Writing and general requests are welcome, but please be patient and kind! Call me either, Dino or Bug both are welcome! My love jingle-jangle-the-clown 🌛🌝🌜
I'll be posting mainly writing or drabbles, possibly multi-part but usually one-shot or hcs!
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Multi-fandom author, mainly just what i'm hyper-fixated on or familiar with- but I may branch into other fandoms' if requested or asked.
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Apparently murdering a suicidal gay prince, overthrowing a god who’s also head of the government, literally just murdering the former country leaders (who are now rebel leaders) in retirement, prison break, and infrastructure destruction and loss of many lives cuz I happen to be related (siblings) to crude oil
The large ballroom was usually empty, the space barely got used, except for the annual gala or Heartslabyul tea party. But now- the room bustled with life, crowded students dressed in masquerade attire, candles and sconces were the only things that illuminated the room. Warm lighting washed over everyone as people danced and socialized. Gorgeous dresses caught in the light and glittered as they spun.
Malleus stood in his corner, watching the members of his house to ensure all went smoothly his cape seemed to glow under the light, the scales of the underside a deep enchanting green. He tipped his hat to the other headmasters as they passed. Vil gave him an enchanting smile. He always valued his appearance and the image of his house above all else.
“Housewarden Schoenheit, your house did an excellent job with the preparations.”
Malleus spoke, raising a hand for the other to shake.
“Why thank you sir, we Ponefiore members pride ourselves on looking and bringing our best. Now I'm so sorry to scurry but I must find Azul…”
And with that he was gone, and Malleus stood alone once more. His green eyes searched the crowded space, desperate to find even a spec of that fiery blue he craved to see once more.
“Just talk to him Idia! He looks lonely.”
Ortho’s voice was a hushed yell. He grabbed his older brother by the shoulders and shook him.
”Okay! Okay- just…I know he’s not- fine…”
The tall, scrawny man made his way to the corner, long neon blue hair tied into a low ponytail as he stood next to the draconian figure. His chin was level with the black haired student's shoulder.
”Housewarden Draconia…”
He ignored the way his voice shook.
”Housewarden Shroud.”
Idia relished in the tone of his voice.
”You haven’t returned my letters…”
“Idia-“
”It's fine, it's just- I thought we were…”
“We can’t be anything. You know this Idia.”
The words sounded like they physically pained him to say. Every one of his breaths felt shallow.
He knew it was unfair. That he was the one looking for the man this whole time. Waiting for him, he read every letter. The papers neatly folded on his desk with tear drop stains and bleeding ink.
”Mall- Can’t we just talk about it.”
”Not here.”
The man began to walk toward the closed off balcony. Stars painted the sky only visible through the thin shadowy clouds. They could see the winding bare trees and the fleets of birds surrounding each branch.
Idia grimaced at the cawing sounds, he never was one for nature. His sharp teeth bit into the blue of his lips.
”Idia…Darling do not be afraid- It’s just… as Housewardens we are forbidden. It causes a conflict of interest between our houses. You know that. What if Crowley were to find out.”
His nimble clawed fingers reached to hold the other's face in place, ensuring he was looking at him.
“We don't have to tell him. We don't have to tell anyone-“
Malleus' face softened, yet his eyes remained unreadable.
“You know I adore you…”
He dropped to his knees. Pressing his painted black lips to the back of Idia’s pale hand.
”But no one deserves to be kept secret, not you…never you…”
“I don't want love if it isn’t from you.”
”Your absence would create a void in my being no other could fill. But I cannot bear to hurt you by keeping you hidden away.”
”Youre hurting me by pushing me away!”
Malleus felt the heat rising to his face, his tear filled voice- the hurt in his eyes. It was all too much. His eyes widened, Idia pulled him to his feet.
”You said it yourself- you could never love another, Mall. And here I am- I’ve always been here.”
The blue haired man had gripped Malleus by the collar, their eyes level with one another. Mall had to crane his neck to see him, his green eyes darting between his lips and his neon blue eyes.
“Idia- darling..”
”Dont! Dont darling me- not if you can’t look me in the eyes and tell me we could work this out.”
He stared at him, eyes wide with bated breath. His hand gently held the mans waist to keep him steady.
”Idia- It is because of you my heart can no longer be described as my own.”
The blue haired man bit his lip, eyes widened and flashed white before Malleus gently placed a kiss to his lips, one that got more desperate as the seconds lingered. Hand moved to cradle the back of his neck, raking through his hair.
Idia’s hands bunched into the collar of his shirt, before lowering to grip his waist.
His sharpened teeth dug into Malleus’s bottom lip, causing the man to hiss and pull away. A smirk on his lips as he dragged his split tongue along his lip.
Idia stepped back, watching the man with a grimace on his face.
“You fucking sadist.”
He hissed, the flames on his head growing brighter.
