#three sentences fic

[the-marron]

For the three sentence prompt: pumpkin

Thank you 😘 I apologise in advance. It's crack. I have no other associations with pumpkins.

"Come, come, give me the pumpkin, we will make it into a fine chariot and then you will get to meet the Guardian, and then it gets back to normal!" Kunlun exclaimed, pushing at Shen Wei's robes, trying to make him move faster, but it was hard to concentrate on anything when faced with someone as amazing as Kunlun, a mysterious stranger that appeared right in front of Shen Wei's hut and started to urge him to go and meet some 'Zhao Yunlan the Guardian' the moment he saw Shen Wei: no man could possibly be more fascinating than Kunlun, with his green robes, his twinkling eyes and a smile so warm it made Shen Wei blush.

"Can't I just stay here with you, you are company enough and... And this is a very good pumpkin, it would be a shame to waste it, it would taste great," Shen Wei replied, hoping for Kunlun to be seduced by the pumpkin sufficiently enough to indeed stay and share a meal, a conversation, or just stay forever.

Kunlun's expression turned a little helpless, but the shake of his head was rather fond than exasperated, even if he did mutter something about 'it going better when they were stuck in the Sleeping Beauty', whichever that was, but he sat down on the poor pumpkin and looked up at Shen Wei almost pleadingly, yet there was absolutely no need to meet the Guardian - Shen Wei would gladly stay stuck here with Kunlun for as long as he can.

[monstersflashlight]

can i request just a short bit of text about a zombie that just wants to eat pussy instead of brains? like he’s completely uninterested the traditional zombie snack and just spends his time buried between his non-zombie girlfriends thighs.

tw: dub-con

When you first met him, he was walking along a run down supermarket, you tried to be quiet, but he heard you, turning around in the most movie like move ever. You ran, but he was one of those who were faster than you. But to your surprise, when he caught you, he didn't try to bite your head off like others did, he whined and tried to get your pants off until you relented.

He spent hours eating you out as you tried to muffle your sounds, he was incredibly talented with his tongue, to the point that by the time he seemed more clear minded, you took him with you, enjoying his mindless tongue every time he was hungry for some pussy (which was pretty much constantly). Maybe the zombie apocalypse wasn't that bad.

[strangerstilinski]

!! making steve cum just from licking and sucking at the skin at the very bottom of his tummy and his soft hairy thighs !!

he starts off with his normal pleas for you to ‘please. pretty please touch my cock, honey’ his grip is bruising where his hands are clinging tight to your own while you hold his hips. as he gets closer and closer to his peak his words devolve into these guttural sounds that you can hardly even make out, but make your tummy twist all the same. intelligible moans and gasps and the most intoxicating choked little grunts. he nearly doesn't think he'll survive past the sharp ache of arousal pooling in his balls while you leisurely suck pretty little hickies into his skin. but he does survive. eventually it crest over into something entirely all-consuming, and that's when he really breaks. he's got sweat dripping down the length of his neck and tickling at the base of his throat, his chest hair damp and shining with it. his leaking cock kicking up against his tummy with every biting kiss you leave to his skin. the sounds leaving his mouth have surpassed pornographic. garbled praises giving way to wanton moans. and when your mouth trails down to the space where his thigh meets his heavy balls, you give the gentlest of sucks to the soft skin and your nose just barely nudges the base of his cock and he's cumming with a cry. hips bucking and cock twitching as his spend shoots onto his freckled abdomen, the pearly liquid spilling out over the rapidly darkening red splotches from your mouth. and he cums so much, so hard, that a few drops manage to catch all the way up where his chest hair curls over his collarbones

[mrsoharaa]

Gojo Satoru, who has you sat upon the medical table of Shoko's lab while heavily making out with you. Squeezes his way in between the open space in between your legs, caresses the curves of your waist with one hand as the other clasp gently yet, intently, along the juncture of your jaw. Literally, stealing every hefty breath from you. Grumbled and muffled moans sputter against the softness of his perfectly glossed lips from your own, your own hands finally finding refuge through the snowy locks that settled upon his head.

So lost in the spiraling torrid sensation of your entangled tongues and lapping lips, you haven't even recognized the familiar presence shadowing just right outside of the door. Arms crossing over one another, within the sleeves of his robes, and a tiny, wicked grin spreading across his cheeks.

Who would've thought, that after these long, pretentious ten years of no contact...he would find his two (former) best friends, his ex lover (you), indulging shamelessly with one another.

[wikiangela]

several sentence sunday

so this is another fic I started on my vacation (I started three, and had one idea I haven't started yet lol - and one is already posted) - also, the two weeks here might change bc I'm struggling with the timeline (which doesn't matter but also it does lol) but I'll figure it out haha

(I'm still writing all my other wips btw, and gonna get to all the asks, but the writing beans have been gone lately, and I've been too exhausted lol - and my brain is so all over the place with my wips, idk what I wanna get to more)

___

Evan knows he’s in love with Tommy about two weeks into their relationship.

(...)

They still barely know each other, but Evan knows. He can’t explain why, can’t explain how, he just knows. Tommy Kinard is it for him.

