#nicky writes

[n1ckys]

WELCOME TO MY BLOG

nicky ᡣ𐭩 he/it

matthew’s secret bf (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

writer & boyblogger

[nicknacknightmare]

Guys quick question, if I were to get an Ao3 and post my writings there:

[when-sanpape-arts]

Absentee father. Prince of Hell. Pisser of Fire

[thoughtkick]

You can't change how people treat you or what they say about you. All you can do is change how you react to it.

Nicky Gumbel

[kevindavidday]

while i love seeing kevin in cunty professional clothes i do firmly believe he should walk around in just his boxers

[pretzlforpresident]

Sonadowtober day 7: Paranormal

Organized by @sonadowtober :>

+ Bonus doodle that I was going to finish but didn’t have enough energy

[ninyard]

Neil finding out about rpf and proceeding to show everybody the fics he’s in. Neil being fascinated and weirded out that somebody is writing about him and the team have to act shocked as if they haven’t been reading fan fiction about themselves since they got signed

[millportisntreal]

Socmed AU: Cats edition!! Still cannot believe that Sir and King are ec cannon but godbless because I could live off of domestic!andreil please and thank you. Also fun fact that photo is my friend’s cat Westley and I crocheted that little hat for him when I was cat sitting!!

Oops forgot to tag the socmed homies on my first posting!! @sapphoherselz @codename-adler @kevinsdsy

Check out more of my socmed au here <3

[actual-changeling]

do you think agatha used magic to create nicky's grave or did she dig it with her own two hands—born and buried from scratch?

did she bury her fingers in the ground over and over, fingers that had been running through his hair, braiding flowers into it, hands that had held him for too short a time? did she dig and dig until her nails were black with dirt—life-giving soil, graveyard earth, death spread through it like roots, like an infection.

like something she loved once upon a time and can still feel festering within her chest, a wound she refuses to stitch back together.

agatha sees her loves in the flowers sprouting around her as she digs and digs and digs; at some point, she begins to sing. her words come broken and low, gaining weight with every handful of earth cast aside. following his melody, she weaves a spell, a place, an embrace to hold him now that she is forbidden from it. no one will disturb his rest, no one will ever stumble upon his body surrounded by reaching roots that carry the pain of death herself.

lowering him into his grave is not the first admission that he has always been a child of two, but it is the last one for a very, very long while.

agatha sings and imagines two arms breaking through the earth and gently carrying him to another home.

when his grave, his tomb, his stone-soft blooming altar, is complete she washes her hands with river water like she had done five years ago. every act that follows, every betrayal, every bloodless death keeps her palms clean, her skin untainted by anyone or anything lest the memory of him is disturbed.

agatha digs nicky's grave with her own hands until her nails break and her voice is raw. she places the last stone and tears her ribcage open, allowing everything good she had been to sicker into the earth that is her family.

[spilledcoffeeonthefloor]

Andrew getting hurt midgame in an important match and needs to go to hospital

Neil wordlessly and immediately starts taking off his own gear to go with him

Kevin stops him

"what are you doing Neil why are you taking those off? you can't go with him, i care about him too but he'll be fine there. Abby and coach got him."

Neil doesn't answer, in fact, he acts like kevin doesn't even exist. he finishes taking off his gear and goes to grab his duffel

Kevin snatches Neil's duffel before he can grab it

"Neil, don't be stupid, what about exy?"

at this moment, Neil looks at kevin, gives a maniac laugh, and there, kevin sees pure urge to kill

Neil gives him his most murderous look, already angry at who ever jump at Andrew on the court

"Oh poor Kevin, FUCK EXY, FUCK YOU, AND FUCK WHOEVER OPENS THEIR FUCKING MOUTH NEXT. anything happens to Andrew and then you, this whole fucking court with every single fucking person in it is going to fucking burn down to fucking hell"

(Afterwards, Alison wins a bet as someone who insisted Neil cares about Andrew more than exy)

when Andrew was conscious enough Nicky told him what happened 5 times over and over("have u ever heard Neil say fuck exy?? it was awsome. i wish i had it recorder, u could set it as ur ringtone")

[negotiumcrucis]

Yusuf closes the door with a heavy sigh.

