#might be my favorite fic ever

[xoxochb]

Can you write abt Percy' back, like, swimmers back yk?

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“you are lovely, do you know that?”

“maybe you’ll have to remind me more often.”

a smile paints your mouth. you bite down on your bottom lip in a lousy attempt to stifle any potential giggles threatening to escape.

the pad of your index finger grazes and traces each muscle and contour of percy’s back. his skin is smooth and cold beneath your touch.

there is still a handful of littered scars veiling it. some small and others large. you make sure to place tender kisses to them. in hopes of silently assuring percy that these do not derogate his appearance.

in fact, over the years you have come to realize that there couldn’t possibly be anything in the universe that would detract his physique or looks.

he was half god after all— so to say he looked like a greek god would indeed be a large understatement. it was almost as if he had been blessed by aphrodite herself. but you’d seen his father so you weren’t very surprised to assume that was where most of his looks derived from.

and you are thankful for his eyes. the richest shade of sea green you could find. like the depths of the ocean, taking you in its arms gingerly, comforting and inviting— yet so unbearably easy to drown in. luckily for you, you had always enjoyed being underwater.

“sweet girl.”

you leave the maze of your mind when your favorite voice cuts through the soothing silence of cabin three.

“percy.” you place your hand flat down on his back, emitting your warmth off to him.

“I want to look at you.”

you sigh despite the dreamy smile over your lips. “you’re always looking at me.”

“not now, I’m not.”

“patience, my love.”

you hear as he blows an overly-dramatic raspberry. despite this he settles and melts into the touch of your skin against his.

“did you know,” you begin again. you run your index and middle fingers down his spine lightly. “that I like your back?

his breaths you feel beneath your fingertips. it’s so steady, serene, you’d think he was asleep. but you’d grown used to his heart rate calming within your presence— in percy’s mind, he could never be safer or happier than in your vicinity.

“do you?”

“yes.” you nod, disregarding his lack of vision on you. “it’s nice. and I like your scars. you should swim more.”

“is that a request or a demand?” you hear the beaming smile in his voice.

“both, I suppose.”

“and you say that because…?”

“because.” you place your palm flat over his skin, leaning in to rest your face alongside it. you take in his ocean-like scent. “it will give you muscles.”

“not because you want to see me without a shirt?”

your cheeks flush pink. “no, shut up.”

without warning, or your permission, percy turns around to face you at last. he grins victoriously and excitedly wraps his strong arms around your frame. you make no movement to prevent him from doing so. you’d missed this feeling anyways.

you let your own arms drape sleepily around his shoulders. your eyelids suddenly feel immoderately heavy. the heat both of your bodies together, bare skin against bare skin, is enough to send you into rem sleep easily.

“I’m gonna fall asleep, perce.”

“then sleep, sweet girl, I won’t stop you.”

one of his calloused hands finds the length of your hair, stroking through the strands in a comforting manner. you’d be out within seconds if he kept this up.

and to no ones surprise, you were. with a lingering kiss to your forehead you fell into the arms of hypnos.

(cas and percy best combo! <3)

[countthelions]

"[..] but they’re not Etho. They can’t be.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because Etho never left my side.”

[the curse of deepfrost, ch14] by @capriciouswriter207

[mellioops]

Drew a scene from @masque-of-plague’s amazing scarian fic Supercritical for their birthday :D

[reddamselette]

Although he is allowed to stay for as long as he likes. Neil has said as much and Andrew merely confirms with a hum or an uninterested look. And throughout that day, there’s harmless conversations. They talk about nothing, they watch TV and share food one of them might have cooked, go out places they feel like going to. Sometimes, if Neil or Andrew—or even both—wanted something from Kevin, they’d ask. Andrew would say yes or no with a hand curled around the nape of Kevin’s neck, breath smelling like nicotine, lips tasting like leftover ice cream. Neil tends to be more physical. A slide of his hands around Kevin’s waist, blue pools of bad ideas and lips tasting like lies and secrets.

a casual affair, short kandriel oneshot, 514 words

[justarandomguyiguess]

