#god this was fun to write
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
i love learning cursive just to write text for exactly one character
#fun umbral lore. i can barely read cursive#if you want to hide anything from me then write it in cursive and i will literally never be able to read it#or write it. i had to google cursive text generator and copy it for this#ill settle on textbox designs also eventually#god its been so long since i've drawn the manor gang i think#saw this post and i immediately thought âcynâ#it has nothing to do with her being my number 1 blorbo. bite me#murder drones#art#murder drones n#murder drones v#murder drones j#murder drones cyn#serial designation n#serial designation j#serial designation v#they're so gay also they blushed immediately after this and made out probably im still torn between like 5 different ships#curse you fanfics for putting these ideas in my head
8K notes
¡
View notes
Text
monologue
#they said i couldnt have a worse speech bubbles to image ratio and i said 'bet?'#isat spoilers#in stars and time#in stars and time fanart#isat fanart#isat siffrin#isat loop#two hats spoilers#isat#lucabyteart#sifloop#not rlly but it gets the tag in case ppl r backscrolling my tags on my blog for some reason#anyway this dialogue has been kicking around in my files for about 2 months as it is known to do & i wanted to play with typesetting#'write a fic if you like words so much' absolutely not . what if it was pictures instead. and also i wanted an excuse 2 loop gradient#but yeah uhhhh this is very . very loosely the result of me thinking about the 'island is trapped in the fucking future' theory.#like if so. would it just like. reappear. when the rest of the world catches up w where it was stuck in time. like . 20 more years on.#and thus the q: god wait at what point would sif be older than the age they last knew their parents to be. theyre nearly 30 now so like.#you can see my logical path thru these thoughts yes? anyway i think its fun when these two put their braincells together to realise#the horrors. and kind of exclusively the horrors. wahoo!!!#anyway food for thought re: island reappears and to the islanders it's not been any time at all. but its been like 30 years for the rest#fuck do you do: your boy returns 30 years older plus a family (maybe even a child) and minus . a fucking eye.#also theres a fucking angel with them? update. thats also your boy what the fuck. wait fym theyre married. hold on. wait--
2K notes
¡
View notes
Text
my love for this grumpy asshole has been reignited đ been working on a little one-shot about neighbor!reader (who is a baker) and wingman!wade trying to hook his new bff logan up - I have a little sneak peek below!
edit - fic is up here!
logan/wolverine x f!reader | rated e
(will include spoilers from deadpool & wolverine)
Wade claps his hands, standing between you.
âLogan, this is our neighbor, Sugar. She bakes a mean penis cake and likes emotionally unavailable men,â He explains cordially, as if discussing the weather.
A dejected sigh as he regards you, âWhich is why itâs never worked out between us. I am just too open.â
Youâre already cringing at the weight of Loganâs side-eye, fiercely regretting this deal you made, âOh my god. Wade. It was one time. Why do you have to put it like that?â
âJust skipping over the âgetting-to-know-youâs, so you can know if youâre compatible.â Heâs already turning to Logan, whoâs turned even more wary.
âAnd this is Logan. Heâs from another Earth, is two-hundred years old, and has a metal dong.â
Loganâs teeth grit, before he snarls, âItâs not made of metal-â
Your eyes dip, curious. A knock rings out then, interrupting him from further clarification.
âOoh! Door,â Wade thumbs over his shoulder, âGo on now, weâve got some good energy going here. Sugar and spice, I love it.â
A spin on his heel, and heâs leaving the two of you alone.
âNice to meet you.â Logan seethes, shooting daggers at Wadeâs back as his jaw grits.
#not sure if it will be good but I am having fun writing it!#wolverine x reader#logan howlett x reader#def going to be in the logan/wade tag on ao3 because oh my god
2K notes
¡
View notes
Text
how seb and clora get together in my fic đbc what better time and place to confess and share your first kiss than around a bunch of inferi + the dead body of a man you just killed?? đĽ°đ
#and they say romance is dead#i remember how excited i was when brainstorming this scene LOL im still so happy with it/how i wrote it and glad i finally drew it#when i got the idea of seb using the relic to make an inferi army and save her BAHHA like...i get it clora. i get it.đâ#id ALSO confess on the spot after seeing that LMAO like it could have been ANY man at that point and id be like... marry me???#obvs i had to shorten it and cut out some stuff BUT i got the gist of the scene#sad i didnt manage to include some stuff but it would have ruined the flow.....c'est la vie#god they really just make out for the entire beginning of that chapter tho LMFAOO god i had so much fun writing and posting every week#those early fandom days........(sighs wistfully and stares out the window like an old man)#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow#sebastian sallow x mc#sebastian sallow x oc#hogwarts legacy sebastian#sebastian x mc#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#clora clemons#choccyart#victor rookwood
859 notes
¡
View notes
Text
two-step
#cult of the lamb#cotl#narilamb#doodles#maybe future fic thing. maybe Not#dancings equally fun to write as it is to draw#its like 'OH THANK GOD. YOURE BOTH CONSTANTLY MOVING. I CAN NATURALLY BREAK UP THE DIALOGUE ON THE FIRST PASS'#pink be upon ye
4K notes
¡
View notes
Text
I'be been watching a danganronpa 2 LP as I work I'm on the final chapter and I'd like to state I'd die for them
#danganronpa#gundham tanaka#sonia nevermind#sondam#pleeease no spoilers about the end of the game I'm mid chapter 5#f#this game definitely has. issues. but it's insanely fun I love the rule of cool goofy looney tunes ass vibe and the writing can be very goo#I'm talking about this like I'm 90 I know it was huge but I was off doing god knows what when this came out I'm only now catching up
2K notes
¡
View notes
Text
Writing Prompt #12
Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.
Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.
Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that��absolute.
While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.
These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".
There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five secondsâ
"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhereâlike the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.
But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.
He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.
"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.
"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.
"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.
He doesn't look away from the man.
"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."
"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.
The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.
The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"
Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."
"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."
He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.
"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.
"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.
"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."
"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.
"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."
"Him."
"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."
"Why me?"
"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."
This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.
"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"
"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."
Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."
"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."
"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."
"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."
"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."
"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.
"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.
"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."
"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."
"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."
Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should haveâ) he has not felt its weight until this moment.
Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.
"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."
The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.
"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."
Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.
"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."
"I have more than one."
"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."
"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"
There is a pause.
"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."
"Resolve what?"
"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."
"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.
"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."
Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."
The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.
"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."
"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."
"They will have already muzzled him."
Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.
"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."
"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon ripsâ
Clack!
"sluuuuurp!"
"Master Timothy, honestly!"
"Sorry Alfred!"
#i feel like I'm going to reread this and want to add other stuff#but I also just want to post it and get it out there#fun fact i scribbled a bunch of lines down at 2am bc i didn't want to forget them#im bad at multiple drafts#my writing#dp x dc#dp x dc au#dp x dc prompt#dp x dc crossover#danny phantom#batman#i live to make everybody dramatic#but also i subscribe to a world where clockwork doesn't know how NOT to be dramatic#lol he's a ghost from all of time he doesn't know how to speak to humans and tailor it to the century let alone the decade#and his favorite little girl who calls him clocky loves how he speaks so#he doesn't need to change for nobody#nor feels inclined to#also I feel like as god he's way more inclined to threaten to get what he wants than like...be vulnerable#jazz: let's unpack that#clockwork: we never do#jazz: are you saying that because it's true or because that's what you want to be true?#clockwork: ...#also I cannot take credit for BITCH I MIGHTWING#wish i could#that is cash money right there#shoutout to 11thsense
2K notes
¡
View notes
Text
â â âPRETTY BOY.â
â 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, rememberâ he asked for it first, didnât he? 3.5k w.
â 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 whoâs sort of.. a bitch. yâknow the drill by now, plus a younger whitney (still an adult, no worries. Iâm not into that sorta shit.)
