your negative emotions, dear friend. I am the manifestation of your negative emotions,” It reverberates, the sound of a low, earth-shaking thrum. It makes Peters's heart shudder. Yet, as quickly as the creature was alive, its life faded. The jaw fell off of the head, and the body started to melt into the ground like viscous oil. Peter gawked at it for a moment before remembering his objective; get to the heart of the shadow and kill it. 

Peter continued down the path, the scene replaying a thousand times over in his head. He kept thinking about that one comment. ‘I am the manifestation of your negative emotions,’. It made Peter almost sick to the stomach. Did he have that many? He never thought about it much; jealousy, sadness, anger, and a million others. He never lingered on them for too long, just pushing them down. He realized that he had to stop doing that. He sighed, the idea of letting out his emotions making him want to vomit. 

Peter looked at a plant in disgust as he let the idea roll around in his head. As much as he hated to admit it, he didn’t want to let his emotions out. But the idea was one that he needed to implement. He was a very emotionally unavailable person, and people often didn’t talk to him because of that fact. He had to do better. For himself; and everyone around him.

As he walked, he took a deep breath. He walked silently for a few minutes before stopping. His hand touched his face. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Peter stood there in pure shock for a moment before just letting it happen. He continued walking while letting the tears fall freely. Before long he made it to the heart of the darkness. Pax was already there, talking with someone.

The someone in question was an angel. He didn’t have wings on his back but had a small pair on his face that covered his eyes. His halo was a mix of different stars all in a ring on the back of his head; they illuminated his face softly. His hair was white and wavy, reaching his back. Behind the man was a large, pulsating heart. It had strings of viscous pus-like substance attached to it and flowing into the ground. They looked like veins and arteries. The heart fed the substance into the veins. 

“You must understand; I do not mean to infringe upon your land, dear spirit,” The angel said, his voice soothing and calm. Pax looked like he was holding himself back.

“But you are. You are killing the life of this forest and you are hurting the land that we stand on,” Pax said, his voice urgent and attempting to be persuasive. The angel was having nothing of it.

“I need the life force of your forest to survive, Guardian. You do not understand.” The angel took a step closer. He was somehow taller than Pax. He looked down in disgust. 

“You Guardians are all so cocky,” The angel spits, venom in his tone. The angel notices Peter and scowls, growling, “And who are you?” 

He pauses. Then, he says; “You’re the other one. I’ve seen you before.” He thinks for a moment.“We could do great things together, you know,” He says.

Peter steps back. He rejects the hand and looks at the angel skeptically. “Woah, there. Before I go making life-altering blood pacts, how about you introduce yourself?” He says.

“Ah, of course. I am Antiphilli; God’s Shadow,” He said, smiling a little bit. Pax’s eyes widened. 

“You’re the one I was warned about,” He blurted, staring at Antiphilli in shock. “You’ve been cast out; that’s why you feed off of the darkness,” He explains.

Antiphilli’s disgust shifts into contempt. “Well, when you have nothing else to live off of, honey, you get creative,” He says, mockingly using the pet name. He walks closer to Pax. “I was cast out because I saw through the lies of the system, and those above me didn’t like that,” He explains.

Pax leans forward, discontent slipping into his gaze. “True, but you were cast out for a reason. You were a danger to the people; so you were arrested. Then you broke out,” He says.

Peter watches the whole conversation play out, insult after insult strung in both directions. It almost looked scripted; as if someone wrote it with care and love.

Anwir suddenly emerged from the brush. “I’ve found you guys!” He yells, smiling happily. He rushes over to Pax, then… to Antiphilli. He stands beside the angel with pride, and the two have a hushed conversation as Antiphilli backs away from Pax. Pax looks at Peter, tilting his head briefly to motion to leave. Caught up in the conversation, the Antiphilli and Anwir don’t notice Pax and Peter backing out. But before they’ve completely gone, Peter takes his shortsword and throws it like a javelin at the giant heart. It hits it directly in the center, and then he bolts. He and Pax run for what seems like miles, their feet trudging through the muck hastily.