*Staring at blank Google doc* How desperate am I for Eupha/Will content

[freak-accident419]

pornstar!reader and pornstar!jhutch character (preferrably derek) who just make videos together (like thats their whole brand yknow) and oneshot where they try to record a video but things keep going wrong like in the silliest way possible and then they just goof off and forget about the video bc theyre just being idk silly :3

update: it’s out!!!! —> That’s A Wrap

[amongsnot]

there is a certain beauty that lies in the creases of the world, when everything has seemed to pause in the space between what is real and what is fake. it is a space that jimmy can hold his hand up to and flex nimble fingers around, because they grasp a sort of air pressure that isn’t quite there, but jimmy can convince himself it is with enough hope.

the rest of his friends are walking back from a restaurant with full stomachs and big grins. they break off into their respective groups—jenny and manny, who have known each other longer then the rest of them have known robotic girls and have questioned where they stand on the line of good and evil, lead the way through the twists and turns of dimmsdale. 

jenny is wearing a cardigan that she doesn’t technically need, but wears anyways because she likes the way that it makes pretty girls stare at something besides the way her hair thunks together in the wind. manny is bundled up in a coat and a hat and a scarf and a myriad of other things that are not really acceptable for the fall temperatures. he claimed that he gets cold in the winter. the “like a cat” part was left unsaid, but the rest of the group shared knowing looks nonetheless.

and spongebob and danny are behind jimmy, but they do not talk with jokes on their tongues and quips on their lips like jenny and manny do. jimmy can feel their concerned gaze lingering on his back. they wring practiced fingers together and share worried, knowing looks. 

there is a certain truth to this night; one that jimmy had come to the conclusion of long before, but one that he has pushed away and away and away.

he thought that he could convince himself it was there with enough hope; but he failed, and that thought sits heavy in his stomach.

timmy stands next to jimmy. he is talking about a friend he made at college. he talks with big hand movements and a big, wide grin.

he does not stop and make sure that jimmy is paying attention when jimmy does not say anything. he talks and talks and talks: a certain unwarranted confidence to his stride as he grins at girls on the street and looks at drunk men who beat each other up in the hallway with wide eyes. he does not fear rejection, or flinch at the swing of curses that leave their mouths; as powerful and dangerous as the swing of their fists.

and that is why jimmy knows that this is something he has to do.

he sees the smile and the lack of fear in the boy that he grew to love, and he knows that even if he did everything in his power to make him remember, he will never be able to smile as much as he is now.

he sees the way that timmy talks about the family he has made at college with a large smile as he recites memories (memories that jimmy recognizes because they are memories of antics that timmy would do with the rest of them. memories of a different life). he sees the way that timmy furrows his brows when jimmy mentions going home early to eat dinner, before saying that he doesn’t quite remember ever having a family dinner before (and he doesn’t say it because he’s hiding a bigger secret. he’s saying it because he truly does not remember the way his parents left him and the way that he starved himself to sleep). he sees the way that timmy smiles in the face of anything orange (even if once upon a time he would’ve cried).

and jimmy wants to cry, because he cannot fix this.

he is supposed to. but he can’t.

he’s supposed to fix everything; the broken parts of jenny’s body when she malfunctions after one of their major battles. the broken hearts that are left behind when a fight breaks out among their headquarters, where an electrifying tension causes their hair to stand up on end. he is supposed to fix what is broken, and when you’re in the business as long as he is, there is a lot of things you have to fix.

but he can’t fix this.

he thought he could. timmy had warned him about his fairy-induced amnesia as soon as jenny and manny joined their team and they started to become something more than a wayward group that only met when absolutely necessary. he had told timmy, while clasping his hand as tight as he could, that he would fix this. he would get the broken pieces of timmy’s life—the amnesiac body, the torn mind, his absent fairies—and he would save him.

he had found the body with ease. timmy still lived in the same house in the same town in the same dimension. jimmy introduced himself under the faux that he and his friends moved in next door, and they were holding a wii tournament to get to know their neighbors. it was easy to say that timmy was the only neighbor who could make it. it was easy to tell timmy that it felt like they’ve known him forever. it was easy to relearn the boy with buckteeth.

he had relearned the mind with ease. timmy still had a weird adoration for the superhero with the red suit (and jimmy knew that it was because the superhero had a weird face just like him. timmy told him under the stars when it was just the two of them. timmy did not know that jimmy knew.) he still thought his elementary school teacher was weird. he still laughed at sex jokes and won every single mario kart tournament they hosted. it was still timmy.

he could not find the fairies.