Like a clueless moth instinctually drawn towards a burning flame, heâs no goddamn different than the clingy idiots who canât seem to automatically take a hint when given so in their directionâ yâknow, the ones heâd audibly snicker and scoff at due to the sheer embarrassment, disgustingly obvious puppy love streaked along their flushed faces as they mindlessly follow the otherâs every move. Innocently peer up in search of their crushâs approval like some sort of brain dead dog whose sole purpose is to joyfully please their master. Hell, itâs gross, and the blonde doesnât make it any more difficult to showcase his wrongly placed dislike for itâ yeah, by the repeated gagging noises spilling forth from his open maw.
âItâs nauseating to watch, stinks up the whole room with those big, puppy, doe eyesââ heâd 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.. fuckinâ hypocritical, no? âCuz, isnât 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 heâs immediately roped into, fuckâ no, definitely not! Itâs 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 heâd get one becauseâ yâa said itâd look good on him, didnât you? And, look here, he fuckinâ 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 itâ god, it isnât like that, okay?
An upperclassman heâs briefly looked up to is all you are, all youâve ever been for that matter, and heâll punch the shitty, fuckinâ 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 featuresâ accompanied by gritting teeth stubbornly grinding together in a futile refusal of his shoddy, unwanted sentiments burrowed deep within his stuttering heart? As if heâd ever would in your presence, which he possibly canât help himself, to childishly imitate your gestures in the withering hopes thatâd you scarcely notice his thinly veiled efforts, acts filled with meaning.
Well, well.. Whitney, the supposedly cold and untouchable bully here isnât so unique nor different from those idiotic dumbasses heâd 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 truthâ ah, good thing youâre here to seamlessly guide him on the right path, ainât that right?
As for the so-called, morally ethical path heâs hopelessly talking about.. Perhaps, thatâs a plain, olâ lie heâll repeatedly tell himself of so considering your shared reputations at hand. More likely than not, often referred to â as much as the nickname itself has the tip of his ears prickling scarlet, noisily yelling at the fuckers who cheekily name him that â your little, dumb puppy. Fuck, heâs not! The day he, himself, Whitney of all people, wordlessly bows down to the height of someoneâs heel frustratingly grinding atop of his head, is the day one can loudly claim with unbridled conviction, that heâs officially lost his goddammit mind, thatâs what.
Listen, youâre 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 âsly followerâ who went along with the smartest choice presented to âemâ your offer, by the way â than some nobody seamlessly forgotten on the dirtied streets. Least, thatâs 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, ainât it?
Speakinâ of tummy, you sure are touchy-feeling with him, arenât 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 noâ 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 doesnât possess enough fucks to bother learning their names. As long as your flickering gaze doesnât happen to stray too far from his, heâs actually, pretty content.
âCourse, it did progressively start off with the sorta things youâd absentmindedly do with your numerous friends. Brush of his golden strands glimmering against the gleaming sunlightâ 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 itâ truly does like no other. Still, lets yâa 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 yâa expect him to relax and ease up when itâs with you?
âWhat? What is it? Do I have shit in my hair or somethinâ?â Oh yeah, nice goinâ on that fuckinâ stupid question of his, huh? Flush adorning the length of his faceâ god, even down towards his neck tooâ immediately deepening at the crude choice of words. Might casually speak so with anyone, but when it comes to you, heâs 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.
âHm? Itâs nothing, I just think youâd look cute if you grew out your hair a little bit. Donât you think?â Ah, and there you goâ with your surprising compliments spoken out of the blue like that.
âCute?? Are you seriously tryna fuck with me right now?â 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 âadorableâ by the way, couldâve been made to plainly describe a rowdy, unrelenting boy such as Whitney.
âWhat? You donât think so? I think youâre cute as shit, Ney-ney.â That fuckinâ nickname again, god. Quit it, will ya? And, donât try to tentatively lean closer in his personal space when calmly making that stupid remark too! Your goddamnâ ah, hot breath effortlessly heating up the shell of his ear, curled lips almost, insistently pressed against his cheek. âReal fucking cute, actually. Definitely cuter than the average boy thatâs for sureâ prettier too, but youâve got too much of a stick up your ass to admit that, donât you?â
At this point, youâre practically taunting him, and he wouldâve unabashedly swung his fist if it werenât for that said person being you. Grin cracking upon your lips at the doe, wide-eyed look heâs 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, thatâs right! Both guys is what you two areâ so, his cock hidden underneath the fabric of his ripped jeans, languish legs lazily stretched out along the creaking, wooden bench, shouldnât be stirring up with peeked interest at the mind numbing prospect of endlessly being called âprettyâ 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 youâre at it, too. Ah.. should be saying somethinâ right about now lest he wants to appear as some bashful fool.
âI donâtââ
âYeah, yeah. You donât swing that way, I know. Iâm not hitting on you, Iâm 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 theyâre into that sorta stuffâ shit, I think theyâd 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, yâknow that, Whit?â 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.
âBut, you know.. I donât. I wonât. Not cuzâ Iâm a nice guy or anythingâ hah, truthfully, Iâm no better than them for wanting to ruin a pretty face like yours.â Youâre.. god, he canât keep up with whatever shit youâre nonchalantly spouting, gracing solely his ears to be the one to silently listen to this.. crap, canât really say itâ fluttering in his tensed stomach from your bold admission, depraved wants just as much as he does late at nightsâ wanting to fuck him too.
âHonestly, do you know why I donât use your sorry fuckinâ ass, Whitney?â
If heâs 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 heâd fucking know, shit!
âSee, itâs cuzâ itâs real funny to watch you trotting âround my side like some dumb, fucking puppy begging for its ownerâs 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 itâd hurt my conscience to sell you out like this. And, I donât like it when other fucks touch whatâs mine either. Iâm not running some gracious charity, am I?â To be truthful, if you tirelessly keep up with that incessant spouting, heâs 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 â and prettily too, huhâ crimson red for your unwavering gaze solely. Seems like youâre liking the rare show in front of you quite a bit, arenât you?
Stunned wouldâve been one of the few lacking words remaining in the thick, daunting dictionary to scarcely describe the absolutely idiotic expression heâs nicely sporting right about now.
âShut up.. Iâm notââ Fuck, fuck, fuck!! And, how the simple concept of verbal speech dutifully fails the bully at a time like this. Great going there, fuckinâ dumbass! Visibly seething wouldâve been the most reasonable reaction in face of this, butâ butâ 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 curseâ 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.
âWhat the fuckâre you doinââ?? Mmph, fuck.. donâtââ 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 ainât that real pretty to witness? Timid, twitching cock profusely leaking out sticky pre to messily smear along the curve of the blondeâs stomach, which you promptly do the honours for him, unabashedly too.
Always been pretty confident in your audacity to joyfully serve people, havenât you? By god, heâs 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 soâ fuck.. annoyingly warm and soft hand loosely tucks âround 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 heâs unfortunately finding himself in.
âUnfortunatelyââ one says, funny that you see right through that by the mocking nature of your barking laughter, sharply ringing within his ears.
âMy, whoâs the exact fucking pervert here, Whit? Yâseem pretty hard to me. Actually, youâre dripping wet down there, yâknow that?â 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 lengthâ fucking hell. Head instinctively thrown back to which you soon wistfully take advantage of, âcourse you would, wouldnât 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 caninesâ 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. âNnhâ no, fuâ ah, uuckk! N-Not there, you bastard!!â
âNot here? Whatâs the matter, Ney-Ney? Canât fucking speak properly when your pretty, pink cock is being stroked off like this?â Wouldâve scornfully refuted you, barked out the meanest curses that wouldâve 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. âYâsee, you like thisâ hah, fuckâ you like it when I actually take what I fucking want from you and ruin you down to this cute, little, slutty mess, yeah?â
âI-Itâs not like thatââ Uncharacteristically meek protest on his part. Cat got his tongue, âs that it?
âNo? Pretty boy. Use your words, will you?â Oh, fuuuuckkinâ god. Seeing sheer darkness as his eyes reflexively roll backwards to his skull from casually being called âprettyâ 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 â hidden amongst the rustling bushes of the park, mind you â 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 âround his middle, relishing in the little, heated gasps hurriedly rushed out of this dirty, fucking perverted bitch of a blondeâs mouth is too way goddamn much for him to precariously withstand another tortuously long second of this shit.