Antiphilli notices their absence and screams. It’s a blood-curdling, earth-shattering sound, and hurts Peter and Pax’s ears. It echoes through the forest. Peter covers his ears, falling to the ground, and Pax’s face contorts in pain with the sound. It screeches in the two’s ears, and when it’s over their ears continue to ring. Peter felt like he had just died and come back; his head throbbed, pain seeping through his skull.

* * *

Peter and Pax returned to the oak tree a day later. Peter was completely drained of energy, barely able to make it up the ladder. When he does make it up, he collapses onto the floor; Pax catches him with gentle arms. “I didn’t realize that you would be this tired,” He murmured, his voice slightly raspy and words slurred. He carried Peter to his bed, setting him down gently before lying down himself to sleep. It takes him some time, but he falls asleep.

The next morning, Peter sets off to return the news of the darkness to his village elder. The elder takes the news well and Peter can finally actually rest. He returns to his home, retreating to his room after grabbing a snack. He stays in his room all day long, completely isolated. He shivers a couple of times because of thought about the figure from days ago. Eventually, he falls asleep at around nine P.M.

His sleep is interrupted by a loud explosion nearby. He jolts awake and looks out of his window, panic rising in his body. His eyes are wide as he stares at a gigantic plume of smoke coming from the nearby village below the mountain. A blinding light follows the explosion, causing Peter to look away. He rushes outside after regaining his vision to find the whole village in a panic. More concerned with the forest, Pax, and the other village, he rushes to the edge of the mountain closest to the cliff above the nearby village. What he sees is agonizing; the village is in flames, multiple houses are burnt and several currently burning. The people are running around in a panic but most are trying to find loved ones. Peter watches in horror, his jaw dropping a couple of centimeters.

----

so thats it; uhh i might write more but idk we'll see. this is kind of a prologue to my main story and i might post that here but idk

peter and pax have a long way to go and antiphilli needs more character development lol

please let me know if you guys want silly stories or head cannons about them because I’d be really happy to do that. There’s so many more of my characters that I want to share to you guys via writing and I’m so eager to :D

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

We all know the semi-canonical ‘all the Robins know to hide/duck inside of Batman’s cape, even as adults’ thing.

We also know that Danny ‘is LITERALLY a ghost’ Fenton sucks at remembering his own intangibility while ALSO forgetting to look ahead of him.

All I’m saying is, Danny Fenton (or Phantom, if you’d really like) would absolutely SLAM into Batman on accident while running on roof tops and Bruce ‘Brooding Instinct’ Wayne doesn’t even think twice about letting the kid hide and scanning around for danger before there’s a record scratch of ‘wait who tf is this?’ kicks in.

[wizardology]

sorry I can’t be in a situationship. I want to eat each others souls

[aardvaark]

i don’t mind suspending my disbelief for leverage’s person-sized ventilation shafts bc that’s pretty standard for the genre, but that doesn’t mean i won’t laugh a bit at some of the egregiously large vents. particularly in the crowning acheivement job (lev: red s2 finale) because - well just look at this lol! harry and parker, two adults, can kneel side by side in those vents. parker can sit upright.

that museum was made for vent crawling purposes. that’s just an extra room in the museum they forgot to decorate. the leverageverse has a thief union that successfully lobbied for a better working environment. these vents double as a playground for museum-goers’ children. i was crying with laughter thinking about this and harry’s vent crisis was NOT helping me remember that there was a serious heist thing going on lol, i love this show.

[thatmooncake]

Let’s call them the Petty Podcast Pals!

[dingledraw]

It’s them

Wait, Jane Austen wrote books?

[blossoms-phan]

i am so fond of them and their silly little drinks 🥹

[otaku553]

Thoughts on being aroace

[sharkenedfangs]

— ☆ “PRETTY BOY.”

— expect the worst when whitney has a stupidly, dumb puppy love crush on his upperclassman that happens to be you and even more so, when you predictably take notice of it. but, remember— he asked for it first, didn’t he? 3.5k w.

— warnings? yeah, mildly dub-con, handjob in broad fucking daylight, somewhat exhibitionism although no one gets to see the stupid, pretty boy squirm and upperclassman male reader who’s sort of.. a bitch. y’know the drill by now, plus a younger whitney (still an adult, no worries. I’m not into that sorta shit.)