(that’s a lie.)

he had looked everywhere he possibly could. he had found mr. crocker with the sole purpose of stealing his portal to fairy world. he had dug through every nook and cranny in timmy’s bedroom when he was out with the others for anything even remotely fairy-like—he had torn open the space between the creases of the world and clawed at the grabbable, holdable, air in front of him.

(he found them.)

but he did not give up. he had promised timmy that he would save him. he had clutched his hand tight and held it against his chest (his heart) as he told timmy that failure was not an option; as he told him that he fixed everything broken.

(they were with a girl with frizzy black hair. they pulled him aside when they saw him and told him that they can’t do anything to help him. that he should let timmy be happy. that ignorance is bliss.)

and, well, jimmy’s always been stubborn; he had no other option but to keep going.

but now jimmy’s attending timmy’s nineteenth birthday party, and time seems to stop as he realizes that the boy singing karaoke is not someone he recognizes.

jimmy does not recognize the boy who stands in front of him, carefree and happy as he sings a duet about russian spies with danny, a boy who he has only known for a year. jimmy does not recognize the way that he does not wear three earrings in his pierced right ear (green pink and purple) or the way that he does not immediately find jimmy in the crowd when singing the verse that annoys him (he always made sure to sing that verse extra loud, just to get on jimmy’s bad side).

jimmy recognizes his body and his smile and his laugh, but he cannot lie to himself for any longer. that boy in front of him is a changed boy without his memories.

and jimmy cannot convince himself that timmy is the same boy he was a year ago with enough hope.

that’s fine. he tells himself, as he watches timmy hand the microphone to manny before walking off stage and towards him. he can relearn timmy. he can learn what the difference is between an adolescent and an amnesiac version of his friend.

(he finds that he does not like the answer.)

“are you enjoying your birthday?” jimmy asks, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his knuckles. he tries to look at timmy in a way that he hasn’t looked at him since he was twelve and timmy was eleven and they were about yeigh-high.

he watches as timmy grabs manny’s shot glass and drowns it with a smile. jimmy flinches when it gets slammed on the table. the old-timmy took an oath against alcohol (it reminded him of his mom).

“yeah!” he says, and then his face twists in the way that suggests he’s trying to recall a memory that was lost as soon as he turned eighteen. “i don’t really recall ever having a birthday as good as this one.”

“that’s good,” jimmy says.

and the conversation ends there.

jimmy cringes, uncurling his fingers from where they rest underneath his chin and dragging his nails against the skin of his cheeks. he had never been forced to endure the tortures of awkward silence six, four, two years ago.

“timmy,” jimmy says cautionary, because he is stepping on egg-shells around a man that he once held so dear. “are you happy?”

timmy does not physically recoil, but jimmy can see the shock in his eyes. he does not respond right away, but the faint line of a smile in his lips is all the proof jimmy needs.

“yeah,” timmy says, looking down at what’s left in the shot glass in his hands. he swishes the contents around with a soft grin. “i got a b on that essay i had to write about that book i told you about! that was pretty cool.”

jimmy hums, but he’s not really paying attention. not in a way that matters.

(“timmy,” jimmy asks, because he had just entered the room after getting off a call with his parents, and they were alone. “are you happy?”

“what’s all this about?” timmy asks with a grin, making himself comfortable on the armrest as he turned to look at jimmy. jimmy knows timmy; he knows the way that his smile doesn’t quite match his eyes, and the way that his voice twangs with anger.