Yeah, one more minute? Heâs fucking busting by then.
âWhatâs the matter? Canât keep up? Gonâ shoot your filthy load soon, âs that it?â Mild disinterest lacing your very tone with a slight hint of, whatâs that..? Actual anticipation? Hah, as if he can barely discern between the mind buzzing layer of reality set upon him when coupled by your softâ 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. âWell, then.. Go ahead, Iâm not stopping you, am I?â
âCmon, pretty. Paint my hand all sticky and nice for me, yeah?â
Predictably so, as the uttered rumours had notably confirmedâ how downright desperate Whitneyâs always apparently been for you to the damn point that heâs automatically cumming on command like a dog patiently withholding for its ownerâs 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 kneesâ not that he hasnât 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? Fuckinâ 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 stillâ still, damn it; Always managed to keep the dirtied blonde on the edge of his toes, havenât you?
So, truly, it shouldnât have came off as an unexpected shock then, how you so brazenly mumble a stuttered curse beneath your puffed sighs at the melting sight. âAh, fuck.â Swiftly freeing your fatâ well, admittedly hefty cock for his following eyes to shamelessly gawk at in turn because, yâknow.. fuck, he wonât outright voice it, but the sinful glimmer in his wide gaze says it all. Innate itch, unadulterated needâ 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 heâs known time and time again to be nonchalantly formed into a grinâ now, so prettily stained crimson by the harsh press of your teeth against your puffy, bottom lip. âDonâtâ ugh, fucking look at me like that.â You audibly groan out in the mix of a huffed chuckle. Slightest flush delicately dusting your cheeks a pink hue, so damn pretty too. âHah, it makes things kinda awkward, yâknow?â Ah, takes less than a stretched minute for his brain to acutely process whatâs hit him before given the proper chance.
Something hotâ and sticky too, actually itâs pretty evident what it shouldâve been if he wasnât so goddamn brain dead within this bleary moment. Splattering amongst the already present mess youâve both collectively made of yourself, thick ropes of sweet cum landing right upon his rumpled uniform youâve 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 heâs forced to pitifully endure for the time being.
Look what youâve done, godâ 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. âSorry for ruining your nice shirt of yours, I couldnât really help myself when you looked so dumb like that. Take it as an apology, alright?â 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 olâ puppy is what he is to you, no?
And perhaps then, itâs the idiotic absurdity of your actions, swiftly turning away like the encounter itself hadnât 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 shouldâve been notably perceived as, though that doesnât really help the gradual thump! of his swaying heart noisily beating against his chest nonetheless.
Thatâs notâ oh.
Oh.
â..Fuck.â
Yeah, being wholly swallowed by the ground beneath his feet doesnât sound so bad now, does it?
#sorry just had to get this out of my system after not writing for around 2 weeks straight#so if this is utter dog shit Iâm sorry for having forgotten how to properly write#but yknow nothing beats a whimpering whiny bitch of a mess Whitney#although this was meant to be a short drabble and not a full on lengthy one#not to say 3.5k is all that much in comparison to some but 2k+ isnât a drabble to me anymore#weâre back to our regular schedule â balls deep in boypussy#had lotsa fun doing this as a warm up and god I cannot wait to expand upon upperclassman reader#dol#degrees of lewdity#whitney the bully#whitney dol#dol whitney#whitney degrees of lewdity#degrees of lewdity whitney#x male reader#top male reader#dom male reader#male reader#character x male reader#â â burnt ashes.
855 notes
¡
View notes
Text
âOh, fuck.â
The clatter of her practice sword on the ground is almost louder than the crunch that rings out from his wrist. He inhales sharply, biting back a shout â no matter how many times itâs happened, he will never get used to breaking a bone. That shit hurts.
âFuck, fuck fuck. Fuck, Seaweed Brain, is it broken?â
âThink so,â Percy grits out. He tries for a smile, and Annabeth matches it, small and worried. He leans into the hand she cups over his cheek. âNot too bad, though. If I just dump my water bottle on it ââ
âAbsolutely not. Water healing leaves you achey when it rains, you know that.â Shifting to wrap her arm around his waist, she helps him stand, shouldering some of his weight like itâs his ankle thatâs broken. He lets her, reaching down to squeeze the hand resting on his hip â Iâm fine. Weâre good. She turns her hand to wrap clasp their hands together â Okay. If youâre sure.
They walk together to the infirmary, taking their time. Aside from the pain pulsing from his arm, itâs not too bad â camp is as balmy as usual, and the spring break energy is practically visible, itâs so potent. The Demeter cabin has plants growing everywhere, flowers and fruit trees blooming as bright as a box of new crayons, and the air is filled with shouts of laughter and teasing. Annabethâs steps fall in time with his, and sheâs a comfortable warmth at his side, pressed from shoulder to hip.
âYou still okay?â
âYep.â He catches her eye, smiling crookedly at her. âDoesnât even make my top fifty.â
She rolls her eyes, hipchecking him. âDonât I know it, ya klutz.â
âNot sure I would call being flung from the St. Louis Arch being a klutz. Or exploded in a volcano. Or crushed under the sky. Or slashed by giants. Or chased by ââ
âYouâre talking, but all Iâm hearing is Annabeth, please, please pinch me, as hard as you can ââ
âHey! Get those claws off me, gods youâre worse than an empousai ââ
ââ and when youâre done pinching me please put me in the tightest headlock you can manage ââ
âI am injured! You are beating up an injured person right now!â
ââ and then please just bite a chunk out of my shoulder ââ
âCut it out or Iâm telling Mom!â
âWimp,â she taunts, finally releasing him. âI donât go running to Sally every time I lose a fight.â
âWha â you do so!â
She ducks through the infirmary door, smirking like she canât hear him.
âYou literally â you snitched on me last week! I got grounded for two days!â
âAnd you deserved it,â she says primly.
He gapes. âI did not!â
âAnytime you two are done,â Kayla drawls, shoving a clipboard at them. They accept it with matching sheepish grins, cowed at her perfectly arched eyebrow and slowly tapping foot. âI got patients to deal with and older brothers to harass. Letâs get this moving.â
She is shockingly good at humbling people for a thirteen year old. The two of them turn to their clipboard, chagrined, letting her stomp away with an exasperated Heâll be with you soon! Donât set off the sprinklers again!
âThat was one time,â Percy mumbles, ears reddening.
Annabeth pats him on the back. âThere, there,â she says mockingly. âThe fact that it was one time definitely negates the fact that you flooded the entire Big House because you got jumpscared by a child.â
âHarley can be sneaky, okay. Let me live.â
âLiterally no.â
Annabeth does most of the paperwork for him, âcause sheâs a nerd because his wrist is far too swollen for him to write properly, so it takes maybe half the time it normally would. The infirmary is crowded as Hell, though (he knows, heâs been), so they settle in for the wait, amusing themselves by tearing little pieces off of a blank form, balling them up, and tossing them in increasingly harder places. Percy is winning 7-4, although Annabeth might just pull through if she manages to toss her paper ball into Travisâ wide-open snoring mouth.
âHey, guys. Sorry for the wait.â
Aw. She missed. Percy was looking forward to that.
âHey, Will.â
He drags his attention away from the son of Hermes to greet his friend, but frowns before he can open his mouth.
âWoah, dude, you good? You look exhausted.â
Will snorts. âWelcome to spring break, man.â He holds his hand out for the clipboard, scanning it briefly. âSparring injury? Oh, thank the gods. I could use a break. Here, face me.â
He climbs up onto the minimal left over space on the cot, tucking his legs under his thighs. Percy turns to mirror him, hesitantly sticking out his arm â A break? he mouths to Annabeth, meeting her eyes over Willâs head.
She shrugs.
âJust spent four hours putting Jakeâs nose back on his face,â Will mumbles, placing a careful hand on his fingertips and his forearm. Percy flinches â his skin is blisteringly hot. Like someone just dropped a hot stone onto him. âI never want to sing a skin cell hymn again in my life.â He prods at Percyâs wrist for a moment, gentle enough not to hurt. âOkay, hold still, Iâm gonna fix ya right up.â
Healing hymns are familiar, by now, but Percy will never get tired of them.
