#rapidly morphing from one thing into another

[nhaneh]

woke up to a messy amalgam of half-remembered dreams about little Matoya being abducted and Kea absolutely wrecking face to get her back <_>

[often-daydreaming]

An Ancient's Game

It started off small at first. A robbery in Metropolis. A missing persons case in Gotham. An 'accident' in Amity Park. None of it connected. Nobody thought to connect them. It was just another case after all. There would always be another case so sometimes things slipped through the cracks. It happened.

Even heroes made mistakes after all.

They overlooked things.

But in the end they messed up and someone had to pay and someone did when Clark Kent heard his wife and son’s heartbeats vanish off the face of the earth during a somewhat quiet afternoon while he was handling a disaster in France.

He was the man of steel though, he could have made it. He should have made it but he was a second too late. His family was gone and Metropolis felt the fury of the old gods as a being made of wind and storms ripped its way free of an unseen portal cackling with mad laughter as it devastated the city.

It was another distraction though.

A massive distraction that drew the Justice League's attention away from the real prize as nightmares descended on Gotham like shadows. They morphed from the darkness slipping out through the cracks like ghosts and only Oracle saw the fight as they swarmed the youngest Robin, the Dark Knight's youngest son vanishing under an endless tide of nightmares as Nocturn took control of Gotham's nightlife.

More distractions followed as more and more of the old gods, Ancient beings long forgotten returned to Earth.

Storms raged.

The ground quaked.

Creatures of myth and legend were free to run wild as reports of everything from dragons to even yetis flooded the Watchtower.

In the end it was Diana who found their first and only clue when one of her mother's messengers appeared warning them of Themyscira's fate when a portal was opened for Undergrowth deep within the island's jungles. They fought. They fell. Then they were turned into mindless puppets bent to the monster's will as the sounds of war subsided into silence within a matter of days.

Her losses gave them a name.

Undergrowth, a creature of the green who cheered the being known as Clockwork while Constantine explained its origin.

He told them of Cronos, of the pieces of him that had formed into a new life deep within the endlessness of Infinity.

And Fate opened the way.

The first thing the gathered heroes saw was a massive clocktower surrounded by gears and pistons twisting in every direction as they spilled out into an endless void. Each tenth of a second, the hands on the clocktower click one step forward.

A single tooth on one of the smaller gears is easily the size of the Watchtower and no matter how far anyone looked there was no beginning or end to the clocktower.

There was nothing except the click, click, click of endless clocks as they stormed the Titan's lair.

Nothing stopped them.

There were no enemies or traps.

In fact the doors were left wide open as if welcoming the Justice League inside and they soon discovered why when Shazam found them. Superboy stood on a scale across from Luthor, the same with Robin and Waller. They were frozen in time, trapped in a single second of a moment while in the very middle of the massive room was a kid, easily Jon's double sleeping on a throne made out of the void of space but that wasn't what had him worried.

What worried him was the silence, the sudden nothingness in his mind as the voices of the gods empowering him faded away in the presence of the cloaked figure of Cronos suddenly standing beside the throne.

Even as the other heroes flooded into the room he couldn't hear anything besides a soft click, click, click as Superman was waved away forced into a loop of repetition that began and ended with his first step forward.

Green Lantern fell next, rapidly aged into an old man unable to match a Titan's will.

Then Constantine collapsed clutching an invisible wound on his chest. It was his contracts forcing him to obey while Fate eventually faded under time's cold embrace.

There were only a few heroes left when Flash made a move blitzing the throne only to suddenly lose his speed. The others simply glitched, like static on an old tv leaving only Shazam, J'onn and surprisingly Lois Lane standing in front of Cronos as he declared a game to decide Earth's continued existence.

'Convince each of them you're worth another chance and I'll restore everything.'

'Who's them?'

I don't really know what I was going with here. I was just listening to some of the songs from Epic and figured why not let an enraged Clockwork have some fun. I'm blaming Vlad for everything cause I can and he's done it before and caused a ton of problems for everyone else so I'm just picturing something he did or tried to do backfiring badly enough that Danny got seriously hurt so now everyone's gotta pay.

[natailiatulls07]

Stay

Lando Norris x female!reader

Summary - Everyone knew about Y/n and Landos toxic relationship, so when they broke up it was easy right?

Warning - cheating, swearing, toxic relationship and ANGST lol

A/n - 'It's okay Pt.2' is on it's way don't worry <3

Sort of based around this song

-

Anyone with a pair of eyes and common sense could see how toxic the relationship between McLaren driver, Lando Norris and model, Y/n L/n was. Espercially those close to the couple.

Each were spotted flirting with other people shamelessly. Everyone was sure that each had affairs. Yet both would return to eachothers arms the next day.

-

"Mate..." Oscar muttered. He, Lando, Carlos and Logan were all at Oscars place, hanging out when he brought up the relationship. "When are you going to end your relationship?"

The night before every formula one and non formula one gossip page had three names rolling off their tongues. Y/n L/n and Lando Norris and...

Jacob Elordi

Y/n was seen kissing and flirting with Jacob in public. Every gossip page had pictures of the kiss plastured across their feed, hundreds of headlining articles and for you pages filled. "Well actually she broke it off...last night before she went out, we're over..." Lando muttered, looking down at his beer.

Surprise captured their faces, before it was replaced with relief. "Oh I bet that was quick and easy, a mutual agreement" Carlos laughs, Oscar and Logan agreeing with him.

British driver awkwardly chuckles, remembering the night before. "Yeah...quick and easy..."

~

"Y/n come on! I said I was sorry!" His voice echos through their apartment. Lando and Y/n had gotten into yet another fight, thing is this time it felt more intense than usual.

Y/n shakes her head rapidly. "No no Lando, you fucking insinuated to the press that I'm a slut!" She was annoyed, he had just humiliated his own girlfriend to millions. "I can't do this."

All sound stopped, their heavy footsteps stopped and silence filled the space between them. Lando's expression morphed into a look of concern and worry. "What do you mean? Y/n what are you saying?"

He continues to look into her eyes, but Y/ns eyes flicker anywhere but his. Taking a deep breath. "I can't Lando" She started to shake her head. "This relationship, it...it doesn't work"

It felt like someone was stealing the air out of his lungs, Lando felt like he was been suffocated. "No Y/n, stop no" He was pleading with her.

"Maybe we should break off our relationship...it's too toxic, anyone can see it" Salty tears clouded the eyes of both. They both knew this couldn't go on but in a weird way, neither of them wanted to end it.

Lando felt himself fall to his knees. He never considered himself to be the type, but something possessed him. "Please." Eyes pleading and desperate. "Stay."

With a shaky breath and a frantic shake of her head. Y/n couldn't believe what was happening, couldn't believe how Lando was begging her to stay with him.