The moment he realizes it with utmost clarity is nothing special, really. He just spent the night at Tommy’s – not the first one, but it’s still new enough to fill him with nervous, giddy excitement, butterflies swirling in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt in years before Tommy. Everything about Tommy makes him feel like this. Tommy’s eye-crinkling, nose-scrunching adorable smile; Tommy’s eyes, always so fond when he looks at him; Tommy’s lips that taste so amazing Buck never wants to stop kissing him; Tommy’s big, big hands that feels so good in Buck’s, those strong arms and broad shoulders… – just everything about Tommy. At first Buck thought it’s the newness of this, of Tommy, of knowing about his bisexuality. But he’s also gotten so comfortable with Tommy in such a short time, and it doesn't even really feel new anymore, he knows it must be just him, must be Tommy making him feel like a giddy teen with a crush. Except the way this feels… Buck’s a grown man with tons of experience, and he knows how infatuation feels, how a simple crush and attraction feels, how real love feels. And he knows, deep down in his core, in his soul, in his heart, that this is real, that this is definitely more than a crush. This is what love feels like.

___

no pressure tags (lmk if you wanna be added or removed):

@dr-shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @watchyourbuck @ladydorian05 @diazpatcher @monsterrae1 @rainbow-nerdss @pirrusstuff @bucks-daddy-issues @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess @jesuisici33 @steadfastsaturnsrings @diazheartsbuckley @giddyupbuck @thewolvesof1998 @underwaterninja13 @your-catfish-friend @kinard-buckley @evansboyfriend @beyourownanchor6 @weewootruck @kirkaut @jewishbuckley @loveyouanyway @daffi-990 @lonelychicago @reformedplayerbibuck @spotsandsocks @bucked-it-up @theotherbuckley @drcloyd @bidisasterevankinard @tizniz @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @girlwonder-writes @perfectlysunny02 @dadbodbuck

[fastcardotmp3]

thinking about Max and the Munson's living across the way from each other post s3 again, but maybe specifically Max living across the way from Wayne post s3.

Wayne Munson knows what a kid looks like when they hide behind well practiced and carefully crafted defense mechanisms, after all, and he recognizes a kid with too much responsibility on their shoulders.

He sees this teenage girl with the pigtails and the hard eyes who doesn't answer the door when her friends come to call even though Wayne saw her sitting on the porch twenty minutes ago; who is always the one bringing groceries home on foot even when her mom's car is there; whose bedroom light is too frequently on when Wayne gets home before the sun even has the chance to think about rising.

And he's not gonna overstep about it, he has no intention of making this girl uncomfortable because he is a stranger to her and he knows how both he and Eddie look on a first glance, wouldn't blame her for not being entirely trusting, but he keeps an eye out for her anyway.

Tells Eddie too-- "She's home alone a lot, you make sure no one tries takin' advantage, hear?"-- even if Eddie is mostly preoccupied with his own shit most of the time, because if Wayne can recognize a kid hiding, a kid carrying too much around on that skateboard of hers, then Eddie certainly can too.

"You adopting another stray, old man?" is Eddie's response, but he glances out through the blinds at the trailer across the way with a heaviness to his shoulders in understanding at the sight of that girl sitting on the porch with her headphones on and a school book in her lap that she's decidedly not paying any attention.

"Something like that," Wayne claps him on the shoulder, squeezes as he passes by, but he doesn't think anything will really come of it.

There's not much they can do except keep an eye out, carry the Mayfields' paper up to the porch on rainy days so it won't get soggy and unreadable, offer a wave and a kind word and a reminder that "if your Mama ain't home and you need something, you just give us a knock," despite the brush off he gets every time.

And then one night-- one morning really, before the sun is about to rise-- Wayne pulls up at home after his shift to find Eddie standing out in the snow, odd enough in and of itself made odder by the fact he isn't alone.

"--don't know what you think you're gonna accomplish here at four in the goddamned morning, Harrington, but--"

"I mean, that doesn't feel like any of your business."

"You're parked outside my home, yeah it's my business," Eddie gestures broadly at the unfamiliar BMW the two of them are standing next to as Wayne clambers out of his own truck on tired legs and overworked shoulders.

He needs a hot shower, a good, long sleep.

But Eddie is getting in this other kid's face and it's--

"I'm parked outside that home," Harrington, big coat and gloves but thin pajama pants poking out underneath it all, points at the Mayfield trailer with exhausted exasperation and something tinged with a bit more urgency too, "and I don't know you, man, nothing I do is any of your business--"

"Steve come in-- do you have visual yet, over?"

"Jesus Christ," Harrington reaches into the front seat of his car, yanks out a radio that has Wayne's eyebrows shooting up even as he approaches them, the impatient and anxious shift of Eddie's untied sneakers in the December slush. "Gimme a minute," he says into the walkie-talkie, "I told you I'd call when I did."

"Yeah, but it only takes you ten minutes to drive to her place and--"

Harrington shoves the antenna down and shuts the thing off, just as Wayne finally stops beside his nephew with a hand at his elbow.

"Everything alright here, boys?"

Wayne knows his kid, is the thing, so he knows the protective tension in the cross of those arms, the furrow of his brow, knows that Eddie is maybe seeing himself in Max Mayfield a little too fully on this night, dragged out of his bed by god only knows what to argue with a Harrington in the brisk wind of winter.

And Wayne knows his kid, so he recognizes the work of his jaw when he's about to burst out into a spiel to make himself the target instead of whoever he's put behind him this time around, but he doesn't get the chance to start before he's being interrupted.

"Steve, why are you harassing my neighbors."