”Youre mocking me, mocking the way my heart only beats for you- mocking the time we’ve spent together. You never cared- you just wanted someone to toy with. Gods you really are just like the rumors, a heartless snake just like the Thorned Queen.”
Malleus’s scales flared, his eyes flashing with a green flame.
“You have no idea what you're talking about.
His voice broke, tears welling in his eyes.
”Save it Malleus, just…get back to me when you're finally ready to put your ego aside. Farewell, Housewarden.”
The coldness in his voice as the man walked away caused a shiver to run up his spine, he leaned against the balcony railing for support. His breathing was shallow, scales across his neck burning as he struggled for air.
His grip on the railing tightened, knees knocking together as his vision blurred. The dark thorned scenery surrounding him nolonger felt beautiful- it was taunting, and as his eyes darted around he collapsed to his knees. The words echoed in his head, loud enough to crowd his thoughts and spill from his brain.
His head hammered, chest tightened like his lungs were attempting to escape his ribs with each inhale.
His voice was a strangled groan, loud enough to echo in his brain, yet so silent it was absorbed into the suffocating air.
thought about the idea of vox releasing one of those fucking cancelled youtuber apology videos after the season 2 finale and started laughing to myself
The pair had fallen out after Stan's dad bought the farm. Kyle got busy, and Stan's got drunk, both rarely seeing each other or hanging out. So, on the off chance they have time together, Stan decides to make the most he can of the moment. (Part one of ?)
1,691 word count
The clock on the wall ticked with a taunting echo. The last few minutes of school were always agonizing—even when he didn't have baseball practice. But that wasn't the case. Stan would finally leave this cold and sterile ring of hell just to enter a hotter and messier one. And when the final bell rang and all of his classmates filtered out at breakneck speed, he found himself packing his bag as slowly as possible.
Everyone was gone, even the teacher, yet small steps in his direction caught his attention. The sound of combat boots against the tile was an assault on his already overworked senses. But he still looked up.
He was met with the sight of green eyes and freckled cheeks, and he managed a small smile. Though it was arguably more forced than the one painted across Kyle’s face.
“Do you care if I hang around during practice?”
Stan raised a brow. Confusion flooded his brain as he stuffed some pre-calculus paper in the depths of his bag—he’d be looking for that in a week.
“Why would you wanna be at school for 3 hours longer than you have to?-”
His calmer voice rang out. He cringed. He hated the way it sounded in his ears, wondered if he sounded as ridiculous as he felt. If he did notice, Kyle didn't say anything. He forced the zipper on his bag shut before he slung the ripped-up red backpack over his shoulder.
“All the parents are going to a school meeting, and I don't want to be at home by myself. So I figured we could hang out at yours.”
Kyle talked while they walked. But it felt like his attention wasn't fully on Stan—hen was it anymore? As soon as Kyle hit the top 5 in their class, he was basically unavailable at every moment. The fact that they were talking now was a miracle. Kyle’s phone dinged every few minutes, and every few minutes, his attention drifted away more and more.
“Yeah- Sure you can come over..”
Stan tried not to sound as excited as he was, though the crack in his voice and the sudden adjustment of his backpack told a different story. That excitement was replaced with anxiety. Was the house clean? Would his sister be home?- No, she had work, did she? It was blurry. The memory of their conversation flashed in his mind—then it was blank. Did he hide the bottles in his room, or were they still on the dresser?
It only took a second for his palms to sweat. He quickly wiped them on his jeans and ran his hand over his black hair; the overbleached strands felt like the nylon hair of his sister's old dolls. He ignored it. The tremor in his legs as he walked, the way his chest felt tighter with every breath; that was getting harder to ignore
The whirlwind of questions in his mind paused when he heard Kyle talking. What was he saying? In one ear, out the other. If it hit his ears at all.
“But I don't know if you'd…Stan?
“Stan?”
“Stanley!”
That got him. He jumped a little. Dark eyes blinked excessively when he looked over. They reached the locker room, and Stan stood still at the door.
“Dude! Did you hear me at all?”
“Yeah! Yeah- totally..”
Kyle scoffed and rolled his eyes before shoving a flyer at his chest. Stan gripped it, the thin paper crinkled in his damp palms.
“Seven-thirty next Saturday! Be there!”
Kyle shouted back as he walked outside to the field. Almost subconsiously, his eyes followed him as he walked. They widened for a moment, and he tensed.
He should sit in the corner with the shade—that sweater was way too thin for Spring. Did he have snacks on him? When was the last time Kyle checked his sugar?
He looked down at the paper and tried his hardest to commit it to memory. It was a debate tournament—when did he join debate?
“Marsh!”
For the second time, the boy was pulled from his self-induced spiral. He looked over at his coach before walking into the locker room. His backpack hit the metal in his locker with a loud clang.