The cool thing about ambrosia and nectar is that as pleasure food for the gods, itâs pleasant. Itâs whatever taste you want, whatever you need to have most, you get it. But healing hymns are intentional the way nectar and ambrosia arenât. Ambrosia and nectar happen to be healing for demigods â healing hymns were constructed to knit you back together, like you mother smoothing a bandaid over a skinned knee. Theyâre warm and sweet and deeply, endlessly comforting in a way most things simply cannot claim to be. They donât feel like a medical procedure or a hasty patch job, they feel like someone gripping you tightly and promising youâll be okay. They feel like getting carried to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. They feel like sitting down after hours of standing, like a drink of water when your throat is drier than sand. Healing hymns draw the pain and sick and ache from your body, and they feel like relief.
But this time, Percy canât focus on it.
With every word, Will seems to get a little duller. Nothing like the horrible ash-grey he went in the war, dragging the poison from Annabethâs body, but like his usual sunny disposition was dialed down a few notches. Enough that Annabeth frowns in concern, drumming her hands on her thighs, watching him closely.
âThere,â Will says, pulling away. Percy turns his now-healed wrist, noticing the slight pant to Willâs breath, the strain to his smile. The shake of his blistered fingertips.
âYou look overworked,â Annabeth says quietly.
Will holds his hands up in a what can you do gesture. âSpring break.â
âYou said.â
âItâs just busy, is all.â
âYeah, but ââ
âGuys,â he interrupts, smiling tiredly, âthere are two hundred ADHD demigods at this camp right now who have been trapped in a classroom for six months. There are three of us. Iâm going to be a little drained; weâre all a little drained. But Iâm fine, okay?â He gives them a second to scrutinize his expression, eyebrows raised in amusement. âI have been running my infirmary for years. I know how to pace myself, and I certainly know how to make sure my siblings are pacing themselves. If something goes really wrong, Chiron is a whistle away. I can go longer than you guys without sleep, anyway. Apollo kid health.â
âIf you say so,â Percy says reluctantly. âI just â I can wear a wrist brace, man. Not every injury needs to be handled when it happens. You can tell people no.â
âI appreciate that, Percy, and Iâll keep it in mind. Anyways, Iâve got more patients. Stay off that wrist for the rest of the day, okay? It might be tender for a bit.â
Percy turns to Annabeth as Will leaves, frowning. Heâs has never noticed the so-called spring break stress before (his camp spring breaks are usually a blast, but now that heâs thinking about it, he canât think of a single spring break where he spent any time at all with Will, which is odd), but it canât be good for him. Thereâs gotta be something they can do to ease some of the bruising under their friendâs eyes.
âI could set off the fire alarms again,â Percy suggests. âThatâll certainly get this place cleared out.â
Annabeth snorts. âI think thatâll cause more harm than good, Seaweed Brain. Itâll just fall in him to clean it all up, after.â
âShoot.â
Percy counts nine of the forty cots currently unused. Will, Kayla, and Austin are rushing from cot to cot, handing out nectar, wrapping bandages, rattling off hymns at light speed. All three of them look exhausted, squeezing shoulders when they pass each other, knocking hips, exchanging tired smiles. This is so clearly something theyâre used to.
Annabethâs head rests on his shoulder.
âIt wasnât always like this,â she whispers. âWhen it was fully staffedâŚâ
Percy exhales heavily. Yeah. He remembers. There was a lot less complication, once upon a time. The most chaotic the infirmary would get was when Lee would challenge his siblings to Hymn Karaoke â trying to heal with pop songs. There was a lot more laughter, at one point. A lot more people.
Percy sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. It never does well to dwell, but he â gods, he wish they all had more time. To sit with it, to acknowledgeâŚeverything. Siblings. Friends. A camp thatâs smaller than itâs supposed to be.
Annabeth squeezes his hand again, and he squeezes back, resting his head on top of hers.
âHey,â she murmurs after a moment, pursing her lips at the front door. âLook.â
Slinking through the entrance like a criminal is Nico, in all his dork ass black camp shirt glory. He looks around shiftily, like heâs trying to make sure no one sees him, and when his gaze lands on Percy and Annabeth his eyes widen. Annabeth smiles at him, but it does nothing to ease the spooked look to his face, back arched like a startled cat. He turns to leave, but before he can slip back out the door â
âNico!â
The son of Hades whips back around so quickly he brains himself on the doorframe. Percy ducks his head and bites his lip, hard, because he can feel Nicoâs glare at the side of his head like the press of hot coal, and if he laughs as badly as he wants to then the infirmary is about to look like a Spirit Halloween.
Will turns back to his patient, squeezing his eyes shut and rattling a hymn off so quickly it makes a burst of light pop from his whole body, and rushes over to where Nicoâs standing. He only trips over two things, which is remarkable for him. Percy would be proud if he wasnât a little embarrassed on his behalf.
âNico! Hi!â
âHe-ey, Will,â Nico says, voice cracking badly on every vowel. Annabeth shoves her face into Percyâs shoulder, body shaking.
âI didnât know you were coming! I thought you were in the arena all day.â
Nico shrugs, shoes scuffing the floor. âI am. I just â uh, I got hurt? So. Came to see you.â
Willâs beam is so bright it hurts to look at, a little. Percy squints and realises thatâs not just the excitement, actually â he really is glowing, faintly. His hands flap slightly at his sides.
âWell, youâre in the right place, then.â
âYeah.â
Neither of them say anything for a minute, rocking back on their heels. Will watches Nico closely, biting his lip. Nico looks resolutely at the floor.
âWe werenât this bad,â Annabeth whispers, âwere we?â
Percy shakes his head. âNah, thereâs no way.â
âGods. Itâs so â I donât know whether to smile or take a dip in the Lethe. Itâs embarrassing and endearing at the same time.â
âPainful to watch, but I canât stop looking,â Percy agrees.
âWhatâd you hurt?â Will asks, finally. âDid you pull your shoulder again?â
A look of panic flits briefly across Nicoâs face until he smooths it to something neutral, aloof.
âYep. Totally. During â sword fighting, I swung â I did this really big thrust, actually. Just â hugely powerful, training dummy exploded on impact.â He clears his throat. âSome might say too powerful. If you can imagine.â
Percy cradles his head in his hands. âOh my gods â â
âDonât laugh donât laugh donât laugh,â Annabeth chants, âoh my gods, donât laugh ââ
A light flush dusts Willâs cheeks. He brushes a strand of hair behind his ear, fiddling with his earrings. âWoah, really? Iâve never heard of that before.â
Nico smirks, standing up a little straighter. âWell, itâs not the first time. I tend to go pretty hard.â Remembering his supposedly hurt shoulder, he exaggerates a wince. âToo hard sometimes, I guess. Could you do the â the energy thing?â
âOh â gods, yeah, sorry. Hold on.â He stares at Nicoâs shoulder, hesitating. âIt, um, works better with skin-to-skin contact.â
âI have seen crystal vases less transparent,â Annabeth says, aghast. âIn two years heâs going to remember this and try to drown himself.â
âI will be counting down the days,â Percy says gleefully.
On rare, rare occasions, the gods answer his prayers. Clearly, both Nemesis and Aphrodite are looking at him kindly today. Percy makes a note to scrape some of the good stuff off his plate for them both today. Hell, maybe heâll skip the portioning and toss them an entire roast chicken each. Or something. They deserve it.
Will places both hands â interesting, Percy notes, his wrist was snapped cleanly in two and he only needed one hand, wonder why that was â on Nicoâs shoulder and closes his eyes, screwing up his face in concentration.
âHuh. Iâm not feeling much damage. You said it was your right shoulder?â
âI heal quick,â Nico says loudly. âI mean, some of the damage might have â um.â He clears his throat. His face glows a faint crimson. He clears his throat again. âYâknow?â
Willâs face is a similar shade.