Flat and unimpressed but shaky around the edges like she's not quite getting enough air, the orange glow of the light inside her trailer spilling out past her into the blue of night as Steve Harrington's legs all but give out with a breath of--

"Oh, thank god," he shuts the door to his car behind him as he takes a few steps closer to him, Eddie trailing like he's ready to literally put his body between them instead of just figuratively, "are you okay?"

"I'm not the one driving around town in the middle of the night, what are you doing here?" she crosses her arms, doesn't leave the cracked doorway at the top of the steps and Harrington doesn't try to climb them either.

And then it's a quick, well-punctuated punch of a conversation in which Wayne feels like he's missing about half the facts, standing by nonetheless.

"Lucas walkied."

"I told him I was fine."

"You called him at three A.M. and hung up on him without explanation," Steve points out surprisingly levelly.

"Yeah. After I told him I was fine."

"Max."

"I thought I wanted to talk about it and changed my mind."

"You know he'd listen."

"I can't-- you know I can't--"

"Yes you can."

"Not about him. Not to Lucas."

"To me, then," Steve throws his hands up in exasperation, and Wayne can feel something crackling in the air.

It's the same thing that had been there the first handful of times Eddie had picked a fight with Wayne after he first moved to Hawkins, looking for the line, looking for how far he could go before it all went to shit again.

Wayne knows this girl, even if he doesn't know her, because years ago he'd brought a boy with a buzzcut for a visit and he'd never left.

Which is maybe why he speaks up even though he knows how that boy would've reacted.

"If you need something, kiddo..."

"I need everyone to leave me alone," she snaps, striding out all the way onto the porch, only the bravado of it falters when the door slams shut behind her and she all but jumps out of her skin. "Fuck. God, shit, that door--"

She opens it again, yanks it nearly off its hinges just to slam it once more like she's trying to break the thing.

And now she's definitely not getting enough air. Now she's--

"Max, hey, alright--"

"Buddy, I dunno--"

"Back off, Munson, this is really not your business," Harrington shoves past Eddie and strides up the steps as Max slumps down onto the top one, arms wrapped around herself and Eddie looks ready to fight but Wayne just.

He doesn't know Steve Harrington, doesn't even really know his family beyond the way of small towns and knowing names and the neighborhoods in which they reside, but he knows a kid in distress leaning towards safety even if they don't believe they deserve it and Max Mayfield is leaning towards him.

Not Wayne, not Eddie, but this kid with the walkie-talkie and-- is he wearing two different shoes?

Wayne waits the compulsory moment to see Max really fall apart, right there into the fabric of Steve's coat as she keeps her hands tucked under her arms but catches her breath with that one point of contact-- forehead to shoulder-- as Steve speaks gently, words getting caught in the wind. As she stutters out rattling feelings right back.

"The door slammed when she left for work and I-- thought he was-- back again-- I thought-- and I shouldn't've-- not Lucas-- not for, for this--"

Wayne crosses the distance between him and Eddie, hand on his shoulder dragging him out of his own head, wherever it is he goes when his gaze goes glassy and tired like it does now in the gray glow of this place as the snow starts up again.

"You did good," Wayne murmurs, tugging Eddie back towards their own home, just across the way. "Good job, Ed, she's gonna be okay."

"She's..." Eddie clears his throat, looks so much younger than he is for a moment.

"Being looked after," Wayne says with a certainty he wouldn't have felt about the matter a day ago, Eddie following him listlessly back up the steps to the unlocked front door. "You did good."

"I didn't do anything," Eddie frowns, the pink of his cheeks and his nose practically glowing once they're inside.

"You showed her you've got her back," Wayne tells him without room for argument, pulling off his winter coat and moving to heat up water on the stove even as Eddie peeks through the curtains again, seemingly unable to accept that nothing bad is going to happen tonight.

Wayne can't be sure what put him in this state of mind, how he even got alerted to Harrington's arrival in the first place, but he knows he'll find his way back to solid ground soon enough.

Hot tea and warm clothes, when Wayne pulls Eddie away from the window, he catches sight of Steve speaking into the walkie with one hand and holding Max to rest against his shoulder with the other.

He'll make sure they get out of the cold before he goes to bed, but for now he has his own kid to sit with in the ghosts of past hauntings brought back to life for the night.

"We gotta keep an eye out for her," Eddie mutters as he accepts the mug Wayne hands him, feet tucked up under a blanket on the couch.

Wayne sits down next to him and props his tired feet up on the coffee table with a heavy breath.

"We will," he says, because he knows there's no discouraging Eddie now.

The kid learned his habit for picking up strays from somewhere, after all.

[wingdingery]

Dick slips in through his window and frowns at the figure sitting upright on the bed, gun cradled in his lap—they didn’t have plans to meet up, as far as he knew, and unplanned meetups were never a good thing between the two of them. “What are you doing here?”

“Take a guess,” Deathstroke says, and takes the shot.

[contentment-of-cats]

Chiss/Human hybrids

1: Chiss are diverged from their Human ancestry. The Chiss hate to admit that Humans are the root of their family tree.

2: Chiss DNA has differences from that of standard Humans, but the remains of the symbiont adapt to hybridization with near-human species. While viable pregnancies are unusual, they are not rare outside of the Ascendancy.