The kitchen is dark and quiet, and the stove is cold to the touch. He puts down the parcels he carried all the way from the market, lights the oil lamp and hangs it over the worktable. He does not venture into the adjacent room. There’s no need for that. He knows Nicolò is not home, and he buries the uneasiness it all entails deep inside his chest.

It would not be the first time Yusuf had to dine alone since the winds had turned too strong and too cold, forcing many galleys to stay in port. The taverns are packed full and so is La Sacra Infermeria, where Nicolò has built quite a reputation for himself in the past months. Still, it is Christmas Eve and when Yusuf woke up in the morning, he found a note in Nicolò’s handwriting asking him to bring home meat – rabbit, if he could not find rooster. He could not.

Joe needed to add some finishing touches in the Oratory to get the Conventual Church ready for midnight mass and it was the thought of Nicolò’s cooking that had kept Yusuf company as he worked all day long. The focus demanded by the job made it a bit easier for Yusuf to refuse the food offered by the brothers, though he did not manage to dissuade his fellow workers from shoving a cup of wine in his hands at the end of the day. It was light Sicilian wine, very cheap, sour, sold from the cask, and it had upset Yusuf’s empty stomach as he gulped it all down.

He thought he would feel guilty about downing the wine after, but he did not. The Ramadan had started two weeks before, but the truth was, he had not fasted every single day thence, nor did he sneak out to pray five times a day with the Muslim slaves out in the harbour, but he did watch them bowing towards Mecca as he walked home at the sunset. Nicolò never asked, never judged. His heart understood Yusuf as Yusuf sometimes did not understand himself.

Yusuf lights the logs inside the stove and coaxes the flames into life. He washes his hands and his face, shivering at the contact of the icy water against his naked jaw. Not for the first time, Yusuf wonders if it was truly necessary to shave off his beard. Its absence did not bother him that much during the summer months, but since the weather became wet and chilly, he dearly misses that extra layer of protection.

Nicolò has mourned the loss of Yusuf’s beard since the very start. He made no attempt to disguise his resentment, but in the end, they both agreed it would be easier for Yusuf to pose as an artist from Messina if he did not have a beard. Yusuf could easily replicate a proper Sicilian accent and of course, he knew every single Christian prayer in the world.

He called himself Joseph then. Sometimes, when the brothers were out of earshot, one of his less pious co-workers would jest that, while Yusuf was busy painting fluffy wings, an angel was probably paying his Virgin Mary a visit. It was easy to laugh at the blasphemous joke, and it made all the hard work a tad lighter. Yusuf took everything in stride, yet he could not help thinking about Nicolò, who was definitely far from a virgin – though sometimes he could blush like one, especially the times Yusuf kissed and licked him between his legs, his coarse stubble turning Nicolò’s pale skin red.

The thought of Nicolò naked and squirming under him brings some heat to Yusuf’s lower belly, but it’s not enough to chase away the cold from his bones. That coldness, Yusuf knows, has less to do with the weather and more with the emptiness in his soul, something that only grew since Quỳnh was taken. They did not have time to deal with that emptiness for decades when they searched for her in every port, from the North Sea to the coast of Africa and around the Mediterranean.

They would have continued searching for her forever if it had not been for Andromache, who sneaked out one night, leaving behind nothing but a note telling them she had to do this alone for a while. Nicolò wanted to follow their remaining sister no matter what and followed her they did. They were two steps behind Andromache for almost three years until they ended up stranded in Melita during a storm.

The islands have been under the Knights Hospitaller’s rule for half a century then, teeming with people from all over the Mediterranean. Yusuf reasoned that if there was a sailor left alive who knew anything about a witch locked in an iron coffin and thrown into the sea, they would eventually sail their way into the Grand Harbour. So far, none did, but they have lost Andromache’s track, so they decided to keep themselves busy, nursing the wounds in their hearts as they tried to do some good.

Yusuf had grown used to going without his daily prayers during their search. They were in constant move, and every new lead that led them nowhere chipped off a piece of his faith. He promised himself he would do better when they found Quỳnh, and it felt like a bargain he had little to offer in return. Then when became if and eventually, his despair festered into a wound that he felt bleeding under his skin.

More than once, Yusuf woke up feeling as if he was drowning in that very blood, with the taste of salt and rust on his tongue where he had sunk his teeth into. And maybe, if he could multiply that feeling by a thousand, maybe he would be able to grasp a fraction of what Quỳnh was feeling. More than once, Yusuf found himself praying, but it felt hollow – as if no one was listening. Eventually, Yusuf stopped, and at night he buried his face into Nicolò’s neck, weeping in silence as he realised maybe he should pray for his sister to die instead.