The driver continued. "I want you Y/n, I need you..." No longer was Y/ns eyes frantically avoiding his eyes. They were locked on eachother.

Neither had the heart to speak, both heavily weighed down with hesitation.

~

There was a laugh. "Oh my god! At least you didn't beg on your knees, that would be a low blow to your ego" Logans voice laughed. This was quickly followed by chuckles and nodding from Carlos and Oscar.

Landos fake smile fleeted slightly, his eyes dropped to the beer in his hand. "No...couldn't do that to my ego..." Chuckling softly. He felt a hand pat him on the back.

"Good lad..." Carlos' spanish loud accent filled the room above the laugh. Non of them noticing Landos slight absence from the moment.

It was Oscars turning to speak up. "Better off without her" All he got in return was a slow nod, lights on but no ones home. Was he really better off without her.

-

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

Everything | Overlord!Husk x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Overlord!Husk fluff, established relationship with reader, very sweet and domestic, a slightly intimate moment near the end

Word Count: 913

Summary: You were out to support your fiancé while he did his job, but by the end you were about ready to drop, so he steps in to remind you exactly why you're marrying him and not some other overlord.

A/N — I've never written for Husk before — let alone Overlord!Husk, so I'm hoping this gets some love 💗

"It's about that time, my love." You whispered in his ear, watching the hands on the clock tick with every passing second — every passing minute.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

"I'll be done soon, Doll." His grip around your waist tightened as the men around the table stared you down like a piece of meat.

You thought he was insane playing high stakes games. On more than one occasion you found yourself uttering the phrase 'play stupid games, win stupid prizes', which was essentially the equivalent to 'fuck around and find out'. . . Which you had also said many, many, many times.

Husk nearly always had a good hand, so the prize was often money or jewelry — anything that was bet and valuable at the time of his win. Even souls, if they were put on the line. You loved watching those ones, as twisted as it likely sounded. 

Hell, you were almost certain the engagement ring that sat prettily on your finger was won in a bet. No complaints regardless of how it came to be. It was sparkly and just your style.

The only time you had a complaint was when he chose gambling over his responsibilities. . . Namely making sure you were happy and satisfied. Even then, it was a rare occasion, despite practically being his whole job.

Tonight, though, you were bored.

You were hungry.

You were tired and just wanted to go home — but you stayed to support him and it was now long past when the two of you ate dinner and it was rapidly approaching the time when you usually went to bed, knowing your mornings were early and consisted of mentally taxing wedding planning with your closest friends.

You loved them, though, and appreciated all of their ideas. Who in Hell didn't love the idea of an event as important as an overlord wedding?

Bitter, loveless souls obviously — but other than that. . . Who?

When the game finally came to an end, it was no surprise to you when Husk collected his winnings. Almost 10K and two souls. You loved when things worked out.

"Let's get you home, Doll. You look fuckin' exhausted."

"You really know how to flatter a woman." You snorted, allowing him to lead you out of the casino he owned. "I should lock you out of the room for mentioning my exhaustion in public."

"Oh, don't be like that!" He smirked, playing into the little game you always played. When he played back, you knew you were about to get your way. "Gonna make you forgive me, one way or another."

You hummed with a smirk of your own, looking away from him. "We'll see."

"How about. . . Dinner at the house and a nice hot bath, hmm? . . And your favorite ice cream?"

Your smirk morphed into a smile. "Close, but we'll see."

"I'll join you?"

"You're forgiven."

It wasn't long before you were sat at the table eating the quick and delicious meal that Husk made — it was far from something he would've usually made, but it was delicious and you enjoyed it.

He finished eating first and went to run the bath for you, but not without kissing you on the forehead on his way to the shared bedrooms ensuite bathroom.

You loved that bathroom — it had been what sold you on the house in the first place. Sure, the kitchen was nice, but the bathroom had a huge bathtub, a spacious shower, and the colors of the floor and shower tiles went together without clashing or being gaudy.

The lighting wasn't bad either.

You called it your 'own little slice of Heaven'.

You soon finished and put your plate in the sink, but before you could wash up the couple dishes, Husk grabbed your hand and guided you to the bathroom where he urged you to undress and get into the hot bath while he handled the couple dishes.

You did as he asked and got undressed, stepping into the tub filled with water and bubbles. Immediately, the stress from the day melted away as the heat soothed the aching muscles that you surprisingly hadn't noticed until then.

Husk joined you a few minutes later, slipping into the water behind you. He hated water as much as the next cat, but for you, he'd do anything and everything.

"It was a long fuckin' day." He groaned at the hot water, your back pressed against his chest.

"You're telling me. . . I thought it would never end." You chuckled and then sighed contently. "I could fall asleep right here."

"You love going with me and you know it." Husk mused, his hands finding their way into your hair, fidgeting with the strands in a way that raised goosebumps.

"I do. But I also love having moments like this. Moments where it's just us. No gambling. No overlord society gala. No worries. Just us in our slice of Heaven."

He couldn't help but agree, those moments were perhaps the best part of his day.

And he'd give you that.

He'd give you everything.

It didn't matter what it was, whether it was material or otherwise. He loved you, so the world was yours if you asked. Money. Power. Anything. Everything.

"We have all of eternity for moments like this. . . We've already taken the first step." He ran one of his clawed hands down your arm until it was placed in the hand that the sparkly ring adorned, glistening in the light.

Everything for all of eternity.

🏷Tags: @6esiree

[mothwingwritings]

What Picture Of You The Baki Men Choose As Their Phone Background, Pt. 1 <3

Reader X Baki, Retsu, and Katsumi

I saw this prompt for some other fandoms and thought it was absolutely adorable, so here are some silly little sweet headcanons for your reading pleasure!

Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Mostly fluff, some mentions of suggestive themes and spicy texts, but other than that it’s rather mild. Also, it’s pretty lightly edited. No gendered words, but leans towards a female reader.

/)/) /)/) ( . .) (⸝⸝ᵕ ᵕ) ~ ♪ (ა📱ა૮( )ა

Baki Hanma 📱

Lock Screen- A cute picture of the two of you from one of your first official dates. It was at an amusement park and some of the park employees were greeting oncoming guests dressed up as mascots, milling around the front of the park posing with and taking pictures with the newcomers. At the time you were rather embarrassed, the characters mostly flocked to the children that were entering the park, but since there were no children in your party they all buzzed around you instead. The huge, florescent pink cat-suited individual that danced around you commented on what a lovely couple you were, urging you and Baki to form a heart with your hands as they posed energetically behind you, their cohort (an equally bright blue dog) snapping a quick picture of the three of you with Baki’s phone. Though the photo was rushed and a little blurry, you are all smiles in the shot, both yourself and Baki looking both bashful and genuinely happy. The love radiating through that image alone warms his heart each time he glances at it, and it warmed yours in turn to know he cherished the memory as much as you did, going so far as to set it as his lock screen so that he could be reminded of it each time he checked his phone.