3: However, where there is a Chiss father, those are some big babies. Chiss babies weigh an average of 9 pounds at a full-term birth. This is small when the average Chiss woman is about 6'4" tall. Tell an average 5'6" Human woman that she's having a 9 pound baby and she's probably going to kill you.

4: Chiss women with Human partners get to deliver a average 7 pound baby. Also as far as male Human/female Chiss pairings - "Smaller works harder."

5: Chiss can tell a lot about Humans from infrared (it's called 'getting hot' for a reason) and scent. They can also see the standard Human Blaschko's lines - like tabby stripes - when most humans/near-humans can't. They like the stripes and think we're cute - like tookas.

6: A hybrid child will have the outward appearance of the Chiss parent, but the hair color/texture of the Human parent. The insult 'moactan teel' means 'light-haired' and is also a term for 'impure' ancestry. It also speaks to previous Chiss/Human pairings and thus Human DNA in the vaunted Chiss genome. Likewise, there is Chiss DNA in Human populations from the time of the Sith Wars.

7: A hybrid child will be taller than average for a Human, shorter than average for a Chiss.

8: One reason that the Ascendancy wants diaspora Chiss back in is because they have higher birthrates, but also they do not want Chiss straying to the inner systems. Diaspora Chiss populations are mostly in Wild Space or at the very edges of the Chaos - far out of the normal CEDF patrols. They have orders to bring back any moactan teel as well.

9: Hybrids show a stronger tendency - whether male or female - to have Sight and to have it last into adulthood. This leads to those with the talent for navigation into the Navigators' Guild. The guild will never assign an outlander Chiss or a Chiss hybrid to a Chiss vessel. Hybrids also have talents other than telepathy or navigation.

10: Hybrids are mostly smaller than average for Chiss, taller than average for Humans and have a more slender build. Their bones are lighter, and break more easily than Chiss bones. They are prone to detached retinas and ectopia lentis.

[cutestkilla]

Happy time-has-lost-all-meaning-because-my-kids-are-somehow-still-on-summer-vacation Sunday, and thanks for the tags today @blackberrysummerblog @rimeswithpurple @roomwithanopenfire @shrekgogurt @bookish-bogwitch and

@ivelovedhimthroughworse, I'm excited to read your shares! And also to everyone who keeps tagging me in week after week even though I haven't shared in months.

I've been working on Ch 6 of Hiding Out in the Open for a not insignificant chunk of time, but I've either been too busy doing that or just feeling like it's too rough to share. Until today. (So convenient that I feel like it’s ready to share since I’m posting it tomorrow for my dearest @artsyunderstudy's birthday ❤️😂.)

Please join me for our irregularly scheduled Baz spiral which I think might(?) technically be six sentences:

Snow’s kissing my neck now, working his way along my throat in a way that turns my insides to jelly. So naturally, it’s the perfect time for Father’s voice to join the cursed chorus of doubts in my head. Even though he seemed resigned when I called last week to break the news that actually I would be abandoning the hallowed halls of Oxford for the unwashed masses of the LSE in the autumn—thank you for that Daphne—he still managed to forward one brand new objection I can’t seem to completely set aside. “Your aunt tells me you’ve been…seeing someone” —(faithless hag)—“and while I certainly hope you have better judgement than to do this because of a”—he’d pointedly cleared his throat at this point—“romantic entanglement, it remains my duty as your father to warn you. You cannot pin your hopes and dreams on the fickle affections of a twenty-year-old boy”—(yes, ambiguously referring to a twenty-year-old boy who could also be me is the closest my father has ever come to acknowledging my sexuality)—“because while it may feel like it’s forever right now, believe me when I tell you that young love very rarely lasts. Basil—please don’t throw it all away over some silly summer fling that’ll be over before Samhain.”

Tags and hellos for all under the cut, and since Sunday is basically over please consider this a tag in for Wednesday when I may also miraculously share something (or not because I'm taking my kids to a fair).

@hushed-chorus @whatevertheweather @emeryhall @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @aristocratic-otter

@bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @skeedelvee @thewholelemon @monbons

@fatalfangirl @whogaveyoupermission @captain-aralias @j-nipper-95 @iamamythologicalcreature

@raenestee @ileadacharmedlife @onepintobean @martsonmars @brilla-brilla-estrellita

@angelsfalling16 @best--dress @run-for-chamo-miles @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @ic3-que3n

@larkral @letraspal @messofthejess @moodandmist @mooncello

@nightimedreamersworld @orange-peony @palimpsessed @prettygoododds @noblecorgi

@stitchyqueer @technetiumai @that-disabled-princess @theearlgreymage @urban-sith

@valeffelees @youarenevertooold @cosmicalart @wellbelesbian @alexalexinii

@forabeatofadrum @supercutedinosaurs @theimpossibledemon

[peaches2217]

How about 90 and 85 for Mario and Luigi for the prompt challenge?

90: “Remember when we were little?” + 85: “Take my jacket. It’s cold outside.”

"Hey'ey'ey," Mario called from the kitchen before Luigi had so much as touched the doorknob, "it's cold outside! Take my jacket."

He had a second set of eyes, Luigi was convinced, embedded into the back of his head and cleverly camouflaged within his thicket of unruly curls. He scoffed affectionately. "Okay, Mamma."

