HERE COMES THE BOY~~~ HELLO BOY~~~
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GAHAJNDWKS I CANT THE WAY VENTIS JUST THERE
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okay, slightly more satisfied with the blog theme that i have now ... and i changed my carrd to match .. so i'm probably gonna go to bed now, maybe possibly because i am exhausted and also have work tmr, GOODNIGHT OSWIN .. PEOPLE ? OSWINS? OSTWINS? MUTUALS? GANG? i think gang works, i'll figure something out.
also, i just want to say how good of a choice coming to tumblr was for me, at least so far because i'm kind of genuinely happy here !! like, lately doctor who has been such an important thing for me, and nobody that i talk to irl or on other platforms seem to have any interest in it, so i'm incredibly glad that i've found people that enjoy the same things that i do! wishing so hard that being social was easy for me, i want to make friends here so bad :')
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fic wip
Heoi’s near-permanent cloud cover has the odd effect of reflecting all the neon lights back in on itself, illuminating the harbor even in the dead of night. It’s never quite the dead of night in the harbor either. With the rain letting up from constant sheets to a generous misting, more and more people pour out onto the dock and the street, laughing their way into Club 88, pushing and shoving as crates of dubious cargo get unloaded, and checking out the various wares the residents hawk from their boats and shops.
Janie, Gobbet, and Duncan all find themselves on the deck of their home, leaning against the rusting railing. Janie had clambered out first, partly from curiosity. Gobbet had shown her the series of ladders and hatches to get out after painting the ship’s new name on the side (and there’s still yellow paint drops on the dock from her attempts to do so), and she liked coming out there to get a different view of the harbor. Gobbet followed second, asking if Janie had finally gotten a fishing rod like she said she would and begging to help out before she could even answer. Duncan followed last, leaning out of his room to watch them, trying to decide if he was going to miss out on something fun, something peaceful, or need to intervene.
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actually, I really am thinking abt how he usually has a goal to get something from someone in most of his conversations - to distract them, to get information, to wow them with his tricks- so when he's just trying to talk for the sake of it? foe nothing more than enjoying someone's company? he's so fucking lost.
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aziraphale and crowley try to perform the tiniest most unobservable fraction of a miracle together and they end up producing a massive burst of power so astonishing in scope that it sets off alarm bells in heaven where it can be seen as an enormous purple beam and radiates with a force twenty-five times the energy needed to raise someone from the dead. we’re told only an archangel could perform an act of such earth-shaking consequence which again is the result of them trying to exert their abilities in the subtlest way possible so can you imagine what they’re going to be like in bed? talk about the second coming. in this essay i will
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I think Deku has a bit of a mean streak, actually. he’s no Bakugou—that’s for sure—but he’s not this innocent, sweet angel baby that the media has painted him out to be. but you only catch it when you least expect it, when you’re pushing his nerves, when the stakes to everything around him are high, when he’s tired of endless sleepless nights and just—snaps.
“Oh?” you go, grin unfurling like some grinch, chin resting on your hands as you leer at him from across his expansive desk. “You’re mean.” your words are teasing, a snarl that curls your mouth up. Deku stutters, eyes going wide, jaw snapping shut in surprise as he tries to think back on how rude he just sounded.
“No, I’m not—I mean, you wouldn’t stop and I just—there’s a lot on my plate right now—and you just—you keep on—I’m not—I’m not mean.” He’s sputtering, hands all over the place, the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose falling even lower with how he jabbers on and on. it’s endearing really, to see how he tries to upkeep his image of being so kind and understanding, even though his nostrils just flared at you. and his eyebrows turned down and he gritted at you, his hands were balled into fists, his words were so nasty, so ugly, so unbecoming for Deku.
you liked it. loved it even—vowed to get him like this every single fucking second that you could.
you pick and poke at him whenever you see him, teasing him and pulling at him. pushing him around even though the hero is so much stronger than you, so much bigger. and he lets you, tries to defend himself but—that’s not what you want. you want the ugliness, the snark, the mean.
he snaps, eventually, when you least expect it. grabs you up in black whip when you go to push him against the wall for the third time in only a minute, his eyes suddenly dark, the aura of the room suddenly charged.
“That’s what I was looking for.” you whisper to him, the grin spreading your face quickly dissipating in only seconds when you become the prey. when you become the one pushed up against the wall with teeth at your neck, a hand in your underwear, bullying your hole with too thick fingers.
“Why do you want me to act like this? Be so mean to you, huh?” he sounds so frustrated with himself, with you, growling and nipping and licking when you don’t answer quick enough. but your breath is caught in your lungs because finally—finally, did you get what you wanted. it just took a little bit of pushing, you suppose.
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