#timid writes

[timid-toots]

i got a sugarcane

(m/m, kink, heed tags)

Prout, laying in bed next to Pip, the both of them naked like always, wakes up with a groggy gasp. Pip is still in a deep sleep, so Prout mumbles to himself.

"Makin' brown... Making brown!"

Prout grins, sleepy, and he wakes Pip up by reaching over and fondling Pip's smooth balls. When Pip opens his eyes, pushing his hips up, Prout smiles even wider.

"I'm pooping!"

His announcement isn't alarmed or upset, but, instead, very excited. He sounds proud of himself.

It's no secret that Prout has been wanting to sleep-shit ever since Pip shat the bed a few weeks ago. Pip had woken up early in the morning to a soft pile of poop between his legs, some of a turd still nestled in his asshole, smudging his asscheeks and taint. Prout had been happy for Pip and also wildly jealous, and he has been trying all kinds of methods to poop while he slept, but hadn't managed it yet. He'd farted a ton through the night, but he always woke up before he was able to pass anything more solid than gas.

Pip smiles at him, happy and encouraging, and takes a sniff of the air, the stench of which all but confirms Prout's gleeful claims.

"I'm laying cable in bed! And I started while I was asleep! I did it! I'm doing it!" Prout exclaims. He kicks the blanket off and spreads his legs and yep, there's a turd sticking out of his anus. "Look, Pip!"

Pip grins and turns on his bedside lamp to give him a better view of the show Prout is so kindly putting on for him. Once he can see, he keeps his eyes fixed on Prout's busy butthole, and he reaches a hand over to lift up Prout's heavy, hairy ballsack, giving himself a better view of Prout's pooping stinkhole while getting to enjoy playing with Prout's nutsack.

"It's a big one!" Prout exclaims, his voice filled with wonder. "It's coming out all by itself! I'm not even pushing, Pip! It's a big, juicy log turding out of my hole! Look!"

Pip looks on, mesmerized, as another inch of Prout's log presses out of his stretched anus. He fondles Prout's big balls in appreciation.

"How's it feel? Did it wake you up?"

Prout grunts and moans as he continues to empty his bowels, the first big, harder turd ending and quickly being followed by a second, softer one. He's never been able to sleep through the beginning press of a poop starting to turtle before, so this is quite an accomplishment for him.

"Oh, it's so good! It feels so... intense!" Prout gasps, his eyes fluttering, "I can't believe I'm actually doing this! I've been trying for weeks!"

His anus twitches, a wet fart blurbing out along the soft shit log, and Prout sighs happily, hips squirming.

"I started dreaming that I was shitting, and I woke up, and I could feel it in my anus! I could feel the poop pressing out, like, two inches!" Prout explains, eager, still pooping, and he bites his lip, his penis flexing. It's resting against his thigh, pink and mostly soft. "I think I gotta make yellow, too!"

Pip giggles happily, gently squeezing Prout's ballsack, playing with his nuts as he nods encouragingly.

"You should take a piss!" Pip insists, "Here, you want some encouragement?"

With a final tug, Pip lets go of Prout's balls and, keeping his eyes fixed on the way he's still turding away against the bed they're sharing, he moves so his nude ass is more visible to Prout. Pip uses his hands to spread his buttcheeks, flashing Prout his furled little asshole and smooth crack. Then, Pip farts, loud and sharp.

"Ha! I farted!" Pip grins again, winking his smooth, pink-brown bung at his friend, "Doesn't that make you wanna go pee-pee?"

Prout gasps and laughs, and his pooping speeds up a little as he gazes longingly at Pip's hole. He grins, and his penis visibly jerks against his thigh like it might start getting hard.

"Fuck, man, yeah, that makes me wanna piss!" Prout exclaims happily, his mostly-soft penis starting to leak warm piss, and he grins and sighs.

"Hell yeah!" Pip encourages, reaching back over to take Prout's nuts in hand again, "Look at you go, man!"