Like a clueless moth instinctually drawn towards a burning flame, he’s no goddamn different than the clingy idiots who can’t seem to automatically take a hint when given so in their direction— y’know, the ones he’d audibly snicker and scoff at due to the sheer embarrassment, disgustingly obvious puppy love streaked along their flushed faces as they mindlessly follow the other’s every move. Innocently peer up in search of their crush’s approval like some sort of brain dead dog whose sole purpose is to joyfully please their master. Hell, it’s gross, and the blonde doesn’t make it any more difficult to showcase his wrongly placed dislike for it— yeah, by the repeated gagging noises spilling forth from his open maw.

“It’s nauseating to watch, stinks up the whole room with those big, puppy, doe eyes”— he’d openly say with an absent shrug of his broad shoulders, glinting, barely visible glimpse of the metallic barbell freshly pierced upon his curved tongue proving his judgemental statements to be otherwise.. fuckin’ hypocritical, no? ‘Cuz, isn’t that same piercing found in his mouth done due to one, single, stray comment you aimlessly made by chance?

Not like your liking of things plays a grand role in whatever he does, trouble he’s immediately roped into, fuck— no, definitely not! It’s a stupid, damn coincidence is what it is, nothing more and nothing less either. No need to uselessly pry any further in the meaning of his baseless actions. Just.. happened to have it done on the same consequential day you confidently expressed your idea that he’d get one because— y’a said it’d look good on him, didn’t you? And, look here, he fuckin’ did it like some cheap mutt. Obediently parted his rosy lips for your viewing pleasure to willingly prove to your pretty eyes that he truly went along with your absently made suggestion, for real. Gleefully hung upon your every important word like his life depended on it— god, it isn’t like that, okay?

An upperclassman he’s briefly looked up to is all you are, all you’ve ever been for that matter, and he’ll punch the shitty, fuckin’ lights out of any big mouthed idiot who dares to say so otherwise. Right in the guts for spouting out complete, nonsensical bullshit, alright?

Or is it time to reluctantly admit it with a bashful blush apparent upon his contorted features— accompanied by gritting teeth stubbornly grinding together in a futile refusal of his shoddy, unwanted sentiments burrowed deep within his stuttering heart? As if he’d ever would in your presence, which he possibly can’t help himself, to childishly imitate your gestures in the withering hopes that’d you scarcely notice his thinly veiled efforts, acts filled with meaning.

Well, well.. Whitney, the supposedly cold and untouchable bully here isn’t so unique nor different from those idiotic dumbasses he’d routinely poke fun at, huh? Time to face the embarrassingly evident reality set before him, whether his gaze dares to instinctively stray away or not from the unsettling truth— ah, good thing you’re here to seamlessly guide him on the right path, ain’t that right?

As for the so-called, morally ethical path he’s hopelessly talking about.. Perhaps, that’s a plain, ol’ lie he’ll repeatedly tell himself of so considering your shared reputations at hand. More likely than not, often referred to — as much as the nickname itself has the tip of his ears prickling scarlet, noisily yelling at the fuckers who cheekily name him that — your little, dumb puppy. Fuck, he’s not! The day he, himself, Whitney of all people, wordlessly bows down to the height of someone’s heel frustratingly grinding atop of his head, is the day one can loudly claim with unbridled conviction, that he’s officially lost his goddammit mind, that’s what.

Listen, you’re the one who faithfully promised and guaranteed your unwavering protection if he stuck to your sides like some fuzzy pet, so he did the obvious choice. Specially when met with the shitty conditions this rundown town, definitely shady for that matter, is. Rather be silently stamped as the ‘sly follower’ who went along with the smartest choice presented to ‘em— your offer, by the way — than some nobody seamlessly forgotten on the dirtied streets. Least, that’s what likely replays on and on in his mind like some cheap, broken record to dumbly convince his unmoving mind of what this annoyingly persistent feeling is deep within the pit of his quivering tummy. Annoying, ain’t it?