âRight, right. Yeah. Um, brace yourself.â
Instead of starting to sing, Will closes his eyes, holding completely still. After a moment, the tips of his fingers begin to glow; soft, ambery yellow, flickering like lit candles. He opens his eyes again and focuses intently on Nicoâs bare skin, tracing patterns around every defined muscle, leaving a trail of light behind. He lingers, for a moment, when he connects the last string of light, waiting until it has faded entirely from Nicoâs skin to remove his hands and shove them in the pockets of his coat.
âThat better?â he asks softly.
Nico swallows. âYeah.â
âGood. Iâm glad, Nico. It means a lot that you â came to me. When you needed it.â
âI trust you, I guess.â Nico looks away. âYou know what youâre doing.â
âI think I just threw up in my mouth a little,â Percy says thoughtfully.
Annabeth laughs, shoving his shoulder. âDonât be mean.â She pauses. âMe too.â
With a sigh that can only be described as besotted, Will steps reluctantly away.
âI have patients,â he says, in the same tone of voice Percy usually says I have midterms. âSo I gottaâŚâ
âYeah, no, go. Do your ââ Nico gestures vaguely. âDoctor thing.â
âRight. Yeah. Iâm gonna â go.â He turns, walking back towards a group of Hephaestus kids who appear to be tightly entangled in some kind of net. After a few steps, though, he pauses, biting his lip, then darts back over to Nico, pressing a lightning-fast kiss to his cheek â âUm, bye. Thank you for visiting. Bye,â â and then runs back over to his siblings, shy smile on his face.
Nicoâs jaw is brushing the floor of his fatherâs palace. He stands, still as a statue, for four entire minutes.
âI think he just died,â Annabeth observes, eyebrows climbing higher and higher up her forehead with every passing second âDamn. Survived so much only to literally die because a cute boy kissed his cheek. A true heroâs end.â
Percy, because he is a kind, concerned friend, clears his throat loudly.
âYo, di Angelo, you alive?â
Nico startles so violently he falls right over. Percy shoves his fist in his mouth to keep from cackling.
âShut the fuck up,â Nico hisses venomously, scrambling upright. âBoth of you, shut the â not a word ââ
Percy and Annabeth make the mistake of looking at each other and simply erupt. Percy canât feel his stomach. His lungs have abandoned ship. Heâs glad as hell heâs in the infirmary because he is heaving for breath, tears streaming down his face, entire body convulsing. Nico stands in front of them literally shaking with rage, entire body redder than one of Apolloâs sacred cows, trying and failing to string together a threat that will ease any and all of his suffering. Annabeth screeches, almost falling off the bed as she cackles. Percy cannot even find the strength to catch her, his muscles are so weak.
âI fucking â I hate you! Both of you! Youâre dead to me!â
âYour face!â Percy shrieks.
âPercy Jackson, I am going to turn you to fucking dark matter! I despise your very essence! I ââ He stomps his foot. âIâm leaving, and Iâm going to leave a rotting corpse in your cabin! Screw you!â
âOh my gods,â Annabeth wheezes, digging her nails into his arm. âOh my gods, that was ââ
Percy wipes a tear from his eye. âI love being alive. I love being alive so much.â
âIt really is great.â Composing herself, and biting back the leftover giggles that keep bubbling out, Annabeth looks back towards Will. He stands much straighter, now, smile back to full brightness. His siblings, too, look rejuvenated, snickering to each other and making kissy faces behind Willâs back. âSo many beautiful things to witness. Iâve never seen his face go that red.â
Percy sighs. âThis is genuinely going to carry me through the semester. I think his soul died a little. And Will just â gods, that kid is bold.â
âOh says you, Mr. Do I Get A Good Luck Kiss.â
âHey, I earned that.â
Annabeth grins, punching him in the shoulder. He grabs her wrist and tugs her towards him, chasing the curve of her smile. She laughs into his mouth and it taste like strawberries and freedom, and he presses a kiss to her cheek, to her jaw, and the side of her neck, resting there, breathing against her skin. After a moment her hands come up and slide in his hair, gently untangling the knotted mess.
âHe is one thousand percent going to put a zombie in your bed, you know,â she says after a moment.
Percy snorts. âYeah, I know.â He smiles. âWorth it.â
#god writing percy was so so so fun i am going to do it again i forgot how much i love percabeth#and nico and will are so EMBARRASSING#pjo#percy jackson and the olympians#hoo#heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa#percy jackson#annabeth chase#percy jackson/annabeth chase#percabeth#nico di angelo#will solace#nico di angelo/will solace#solangelo#percy/annabeth#annabeth/percy#nico/will#will/nico#established relationship#bad flirting#humour#my writing#longpost#fic#pining nico di angelo#pining will solace#mutual pining#establisbed percabeth#percy jackson & will solace
1K notes
¡
View notes
Text
Fearne had, in true Fearne fashion, wrapped herself like a personal pashmina around Dorian, which left Orym to curl into his chest.
They had slept this way dozens of times before. Fearneâs blackened fingers wrapped tightly around his forearm as she snored loudly into Dorianâs ear. Orymâs head rested on Dorianâs bicep, his arms folded together between them, and his bare feet were gingerly resting upon Dorianâs thighs just above the knees, as Dorian had coiled enough to let Fearneâs fuzzy leg stretch over his hip. They were exhausted, and this was familiar, and he shouldâve been fast asleep.
But Orymâs mind buzzed.
Fearne had always been a strong source of heat, but now she was a furnace, and even without covers it was too warm. But Fearne was not the reason why Orymâs skin burned where it met Dorianâs.
He was a fucking grown man. He was fully capable of admitting that.
Admitting it didnât change it.
Neither did it change his awareness that Dorian had been too still for the past hour, his breath too precise and measured to be natural as it fell upon Orymâs hair. Orym was not going to presume that the cause of this was the same thing afflicting him; there were plenty of other reasons Dorian would be lying awake tonight.
âMy family will find your brother,â he murmured finally, and Dorianâs breath wavered for just an instant before he regained his composure and returned to his measured, singerâs breathing. It was so slight that no one else couldâve noticed it, but Orym noticed. âYou said thereâs a bodyâ the Tempest can bring him back, or Fearne, honestlyââ
âI know,â Dorian answered, and this too was so faint that no one but Orym couldâve heard. âI know,â he said again, as though this one was only to appease himself.
âDo you think⌠do you think any of Opal is still in there?â
âI donât know. I could barely tell what was in thereââ he cut himself off. âI couldnât even help my brother. I think Fyâra Rai mightâve⌠she mustâve seen something. I hope so,â he added, inhaling, trying to capture an airy tone that he didnât fully manage. âThe Spider Queen doesnât deserve her. She doesnât deserve anything.â
Orym had nothing to say to this. He hadnât cared what the gods did or didnât deserve in weeks, but now he could see the vein of fury that sharpened Dorianâs edges. It didnât frighten him the way it had frightened him months ago, when things had been simpler, when there was not a war to be fought. It simply saddened him. âIâm so sorry about Opal,â he said, after the silence had lingered. âBut Iâm,â he breathed out a single dark laugh at himself, his selfishness, âIâm real glad it wasnât you.â
Dorianâs laugh matched his own. âI suppose that is a silver lining.â
âIâm so glad youâre here,â Orym admitted. It was easier to keep his voice from cracking at a whisper. âIâve thought about seeing you again so many timesâ I wish the circumstances were betterââ
âIâm here,â Dorian said, for the second time today. âThe circumstances tried very hard to make even that impossible, butâ Iâm here.â
Orym pulled his arm gently out of Fearneâs grasp and raised his hand to Dorianâs cheek. It was too dark to see the tinge of lavender against his skin, but Orym could feel the warmth bloom beneath his fingers. He still couldnât bring himself to attribute his friendâs insomnia to anything so self-serving as his own, but perhaps it was one factor.
He pulled his hand back. Was there a flash of disappointment in Dorianâs eyes? He couldnât tell in the dark. But he brushed his fingers together, drawing upon the wellspring of life within the ground beneath this hastily-erected encampment. The Hellcatch looked like a barren wasteland to most, but that life was still present even here.