Prout giggles and nods, spreading his legs even more. He's clearly thrilled, and he squeezes his butthole closed, which cuts his snaking turd off. When his hole yawns back open, he keeps right on pooping in the bed. His penis keeps pissing away, too.

"How's it feel?" Pip asks again, still fondling Prout's heavy balls.

"It's so good, man," Prout gasps, "I'm fucking doing it, I'm shitting the bed, and I started while I was asleep!"

He finishes with a wet fart and a final, messy blob of poop that splats in the mess in the bed built up between his thighs. He closes his eyes dreamily, his whole body relaxing now that he's no longer got to focus on pushing out the last of his dump, and he sighs as he tunes back into the feeling of his penis still spraying urine against the sheets.

"Dude," Pip groans, "that was so hot..." He's still got a hand on Prout's balls, and his other hand is fumbling with his half-hard cock.

"Oh my God," Prout gasps, his eyes still closed as his stream finally ends, "I can't fucking wait to do that again."

[whump-in-the-closet]

“I have your friends”

- Laughing in whumper’s face, “man i’m sorry for you.” Confident in the destruction their friends are about to bring down on whumper.

-Clenching the phone with a white-knuckled grip. “What do you want?” ready to sacrifice themself, ready to beg and plead. This isn’t their friends’ battle, this is theirs.

-Surprised, with a fearful exhale. They lean forward though they try to hide any expression. They fold their hands together on the table in a facade of control. “We can deal with this like goddamn adults, right?” Right?

- Eyes widening. “Oh. God” Already choking on a freeze response, stammering and frantic. They know what whumper is capable of and it immobilizes them. “P-please. Don’t hurt them.”

-They lunge forward, a hand wrapped around whumper’s pristine white collar. “You what?” Their fury is visible, spat out with the words— seething in their eyes. They’ve been kicked while down one too many times and learned to bite back.

- They stare. Nonchalant. “What friends?” There’s even the tiniest of smiles on their face, curving upwards. “Oh, them? Yeah, I don’t care.” Whatever whumper did to them doesn’t even compare to how their teammates treated them after. If anything, they’ll offer to help <2

[garlculean]

Toadette's gotta lil crush it'd seem...wah ha ha.

[justanotherjaydrawing]

Here it is, the first instalment of my biggest project yet!

If you are the best part of me is a 4k word fic exploring the Miya twins dynamic and addressing the struggles that come with constantly being compared to someone. (more yapping plus bigger images below)

This fic is fairly stand alone so I feel comfortable posting it on its own. Parts two and three are both significantly longer so we will see how I go with posting them, but for now, I hope you enjoy this starting point!

[basicallyahedgehog]

For @drarrymicrofic prompt “skirt”. Trans male Draco, trans female Harry. A little bit of implied dysphoria and internalised transphobia, but mainly fluffy euphoric feels.

It’s the sort of thing that you only notice if you’ve been there yourself. Most people wouldn’t. But Draco has, and so he does.

The longing looks through shop windows, reverent fingers brushing against clothes that are never bought, and weekly gazes Draco’s nails after Friday night pampering with Pansy.

The subtle flinches at every he, him, boyfriend.

He goes slowly, at first. One careful step at a time, as if approaching a skittish animal.

“Have you met my partner, Harry?”

“Do you want me to paint your nails for you?”

“Come to Pansy’s with me, she was going to show me how to do eyeliner.”

And with every tentative smile, each twinkle of the eyes, Draco gets braver, bolder.

“I think that blouse would suit you,” as they walk past the storefront.

“I got us a knew colour to try,” holding out the sparkly nail polish.

“I noticed you pulling your hair back more, I got you these scrunchies.”

“I’ll always love you, you know that, right? No matter what.”

Slowly, slowly, until one day

“I don’t think I’m a man.” A beat. A sigh. “I know I’m not a man.” A beat. A gulp. “Is that okay?”