Speakin’ of tummy, you sure are touchy-feeling with him, aren’t ya? Not that he necessarily minds nor will outwardly admit the slightest shivers that comes to grace the entirety of his figure when met with the briefest grazes of your fingertips flush against his bare skin. Likes the physical contact intimately shared between you two? Fuck no— just keeping himself on your good side in case you were to suddenly discard him like you habitually do with your other.. nameless toys, which he doesn’t possess enough fucks to bother learning their names. As long as your flickering gaze doesn’t happen to stray too far from his, he’s actually, pretty content.

‘Course, it did progressively start off with the sorta things you’d absentmindedly do with your numerous friends. Brush of his golden strands glimmering against the gleaming sunlight— shit, even acted out like some cheesy rom-com at the way his face instantly heated up, glimpse of vulnerability you seem to so easily catch on with him and fuck, does he detests it— truly does like no other. Still, lets y’a carelessly stroke your fingers throughout the mess of a hairstyle the delinquent wears, even fucking.. tenderly pushed a single, stray strand of hair behind his burning ear. Shoulders instinctively drawn up in sheer defence at the tension residing within him because, really, how do y’a expect him to relax and ease up when it’s with you?

“What? What is it? Do I have shit in my hair or somethin’?” Oh yeah, nice goin’ on that fuckin’ stupid question of his, huh? Flush adorning the length of his face— god, even down towards his neck too— immediately deepening at the crude choice of words. Might casually speak so with anyone, but when it comes to you, he’s got this instinctual urge to not come off as some try-hard desperately trying to butter you up in hopes of your returned approval of him.

“Hm? It’s nothing, I just think you’d look cute if you grew out your hair a little bit. Don’t you think?” Ah, and there you go— with your surprising compliments spoken out of the blue like that.

“Cute?? Are you seriously tryna fuck with me right now?” Defensive mechanism or whatever to draw up that blank conclusion since this is just about the first time any sort of adjective resembling that of ‘adorable’ by the way, could’ve been made to plainly describe a rowdy, unrelenting boy such as Whitney.

“What? You don’t think so? I think you’re cute as shit, Ney-ney.” That fuckin’ nickname again, god. Quit it, will ya? And, don’t try to tentatively lean closer in his personal space when calmly making that stupid remark too! Your goddamn— ah, hot breath effortlessly heating up the shell of his ear, curled lips almost, insistently pressed against his cheek. “Real fucking cute, actually. Definitely cuter than the average boy that’s for sure— prettier too, but you’ve got too much of a stick up your ass to admit that, don’t you?”

At this point, you’re practically taunting him, and he would’ve unabashedly swung his fist if it weren’t for that said person being you. Grin cracking upon your lips at the doe, wide-eyed look he’s greeting you with, seemingly unable to utter so much as a word to that uncharacteristically depraved statement, or is that your idea of a damn compliment to another guy? Shit, that’s right! Both guys is what you two are— so, his cock hidden underneath the fabric of his ripped jeans, languish legs lazily stretched out along the creaking, wooden bench, shouldn’t be stirring up with peeked interest at the mind numbing prospect of endlessly being called ‘pretty’ by you. Nor profusely encouraging the alarming amount of translucent pre-cum dizzyingly forming at the swollen tip of his cock head, crudely staining the material sheer. Give the blonde a supportive head pat while you’re at it, too. Ah.. should be saying somethin’ right about now lest he wants to appear as some bashful fool.

“I don’t—��

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t swing that way, I know. I’m not hitting on you, I’m just telling the truth as it is. Got any idea how many guys would line up just to fuck your dirty mouth? Maybe your tits too, if they’re into that sorta stuff— shit, I think they’d go for the ass too, definitely. I could make a goddamn fortune just whoring out your pretty, slutty body to the old fucks at the pub, y’know that, Whit?” Endless chattering on and on, explicit details of how some grubby old men could be here, disgustingly groping his flesh instead. Yet, that lingering glimmer within your gaze, noticeably darkening in return at the mere idea of it as your thumb comes forth to idly tap at his blazing cheek.

“But, you know.. I don’t. I won’t. Not cuz’ I’m a nice guy or anything— hah, truthfully, I’m no better than them for wanting to ruin a pretty face like yours.” You’re.. god, he can’t keep up with whatever shit you’re nonchalantly spouting, gracing solely his ears to be the one to silently listen to this.. crap, can’t really say it— fluttering in his tensed stomach from your bold admission, depraved wants just as much as he does late at nights— wanting to fuck him too.