Perhaps not now, but after a rainy season, the valley would bloom with wildflowers. The seeds waited in the earth for their time to sprout. Life went on, even in the darkest of places.
He produced a small stalk of life from his hands, and held out the tiny bundle of forget-me-nots to Dorian.
He shouldâve said that they were for Cyrus, to remember him by. He wanted to say that they were for Dorian himself, that a day hadnât gone by that he hadnât thought of him. He didnât speak at all as Dorianâs hand wrapped around Orymâs, pinching the stem beneath his fingers but not letting go.
âOrym,â Dorian breathed, looking from the flowers to his face. Then a strange expression came over his face, a wrinkle of consternation as he stared into the middle distance. âFearne, are you braiding my hair?â
Orym lifted his head an inch to peer past Dorianâs ear. He had noticed that the snoring had stopped, but heâd been too caught up in the conversation to process it. Fearneâs wide eyes stared back with perfect innocence, her hands indeed weaving Dorianâs hair into a loose braid.
âJust pretend Iâm not here,â she whispered quickly. âIâm totally not here.â
When Orym dropped his head back to Dorianâs arm, he was met with a crooked smile. It was not meant to be disarming, but it disarmed him anyway.
âJust like old times, eh?â he said, but his hand was still around Orymâs.
Carefully, Orym moved to tuck the flower behind Dorianâs ear, bringing both of their hands with him, and then laced their fingers together instead. âNo,â he said, and tucked his head so that his brow rested against Dorianâs chin, and pressed their entwined hands to his lips. âBut I think thatâs okay.â
#this was SUPPOSED to be a drabble that was borne out of fearne's one line of dialogue in particular lmfao#but here we are#anyway I just think they're neat okay#I don't know if I've written orym's pov but he's fun honestly#I feel like it's the exact middle point between caduceus and fjord lmao#but god. writing someone with a 30+ passive perception is uhhh a puzzle lmfao#critical role#cr spoilers#orym of the air ashari#dorian storm#fearne calloway#dorym#cr fic
568 notes
¡
View notes
Text
I like to imagine Xie Lian checking in on heaven every once in a while for business or something and now that heaven barely has a central government and people are more relaxed without any one scary force up their asses all the time he sometimes comes back to some pretty weird stuff. After all, every god is a nosy drama queen and everything has the potential for a competition. Imagine if one day some smaller martial gods got bored and started an arm wrestling contest and whoever won started bragging about it which caused some other martial gods to want a piece of the action. Because every martial god is overly competitive by nature, this eventually gets weirdly out of hand and now the top martial gods are having the most legendary arm wrestling tournament in history. Xie Lian walks in in the middle of it, bewildered; âOh, no thank you, I couldnât possibly, I should be quick, San lang is waiting for meââ he answers but a simple âcome on, your highness!â and a recap of the latest events is all it takes to convince a top martial god to give it a shot.
Across the room, Feng Xin just obliterated another round and is on a crazy hot streak. His spirits are high and heâs ready for his next victim as he looks across the table, and the opponent in his view is none other than Xie Lian.
A cold sweat runs down his back.
Of course it ends with Xie Lian vs Pei Ming, the grandest showdown theyâve seen in a great while, and Xie Lian going home that night to that San Lang of his with another weird heavenly trophy to put in the display case they had to make for all these weird prizes he keeps bringing home from work. Who knew gods really are more idle than ghost kings!
#a continuation of the last post about martial gods#reminder that you have to be at least a little insane in order to ascend#gods are petty and egotistic therefore left to their own devices they will Compete#tian guan ci fu#tgcf#heaven official's blessing#xie lian#i thought about ling wenâs writing competition with jing wen and I just feel like they do shit like this a lot#plus they turned the fun and chill lantern festival into a competition too
503 notes
¡
View notes
Text
this man. ..
(inspo) (og meme)
#lv20 cross#cross!sans#self insert#mblue art#[ og lv20c is made by withtheworms !! ]#( but this purple lv20c i draw on my blog is usually based on soothingespione's yandere interp )#(bc i hv nt bn th sme snce rdng tht fc) (everytime i think of him i immediately want to [REDACTED] uh do things to him)#(a little violence. as a treat</3)#(probably the only skel/variant i simp for that i wont feel immediately bad doing such to) (maybe)#god i want to [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]--#a fun(?)(đ¤¨) dynamic to explore personally when im reminded of it#oourgh he makes me feel SOOO conflicted đ˘đ˘đ˘ (/pos but also /flustrd grrr) shoutout to op thanks for writing him i am so . |||OTL#not linking the fic if any1 asks. it has spicy content#idiot idiot man. love-hate for u. bonks u. (i do like the possessive/obssessive that comes with yanderes tho)#cm
649 notes
¡
View notes
Text
the mcrib is back
#i was writing a fic - yes#about wade's relationship with the mcrib#and as if by god the mcrib returned#i do not dine at the golden arches but wade's profound emotional relationship with mcdonalds foods in the fanficiton i write is.#very dear to me.#no promises i will finish writing the mcrib fic that nobody asked for .#cable is in that fic so ergo nobody wants it.#i've never eaten a mcrib sandwich. and i feel like i shouldn't.#let wade's relationship with the mcrib be a cautionary tale. it will only end in heartbreak.#we should not fall in love with entities that will come and go and leave your heart yearning.#be it man or. sandwich.#sci speaks#but it is a fun fic about nathan and his time adventures too. wade divulges into all the selfish things he would do.#if he could time travel.#he could time travel to any time period that the mcrib is available.#what would nathan do? if he were selfish. for a change.#would he bend time for a sandwich?#would you?
265 notes
¡
View notes
Text
A follow-up to my Hanahaki Platonic Stobin drabble
Platonic Stobin, Steddie, past Stancy || rating: T || wc: 2.7k || tags: dialogue heavy, VERY excessive use of italics, fluff and flirting and humor, no beta
~~~
His sides are ripped to shreds, insides only kept inside because of the torn, dirty scrap of sweater Nancy wrapped around him. Steveâs been downplaying it as much as possible, mostly to keep Munson calm, but Robin knows better.
Whatâs wrong with your back?
Steve sighs, trying to mute his thoughts into a scramble like theyâve practiced so well over the past nine months, but the scorching pain on his shoulder blades, feet, and arms makes it rather difficult.
Donât you dare ignore me Steve Harrington.
She glares back at him from her spot next to Nancy. Theyâve been walking for miles, every rock and crack in the ground digging into his feet with every step. Munsonâs next him, going on about something like bats, or metal music. Steveâs not sure, heâs having a hell of a time focusing.
But the guy crowds into Steveâs space, dipping in and out of orbit like he canât help being as close as possible. Eddie keeps looking at him. Steveâs never been great with eye contact, but canât help it when Eddie starts saying things like âthe kid worships you, dudeâ and âinsists on the matter, in fact.â
Told you the kid loves you even though he has another older adult male friend.
Steve can practically hear her giggling, but sheâs just balancing her out-loud conversation with their mind-reading conversation. Sheâs better at it than he is, talking to two people at once. Hell, sometimes Steve has a hard enough time keeping track of just one conversation.
Their new super powers had been a learning curve, to say the least. Itâd taken them months to learn how to tune each other out when needed, which was more often than not. Working Family Video shed a new light on how absolutely down-bad horny Steve was for almost every mildly attractive woman who walked through the front door. Including Joyce Byers, to Robinâs horror.
Steve was cursed with Robinâs almost near-constant thoughts about her newest crush, Vickie. Heâs never met her before, doesnât remember her from school, but could describe what she looks like down to the small, rust colored freckle on the corner of her left eye, just below the lash line.Â
But even with the extensive learning curve, they discovered some severe consequences of their powers almost immediately.Â
The first day Robin came over, bloodied and crying, with him no better off, Steve was so shaky heâd dropped a mug, slicing his hand as he scooped up the pieces. She rushed over, said she heard his pain more than felt it, like loud static.Â
So, no sharing physical sensations, just mind-reading. Which is great for me, considering how slutty you are. Sheâd laughed when he lightly knocked her on the shoulder, but sheâd thought it with such fondness that he couldnât be mad if he tried.