Home Screen- A candid picture of yourself on another one of your dates, taken quite some time after the amusement park picture was taken. The newbie awkwardness in your relationship had greatly diminished at this point, a peaceful sort of comfort and familiarity now reigning supreme in your romance. Years of being with another person does that to you, your new-relationship jitters subsiding as you get to know all about your partner, their best and worst sides. With time all their obnoxious or gross habits have long since been laid bare, but you are still somehow simultaneously finding new things about them that make you love them even more. Your love changes with time, morphing from something fresh and new to something much deeper, more concrete, more real. The picture he displayed on his homes screen was taken on a random day at a random time when nothing in particular was going on. You were simply walking in front of him and stopped for a brief moment to look at something across the way. He wasn’t even sure what it was that caught your attention, didn’t even really care, he was just fully fixated on you and how breathtakingly gorgeous you looked in that average, everyday moment. Before he even realized he was doing it he snapped a pic, and he was very grateful that he did. Each time he stares at his screen his heart races, beating so rapidly it’s as if he was back in the puppy-love stage of the relationship, and he falls for you all over again.

/)/) /)/) ( . .) (⸝⸝ᵕ ᵕ) ~ ♪ (ა📱ა૮( )ა

Retsu Kaioh 📱

Lock Screen- Like Baki, Retsu is rather fond of candid pictures. Something about capturing you spur of the moment in your day to day life really appeals to him, his heart fluttering when he catches glimpses of reminders that you have become a part of his daily routine. He gets to witness you in all states of being, and knowing you are comfortable enough around him to be your most natural, unguarded self, warms his heart like nothing else. You yourself didn’t find anything super special about the picture he took of you at the home and garden store. If anything you felt the image of yourself holding a succulent in a death grip, eying it a little too intensely as you debated whether you wanted to purchase it or not, was embarrassing. Retsu begs to differ, and each time you gripe about it he goes on a mini spiel, explaining to you in a little too much detail just how endearing he finds your ‘suffering an internal crisis as you try to find the perfect plant for the kitchen windowsill’ expression. This never ceases to instantly make your cheeks blush bright red at the impassioned nature of his tone. Still, the fact that he can find such ardent moments of love in the mundane is one of the reasons why you fell for him to begin with. You hope to share many more little adventures with him that yield even more random pictures you can look back on and smile, whether you personally find them flattering or not. As long as they bring Retsu joy, you will find joy in them as well.

Home Screen- If the picture of you at the store made you a little self-conscious, then his home screen was enough to make you want to bury your face and cry. At some point he had snapped an image of you asleep on the couch. This wasn’t some cutesy ‘I just fell asleep and look like a peaceful little angel’ snooze either- you were DEEP in the troughs of a nap, completely dead to the world. Mouth wide open with a rivulet of drool seeping out the side, old shirt rumpled up with your hand rested on your exposed belly, hair an absolute rats nest as it messily framed your head, it was the kind of picture that could easily be used as blackmail. Yet Retsu cherished it, beaming down at it like a parent looking at their child’s straight A report card. While you cringed each time you peered at his phone screen, questioning why in the world he would pick such an unflattering picture of you to stare at each day, it crossed your mind that maybe he set it as a joke, or to poke fun at you. That thought was quickly laid to rest however, as the sheer look of pure love that reflected in his eyes each time he stared at it made you keenly aware that his choice of setting it as his wallpaper was no prank. Somehow he found true beauty in that gross picture of you, and that in and of itself melted your heart a little bit. So it didn’t really matter how much you loathed the picture, after seeing Retsu’s puppy dog eyes as he stared at your passed out visage you decided it was fine to let him keep it as his background in lieu of something a little more complementary (as long as no one else was allowed to use his phone and potentially see it, that is).

/)/) /)/) ( . .) (⸝⸝ᵕ ᵕ) ~ ♪ (ა📱ა૮( )ა

Katsumi Orochi 📱

Lock Screen- He is definitely the type of dude to have some kind of dweeby, professionally done picture of the two of you as his lock screen. You remember thinking he was kidding when he asked you if you were interested in booking a couples photo session, but when you noted the serious look in his eye as he pressed the issue, you knew the offer wasn’t a joke. Though hesitant, you found yourself unable to turn him down, and a few days later you found yourself in a photo studio posing awkwardly while a photographer happily snapped away, complimenting what a cute couple you were as he directed you to pose this way or that. Despite the previous uncertainty and slightly uncomfortable atmosphere, quite a few gems were born from the shoot, and you ended up being very happy to have some beautifully charming shots to look back on. A certain picture stood out from the rest, one grabbed just as some silly, random comment from Katsumi made you both burst into a fit of laughter. With his arms wrapped around you from behind and huge genuine smiles engulfing both your faces, you leaned into one other, reliant on each other’s support lest you collapse to the ground into a pile of giggles. It was such a fun, happy capture that it very easily became your all-time favorite picture of the two of you.  So you couldn’t help but smile when you happened to spy his lock screen, finding it ironic that he chose your favorite picture to grace his background, especially when your own lock screen displayed the exact same pic. <3

Home Screen- A spicier selfie you sent him in the past. While there is no nudity in the shot itself, you can pinpoint the precise moment you took the shot, remembering it as one that definitely led to some much more revealing pictures (with provocative text to match). You also remembered being quite proud of the selfie- the seductive smolder in your eye, the way your shirt had slunk down your shoulder, the coy little smile on your face as you bit into your bottom lip, all of it came together for a truly sexy presentation. You weren’t one to often brag about your looks, but that day you worked hard to look hot and it had certainly paid off.  That day had also blessed you with good lighting and one of the best hair/makeup days of your life, so to see the image grace his phone screen made butterflies burst in your stomach, a feeling of elation washing over you with the realization that the effort you put in was not in vain. Though it made you blush a little to see that he had made one of the private pictures you sent him his phone background, there was no denying that it pleased you greatly. He was the type of man that earnestly believed that you were the most gorgeous thing on the planet no matter how much or little you were dolled up, but realizing that he took extra notice of when you put in effort to look your best for him, liking it to the point of making it a picture he could stare at all day (while all manner of fantasies were surely buzzing through his brain)…. Well, it certainly set your heart a flutter, for more reason than one.

/)/) /)/) ( . .) (⸝⸝ᵕ ᵕ) ~ ♪ (ა📱ა૮( )ა

[mochiwrites]

For the ask game/prompt, mayhaps #1 with Scarian? Could be in canon, one of your AUs, or any other AU you think of lol, no preference ☺️

01. Touch starved/cuddle curse (put that guy in a situation!)

reblogs do more than likes!