“Honestly, do you know why I don’t use your sorry fuckin’ ass, Whitney?”

If he’s meant to attentively keep up with your words by now, then his brain has happily shut off due to the dizzying amount of semi-insults, degration and somewhat praise shot in his way. Like he’d fucking know, shit!

“See, it’s cuz’ it’s real funny to watch you trotting ‘round my side like some dumb, fucking puppy begging for its owner’s attention. I give you just a bit of praise, and your doggy tail would start wagging if you even had one. You look so goddamn stupid that it’d hurt my conscience to sell you out like this. And, I don’t like it when other fucks touch what’s mine either. I’m not running some gracious charity, am I?” To be truthful, if you tirelessly keep up with that incessant spouting, he’s bound to boil over like some screeching, burning kettle considering.. the obscene amount of scorching heat riddled across his features currently, adorning his cheeks so stupidly — and prettily too, huh— crimson red for your unwavering gaze solely. Seems like you’re liking the rare show in front of you quite a bit, aren’t you?

Stunned would’ve been one of the few lacking words remaining in the thick, daunting dictionary to scarcely describe the absolutely idiotic expression he’s nicely sporting right about now.

“Shut up.. I’m not—“ Fuck, fuck, fuck!! And, how the simple concept of verbal speech dutifully fails the bully at a time like this. Great going there, fuckin’ dumbass! Visibly seething would’ve been the most reasonable reaction in face of this, but— but— fuck! Entirety of this crap is all too quick for his sluggish mind to steadily keep up with your unpredictable actions, pathetically keening with a drawled out curse— no, more like a high-pitched whine is what it truly sounds like, once your calloused palm gingerly strips him free from his relatively loose jeans in one fell swoop.

“What the fuck’re you doin’—?? Mmph, fuck.. don’t—“ Dumb question to be asking when the self-evident answer is plainly in front of him.

Weeping cock, flushed in the cooling, outside air, naturally springing forth out of its constricting confines to audibly slap against his bare rigid tummy. Aw, now ain’t that real pretty to witness? Timid, twitching cock profusely leaking out sticky pre to messily smear along the curve of the blonde’s stomach, which you promptly do the honours for him, unabashedly too.

Always been pretty confident in your audacity to joyfully serve people, haven’t you? By god, he’s half-hated ya for meddling with others private businesses to begin with, although his throbbing cock being so smoothly tended to can say otherwise, idly disagree with his withering logic. Shakily sighing, puffing out heated huffs of air as your so— fuck.. annoyingly warm and soft hand loosely tucks ‘round his fat cock, teasingly squeezes him down at the base. Meanly drawing out more pearly globs of his dribbling pre-cum with a resounding, wet squelch!, undeniable proof of his shared arousal at the newfound situation he’s unfortunately finding himself in.

‘Unfortunately’— one says, funny that you see right through that by the mocking nature of your barking laughter, sharply ringing within his ears.

“My, who’s the exact fucking pervert here, Whit? Y’seem pretty hard to me. Actually, you’re dripping wet down there, y’know that?” No fucking shit. Ready to single-handily cum from a single, measly stroke of your fist snugly wrapped around the veiny girth of his quivering length— fucking hell. Head instinctively thrown back to which you soon wistfully take advantage of, ‘course you would, wouldn’t you? Lazily pressing hot, heated kisses along the sharp edges of his jawline that soon has the same bully, known to be so very resistant, stifling wanton moans, firmly clasping a palm over his gaping mouth in a heedless effort to remain discreet as possible. Slithering, pink tongue laving and tracing over the heated shell of his ear, ushered snickering coupled by bouts of utter filth being so brazenly whispered towards him. And your canines— ah, are not helping at all either. Grazing the bobbing curve of his throat, delicately sucking a bruising mark upon the tanned skin to pridefully admire over later. “Nnh— no, fu— ah, uuckk! N-Not there, you bastard!!”