The worst of their situation came to light when Robinâs parents called her home, said a weekend away after Star Court was more than enough. So sheâd left him alone in that big, empty house, suffering from a severe concussion and dizzy spells.
Which only grew worse the longer they were apart.
Steve didnât have anywhere to go, now jobless with the mall gone, and none of the kids came to visit. So heâd holed himself up in his room. The headaches grew worse, handfuls of pills doing nothing to help.
By the fifth day, he was vomiting again, shaking and crying, head throbbing, nose bleeding into the toilet bowl all over again when there was a knock on the door. The knock might as well have been inside his skull, but he couldnât move, could barely see past the haze clouding his periphery like it had after his fight with Billy. He cried as the knocking grew louder, more persistent, until it finally stopped.
He slumped forward, pressed his head into the cool porcelain. Lifting his hand to flush, he noticed a small, vibrant white petal floating amidst the red and black water, all of which, presumably, came out of him.
âcanât find it. Must be⌠rock. The mat?
Robin?
There was a click, then the sound of his front door opening. Slow, heavy footsteps up the stairs.
Dingus where the hell are you? Not in the bedroom⌠Please, Steve, I need help.
That got his attention, but as heâd gone to move, the bathroom door opened to a bloodstained Robin, eyes rimmed red, hair a mess, pale and gaunt like a ghost. She dropped to the ground next to him, practically draped herself over his back. And just like before, the pain receded so violently he vomited one last time. A full, yet slightly crumpled, flower floated amidst the yuck inside the toilet.Â
It was a daisy.
âDaisies are my favorite,â Robin whispered. She held out her hand to him, dirty and covered in the same green stains as the ones on her shirt, and handed him a very small, miniature sunflower. âSo Iâm guessingââ
My favorite.
Eventually theyâd figured out what works and what doesnât. Talking on the phone everyday never helped, back to throwing up flowers after only a week. Heâd started to pull the daisies out to dry, which Robin said was gross. She took them home with her anyways.Â
But heâd borrowed Robin a sweatshirt that she took home with her, and by the fourth day, she was in better shape than he was, only a slight headache instead of Steveâs encroaching migraine. So they started exchanging clothes and quickly learned it wasnât necessarily their clothes or possessions, but their scents.Â
You smell kind of like sunflowers
âRobin, sunflowers donât have a smell.â
She was face first in his pillow, day seventeen after a two-week family vacation to Key West, returning his comforter, and a myriad of t-shirts. Theyâd both gotten migraines, but no vomit-soaked flowers or bloody noses. So it was an improvement, overall.
I know they donât. Itâs more like, I donât know, sunshine. Or fresh grass. A warm rain⌠like summer.
Heâd jumped on her then, smothered her into his mattress until she was tickling him to get off her.
âWhat do I smell like?â sheâd asked, casual but not quite casual enough. He smiled.
Like daisies. An open field full of wildflowers. A new song, or driving with the windows down.Â
She smiled back at him, wide and genuine, packed full of love. And he knew, in that moment, he was happy to spend the rest of his life with her.
âHarrington,â Eddie cuts through his reminiscing. The guy looks like heâs trying not to be annoyed, which makes sense considering heâs attempting to be nice and Steveâs completely zoned out.Â
Do you have another concussion? Is it rabies?
He sighs, quiet enough that hopefully Eddie doesnât assume itâs aimed at him. No, Robs. Just a normal dingus-where-did-you-go zone out. Relax.
She shoots him another glare over her shoulder, but ultimately lets it go.
âHarrington, you still with us?â Eddie laughs it off like a joke, but his eyes are wide, and heâs pressing in close again.
Heâs warm, and without thinking, Steve finds himself leaning towards him, tooâ like magnets.
What magnets?
Never mind, Robs, shut up.
âYeah Munson, Iâm still here.â Steve chuckles, and Eddie relaxes a tad. âCanât get rid of me that easy. Iâve dealt with worse.â
âWorse than an under-water tentacle monster dragging you through hell on your bare-back and almost choking you to death?â
When Eddie puts it like that, Steve really does have to think about it. âWhat about throwing fireworks at a giant, mind-controlling flesh monster and getting tortured under Star Court by Russian spies who shot me and Robin up with mystery drugs?â
DINGUS! If we havenât told the Party about our super powers you canât tell a goddamn stranger like Munson!
Eddieâs eyes are wide and dark again. He chuckles a little too loud, almost deranged. âYeah, you know what, Harrington, that might be worse.â
They continue to walk in silence. Well, Steveâs silent. He lets Eddie ramble, talking about Dustin, something called a Munson doctrine. He calls Steve a âgood dudeâ at which Steve hopes the sky is dark enough to hide his embarrassed flush.
Eddie says something about the girls jumping in to save him, but he leans in again when he says it, and all Steve can think about is how close he is, the light brush of Eddieâs knuckles against the back of his handâ
What�
â and the comfort that settles over Steve when he catches Eddie smiling at him. They stop in unison, Eddie leans in close to whisper like itâs a secret.
âBut Wheeler, right there, she didnât waste a second. Not one second. She just dove right in.â
Eddieâs barely shorter than him, just enough that he looks up at Steve through his dark lashes, big, brown, puppy-dog eyes hooked onto his own. He knows guys can be handsome, but he thinks Eddie might be more pretty than handsome.
Iâm sorry? What the fuck is happening back there!
âNow, I donât know what happened between you two,â Eddie says, low and slow. His voice full of honey that soaks into Steveâs brain, the actual words lost in the overwhelming sweetness of everything that is Eddie. âBut if I were you, I would get her back. âCause that was as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen.â
Steve canât stop staring at his lips. Theyâre so pink and fluffy and biteable, so he leans in, like instinct tells him. Eddie looks surprised, but brushes his finger tips against Steveâs own. He whispers, âSteveâŚ?â like itâs more revelation than question. Eddieâs so close that Steve justâ
âAre you fucking kidding me, Steven?â Robin shouts, incredulous and much too loud. Eddie flinches away from him, hides behind his hair like a turtle shrinking back into its shell. Steveâs shoulders droop in disappointment.
Disappointment? Wait. Did I almost just kissâ
âEddie Munson?â Robin finishes his not-out-loud sentence.
âBuckley?â Eddie asks, nervous as the girl marches towards them, her eyes locked on Steve.
âYes, Dingus!â Robin completely ignores Eddieâs response in favor of barreling up to Steve, finger so close to his face he goes cross-eyed. âYes, you were, and oh my god I canât believe you!â
Robs, Iâm kind of freaking out right now. Can you please relax?
âYouâre freaking out?â she shouts. Nancy shushes her, but it goes unnoticed. âIâm freaking out! After all this time, after Tammy fucking Thompson, this is happening right now? Withâ withâ â Robin wildly gestures to Munson. âGoddamn, Steve, you reek of sunflowers right now, oh my god! Just like when Joyce came into the store.â
Itâs as dark as it always is, but a flash of red lighting illuminates the red painted across Eddieâs cheeks as he bites on his lip, looking nervous yet almost bashful as he pulls another larger strand of hair across his face.
âSunflowers? Whatâs happening right now,â he whispers to Nancy, who shrugs. She answers with a casual, âIâm not sure, they do this a lot.â
âThatâs not fair!â Steve quietly shouts back at her. âWhatâs wrong withââ he glances at Eddie, who flushes again. Heâs so pale I bet heâs red down to hisâŚ
âShut up, shut up, shut up!â Robin throws her hands over her ears and pinches her eyes closed.
Steve forces a smile to cover his gay panic. Shit, am I gay?
âNo!â Robin slaps both her hands on either side of his head, mushing his cheeks together. âYouâre not gââ she mushes her mouth shut, catching her slip-up just before it tumbled out of her. âAnd thatâs not what that kind of panic means, so donât call it that.â
âPanic?â Eddie asks, stepping towards them. His eyes are trained on Steve, flashing down to his lips, then back up to catch his gaze. Steve sees something like hope buried beneath Eddieâs tough guy demeanor. âBut I thoughtââ he glances at Nancy before quickly looking away.