"How in the world have you managed this, Scar?!" Grian's indignant voice exclaims, echoing in the small space of Scar's train car. The avian looks down at the man currently pouting at him, a sheepish expression on his face.

"I-I don't know! Joel just gave me this potion thingy and -- and said it would be good for bonding with cOW!" As he speaks, he makes a grabbing motion for Grian, his pout morphing into a pleading look.

Grian pointedly takes a step back from Scar's outreaching arms, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Trusting Joel was your first mistake," he mumbles, sucking in a breath.

"He's a trustworthy fellow!" Scar retorts, "Besides, I don't see what's so bad about this arrangement... all I want to do is cuddle with you."

"That's exactly the problem, Scar!" The feathers of Grian's wings fluff up as he stares at his husband with a firm look. "I have building I have to do! Shops to set up, permits to not do! I also promised Gem I'd help her out with something in a few hours. I can't just stay here with you all day."

Scar's pleading expression only becomes stronger, his green eyes looking shiny as he stares up at Grian from where he sits on his head. "Please, lovebird? Just for a little bit?" He makes another grabbing motion for Grian, who finds his resolve rapidly crumbling the longer he looks at Scar.

"Nuh uh mister, I know exactly how this sort of thing goes. We both know it won't just be 'for a little bit,'" he answers. Grian's making any desperate attempts at keeping his denial firm.

But... he could just tell Gem he'd be around tomorrow. And it's not like the Permit Office is really ever open. They're only sometimes there to help anyway. And he still hasn't come up with any ideas for his mushroom stem shop.

"I promise this time I'll stick to it! Only a few hours, I swear on my hat!" Scar exclaims, eagerly nodding.

"Where have I heard that one before," Grian mumbles under his breath, fondness written into each and every word. He lets out a little sigh, "Alright, alright, fine. But only for a few hours! Let's hope this... cuddle affliction has run its course by then."

He takes a step toward Scar, and the moment he's close enough, a hand jumps out to grab hold of his wrist. Grian yelps as he's pulled right into Scar's lap, arms slinging around his waist. He steadies himself by gripping Scar's shoulders, finding the love of his life grinning at him.

"You should know I always want to cuddle with you." Scar shoots him a cheeky little wink, making Grian roll his eyes, a small smile upon his lips. "You just fit in my arms so perfectly!"

"Maybe that's just because you're a giant," Grian huffs, getting settled in Scar's hold. He moves to lay his head on Scar's shoulder, tucking it within the crook of his neck. "You're like one big teddy bear."

Scar squeezes him lightly, one of his hands moving to rest against the small of his back, right in between his feathers. The contact leaves Grian melting right into him with a content noise. "Am I a cute teddy bear?"

Grian snorts at him.

"It's the most important question I've ever asked you next to proposing, Grian!" Scar gasps in return, a serious look in his eyes. His green eyes sparkle with mirth, and pressed against him like this, Grian can feel the way his chest rumbles with hidden laughter. "I have to know if I'm a cute teddy bear!"

"Yes Scar," Grian sighs fondly, pulling back to hold the man's face in his hands, "you're a very cute teddy bear." He accentuates his response with a kiss to Scar's nose, "Although Jellie is cuter."

Scar makes some kind of ecstatic noise, pulling Grian down into bed as he rolls onto his side. Grian squawks at the sudden action, just narrowly avoiding his wings getting squished. "But of course! No one is cuter than Jellie. You come in a close second place though."

If it were anyone but Jellie, Grian would have complained.

Instead, he snuggles in close to Scar, wrapping a wing around him as they fall into a comfortable silence. Scar's arms are secure around him, and Grian thinks he'd be fine with laying here all day, wrapped in his husband's arms.

"Remember Scar, only for a few hours."

"Right, right! Only a few hours. Or until this cuddle curse goes away!"

(They go well over 'a few hours' together. Grian's communicator pings a few times, but it sounds almost silent over the pair's easy breaths as they sleep.)

[the-kr8tor]

I see that your requests are open👀

Can I get a fix of a modern Hobie taking us to a hello kitty cafe ORRR like my last ask hobie and reader being famous online and maybe they record abt them playing roblox together (horror games, da hood maybe fun games) and hobie gets in yet ANOTHER fight with someone cause they think reader and Hobie are edating

P.S It's 11pm and everyone is Asleep and now I'm scared cause I keep feeling like there's something watching me from the dark (that's edgy)

ANOTHER P.S hope u have a merry Christmas:3

-🧋

I understand, lovely because when u submitted this there's a loud scratching in my ceiling 😭 thank you for requesting! I chose the gaming one bc I couldn't resist a gamer Hobie 🥰 hope you had a very Merry Christmas! 🫶

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Gamer! Hobie and reader, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“Love, hide!” Hobie yells in his mic, mouse clicking rapidly as he panics to hide from the pixelated monster. He hears your screams bouncing around in his headphones.

“Where?! There's nothing here!” Your character frantically runs around as the monster is hot on your tail.

“You just passed it! Hold on!” Hobie exits his hiding place, intercepting the monster’s attention from you to him. “Hey, E.T. lookin' arse, over here!” the monster has now latched on to him, pulling aggro for you.

“Hobie, noooo!” You see Hobie's character get eaten in one bite. He groans at his death screen briefly before showing him your character watching in the background, emoting a crying face.

“Fuck you!” The monster turns around to chase you again. “Your sacrifice won't be in vain!” running, you play ring around the rosie with the monster, your screams of terror turning into laughter.

Hobie's spectating your POV, laughing loudly at your expense. He flicks his eyes to the second monitor to read the chat, his smiling morphing into annoyance.

“E-dating?! You think we're e-dating?! Chat, what the bloody hell?” Hobie moves so animatedly that his headset almost falls off.

He sees his chat go wild, their comments vary from ‘you've probably never seen her irl, bro’ to ‘They're definitely not! Have you seen them ogling each other through the camera?’

“Where's my fuckin' mod?! Ned ban their arse!” Hobie chuckles through his threat, clearly just joking. He still hears you laughing hysterically in his headphones, making him grin despite the bullying from his chat. Then he hears your character ‘oof’

“I died” you say dejectedly. “Fucker got me, looks like you sacrificed yourself for nothing, Hobie.”

“That's alright I forgive you because there's somethin' else that's more important.” He turns around in his chair, looking over his shoulder to look at the green cloth behind him. “Love, can you tell ‘em we're not e-dating and that we're literally in love”

Hobie opens his green screen curtain to reveal you sitting on your own desk, your back turned away from him. Your spare monitor shows his livestream, you quirk an eyebrow when you see yourself in his camera.

The chat goes completely wild, some spamming emojis, some are just straight up key smashing.

You look over your shoulder with a smile, waving at his camera. Swiveling your chair, you wheel towards Hobie's desk, laying your chin atop his shoulder. He holds your hand subtly under the desk, squeezing thrice.