He was like a zombie at every practice. Sure, he remembered what was happening, and he was aware of his senses. It was caring that he struggled with. But today something was different. Kyle was watching. It was the first time he'd come to practice. Of course, he’d show up to games every once in a blue moon. But that was when Stan was forced to try.
He stepped to the plate, the Colorado sun brighter than it had been, but he wasn't sweating. Though the thin white jersey he was wearing did little to protect him from the breeze. Sweating hands gripped the bat, and his narrowed eyes tried their hardest to cut through the brightness of the day.
Clyde stood diagonal to him, and Eric was behind him. He and Tolkien made eye contact; the boy was tossing the ball between both hands.
“Looks like you have a stick up your ass.”
The broad boy behind him snickered.
“Fuck off, Cartman.”
There was venom in his voice. Shoulders loosened, but his back remained stiff.
The coach blew his whistle, and Tolkien squared his shoulders. The ball zipped by Stan before he could even register that it was thrown. His breath hitched. Clyde’s voice hit his ears, but his words were nothing more than another sound. The nasally tone made him tense up once more. Had his voice always been so grating?
Stan glanced back at Kyle, and brief eye contact made his chest tighten. His brown eyes were blown wide for just a moment, and the sun hit the paler boy in such a way that it killed every unnecessary question and thought swarming in the craters of his brain.
The web of tension was blown away just as quickly as it was woven. And when Kyle’s eyes looked away, Stan instantly followed. Another ball was thrown, another strike, another sarcastic comment from Eric. And another remark in Clyde’s voice made his throat constrict.
“You know you're supposed to hit the ball right?”
Eric laughed, and Tolkien shot a glare toward Clyde.
Stan didn't comment; his grip on the bat tightened, and he gave a subtle nod to the boy across from him. Tolkien threw once more, this time Stan managed to hit it. A large crack echoed, and he bit his bottom lip—chipped teeth digging into the flesh. But before the confusion about where the ball flew to registered, Clyde was screaming about something.
With a glance in the direction of the noise, Stan stifled a laugh. He glanced over to Kyle— he was on the phone. The humor of the situation dissipated, and Stan’s shoulders slouched. Clyde was screaming incessantly, a river of curses and whines left his lips. Two years ago, Stan would've been doubled over laughing. Like Eric, who was currently wheezing while Tolkien and the coach helped Clyde stretch his now bruised and definitely sore shoulder.
Instead of checking on him, instead of laughing, instead of doing anything helpful- He just dropped his bat and walked back to the field house to grab his things. Kyle saw him walking. He waited a moment before following, finishing his phone call before running after Stan.
“What are you doing?”
His voice never rang harsh on Stan’s ears. He couldn't help but wonder if Kyle hated his own voice like Stan hated his.
“I’m going home.”
His movements were more aggressive as he changed out of his uniform. He didn't bother with his jersey, simply pulling his jeans and shoes back on before snatching his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.
“What, dude, why?! I thought practice didn't end for another couple of hours.”
“It doesn’t, I just don’t want to be here.”
The sound of his bag shuffling loosely on his back echoed as they walked out of the empty locker room. He could feel Kyle’s insistence on pressing further with every second the boy's green eyes lingered on the back of his head. Stan’s skin crawled. Backpack strap bunched in his hand as they lingered in the uncomfortable silence.
The walk to the bus stop was painfully quiet, interrupted occasionally by the sound of pebbles shifting underfoot or sniffles from Kyle. They sat on the hard metal bench for what felt like hours. Every once in a while, Kyle would make a comment or start a conversation— Stan would reply, but never interestingly enough to continue any topic.
“So… When did you join debate?...”
His every syllable hesitated, leg bouncing excessively as he managed to pull his gaze away from the ground to Kyle’s face.
“It's been a month or so… I like arguing with people without consequences. It’s helped with my… anger- issues..”
Stan snorted. Kyle looked offended, punching him on the shoulder with slightly more force than intended.
“Hey man, whatever makes you happy. Just y’know don’t.. Work yourself into the ground- and shit…”
Stan scratched at the back of his neck, his hand lingering for a few more seconds than needed. When he folded his hands in his lap, he began cracking his knuckles, even after they stopped making noise. Kyle was still, his face absent. The subtle wind blew his usually neat curls into his face, and the sway of the strands matched the slow rustle of the leaves and grass.
Stan glanced over to the boy, his posture aggressively straight. Stan’s elbows rested on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him, only straightening up once the sound of brakes screeching burned through his ears, impaling his brain. The bus doors opened with a mechanical whirring that could only be described as unstable. His movements were rehearsed, nothing new. Up the stairs, pay the driver, sit in the back.
It's what he’s been doing for a year now, except now it was with his best friend. If the word best was still acceptable here. They were inseparable. Then middle school came around.
(This took foreverrrr to build up the confidence to post, so all sort of feedback is welcome. It's one of the first full-length chapters I've written, and I want to know what everyone thinks!)