“are you happy?” jimmy repeats, because it’s really as simple as that. “when you were eleven, you had those calls with your parents daily; and you always ended them upset. you seethe about anything to do with babysitters—spongebob bought those books about that babysitting club from a garage sale and you threw them away almost instantly.”

and it’s obvious what jimmy’s hinting at. are you happy? can timmy turner ever truly be happy? can timmy turner have memories of sleeping on cold unfurnished floors after being locked in the basement and be happy? can timmy turner have memories of getting lashed as a child and be happy? can timmy turner have the memories of his childhood and be happy?

jimmy doesn’t think so.

but the worst part is, jimmy doesn’t think timmy turner can be timmy turner without his memories. 

it is the question of the ship of theseus. if it is the same body (that jimmy touches with tender fingers and loves with adoring gazes) and the same hands (that have touched and loved and prayed) and the same hair (that jimmy has ran his hands through so many times), but it does not have the same memories (it does not remember gentle nights alone, or holding jimmys hand as they run through the night, or being held in the lap of a loved one as he cards his fingers through his hair and tells him stories) is it the same man?

“yeah,” timmy says, but he says it with the smile doesn’t quite match his eyes. jimmy knows this. “i could always be happier, though.”

“how so?” jimmy asks, entertaining timmy’s attempts to change the topic.

“maybe if i had my loving boyfriend by my side while i made dinner,” timmy says, reaching his hand over and entangling his fingers with jimmy’s (and does a happy timmy turner remember this sweet moment? unimportant and unnecessary but so sickingly them?)

“you’re so corny,” jimmy says, but timmy grins and jimmy decides to push all thoughts of greek heroes and longingly grand gestures in the back of his mind.)

timmy turner says that he is happy with a smile that reaches his eyes.

and jimmy’s heart breaks, because he knows that if it is a choice between timmy being happy and forgetting, or timmy being sad and remembering, he will pick timmy every time.

no matter how much he can convince himself that he is enough, jimmy neutron knows that he will never be able to replace the burden that comes with forgetting.

nobody can.

and so timmy turner smiles about college essays and karaoke nights, because he has never known about a life harder.

(jimmy cries, later that night, running hands through his own hair and prodding gentle fingers against skin. he wishes he wasn’t cursed with the knowledge of remembering. he wishes he could forget like timmy).

and timmy comes to their next house with a grin. he is nineteen years old, and happier than jimmy has ever seen him

[reneeub]

I am so normal about the possibilities of how the world where the promise isn't unfulfilled looks

[aster-draws]

Hey so I just finished reading your fic (wanted: dead and alive) in one sitting and. Oh man is it good. Even if it mainly deals with cursory interests for me, it has so many things I am personally interested in. Every character feels right, with a weighted balance that makes them make sense in their world, with consistent characterisation that really helps that weight. They're believable. And then the premise?? Oh my gods the premise. I am a massive fan of angst, whump and hurt/comfort works, especially if the comfort is delayed, and godddsssss yours hit the spot like a refreshing glass of water. And as someone with a (knowingly morbid) interest in medically accurate gore and mostly just medical procedures in general it was beautifully described. Amazing, 10/10, no notes apart from that I loved it.

Oh my word hello and thank you so much!!!!!

Here, have a cover I drew for chapter 2 when I thought I was gonna do comic book-style covers for each chapter (it did not happen)

[fieryphrazes]

in honor of the fourth annual fieryphrazes valentine's day fic, let's look back at past entries, unrelated except for the fact that all my sappy urges were indulged, and of course that beejhawk unites all things under the sun (amen)

2024: 3 a.m.

2023: they say it's spring...

2022: what couples do

2021 (inaugural): makeout creek

[longtallglasses]

also while i’m at it. i’ve been utterly obsessed and possessed with a byler retirement home/community au… set in 1996, mike and will are 76 and they’ve lived quite different lives. doing the utmost research i’ve ever done for a fic. here’s a first glance run-in :’) at the movie theater

[the-sparkling-diamond-satine]

if you title this you could post the first few chapters already!!! (for the wip ask game lol)