“Is this enough proof?”

Everyone clipped the entire thing.

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Happy Now? | Captain Rogers & Agent Brat AU | Steve Rogers x Reader | Drabble - 500words

If Steve thinks he's getting away with giving you a shitty mission he has another thing coming…

Warnings: Bratty reader & Brat Tamer Steve, implied previous sexual content, kissing

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist | Captain Rogers & Agent Brat AU | Steve Rogers

You followed Steve out of the briefing room, taking an extra half step for each of his long strides.

“Get back here!” You shouted, ignoring the ringing echo of your voice in the wide metal atrium of the Avengers tower.

“Agent, please take your mission pack and study it quietly.” He tossed a quick glance over his shoulder and you caught a glimpse of his newly bearded cheeks, stubble that had grown out during your last mission together and the following two weeks stuck in a safe house in the Alps.

“Steven Grant Rogers, I’m talking to you.” You grabbed a pen from another passing agent and chucked it as hard as you could at his retreating back, internally screaming when it merely bounced off of his shield.

From the incline of his head you were almost 100% sure he was laughing at you.

Picking up your pace you followed him away from the meeting rooms and across the building to the offices, chasing after him as he strode past your colleagues, touching his fingers to his forehead in a casual salute.

You caught up to him outside of the lifts, watching him bounce on his toes slightly as he whistled to himself.

“Steve!” You muscled past the other waiting agents to stand directly in front of him, crossing your arms and glaring up at him in frustration.

“Oh, hello Agent.” He smiled, “lovely to see you here too, going up?”

The doors pinged behind you and Steve moved you backwards into the waiting lift.

“This one’s full.” He said, firmly, blocking anyone else from entering, his smile morphed from his PR friendly pose to the hungry grin you were used to. He said nothing, simply watched you as you paced back and forth in front of the rapidly changing view as the lift shot up to the living quarters.

“Steve, you can’t bench me, you know I’m a good agent, I don’t understand it, we just got back from another mission. Do you think because we’re sleeping together I can’t perform as well as other agents? Or as well as I did before?” You ranted, waving your hands and barely stopping to look at him until he blocked your path.

“It’s hot when you talk back.” He whispered, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

“Rogers you had better not be trying something right now.” You shoved at him, but he caught your hands and pulled you back, crushing his lips to yours. His kiss was fierce, burning as his beard rubbed against the soft skin of your cheeks, a reminder of how much closer you’d been before returning to the bustle of the tower. Instinctively you wrapped your arms around his neck before remembering your ire and pushing him away again.

His smile was still plastered to his face, only slightly ruffled by your rejection.

“Seriously, you can’t bench me and then -”

“I told you to check your mission pack.”

“Steve, stop being an asshole.”

“Honey, stop being a brat”

He pulled the black folder from your hands and flipped past the first few pages to the confidential file fitted snugly between the usual boring beige pages of desk work that he’d handed out earlier.

“Happy now?”

You nodded, jumping back into his arms and placing kisses over his bearded cheeks

[defectivevillain]

like a villain

pairing: Shota Aizawa/Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

summary: For a few seconds, Shota and you stare at one another. From strangers to friends to partners to ‘enemies’… the two of you have a long history. At UA, you frequently talked about where you may end up after school. But neither of you pictured yourselves here, standing at opposite sides of a rapidly growing chasm. There’s a war on the horizon, and those who don’t take a firm side will be left to the dust and rubble.

word count: 2.1k | ao3 version

author's notes: The reader and Aizawa decided to become heroes after graduating from U.A. But somewhere along the way, the reader grew too powerful: and other heroes started to fear them. Before long, the reader was declared an enemy. Years later, the reader—fully embracing their prescribed villainy—runs into Eraserhead, the vigilante.

The reader’s villain name is Havoc; their Quirk is something to do with blood. I didn’t feel like fleshing the Quirk out too much, I’m not going to lie, so imagine that however you’d like. 

I can't lie, I wrote this with the intention of focusing on Aizawa/Reader. But it morphed into a character study/commentary on heroes and villains, with some allusions to their past relationship. There is no explicit romance, ultimately. Also, this is not a happy story! You have been warned :3

The title of this fic is from Like A Villain by Bad Omens. I never said I was good at titles, lol.

Warnings: canon-typical violence, societal inequities, prejudice

You’re standing in the shadows of an abandoned alley, your nose scrunching in distaste as the pervasive scent of garbage and rot hits your nostrils. You make your way down the cracked pavement quickly, turning a corner and escaping the foul scent. Your every sense is waiting for what you know will soon come. Each minute sound is enough to make you survey your surroundings warily; each blur out of the corner of your eye makes you turn your head. 

This will likely be the last time you meet with Shota Aizawa under amicable circumstances. And things have certainly taken an unpredictable turn since your prior encounter, all those years ago. After all, Shota and you promised to do everything together. You had plans to graduate from UA at the top of your class and build enough experience to form your own hero agency. And while you both graduated with top marks, your other goals never came to fruition. Despite the seemingly countless nights spent staring up at the stars and thinking about your shared future, your paths diverged. After that fateful day—the one you promised yourself never to think about ever again—Aizawa became a vigilante. You bite your lip as you’re forced to process everything that occurred between you—and the subsequent years of radio silence that dominated what used to be an unbreakable friendship. 

You’re slightly doubtful that he won’t even show up tonight. It would be frighteningly easy. The thought distresses and comforts you in equal measure. Before you can fall down that slippery slope of logic, you’re drawn out of your thoughts by a familiar voice. “Havoc.” 

You turn around, a maelstrom of emotions hitting you all at once as you lock eyes with the vigilante you’ve been waiting for. Eraserhead stands at the mouth of the alleyway, every part of his posture speaking to his wariness and apprehension. You feel a sardonic smile rising on your lips at the thought of your childhood friend regarding you in the same way an enemy would. 

“Come on, Shota,” you say, making a show of removing your hands from your pockets and gesturing to the dirtied brick walls around you. “It’s just us out here. You don’t have to pretend.” You implore him. 

Shota is silent. For several moments, he stands entirely frozen and unmoving. You’re mostly amused by the show he’s putting on; yet a small, traitorous part of you is sickened by the thought that the one person who knew you better than anyone is regarding you with such discomfort. You silence those whispers in the back of your mind and watch as he slowly takes a few steps towards you—closer but still a ‘safe’ distance from you. “You betrayed me.” Shota says, a note of something unreadable and uncharacteristic in his voice. You raise a brow, your throat burning at the accusation. 

“I betrayed you?” You hum, maintaining a cool aura. Your blood is thrumming beneath your skin, an ever-present reminder of your Quirk and the pathetic justification for how you were treated all those years ago. After all, you were a hero, once upon a time. And your departure from that work was not your choice. “The hero commission wanted me in a cell in Tartarus.” You remind him pointedly. The thought makes you grip your upper arm tightly, desperate for an anchor to reality. Unsettlingly realistic images invade your thoughts, sending you to rot in a blinding white cell surrounded by some of Japan’s most dangerous villains. 