“Not here? What’s the matter, Ney-Ney? Can’t fucking speak properly when your pretty, pink cock is being stroked off like this?” Would’ve scornfully refuted you, barked out the meanest curses that would’ve had an elderly woman shockingly clutch her pearls if given the chance, but stealing a discreet glance down to humiliatingly witness how sticky and wet his tip has gotten, messily stained your palm in a string of creamy, white pre is not.. Possessing way too much pride to do so. “Y’see, you like this— hah, fuck— you like it when I actually take what I fucking want from you and ruin you down to this cute, little, slutty mess, yeah?”

“I-It’s not like that—“ Uncharacteristically meek protest on his part. Cat got his tongue, ‘s that it?

“No? Pretty boy. Use your words, will you?” Oh, fuuuuckkin’ god. Seeing sheer darkness as his eyes reflexively roll backwards to his skull from casually being called ‘pretty’ by your lulling voice.

Have any idea the way your hushed words dizzyingly affects his fuzzy brain? Renders him alarmingly stiff like a stoned statue, wobbling knees surely bound to buckle beneath the weight of your relentless taunting, all the while being boldly jerked off in broad, fucking daylight — hidden amongst the rustling bushes of the park, mind you — still, very much in an open space where one can be so easily seen by oncoming passerbys. And even then, the absolute control you possess over him, sneakily snaking your arm ‘round his middle, relishing in the little, heated gasps hurriedly rushed out of this dirty, fucking perverted bitch of a blonde’s mouth is too way goddamn much for him to precariously withstand another tortuously long second of this shit.

Yeah, one more minute? He’s fucking busting by then.

“What’s the matter? Can’t keep up? Gon’ shoot your filthy load soon, ‘s that it?” Mild disinterest lacing your very tone with a slight hint of, what’s that..? Actual anticipation? Hah, as if he can barely discern between the mind buzzing layer of reality set upon him when coupled by your soft— so fucking warm, shit.. hand relentlessly fisting him dry, milking every thick droplet steadily trickling forth. Uncaring for the accumulated mess below you both as his hips instinctually roll forward against the rewarding palm of your curled fist, sickeningly jolts at a noticeably harsh press of your padded thumb atop his oozing tip. “Well, then.. Go ahead, I’m not stopping you, am I?”

“Cmon, pretty. Paint my hand all sticky and nice for me, yeah?”

Predictably so, as the uttered rumours had notably confirmed— how downright desperate Whitney’s always apparently been for you to the damn point that he’s automatically cumming on command like a dog patiently withholding for its owner’s words and oh, was it fucking worth the extensive wait. Stifled whimper weakly slipping out, fingers immediately latching onto the comforting feel of your forearm lazily slung around his quivering figure for proper support. No use in making a fool out of himself by clumsily buckling down to his slacked knees— not that he hasn’t already, though too late to be thinking about it twice, huh? Thick, sticky strings of his hot seed directly shot out of his pulsing cock and into the air to, as expected, pervertedly dirty your open hand in a mess of his load which is kinda.. hot, no? Fuckin’ get ahold of yourself, shit! Minus the rest having uncontrollably splattered downwards onto the ground, pitifully traced in a puddled mess of droplets.

And somehow, the barely discernible hint of a relieved breath tumbling from between his parted lips. The natural conclusion that this is it, oncoming closure bound to take its place yet still— still, damn it; Always managed to keep the dirtied blonde on the edge of his toes, haven’t you?

So, truly, it shouldn’t have came off as an unexpected shock then, how you so brazenly mumble a stuttered curse beneath your puffed sighs at the melting sight. “Ah, fuck.” Swiftly freeing your fat— well, admittedly hefty cock for his following eyes to shamelessly gawk at in turn because, y’know.. fuck, he won’t outright voice it, but the sinful glimmer in his wide gaze says it all. Innate itch, unadulterated need— god, to merely sling down to his knees, sloppily drool all over your tasty-looking cock and coat it all shiny and wet with his spit. Although, too busy admiring the rare glimpse of your contorted features strained with pure, unrestrained concentration to bother paying much attention to the repeated, distinct fapping! noises of your cock being so hurriedly stroked raw, as if in a hurry, almost.