WIP Ask Game! tw: abuse implied

But Christian isn’t looking at her face. His gaze is currently fixed on Satine’s wrist where—Satine notices as if in slow motion and with a lurch of her stomach—the sleeve of her coat has ridden up and a nasty purple bruise is on full display. Unable to adjust her sleeve with her hands full of coffee cups, Satine rotates her arm but it’s too late; the damage has been done. “Are you alright?” Christian asks, reaching for her arm. His touch is as warm as Satine remembers but she flinches back from it as if it’s scalding hot. “I’m fine.” “I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Christian asks, searching her eyes. “Not at all,” Satine hastens to reassure him, realizing too late that she probably should have taken that excuse when it was offered to her, that flinching away from something that didn't hurt is suspicious while flinching away from something that did is reasonable. “Nothing to worry about,” Satine tries next, “just one of the hazards of live theatre. The show has a lot of lifts and I bruise easily. You’ll see tonight—the dancing is incredible,” Satine says, trying to get him back on topic of opening night.

[theflowerkingdom]

I just read art heist, baby! And oh my gosh this work is literally one of the best pieces of media out there. All of it is good, the ending is heartbreaking and indescribable, and the characterization of everyone is so good. This being people’s hobbies is wild

[tantumuna]

what's crazy to me is multiple times i've received encouragement to start drawing again, even when i mention that the only reason i've considered drawing again is as a desperate ploy for attention

but whenever i talk about my writing i either get ignored or told to "write for yourself"

like just tell me you don't value writing as an art form. it'll be easier than having to dance through whatever the fuck this is

[silverselfshippingchaos]

almost k.yohei and i's 3rd anniversary... I know I posted about it a few days ago, but I'm so excited again!!

[simpingforclaudette]

Hoffheight headcanon: Adam likes to secretly take pictures of Mark but Mark insists that Adam destroys all of them. Adam complains and says that he can’t help but want to take pics when Mark looks so good all of the time but he’s having none of it. Over time he finds something cute about the way Adam takes pictures and is beginning to find the annoying photographer a welcome distraction from his thoughts. He still insists Adam doesn’t photograph him, but one day, Adam’s developing his pictures and he sees one of himself sleeping that Mark took. He suddenly notices a warm presence beside him and startles but Mark just leans in and huskily whispers “You still can’t take pictures of me but….” He reaches over and plucks the pic of Adam out of his hands “I think I’ll keep this for myself”

Hoffheight is my life blood

this is genuinely SO GOOD wth!!!

it really fits w/ my hc that mark has the tendency of staring at adam when adam's not looking.

also i just love the concept of mark casually admiting to stalking him & breaking into his place so much for some reason??? it's such a mark thing to do imo.

also him using adam's OWN CAMERA to take pictures of him is so?? brain chemistry-altering concept!!

i can see a couple different scenarios come out of this:

adam is shook. the reason he started taking pics of mark in the first place is because he was lowkey infatuated with the man for reasons he doesn't understand (and maybe doesn't want to because he knows what mark's capable of and he thinks he's a weirdo for liking him). so mark taking pictures of him means that he's also interested and he doesn't know what to do with that. he's terrified. but also arroused.

adam immediately freaks the fuck out. he starts following mark, screaming a thousand questions at him without receiving a single answer. then mark abruptly turns around, stares at him right in the eyes and asks him (with that same husky voice) how it feels to be on the receiving end of voyeurism/stalking. and adam immediately shuts up.

adam freaks out. the photography stuff wasn't meant to be serious. it was meant to be a joke, a little something to lighten the mood around the other apprentices (and cope with the fact that he finds mark incredibly attractive). he never thought mark would actually play into it. and he didn't JUST play into it. he BROKE into his place without him noticing!! he KNOWS where he lives!! so he becomes paranoid. he locks everything he can around his appartment. doors, windows... (he never considers the idea that maybe he's actually locking himself in his appartment WITH mark cause he's kinda stupid). bonus points if mark lets him know that he's very much aware of what he's doing and that it's completely useless.

god i love the concept of mark terrorizing adam (it's his love language).

also your last comment is so fucking real bruh. hoffheight is love, hoffheight is life!!

i really hope u enjoy my reply i really pourred my heart out here <3