“It was for your own good,” Shota recites. You regard him for a long moment, surprised that he still believes the lie he was spoon-fed. After all, Shota was there for you throughout your training at UA: he knew how well you were able to control your Quirk. The hero commission was not trying to protect you—they were trying to contain you. 

“You would have me locked away for the rest of my life,” you say hollowly. “I was nothing more than an experiment, a liability.” 

He shakes his head, a minute slip in composure hinting at his frustration. It’s gone in a flash. “We used to have the same dream.” To save those who can’t save themselves, you recall. To protect those in danger. “This isn’t the way to achieve it,” Shota gestures towards you. 

“And heroism is?” You scoff wryly, unable to resist a broken laugh at the irony. “Come on, Shota. You’re barely a hero yourself.” The air falls silent at the accusation.

“Right, because I’m too self-serving.” Shota then recalls, with the practiced ease of someone who has constantly been questioned and unfairly scrutinized. You’re not surprised by the admission, but you are disappointed. 

“You know I don’t believe that,” you squint at him. Shota blinks for a second, seemingly surprised by your argument. “But everyone else does. I don’t understand why you let them treat you as some sort of monster.” 

That remark hits home. You see him flinch. You’ve uttered nothing slanderous—it is all the horrible, uncompromising truth. Yet he refuses to acknowledge it. “You’re the monster.” Shota says. You notice that he’s been steadily breaking the distance between you. You take a few steps forward, until you’re only one step away from him. You’re close enough to see the emotions warring in his eyes, the tension pulling his shoulders tight, the helplessness clenching his fists at his sides. 

“Oh, Shota,” you whisper, reaching out to trace your finger along his cheekbone. He shudders. “You don’t even believe that.” You hum, studying his expression. Indeed, the remark was deflective, rather than accusatory. You both know it. But you’re not the one denying it.

The vigilante grabs your wrist roughly, pushing it away from his face. You let your hand fall back to your side, but make no move to enforce the distance between the both of you. Shota doesn’t budge either; you can’t help but wonder what he’s trying to do. Maybe, just maybe, your words are getting to him. 

Suddenly driven, you continue speaking. “You’re many things: a hero is not one of them.” You remark. Coming from you, that statement is a compliment; to him, it is a great offense. “You’re an outlier, an outcast. You don’t subscribe to the politics of it all. You think that refusing to play will win you the game.”

There’s a constant, low hum from the cars driving past on nearby streets and the electricity powering the city’s brightness. The warmth is a contradiction, a façade that hides the griminess of the shadows threatening to weigh the city down. Beneath the starless sky, there are countless people suffering. Yet heroes are so quick to romanticize it—to look up at the sky as if existence is a gift. Perhaps to them, it is. 

“But you won’t win,” you say with a sad smile. The night air seems to fall still around you, hanging in suspense as it awaits your words. “You can’t change the system by working within it and bending to its rules.” 

Shota frowns. “Can’t I?” He argues. You squint and attempt to see things from his perspective. Sure, Eraserhead has made an impact. But one vigilante isn’t enough to change an entire society’s structure. Currently, Japan relies on Quirks to survive—it relies on heroes to serve as figureheads and villains to serve as enemies. Such a polarizing binary won’t bend to the whims of one single person, regardless of how determined that person may be. 

Moreover, is his unrelenting vigilantism even sustainable? You both know it isn’t, even if Shota doesn’t wish to recognize it. You just shake your head, your chest heavy as you slowly start to come to terms with his stubbornness. It’s almost a lost cause. But something in you refuses to give up on him. It’s foolish, maybe. But you don’t want to see him break under the pressure. “They’re going to eat you alive, Shota,” you warn, “Bleed you dry, until there’s nothing left for you to give.” Your voice is deceptively calm. 

“Poetic,” Shota remarks dryly. His voice is ever so slightly strained. If you didn’t have a long history with him, you wouldn’t have noticed. But you do notice, and the slight break of his voice only pushes you to continue. 

“You know it to be true,” you assert. For a few seconds, the two of you stare at one another. From strangers to friends to partners to ‘enemies’… Shota and you have a long history. It’s ironic to think back to the conversations you had about life after school. Ultimately, neither of you pictured yourselves here: standing at opposite sides of a rapidly growing chasm. There’s a war on the horizon, and those who don’t take a firm side will be left to the dust and rubble. 

You reflect on his words from a few moments ago. “I may be a monster.” You acquiesce after a few seconds. Shota’s brows drift up his forehead as he stares at you in poorly hidden surprise. You bite the inside of your cheek hard. “But at least I’m not lying to myself.” 

Shota’s eyes flash a brutal crimson. For a moment, everything in you seems to fall still. The constant feeling of connection threading you together is fading. You stand there with your arms crossed over your chest, silently challenging him to do what he’s been told to do. Eventually, Shota sighs and deactivates his Quirk. 

“Heroes only arrive after the damage has been done,” you murmur, trying to get through to him. “They don’t attempt to heal the society that has wronged many people—the society that has pushed them down and preyed on them until they have no other option but to resist. Heroes protest the existence of the same villains they create.”

Shota is quiet, but you can see the accusatory gleam in his eyes. You frown. “I don’t have a penchant for cruelty, Shota,” you maintain, sensing his argument even if he doesn’t utter it. “I only want justice.” The city bustles with life around you, yet in a nondescript alleyway, you are invisible to all. The heroes never venture this far south, and it doesn’t take long to realize why. The filthy walls, the discarded trash, and the disadvantaged people crowding the pavement are all a living contradiction to their comfort. 

“But, maybe you’re right,” you admit. Shota’s eyes snap up to yours. A light breeze rustles your skin, blowing through Aizawa’s jet-black hair. Your hand twitches with restless energy. Your blood runs along your veins, crawling up your skin and threatening to burst. Even with your exceptional control over your Quirk, you feel its energy pushing back against you. “I have changed.” You admit.  

Shota is silent. He has not spoken in several minutes. You can only hope he’s digesting everything you’ve said. You take a slow breath. “I grew up,” you state. Your next statement is spoken with an eerie tranquility. “You didn’t.” Indeed, past Shota’s lean stature and mature outlook, a naive hope for peace remains. The vigilante inhales sharply. The stiff air almost seems to ring in your ears and prickle along your skin. 

You study him for a long moment, scrutinizing him. Shota looks exhausted—plagued by a fatigue that sleep can’t fix. He is often tired, but there’s an unfamiliar weariness clinging to his form. He isn’t tired from lack of sleep; he’s tired of fighting for a society that ostracizes him. He’s fighting a battle he was destined to lose. And even if he does manage to win, he will receive little to no gratitude. Shota is drowning in the expectations of others, forcing himself to fit into a black-and-white world. But he has always been overwhelmingly grey. 