Hours later, in the fitting room of her favourite store she spins and spins, skirt flaring around her.

And she is radiant.

[phthalology]

Let me tell you, little thrall, the reason why the Witness revealed itself to humanity at Mare Imbrium. 

It begins, as all things do, with the Hive. You may feel some shred of questioning shed on your arm. Did your wizard not just say this was a story of the Witness? Is the Witness not older than the Hive, and strange to us? Nevertheless, you are in our tunnels. The universe is full of emerald and onyx. Peel the shred of questioning off. 

Now, Savathûn did not know of the existence of the Witness, but she suspected. It was uncouth to say that something was pulling the strings of the Hive, being as the Hive were all-eating and left nothing but themselves behind. Still, Savathûn investigated secrets and unspoken things, and thought that the sword logic might be creating a throne just to harness the energy of an eternal vacancy.

Around this time, Crota’s brood took Earth’s Moon without even most of the fleet behind them, Sol’s citizenry running as low on their hoonish little spaceships as they did. 

Crota had ambition and bite and a certain blind devotion which Savathûn knew well.

After all, she had done so much good work faking it. 

Oryx was deep in the galactic center, finding treasures; Xivu Arath was in forever war with the Cabal Empire; Savathûn had been to Sol before and accompanied her brother’s brood as Crota took the Moon. And meanwhile, she had her own experiments, her own black-slab projects. Savathûn’s cunning arts untangled the DNA of the worms. It was heretical to slice those little gods apart, but she did it, and Nokris helped. Through this, she became fond of her nephew’s penchant for soul fire and pickling vats. Through this, she learned enough to ask the worm gods who their gods were.

They answered Rhulk, and the glaive with which he killed his father. 

This meeting of Rhulk and Savathûn before Crota’s brood had hardly scratched furrows in the Moon is the topic of another story. Finally, a victim higher up the chain answered My Witness. 

With this confession, that watcher turned a few of its eyes to the Hive. 

With a discerning eye for the sorts of injustices which caused both material and morale harm, the Witness set its sights on Savathûn’s pet project, Earth.

The child who had once been Sathona felt the universe coiling around her in static-fuzzed black tendrils of fear as she stood on a grand tombship at L2. Nokris skulked behind her.

And so did the Witness raze the Moon, upon which had formerly crawled Crota’s nearly-newborn brood, and upon which happened to be a few Guardian fireteams. The Witness began to enact the Final Shape upon the Moon for revenge against Savathûn, who had dared to investigate it and to lie to it, as she was wont. 

Come here, little thrall. This story is a secret. Did you know that? I am a confidant of Savathûn and I must practice my stories, practice my histories. I must test them in different situations and for different people, so that I get the words just right. But the Queen of Lies suffers few truth-tellers. No, don’t scuttle away. A Guardian or a Tormentor would have gotten you eventually. It’s statistically likely. Look. That hurts. Don’t bite. There --There. 

(This is a Destiny ten-year anniversary project. Context here.)

[kastalani123]

Y'know what? Lacy from the Aphrodite Cabin plays hockey because I play hockey and need my "hockey-girl-that-looks-like-she-barely-knows-what-hockey-is" representation

Her dad plays in some amateur/recreational league and she wanted to be like him so he signed her up when she was 6 and she never stopped

She's a defense because she's fast and small with a bad shot but steady form. Attending Camp only reinforces her position because fighting for her life removes all of her qualms about being physical — consequently, she has the worst track record with penalties and gets suspended several times for being too aggressive (hockey is generally a very physical sport, but female hockey rules are much stricter (aside from recent changes in PWHL), especially in younger leagues)

Her helmet is covered in stickers for as long as she can get away with it

Cabin Ten provides her with coloured stick tape, laces, and sports hairbands because they want to be supportive but can only get so much hockey stuff for her without spending a fortune or needing her to be in the store choosing