"Was that supposed to be some kind of a burn? It's an honor to be like Mamma!" Mario stepped out of the kitchen to join his brother in the foyer as he spoke, his sleeves still rolled to his elbows and an apron stained with sauce still tied around his waist. He hardly even looked at Luigi as he nabbed his faded red jacket from the coat hanger, and, without another word, tossed it over the taller brother's shoulders.

Luigi could fit into Mario's clothes just fine, if not perfectly; they were both too short and too large, swallowing him whole despite barely even reaching his hips. It wasn't too cold tonight. He wouldn't protest. "Nah," he laughed, letting Mario guide his arms into the jacket's arm holes, "you're worse than Mamma."

"As if that's my fault," Mario teased right back, hands flecked with odd spices fumbling at the jacket's zipper. "Remember when we were little? You wore my jacket more than I did!"

"And you'd think at least one of us never grew up. Still treating your baby bro like a helpless lil' bambino all these years later, honestly."

Mario's head snapped up and his hands fell from the half-zipped jacket, and Luigi realized, looking into his widened eyes, that he thought he was being serious. Mario's hovering didn't come from a place of distrust or infantilization. That was just how he was. That was how he showed love.

Luigi's grin brightened as he zipped the rest of the way up. He wouldn't trade that quirk for the world. "Oh, quit looking guilty and get back to making dinner. We're both gonna wither away standing around here."

Mario's uncertainty melted away, and he grinned right back, reaching up to ruffle Luigi's hair. "I'll have your plate ready by the time you get back."

"You'd better!" With a quiet laugh and an exchange of Ti voglio benes, Luigi tugged the jacket's hood over his head and stepped out into the darkness of the evening.

[reinedeslys-central]

more!! again!! for the nico after blood of olympus fic!! actually I thought of this while writing the last one but I just finished it.

His elbows buckle and he lets himself fall into Will, snorting at his theatrical groan under the weight. They lay there for a second until Will shoves him gently, and Nico lets him manoeuvre them into a more comfortable position.

"Hi," he whispers, moving a curl away from his cheek. The greenish tint of the loft window casts a weird shadow over Will's face.

"Hey yourself," Will murmurs back, winking.

Nico rolls his eyes. "You look like Apollo when you do that. Please stop." Will squawks in protest.

"I do not! Also, since when do you remember what Apollo looks like? Actually, no, don't answer that, you can't bring up my dad while we're in bed, Nico, why would you do this to me?"

Now it's Nico's turn to sputter and whack Will in the chest - getting another dramatic oof and a laugh in return - before turning around to face Hazel's bed. He's not sure when he'll ever be able to sleep facing the wall. Will can't do it either.

As Will's arms curl around his waist and draw him back against him, just like they did back in the infirmary that one day, he thinks maybe he'd be okay trying that with him sometime. One day, in a house with gates, no longer wary of monsters.

Will noses the back of his neck, causing him to twitch. "What is it?"

Will's answering smile presses through the rough cotton of his t-shirt. "Nothing, sunshine."

Nico frowns under the covers. "Hey, what do you think of houses with gates?" He whispers.

"Gates? Well, it'd be safer, I guess, but we'd lose the neighbours coming over -"

"As if you want to see random people at the door anyway. What if they're monsters?"

"Oh, come on, darlin', I'm from Austin. Of course I gotta keep space for the neighbours to come knocking."

"…Fences? Actually, hey, why'd you assume I was talking about us? Obviously - Obviously I was talking about random. Random houses. For architecture reasons."

Will muffles his laugh into the back of his neck, again. "Oh, my bad. And I'm only here because you ripped a stitch on the lava wall yesterday."

Nico feels his ears warm.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything."

"..Still."

Will reels him in closer until his back hits his chest and he can press a soft peck to Nico's still-red ears. "I think a fence is a great idea, by the way. We could ask Hazel for help with some ward stones too, like you have in the cabin. Gotta make sure we've got at least one window and standing space in every direction, though, or at least in the east, because you know my dad would sulk if he didn't get to scream me awake in the morning."

Nico's blush gets worse.

"Now who's talking about your dad in bed?" He gives up on pretending. Will sees him through every time, anyway. "Also, shrines, obviously, and we need a spot to stargaze."

"Yeah, shrines, obviously. Maybe just yours, mine, and Lady Hestia's though, or else everyone else is gonna get pissy."

Nico barks out a laugh like it's shocked out of him. "Pissy? Don't let them hear you say that."

Will holds him tighter and settles against the pillows. "Sure thing, sunshine. Now can we sleep?"

"Yeah, yeah."

It's not long after that that Will's breath evens out behind him, his muscles untensing. Nico knows he's got a few minutes yet, so he thinks.

Today was…. good.

Today was nice. Normal, even. Just a day of camp schedules, working in the infirmary, an admittedly short campfire, and this. No monsters, and no mistakes. No deaths, but..

Unbidden, the moments in the infirmary come to mind. He thinks of helping Will scrub in for his one surgery of the day, a kid that had gotten parts of an arrow stuck in their leg a week ago and hadn't noticed til yesterday. He thinks of yesterday during capture-the-flag, stepping in and desperately trying to copy what he'd watched Will do, because Lydia was hanging crooked from a tree and there was no one else around but him-

He thinks of Patroclus tying the straps of Achilles' armour, watching his lover sleep peacefully. He thinks of what Connor had told him about at the campfire weeks ago, of Silena Beauregard taking on a drakon when Clarisse declared the Ares Cabin wouldn't be fighting.