Robin rolls her eyes at him, and Eddie backs off a bit. Except his look doesnât go unnoticed.
âMe?â Nancy asks. âWhat about me?â
Robin, donâtâ
But itâs too late, because at that question, everyone turns to look at Steve.
Over the past few months, Steveâs started growing out his hair. Itâs not really in style, but heâs seen a few guys with long hair, and they looked really good. Right now, he wishes it was long enough so he could hide behind it like Eddie. But, then again, heâd also tried growing a mustache, since Freddy Mercury had amazing styleâ Steveâs always like Queen.
Except my mustache never looked as good as his, so I bet long hair wouldnât either. Maybe the short hair helps highlight it, like his cheekbones.
Jesus Christ, youâre so obvious. I can crack Russian spy code phrases enough to break into an underground military base but apparently I canât spot a bisexual within five feet of me.
Steve sighs, dragging his hands down his face at Robinâs inside-mind rambling. Nancy, however, takes it to mean something much different. âOh, Steve, no.â Her voice is pitying and too nice and it reminds him painfully of the last few months of their relationship. Like sheâs talking to a child. âSteve, Iâm so sorry, butâ I still love Jonathan.â
âI know, Nance, thatâs notââ
âAre you kidding me, Wheeler?â Eddie screeches. Steve really doesnât understand how theyâre so lucky that they havenât been hunted down and eaten by now.Â
Eddieâs thrown his hands up in the air, all theatrics as he gawks at her. She backs off, surprised, but quickly recovers and squints her eyes at him, crossing her arms as he continues to ramble.Â
âAfter everything thatâs happened? Steve ripping off his sweater, jumping out of the boat and beating a bat to death, then biting its head off, all while soaking wet. I mean, the way he spit that blood out.â Nancy cringes, and yeah, Steve feels the same way, knows he'll be tasting that black sludge in his nightmares.Â
Now thatâs gay panic.
I thought thatâs not what that means, Rob
Ugh, I regret teaching you things.
Eddieâs still on a roll. âHe was so⌠I mean,â Eddie throws his arms out towards Steve, showing him off like heâs a prized cow, âlook at him, Wheeler! And youâre picking Byers?â
To Steveâs surprise, the glowering ferocity in Nancyâs face morphs into a coy smile, eyebrows raised in question to an answer sheâs already figured out. Because thatâs how Nancy Wheeler, journalist extraordinaire, gets her story. She reads people.
Before Eddie well and truly freaks out at the turn in Nancyâs demeanor, she winks at Steve out of the corner of her eye. âJoyce Byers?â She giggles and rolls her eyes.Â
Then, in a mortifying turn of events, Nancy pulls a strand of her brown, curly hair in front of her face, forces her eyes open, doe-eyed and almost brown under the dark sky, looking up at him through her lashes, then darts her gaze to Eddie.Â
Ha! You have a type! Wait, how did Nancy clock you faster thanâ
âOkay!â It bursts from Steveâs chest, loud enough it shocks the rest of them. They stand quiet, listening to the mundane noises around them, and breathe a sigh of relief at the resounding silence. âThis has been fun, really, but why donât we all just keep going so we can get the hell out of here and go find myâ I mean ourâ no, the little shits.â
This is why they call you mom.
âIâm not a goddamn mom, Robin, how many damn times do I have to tell you guys that?â
âIf youâre mommy, does that mean Iâm daddy?â The words slip through Eddieâs mouth and, unfortunately, bury themselves into Steveâs brain. Now Steveâs not sure whoâs blush is hotter, his or Eddieâs. Heâd guess maybe Eddieâs, judging by the way the man grabs Nancyâs arm and hauls her away at a half sprint.Â
She laughs at him, lighthearted, and slings her arm through his as they walk side by side. Steve watches as she leans her head towards Eddieâs whispering something into his ear that finally has the manâs shoulderâs relaxing. He bumps his shoulder against hers, and she returns the gesture.
Robin turns to look at Steve, really look, with sad, concerned eyes and a twist to her mouth.
Iâm sorry. I shouldnât have freaked out like that. It just caught me off guard I guess.
Steve places a light kiss on her dirty forehead. She smiles, grabs his hand in hers, and squeezes once.
âI love you too, Rob.â
#I have no plans to turn this into anything but oh my god it was so fun to write!!#platonic stobin being one of my most favorite things ever#steve harrington#robin buckley#stobin#platonic stobin#eddie munson#steddie#steddie fic#nancy wheeler#stobin ficlet#stranger things#stranger things fic#hanahaki#but make it russian serum mind melding#queeniewritesstories
250 notes
¡
View notes
Text
--or perhaps,' continues Octavian. 'You're angry that I've outplayed you at your own game because you were too busy fucking in your old master's house to notice anything that was going on around you.'
He smiles suddenly, bright and wide. 'Enjoy the party, Marcus.'
this scene takes place sometime after philippi, and was originally just some historical fiction I was writing last year for fun focusing on antony, octavian, and agrippa. then I got stressed out watching the new season of a show, started drawing while it played, and ended up turning it into a short comic lmao
the dialogue in this scene is referencing this bit out of Suetonius:
In early youth he incurred the reproach of sundry shameless acts. Sextus Pompey taunted him with effeminacy; Mark Antony with having earned adoption by his uncle through unnatural relations; and Lucius, brother of Mark Antony, that after sacrificing his honour to Caesar he had given himself to Aulus Hirtius in Spain for three hundred thousand sesterces, and that he used to singe his legs with red-hot nutshells, to make the hair grow softer. What is more, one day when there were plays in the theatre, all the people took as directed against him and loudly applauded the following line, spoken on the stage and referring to a priest of the Mother of the Gods, as he beat his timbrel: "See'st how a wanton's finger sways the world?"
Suetonius Augustus 68
what a fun group of people!! they should all eat each other
#octavian#mark antony#komiks tag#roman empire tag#WOW it's been a minute since i got to use that tag#the bit of my own writing (technically all of this is my own writing but in the text part of the post) is referencing#some shit about antony letting the conspirators go ahead and assassinate caesar for his own ends#which is fun to think about bc octavian proceeded to pull a similiar move but better#the gods favor one of you for sure lmao#i favor neither of you except for where i sided with octavian bc his narrative potential appeals to me more
2K notes
¡
View notes
Text
3 pg. comic about an AU where both Stan and McGucket work on the portal together in the 80s
(Script for those who need it, or can't read my handwriting);
Page 1:
Caption: In an alternate universe, where Stan and Fiddleford worked together on the portal in the 80s...
Page 2:
Fiddleford (in his head): Huh...what is that racket? Huh? Oh!
Fiddleford: Well, I think I'm in need of a good, long break...
Do tell Stanley, I didn't think you'd be the kind to like David Bowie!
Stan: Well, I don't! But he's catchy...I'll give him that. Also... he was always playin' on the radio. It was nice havin' someone else on the road...
Fiddleford: Well, Lee, now's your chance to move your legs and get loose!
Page 3:
Fiddleford: C'mon Stan!!! Shake what your mama gave ya!
Stan: Alright, alright Fidds! Just this once though!
(after the dancing montage)
Stan: Okay okay! None of that now, c'mon we gotta get back to work.
Fiddleford: Woops! Sorry Stan, but I haven't felt this good in a long, long time. I got the jitters! The good kind, that is! But oh alright!
#fun fact my old drawing tablet actually permanently died on me in the making of this (the og vers. that is. rip)#god did not want me to make a GF David Bowie comic mashup smh#also sry if the writing is clunky (physically and character-wise)#i aint exactly a writer bleh#if anything u can substitute whatever song u want lmao i just wanted to draw fidds and stan happy(ish)#fiddleford mcgucket#stanley pines#gravity falls#fiddlestan#thriftybruce's makings#bruce's recs
203 notes
¡
View notes