Furrowed brows deepening, lashes fluttering in their wake as your rosy lips that he’s known time and time again to be nonchalantly formed into a grin— now, so prettily stained crimson by the harsh press of your teeth against your puffy, bottom lip. “Don’t— ugh, fucking look at me like that.” You audibly groan out in the mix of a huffed chuckle. Slightest flush delicately dusting your cheeks a pink hue, so damn pretty too. “Hah, it makes things kinda awkward, y’know?” Ah, takes less than a stretched minute for his brain to acutely process what’s hit him before given the proper chance.

Something hot— and sticky too, actually it’s pretty evident what it should’ve been if he wasn’t so goddamn brain dead within this bleary moment. Splattering amongst the already present mess you’ve both collectively made of yourself, thick ropes of sweet cum landing right upon his rumpled uniform you’ve taken a gleeful joy of permanently ruining. Judging by the cackling laughter soon drawing forth outta ya thanks to the sheer, dizzying sight of the cum-stained mess he’s forced to pitifully endure for the time being.

Look what you’ve done, god— even if you manage to be one step ahead of him, as always, in such a predicament as the delinquent merely receives a thrown jacket straight in the face. “Sorry for ruining your nice shirt of yours, I couldn’t really help myself when you looked so dumb like that. Take it as an apology, alright?” Exhaling out shakily in the chilling air suddenly alarmingly cold without your warm weight shifted against his own, too deliriously fucked out of his mind to muster up a rightful remark to your cheaply made one. Dumb, little ol’ puppy is what he is to you, no?

And perhaps then, it’s the idiotic absurdity of your actions, swiftly turning away like the encounter itself hadn’t even taken place right at this very spot. Footsteps progressively fading amongst the rhythmic crunches of fallen leaves fluttering down from the withering trees, gaze tentatively flicking downwards to where your stupidly soft, discarded jacket rests within his arms. Meaningless gesture is what it should’ve been notably perceived as, though that doesn’t really help the gradual thump! of his swaying heart noisily beating against his chest nonetheless.

That’s not— oh.

Oh.

“..Fuck.”

Yeah, being wholly swallowed by the ground beneath his feet doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?

[theeminentlyimpractical]

[robyntheredhead]

I’m really liking Hazbin Hotel, but Jesus I am so sick of streaming shows having short seasons. It would’ve benefited so much even from just another 4 episodes to spread things out a bit.

It feels like the show was just getting started, and now we’re already at the conflict leading into the finale.

[entwnii]

it’s already late at night when 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐔 walks out of the gym, his sport bag in his hand.

the droplets of water falling from his platinum blonde hair run down his face and the back of his neck. paired with the chill breeze of the night, it makes a trail of shivers run down his spine and goosebumps appear on his light skin.

god, why did he forget to bring a towel ?

he grabs his keys from the back pocket of his shorts before opening the car’s door, throwing his sport bag somewhere on the backseat while he slides down on the driver seat.

he turns his car on, a white porsche 718 spyder, hoping that his hair will dry during the ride home before driving off to your shared apartment.

the wind that blows through his blonde locks makes the pro athlete sigh in contentment, a small smile appearing on his slightly chapped lips as he drives through the busy streets of osaka, the neon lights of the stores lighting his face in various colors.

it doesn’t take him longer than twenty minutes to get to his residence, parking his convertible car in it’s usual spot.

atsumu grabs his bag’s handle and gets out of the car before locking it. he walks over to the apartment building’s entrance, opening the door and making his way to the staircase.

once he reaches the third floor, he walks over to the door of your shared apartment, the only one on the third floor.

the blonde-haired man unlocks the front door with his keys before stepping inside.

your fiancé carefully closes the door behind him, not wanting to wake you up. he kicks his shoes off his feet before placing his sport bag on the floor next to the door.

atsumu’s dark brown eyes are attracted by a small light coming from the living room.

his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the pro volleyball player walks over to the living room, scratching the back of his neck.

the frown on his face immediately disappears at the sight in front of him, a fond smile replacing it.

the television is on, mamma mia is currently playing on the screen, one of your favorite movies. there’s a plate of muffins on the coffee table, blueberry and lemon ones with powdered sugar icing on top along with a glass bottle of lemonade.

all the while you are laying on the skandi couch, facing the television, visibly asleep. one of your cheeks is pressed against the back of your hand, your eyes closed and your plump lips slightly parted. soft breaths escape you as one of atsumu’s large shirts is draped over your body.

despite all of his efforts not to wake you up, atsumu’s foot bumps into one of the couch’s footers, making him yelp at the sudden pain, which wakes you up.

atsumu watches as you turn around, facing the couch’s back, a frown on your face while a small whine escapes you. your eyelashes flutter open, trying to adjust your eyesight to the light coming from the television.

as you sit up, you start rubbing your eyes, letting a groan of complain before finally glancing to the side, glaring at your fiancé.