He thinks he might understand.

Lydia wasn't the same (thank the gods), but if there was something to be done that only Will could do right, yet couldn't, and the only way Nico could take up his mantle would be to die trying - then, yeah. He'd do whatever it would take for these kids. To do what Will would do. He's gone to Tartarus already, hasn't he? At worst, he'd try his best and greet his father early if he failed to survive. Nico could even give Charon a tip on the way in for the hell of it, why not?

If there is a luxury that comes from being a child of Hades, after all, it is that dying is not the thing that scares him.

There's a brazier still lit outside the window. Its glow falls in slits across their bed.

Will grumbles, pushing his feet forward until their ankles are wound together. The sheets shift.

Nico smiles into the dark, into the chirping of crickets and the soft glow of the fireflies out the window, and falls asleep.

more for this fic:

scene 0 - prologue-ish scene 1 - the library of social awkwardness or here (or in my heart, 'kidney function is not a right, it's a privilege' lol)

general writing directory

also lmk if you want more lore. I am so down to talk about this fic + the worldbuilding ideas I have for it in the notes it is unreal

[skyward-floored]

Alright, everyone who wanted a continuation for the three sentence fics for pinned and searching, here you go! I made this longer then it needed to be but that’s ok it was fun *looks guiltily at other things I’m supposed to be writing* ...heh.

Warning for some blood, injury, and uhhh being stuck under a collapsed cave.

——————————————————————

Warriors shut his eyes a moment, trying to focus despite the pain in his middle and the small space he was trapped in that felt like it was closing in around him. He needed to get himself and Wild out of here in one piece, but he had no clue how on earth he was going to do that.

Warriors breathed out, and felt around the hand he’d found, trying to brush the debris off of it. He couldn’t reach any further then a little past the wrist though, and he couldn’t tell how buried Wild was.

He needed to get himself out first, it seemed.

Warriors swallowed and momentarily let go of Wild’s hand, feeling around the large thing he himself was trapped under. It felt heavy, but Warriors tried to shift it anyway, gasping as pure agony burned up his side at the movement.

He fell still again and panted as he waited for the pain to go down, coughing out some of the dust coating his lungs. Even once the worst of it faded, there was still a sharp pulse of pain that remained in his middle, somewhere near his ribs or lungs. Warriors didn’t know for sure, but either way it hurt, and that along with the fact that he was half buried, he knew he wouldn’t be able to free himself or Wild.

It looked like they’d just have to wait for rescue.

Warriors felt out Wild’s hand again, wishing he could move the fabric away from his wrist and check his pulse. It was too thick for him to feel anything, but the angle was wrong for him to pull it off. All he could do was hope Wild was still breathing, that the rest of him was okay.

I don’t even know if his head is uncovered, he thought suddenly, panic stealing his breath . He might be too buried to breathe, I don’t even know if his head is okay, who’s to say it wasn’t bashed in by a rock and I’m holding the hand of a—

A weak cough interrupted his spiraling panic, and Warriors froze, his heart thudding in his ears. Another followed it, faint and rasping, and the fingers in Warriors’ grip twitched just a little.

“Champion?” he asked, barely daring to breathe.

The coughing faded, followed by a wavering inhale, and Warriors held tighter to the hand in his.

“Wild?” he asked again, trying desperately to see though the darkness. He couldn’t make out a thing, but he was certain he hadn’t imagined the noises. Unless of course, he was starting to run out of air and was hallucinating things. Which was always a possibility.

“...W-Wars..?” a voice finally croaked, and Warriors breathed out a sigh of relief, ignoring the ache that shot up his middle due to it. Looks like we still have some air yet.

“Yeah. Yeah, ‘s me,” Warriors whispered back, giving the hand in his a squeeze.

“Wh-what...” Wild stammered, his voice weak and crackling, “wh... where..?”

“Wild, are you hurt?” Warriors asked, and it was quiet for a second.

“...Dunno. Th-think... ‘m arm h’rts...”

Something faintly rumbled in the distance, and Warriors held his breath as a few stray pebbles fell on his face. It faded again moments later, but he thought the pressure on his middle had slightly increased with the noise.

Wild’s breath suddenly hitched. “W’re... buried.”

Warriors breathed out. “Yeah.”

Wild’s breath hitched again, and the hand in Warriors’ began to shake, fingers fumbling as they tried to clutch at Warriors’.

“Wild, hey, easy,” Warriors breathed, holding more tightly to his hand, but he could hear Wild’s breathing speed up.

“No... n-no I can’t—”

“Wild, calm down,” Warriors said in as clear of a voice as he could, then coughed, the pain in his middle feeling worse. That’s starting to hurt an awful lot. “The... the others ‘ll come.”

“W’re buried,” Wild gasped, panic making him cough, and Warriors heard rubble shift, like Wild was trying to move. “W-Wars I can’t—”

“Wild. Listen,” Warriors said in a commanding voice, ignoring the urge to cough again. “You need to stay calm. I don’t kn-know how much air w-we have, we need to stay... calm.”

He grabbed firmly at Wild’s hand, and Wild clutched back at it, his breath still rasping loudly in the enclosed space.

“‘S too small,” Wild whispered, fingers shaking as he clung to Warriors’ hand. “Too... tight, ‘s like the... too small.”