She forces her Cabin to watch The Mighty Ducks several times

One time Chiron lets her year-rounder siblings leave Camp to go to her tournament and they make it a family outing where they also end up meeting her mortal family and embarrassing her with them (they bring homemade banners, cow bells, maybe shirts with her jersey number? She never lets them know when she has a game again because she can't deal with the embarrassment)

She seems to have a very "I just hope both teams have fun!" attitude until a player does something idiotic and then she's screaming at the top of her lungs

It is v weird for her siblings to see her like that when she's watching a game but they learn not to interrupt

Could not tell you who the president is but Wayne Gretzky won the Stanley Cup in 1984, 1985, 1987, and 1988

Has a blanket patterned with logos of all the NHL teams bc why not

Beckendorf made her a Celestial Bronze-plated hockey stick and she adores it (even though she can't actually play with it)

[hersurvival]

His head lied on my chest,

Sweet and vulnerable,

Says something with little hands

From deep within

Holds on to me.

"Maybe it's the longing"

But these days he's not so sad.

And tomorrow night when I am gone,

Alone in my own bed for the time,

He'll tell me he awoke looking,

Searching to his right

For me to still be by his side.

@nosebleedclub September 21st - Healing Lamb

[talesoftheesun]

I refuse to acknowledge anything that happened in this volume. none of this happened. must've just been a heat induced fever dream. nope. no way.

[suguwu]

bee.... i have to ask about the arranged marriage with gojo (stsg i suppose).... what does suguru think of reader.........

niku...asking the important questions!!!

and as usual i am going back and forth between ideas so i may change my mind BUT—

i think suguru is pretty nonchalant about you—he's never met you so he only knows you through what he hears from satoru. but as time goes on, he realizes that even though satoru complains about the engagement, he never actually breaks it off. and he's gojo satoru. who is going to stop him from breaking off an arranged marriage he doesn't want?

suguru gets a little curious. he's not worried—it's not in his nature to think of someone like you as a threat—but he wonders about you. what attracts satoru to you; what made him decide that you would stay his.

("you jealous?" satoru says when he asks, smirking. "how cute."

suguru rolls his eyes. "no."

satoru straightens up, a pout forming on his pretty lips. "why not?" he demands. "you should be!"

it devolves from there, and satoru never answers the question.)

so suguru goes to find you.

and when you stare at him with wide, pretty eyes, your feet splashed with the drink you'd dropped at the sight of him, he thinks he might just get it.

[crashoutnarumi]

freaky friday au where gojo is miraculously alive and yuta and gojo have essentially swapped bodies and now they don’t know how to swap back

[howifeltabouthim]

They fill their pages with apologies and write everybody's language but their own.

Iris Murdoch, from A Fairly Honourable Defeat

[shinesurge]

my longest yea boy ever

[scoriarose]

After a few hunger strikes and health worries, baby girl has finally started eating regularly and putting on weight. She was a very good girl and held still today while I weighed her- normally she's a wiggle worm who is unusually talented at hitting the tare (reset scale) button.

Whenever Scoria is out her sister Sakura watches us very carefully. At first, she didn't trust me and acted like she had some bad experiences with humans before I got her. At that time Scoria was the only being in existence she felt safe with and could flee to when she was frightened, so it's no wonder Sakura worried over her when I had her out, and thoroughly checked her over when I put her back in her enclosure.

Her look isn't one of fear and worry anymore though. Now she has one of curiosity. Of learning. When she sees me hold Scoria, she wants to try it too. When she watched me gently cup my hand around her sister, she wanted to try hiding in a "hand cave" too. And after seeing Scoria and I cuddle, she bravely came out the next morning, curled up and snuggled me for a few minutes.

It's quite the experience living with these two sweet girls who care so very much about each other, and seeing how they think and even change their thoughts and actions over time. It's also really neat to see how they both learn from watching, and trust each other's judgement.