If it was Nicolò in her place, what would Yusuf do? How would he even live?

A shiver runs through his body as those thoughts run amok, and Yusuf stokes the flames in the stove with more force than necessary. Nicolò is on his way. Nicolò is coming home. He left a note in the morning, they made plans to spend the night together. No one has found out about them, no one has overheard them making love in the dead of the night, no one has seen either of them heal too fast from a too-deep cut. No one is coming for them. They will be fine.

Yusuf closes his eyes for a moment, calming his heart. He takes a deep breath and picks up a knife to cut the rabbit meat into smaller pieces. He does the same with carrots, onions, and garlic.

The work in the kitchen distracts him from his daunting thoughts, from his fear. In a way, it’s similar to painting. Once you get the sketch done and it’s only a matter of covering layers, you need to focus on your task, your mind does not get to wander too far, otherwise, your work will be ruined. So Yusuf focuses on the menial tasks at hand and he does not think about Nicolò and his whereabouts. He cooks and he waits.

The stew is bubbling by the time Yusuf overhears the door open behind him. He stirs the pot over the stove once before turning to look at his heart. Nicolò’s face is pink from the cold, and he smiles brightly when their eyes meet. Nicolò only takes the time to remove his shoes before he eagerly bridges the space between them, pressing their foreheads together. As Yusuf feels their breathing mingle, he thinks, there is nothing more sacred than this.

“My heart,” Yusuf whispers, kissing Nicolò’s cheek and then his lips. He tastes the cold wind in them, and he wonders if Nicolò can taste the sourness of the wine in his. “You had me worried.”

Nicolò’s eyes soften, and he kisses Yusuf back with intent, before hoovering over his shoulder to inspect the stew. There’s a pained look on his face and Yusuf knows he’s feeling guilty.

“It’s no matter,” Yusuf says sincerely. “It’s not often I get to make you Christmas dinner.”

Keep reading

A little old something I wrote for the holidays <3

[nicknacknightmare]

Lads I FINALLY woke up fast enough to document one of the sonic game dreams I have constantly before I forgot the entire plot. I'm bouta put Sonic the THE cringes Hawaiian shirt

[dykekarkat]

mbav au for aftg is just

nicky: TWINS now that erik has moved in with us we're going on mandatory date nights every friday BUT FEAR NOT i found someone to watch you while we're gone :)

twins: ???? nicky we're 18 what do you mean.

nicky: yes but last time i left you alone a cop car was stolen and mysteriously found in a lake

twins: you have no proof that was us

nicky: SO i found a very trustworthy babysitter. he's in the grade below you but ive heard he's an upstanding young man

twins: ...are you paying someone to be our friend....

nicky: :)

twins: what does kevin not count?? he's responsible !

nicky: yeah responsible enough to go along with you for "safety" but not to stop you.

*enter recently turned fledgling vampire neil on the run from his serial killer father and also the vampire who turned him (riko)* hello im mr.responsible.

[kevindavidday]

as shifty as they were when they were younger, at the actual age that andreil are at do you think they've got the potential to be friendly strangers? like not overly friendly but the kind of people who understand what being human is

think about it, the experience of living a sheltered life and neil is standing behind someone in the grocery line, watching them unable to scour up money for ramen and water so he pays for it to help things along

andrew watching a little kid peer into his mega expensive car of the year and the kid gets scared of him and moves aside but andrew opens the door moves back, tells the kid he can have a look its fine

do you think they would interfere by force if they ever saw something bad happening in front of them? neil on his runs stopping to help someone cross the road, feeding stray cats in alleyways, yk the people who know what struggle is and don't want it for anyone else?

idk if they're the type to shrug off injustice so easily, i feel like whatever they learnt as children is buried deep inside the caution and fear of strangers and all but maybe what wymack taught them would rise to the surface too cuz if wymack hadn't chosen to help them they wouldn't be alive either

[perfectquote]

You can't change how people treat you or what they say about you. All you can do is change how you react to it.

Nicky Gumbel

[surqrised]

You can't change how people treat you or what they say about you. All you can do is change how you react to it.

Nicky Gumbel