Wild’s voice was small and scared, lacking the usual bright and teasing quality it almost always held. Warriors squeezed his eyes shut as he ran his fingers over Wild’s, then reopened them, trying to think past the fog trying to overtake his senses. Something was trying to break through it, an idea of sorts that they could use to get out, but it hadn’t succeeded yet.

“‘M not a fan of smaller spaces either,” Warriors admitted in a soft rasp. “Not fun. Gimme... ‘n open field any day.”

“Don’ sound so w-worried yr’self,” Wild muttered shakily, and Warriors coughed out a laugh.

“Perfected th-the art of faking it, bud.”

Wild let out a small, hysterical croak, a distant mirror of a laugh, but his frantic gasps had begun to ease. His breath still rasped more then it should, but Warriors was relieved at even the slight improvement.

Things fell silent between them for a moment, and Warriors took a minute to breathe, an action that was getting harder and harder to do successfully. The hot, painful feeling in his middle was starting to grow to an agonizing degree, and the fog was growing thicker around his senses. But the idea that had been forming in his head finally broke through, and Warriors shifted his head towards where Wild was.

“Wild,” he said, unable to keep his voice from hitching with pain. “C-can you reach your... slate?”

The fingers in Warriors’ twitched, then slowly withdrew, the quiet sound of rocks and pebbles being shifted reaching him. For a moment it was all Warriors could hear, that and an occasional shaky inhale like Wild was stopping himself from letting out a more pained noise, but then he heard a small hum.

“I... I c’n touch it,” Wild said, voice more shaky then it had been before. “Don’ think I can... pull it, but... m-might be able to get... Wind.”

“Okay,” Warriors breathed, squeezing his eyes shut and reopening them. “See if... you c-can—”

A cough spilled from his lips, and Warriors was unable to stop the fit he suddenly broke into, coughs that were thick and painful, bringing tears to his eyes with how they made his chest burn.

He wasn’t able to stop for several long moments, and his head spun dizzyingly as he caught his breath, middle full of a liquid fire so intense he could barely breathe.

“Wars?” Wild asked in a sharp, terrified voice, and Warriors coughed again, something warm dripping down his lip.

“‘M fi...” he rasped, dragging in another breath. “Fine, ‘m fine Wild. Call... Wind.”

Wild didn’t reply, but Warriors could feel the disbelief radiating from him as the quiet sounds of him shuffling in the debris sounded out again. The only other noise was Warriors’ wheezing breaths, and it was a few moments before Warriors heard a soft click.

The faintest bit of blue shone through the rocks nearby, not enough to see by, but enough that Warriors knew Wild had succeeded in turning on his slate.

“Sailor,” Wild rasped, trying to make his voice louder, and then coughing due to the effort. “S-Sailor... y’there..?”

He fell silent, and both of them strained their ears, even though Warriors was having an extremely hard time focusing. It felt like a Goron had sat on his chest, and was occasionally stomping around on his ribs, painful and heavy on his bones. But he couldn’t free himself, so it was just something he’d have to deal with.

Warriors shivered, and tried not to wheeze as his middle ached at the movement.

The sooner the both of them got out, the better.

“...hea...know I...see if...”

Warriors and Wild both stilled at the faint words, and listened in silence, Warriors’ heart beating loudly in his ears.

“—ampion! Is that you?!”

Wild let out a slightly hysterical laugh, and Warriors smiled, even though he knew Wild couldn’t see it.

“‘S me, m-me and Wars,” Wild said, relief thick in his voice. The connection that had come through was weak and staticky, and Warriors couldn’t entirely tell who had spoken, but they’d made contact at least.

“Are you two—kay?” the voice continued on, and Warriors thought it might’ve been Twilight’s. “We’re working on digging you—might be a bit.”

“Wars isn’t... he’s pretty b-bad,” Wild replied, and when Warriors opened his mouth to protest that Wild was equally bad-off if not worse, all that came out was another string of thick coughs.

He missed whatever was said next, a swirl of pain and fog clouding his senses, more warmth dripping down his chin. When he finally checked back in, Wild’s hand had grabbed at his again, and Warriors dragged in a rasping breath, the faint light from Wild’s slate growing blurry.

“—old on a bit longer, we’re going as fast as we can,” the voice came through again, more frantic then before. “Just hold on you two, we’re coming, I promise.”

“Y’ hear that W-Wars?” Wild croaked, holding his hand with a shaky grip. “Jus’... hold on.”

“Only ‘f you... do too,” Warriors rasped, and Wild hummed softly in reply, the sound thin with pain.

The voice from the slate said something again, but Warriors didn’t catch it, and he didn’t think Wild did either, based on how the voice seemed to grow frantic again, and louder. He couldn’t make out any of the words, and Warriors began to sink into the fog of pain his mind was fighting so hard to resist.

He thought he might have heard the rumbling sound in the distance again, like the rocks trapping them were being shifted, but he wasn’t sure. Dust fell on his head, but Warriors merely closed his eyes against it, too numb to even be scared any more. If he was going to be crushed, so be it. He only wished he’d gotten the chance to speak with his friends in his own time once more.

The fog had fully enveloped him now. The only thing that was clear was Wild’s hand pressed against his, fingers trembling, coated in dust and dirt and something sticky.

Warriors drifted along like that for what felt like forever, clinging to what few sensations he had left, Wild’s hand the only thing keeping him from fully falling away.