“When they push you past your breaking point, they will discard you and leave you to die,” you continue. Indeed, in a society filled with countless people with powerful Quirks, heroes are more than expendable. They are treated as tools and weapons. The moment they malfunction, misfire, or break… they’re scrapped. You stare at Shota, unable to stop yourself from noticing the signs of a hero who has overworked themself. Scars crawl across his face; his knuckles are bloodied; his eyes are shadowed by prominent dark circles. You swallow past the inexplicable urge to reach out to Shota, instead dragging your eyes to meet his gaze one last time. “And I’m afraid I won’t be there in time to pull you from the wreckage.” 

Despite the unsettling quiet, there’s a buzzing feeling assaulting your ears and weighing your shoulders down. It feels remarkably similar to grief. Yes, you’re more than familiar with the feeling of horrid, inexplicable anticipation—death is always following on its heels. If Shota pushes himself too far, there will be nothing left to heal. You stare into Shota’s eyes and see nothing but his own demise reflected in them.

thanks for reading! <3

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[baldurs-gape]

Beware of the Pointy Bits

Somehow Gale had always thought that the most difficult part of dating a vampire would be avoiding the fangs. Loathe as he was to admit it, he was wrong. Kissing Astarion was easy, the other had had 200 years of perfecting how to kiss without revealing his fangs so it wasn't an issue. Not once did Gale nick his tongue or lips on them which was only a slight shame as there was something quite erotic about the idea. Then again his blood was rather potently vile so it was perhaps for the best.

Armour was one thing to get caught on. Weapons was not one Gale was a fan of. Nothing was worse than getting back to somewhere (mostly/kind of/somewhat) private only to have to start fiddling with straps and buckles. And gods forbid a metal pauldron was thrown to the ground in enthusiasm rather than delicately placed with reverence. Horny and eager did not make for a good combination for such moments. Astarion had actually bitched and moaned the one time Gale had discarded the chest piece of his armour and it got a scratch.

Then there was the issue of the helmet and Astarion's ears. Whoever came up with the design was obviously not very caring of pointy ears. Gale cursed them out when he'd tried to tug it off Astarion, only to elicit a yowl of pain rather than a purr of happiness. Rather than spend the time getting off, Gale had to sit with Astarion in his lap and rub his poor ears better. Elves and their sesitive ears, it was just not fair.

Finally though, sword, bow, arrows and armour (including helmet) came off and Gale thought maybe fortune would turn in his favour. Kissing Astarion, he pressed close against him only to jerk away.

"Ow." He rubbed just below his rib where something had poked him sharp. Looking a little sheepish, Astarion reached under his shirt and pulled a dagger out and Gale squeezed his eyes shut. "Why? You couldn't get that out from under your armour even if you needed it."

"If I get caught and taken prisoner they'll take my weapons and armour. But they'll never find all my weapons."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gale tried to will himself into the present moment. There was flirting with danger and there was bedding a walking armoury.

"Fine. Right. Could you please take all weapons and clothes off? The only thing I was hoping to get impaled on was your cock." But the mood was rather rapidly going.

Leering, Astarion reached down for his boot. Out came a dagger from the outside of his calf. An arrow from the inside. And the same on the other foot. His sock garters might as well have been called throwing knife stores with an alternate function to hold stockings up. On one level it was impressive. On another it was excessive.

"Excellent. Done?"

Astarion held a hand up to halt him moving closer. While his bracers had held a couple of daggers, under his sleeve were scalpels tied to his lower arms. Under his shirt, strapped to his back was a shortsword. After that Gale stopped paying much attention. What was more of note to his brain was the growing pile of weapons next to Astarion. Aside from the usual sharp and pointy there was now also a whip, a couple of bombs, a syringe, a couple of throwing stars. Finally Astarion stood naked before him, arms out to the side.

"Done!" His smile morphed into a frown. "Hang on!" Reaching into the curls of his hair, a coil of garotting wire joined the pile as well as a couple of lockpicking tools and a razorblade. "Now I'm done."

Somehow, Gale wasn't quite sure when, he had gone from post-battle "oh shit we're alive" sex desires to "you are so competent that my brain is leaking from my ears with how much I want you to put that competency to use on me". Thankfully, Astarion didn't much care which kind of horny he was, all that mattered was they had a good time.

[juicinmyjams]

untitled gym class fic

A ball whistles past his face, centimeters from his nose. 

Eddie doesn’t want to be here. 

He wouldn’t be here under normal circumstances but his guidance counselor had practically hunted him down, dragged him to her office, and told him that if he didn’t start getting his ass to class and actually staying there, it would be Hawkins High Senior Year, round three for him. 

So now, instead of spending fourth period doing literally anything else, he’s here, in gym class, fighting for his life during the dodgeball unit. 

Or, more like ducking and diving and weaving and running for it, death grip on the ball he’s had since the beginning of the match, fingers creaking from how hard he’s holding it. It’s all about survival and ignoring the stitch in his side. 

There’s something in the air today and Eddie would put good fucking money on it being Harrington and Hargrove on opposite teams. He’s never been one for high school politics but he would have had to smoke his whole stash and then dip into his supplies to miss the power struggle between those two. Especially the Monday they both came to school, beat to hell and back. No one could figure out what happened and both of them were silent about it. 

Still, it never really concerned Eddie until right now that he’s smack in the middle of the fucking fire fight the two have instigated in the middle of 4th period. 

And it’s a big one. He’d thought, maybe like an idiot, that it would have fizzled out. King Steve had seemed to be more than happy to give up his crown, letting Hargrove slip into the power vacuum he’d left behind. 

Until today. 

It’s a weird place to make a stand, the dodgeball court in gym class. Eddie’s not sure what changed, but it’s like the return of the fucking king here. Harrington’s a live wire, like he used to be. And Hargrove’s putting up a hell of a fight about it, giving back as good as he gets.

Maybe something happened over the weekend, or somebody said something in the locker rooms. 

Whatever it is, Harrington is in top form today, running around the court, nigh untouchable as he bends to scoop up rubber balls and hurl them back across the center divide, thighs flexing in those short Hawkins High P.E uniform shorts. 

Another ball comes at Eddie and he doesn’t have time to duck, brain still lagging over the mole on Harrington’s mid-thigh. All he can do is raise his hands to block. It doesn’t hit him, just bounces off the one he’s been holding, sending it up into the air. 

Harrington is on it immediately, catching it before it hits the ground and then speedballing it back to the other side, getting two people out in one go. 

“Nice one, Munson!” He says, looks up and-

Oh, it’s horrible. Awful. The worst thing that’s ever happened to Eddie. 