“sorry, baby.” atsumu flashes you a small smile, a hint of regret visible in his eyes, despite his urge to laugh at your sleepy appearance.

“how’s my future mama ?” he asks as he places his hands on the back of the skandi couch, leaning towards you.

“fine, but she was quite calm until you arrived.” you accusingly tell him, a subtle frown on your features as you place a hand on your baby bump.

“‘t’s not my fault she likes my voice.” atsumu lets out a chuckle, placing a hand on the side of your face, turning your head to place a small peck on your plump lips. “only two months left…”

you let out a small hum at his words, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

atsumu parts away from your plump lips, licking his own. “imma eat somethin’, what do ya wanna eat ?”

you scratch the bridge of your nose with your nails, thinking about his offer. “i want vanilla ice cream… with olive oil and salt.”

atsumu nods his head at your request, a small ‘kay’ leaving his lips before he walks over to the kitchen.

he knows better than to criticize your cravings, especially since it isn’t the weirdest one out of your seven months of pregnancy.

your fiancé turns on the kitchen’s lights, scratching the back of his neck as he walks around the kitchen to gather the ingredients.

he grabs two bowls from one of the drawers before turning over to the fridge and opening it. he grabs the vanilla ice cream container along with his oatmeal and the milk.

atsumu places a good amount of oatmeal into his bowl before pouring some milk on top and putting the bowl on the side.

he then begins to scoop out some vanilla ice cream, placing it in the second bowl before grabbing the olive oil. he pours a trail of the oil on top of the ice cream and sprinkles some sea salt on top.

the blonde-haired boy wipes the kitchen counter, cleaning the small mess he made, and puts the ingredients back in the fridge.

he grabs both the bowls, along with two tablespoons and walks back to the living room.

“here ya go, pretty girl.” atsumu announces with a grin on his face as he hands you your bowl and a spoon.

he slides on the skandi couch right next to you and digs into his oatmeal. he glances over at you, his grin widening as he watches the pleased expression on your face as you savor the ice cream.

“do you want to try it, ‘tsumu ?” you ask as you look over at atsumu, pointing to the mixture in your bowl with your spoon.

“nah, i’m not trustin’ you with that.” he shakes his head, a loud laugh escaping him.

safe to say that you were pissed at him after that, which only made him laugh more.

[peonypinksheep]

I like to imagine that the reason Scott (in character) is so prone to self sacrifice ties back to his inability to save Jimmy in third life. I just think it would be fun if that loss effected him so deeply that he vowed never to give up the opportunity to put his life on the line to protect someone he cares about again, to never be left to mourn and wonder what he could’ve done different.

He’s been the Winner, he’s been the widowed husband, and he hated it. He hated being the last one standing, the one left behind in the wake of everyone he’s lost. He looks at his new allies, friends, lovers, and he sees golden hair and red eyes and a lifeless body spilling blood onto the sand, he sees someone he couldn’t save and he sees a chance to Try Again.

It’s a loss that he carries not just across games but across worlds, like a permanent chip in his very code. It’s the reason why he was so ready to give his life in empires s1, knowing that every moment he was still alive he risked losing someone he loved to Xornoth. It’s the reason his happiest endings are in his afterlife, when death can no longer reach the ones he loves. When he’s already done everything he possibly could. When he’s allowed to rest.

[ej-artyarts]

The circus is now DIGITAL!

[cloudstuffs]

THE GANG

[messiahzzz]

friendly reminder that creators within fandom (whether it be gifs, edits, meta, fanfiction or fanart) choose to take time out of their day to provide you with new content for free.

it’s easy to take it for granted since it only requires a few seconds/minutes to scroll through your dash, but it’s important to remember that behind that there are often hours, if not even days, of work and dedication.