“—found them!”

And then there was light, so bright that Warriors had to close his eyes against it, and couldn’t help the whimper he let out. The voice was louder then ever, like Wild’s slate was right against his ear, and Warriors wished he could cover his ears.

“—get the rocks off, this thing is huge, he must be—”

“—lot of blood, that’s too much—”

“—lia I don’t know how either of them didn’t just—”

“—easy Link, easy, we’re getting you out, hold on.”

Something touched his face, and Warriors flinched, sounds and light and the endless pain in his middle too overwhelming for him to focus on anything. The voices kept floating around and over him, but Warriors could only catch bits of what was spoken.

Was Wild’s slate glitching?

The thing touched his face again, gentle and soft as it carefully turned his head to the side, and when fingers brushed his forehead, Warriors’ scrambled senses finally put together the fact that this must mean they’d finally been rescued.

He wheezed out a soft gasp of relief, and did his best to squeeze Wild’s hand, their fingers still connected. Wild faintly twitched back, and Warriors exhaled, relief swamping over him.

He didn’t remember any of the rest of their rescue, his senses fading out as the others pulled them from the rubble of the cave. Any travel or bandaging was lost to him, and he had no clue how long it had been when he flickered back awake.

The first thing he noticed was that he was on a soft bed, and that there was sunshine and a fresh breeze spilling in through the curtains. Time and Twilight were asleep on chairs by the bed, Wind flopped on their laps, Twilight’s head resting on Time’s shoulder. They all looked exhausted, and Warriors listened to Twilight snore for a minute, then looked down at himself.

His injuries were bandaged, blood and dirt cleaned from his clothes. His scarf had been cleaned as well, the blue bright and soft, and when Warriors looked beside him and saw Wild in a similar state to himself, the relief hit him again, even more intensely.

They’d made it.

They were out, and they were both alive.

Warriors exhaled, closing his eyes again. His head hurt and he was sore what felt like everywhere, not to mention his breathing still held an odd rasp, but he and Wild were okay.

They’d made it.

He felt out Wild’s hand again, and gave it a soft squeeze, relieved when Wild softly squeezed it back. The champion nestled up a bit closer to his side, and Warriors let himself drift off again, feeling perfectly content.

[monstersflashlight]

I work as a daycare assistant, and I happen to meet a lot of monstrous dudes who are picking up their little siblings/cousins. The little children decide to play matchmaker ;)

There was a little orc pulling at your hand, taking you with him to the door. "Come on, teacher, come with me." You let him drag you out, chuckling at his insistence.

"Where to? I have job to do, hon," you tried, amused at his antics.

"You need to meet him!" He insisted, pulling harder and making you wince internally. Baby monsters had an amazing amount of strength.

"Who?" You asked, genuinely curious.

"My uncle!" He exclaimed, pointing outside.

You were about to tell him you couldn't get out of the school when you looked up and faces the prettiest orc you've ever set your eyes on. He was looking at you with the same level of amazement, and something inside of you just... knew. Maybe the kid had a point.

[slippinmickeys]

Three Sentence Prompt? I know it's been a while. This time from Maggie Scully POV?

The man loved her daughter fiercely, as was obvious to anyone who cared to look. But to the untrained eye, Dana was merely protective; only fond of him in return. Maggie only knew she loved him back because Dana tried so hard to pretend she didn’t.

[hold-him-down]

“Put him in the cage.”

from this ask game

TW: beating, prison whump

✥ ✥ ✥ 

“Put him in the cage,” the guard said one day, in perfect English, following a terse conversation with the man who, Derek was learning, carried authority among the other prisoners. Derek didn’t have time to process what it meant. 

He didn’t have time to put on shoes. He didn’t have time to ask the question that he desperately sought the answer to: why?

Instead, he was dragged, his feet barely finding the ground under them in time for him to be yanked forward, through the bowels of the prison. A cacophony of howls and whistles greeted them at every turn.

The ‘cage’, Derek knew well enough by now, was formed of wire and excess materials from the prison itself, partly covered by corrugated steel and partly by barbed wire twined tightly together. It offered little protection against the elements, but that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part wasn’t the cage itself, either, he thought, as his shirt was ripped from his back. 

He wrapped his fingers around the bars, steeling himself against the pain he knew was coming. 

The first time the splintered cord sliced through the skin of his back, he kept quiet. The second, too, and maybe the third. By the fourth, the pain was blinding, and by the fifth, by the sixth, by the seventh, tears started breaking free, whimpers and pleas started clawing their way to the surface, broken only by the guards' laughter.

The worst part, though, was that the other prisoners would have free access to him after this. The worst part was that the other prisoners would be encouraged to ensure he suffered, for however long it took for someone to decide he had had enough.

And he knew, as blow after blow after blow landed across his back, his arms, his legs, that as long as long as he was alive, it would never be over.

[firstelevens]

Sambucky and treehouse, for the three sentence prompt?

Bucky has an arm thrown over his eyes when the text rolls in, the sun too bright for the minimal sleep he got last night. He grumbles as he unlocks his phone, but his scowl quickly fades when he sees what's there: a photo of Sam and the boys in front of a bunch of two by fours, with a message that reads, 'promised them a treehouse, you know any super soldiers who can work a belt sander?'

'I just might,' Bucky replies, and buys the airline ticket before he's even gotten up off the floor.