Honestly I think people don't give snakes enough credit as far as intelligence and empathy/care are concerned. There's still so much about them we don't know, and I'm amazed by the things they show me.

[phthalology]

The Fourth Inundation

For @swordlogiczine, with art by @synnthamonsugar Get the zine here.

And so Hashladûn, spawn of Crota, descended to the selective acid.

And Ir Yût, once beloved of Crota —

Ir Yût who now turned her back on Azavath’s attempt to rebuild the choir —

Descended with her.

By way of greeting Ir Yût sang necrosy into a slab of Hashladûn which was rotting, thus dulling the pain.

Hashladûn was impaled and bled in six places, and her worm raged. She desired power and the love of her father, and feared losing the parts of herself which remained after the first three inundations. The sight of a Hive of her lineage only partially comforted her.

“Thus is the power subservient to Oryx,” Ir Yût intoned, not singing. “How much greater must his power be?”

“Lost Deathsinger, why do you come to me? Crota sent me here to pare my excess alone.” Hashladûn spoke clearly, the acid not having eaten into her throat, but the scales around her mouth cracked as the words emerged.

“The inundations are a matter of addition, not subtraction,” said Ir Yût, and wrenched away one of the great ribbons of muscle near which Hashladûn’s arm was pierced. Hashladûn knew Ir Yût’s words to be a lie, but the inundations had confused her sense of what created pain and what created pleasure. Therefore, she was open to the Deathsinger’s assertion.

“This test proves you can overcome the barriers of the flesh,” said Ir Yût.

“My only barrier was the small size of my enemies, which could wriggle through my claws,” said Hashladûn. A slice of selective acid took a part of her, but because her worm screamed she did not have reason for the scream to emerge from her own mouth.

“Then you are ignorant of the love|hate between the courts,” said Ir Yût. She hooked a claw under another ribbon of muscle, and Hashladûn bled onto her hands. “I left the song to Azavath because Azavath wishes to conquer the Pit. She may succeed. But her ambitions are small. We sing princeling songs when we could cry a queen’s chorus. You have seen the melamu upon Him. What is Azavath to this?”

The words distracted Hashladûn from the selective acid reshaping her shoulders. She said, “You speak truth, but what is there to be done? I will not turn against Crota’s court unless he wills it.”

“You do not have to. Only remember that I appeared to you in your time of confusion, and Azavath did not.”

“Do you hate her so badly?”

“I love the deathsong so fondly. If Azavath clashes against Crota’s power, the knowledge of the song may be lost forever. Azavath builds a chorus in a crater and says the enemy will not bomb that place again. You, meanwhile, will love your place in Crota’s court until it hurts you badly enough that you impale yourself on your grief.” Ir Yût looked impassively over Hashladûn’s flayed back to her impaled limbs. “I stepped away from my pride of place in Oryx’s court in order to preserve what remained of my loyalty. If I had known more about what was happening, I would have left earlier.”

Hashladûn hoped she would never fall so low as to intentionally turn her eyes away from the courts, from the struggle. Still, Ir Yût had once been powerful. If she had thought it the best decision, maybe Hashladûn herself could use the same tactics. Another wave of acid swept over her. Parts of her were washed away. She nodded.

Ir Yût looked at her once more, defiant, seeing perhaps what the terrible consequences of pushing strong Hashladûn would be. She disappeared. Pain blinded Hashladûn and she could not see where the Deathsinger had gone.

And Hashladûn took the memory of Ir Yût’s words for herself, to gleefully hide from Azavath. But she also took the memory to forget, like a scrap of meat between teeth is forgotten until it crawls back out of the crevices of the mouth. Because the priorities of Hashladûn were of the melamu and the fist.

[meet-this-stuttering-character]

You know, as a stutterer, I could actually familiarize myself with all the characters that have been submitted so far and maybe share my thoughts on whether they’re good representation or not really