The guys got color high on his cheeks, flushed from battle and his hair is still fucking good, even as it flops over his forhead. His eyes are the worst, sparkling, with crinkles around the corners and he’s smiling, full on, like he’s having a blast. 

All Eddie can do is blink, rapidly as his brain forces him to auto-reboot on the spot. 

Then, someone says something. Eddie doesn’t know who it is at first, or what is said, still can’t pull himself away from Harrington’s face so he sees the whole thing, as the guy looks away, watches as the joy slides right off only stopping until he’s hit a frown.

It’s fucking criminal. 

Eddie follows Harrington’s line of sight, finds Hargrove at the other end. The guy also has a kind of manic glee on his face, one that comes out at parties, when he’s being a dick. There’s nothing about it that’s happy, only a sick kind of triumph as whatever he says hits home. 

It’s not planned, what happens next. Eddie doesn’t even think about it until he’s got his ball in hand, cocked and ready to go. And then he’s throwing, releasing, watching as it goes sailing through the air. 

As it connects with Hargrove’s upper chest. As he recoils, almost in slow motion, and this time it's his face that morphs, to anger, surprise. The ball bounces off of him and falls to the floor, dribbling away in the sudden silence of the gym as everyone falls quiet to watch. 

Hargrove stands there almost in shock, until the teacher blows the whistle and tells him he’s out. 

And then there’s laughter, right next to Eddie. Harrington’s not smiling like he was, but it’s close. A little bit of sunshine in the gross gym, his laugh sending Eddie’s stomach straight into knots. The noise of the game kicks back in as people start up again. 

“Great throw, man!” 

And then he’s coming for Eddie, hand raised, still fucking laughing. 

Eddie’s no good at the high five thing that sports guys do, but he manages okay, Harrington’s sweaty palm meeting his own with a satisfying clap.

These are the most coordinated five seconds of Eddie’s life and he can’t believe they’re happening during a dodgeball game. 

Harrington crosses behind him, to head back into the fray and-

And then there’s a pat, firm and quick. Unmistakable. Right on Eddie’s left ass cheek. 

Eddie’s brain shorts. Vacates the premise entirely and he’s left blinking after Harrington as he doesn’t look back, carries on dealing out carnage, dodgeball style. Picking up balls and launching them across the court with precision. Going on with life like he didn't just completely alter Eddie's.

Eddie’s still watching, not with an open mouth, definitely no, when suddenly he sees stars.

The sting of rubber doesn’t register until a few seconds later, and it’s not until he hears the whistle of the teacher does he realize that he’s been hit, smacked right across the face. 

He’s out. 

He turns and walks on jelly legs, to the bleachers. Finds a spot he doesn’t have to climb for and sinks to his seat.

-

This comes from me being too competitive at my recreational sports league and this post by @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe

EDIT: how could i forget this post by @yudol-skorbi which is always the high school steddie vibe to me

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Makin' the Best of a Bad Situation

Fandom: Outer Range, Rhett Abbott, f!reader

Summary: When Rhett and you get caught in a heavy rainstorm, you must take shelter in an old abandoned barn. Soaking wet and shivering, the two of you find your own way of heating things up.

Word Count: 2685

TW: Steamy/Smut, Fluff, Frottage, Undressing Each Other, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Language, Rhett picks Reader up

Notes: This is the smuttiest thing I have ever posted so I hope you enjoy!

Thank you so much to @writercole for the three-word prompt "flowers, forever, run" with Rhett. And a big thanks to @lorecraft for beta reading and to @mayhem24-7forever and @musings-of-a-rose for reading it over and providing your support. I love you all!!!

A cool drop of water burst against your cheek, rousing you from your slumber. Your eyes flutter open in surprise and you see that the brilliant blue sky that had been above you for what seems like seconds ago has turned a dark, cloudy gray. 

As another drop of rain splashes against your skin, you turn your head where it is resting on Rhett’s chest and stare up at his still-sleeping face which is slightly obscured by the baseball cap he has pulled down low. He looks so peaceful when he is asleep– younger, less burdened. But as much as it pains you to wake him from his much deserved rest, you know it is necessary.

So, running your fingers across his chest, you murmur, “Baby, wake up. It’s starting to rain.”

Rhett mumbles something in his sleep and wraps his arm around your waist, drawing you in tighter against him. Smiling, you bend over and press your lips to his as the rain begins to fall more rapidly. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Get up.”

With a groan, he peels open one eye to stare at you from under the bill of his cap. “Whatcha on about?”

“It’s raining. And we’re still a ways away from the house. We gotta start heading back.”

He glances up at the sky as if it has just occurred to him that he is currently being rained on. Sighing, he gently rolls you off him and he heaves himself to his feet. Then he holds out his hands and helps you up. 

Once you are standing before him, Rhett brushes off a few petals and blades of grass that are clinging to your dress. But when he looks up at your face, you see him notice something over your shoulder that makes him freeze– his eyes growing wide –and he breathes, “Oh shit.”

Confused, you turn to see what he is looking at, and you gasp.

A wall of rain is traveling across the pasture heading straight towards your picnic spot. As you stare at it in disbelief, part of you can’t help but marvel at the sight. The seemingly solid mass of water is moving swiftly across the field, engulfing the land as it passed. You watch as it swallows up one of the fences, the posts disappearing into the massive storm. 

And the noise! It is a wonder you hadn’t noticed the sound before, but as it draws closer, it is impossible to ignore. The thunderous pounding of rain on the hard, dry ground is an ominous warning of what is coming.

You have only seen a storm like this once before and the rain was so bad it washed out your driveway, trapping you in your house for days. And this storm is heading straight for you. 

Rhett grabs your hand and yells, “Run!” 

“But our stuff!” You try to reach for the blanket the two of you had been laying on, but Rhett yanks you away as he urges you forward.

“It’ll be fine. Now go!”

Rhett half drags you along as his long legs outpace yours but you manage to keep up as you tear through the pasture heading for the house. Just a short time earlier, you and Rhett had been chasing each other through these same flowers before he had wrestled you down onto the blanket. But all the carefree fun of that time has been replaced by a frantic urgency as you try to outrun the worst of the storm. 

But you are just too far away from shelter. In minutes, the soft drizzling around you morphs into a torrential downpour. The hard raindrops sting your skin and within seconds, you are soaked to the bone. You squeeze Rhett’s hand as tightly as you can. Through the sheets of rain, you can only barely see him and you are scared that if his hand slips from yours, the two of you won’t be able to find each other again and you don’t relish the thought of weathering the storm all alone. 

Suddenly, your hand is pulled sharply to the left. You stumble slightly on the slippery grass but manage to stay on your feet. Over the pounding roar of the rain, it sounds like Rhett is attempting to shout something to you, but you can’t make it out. However, you trust he knows what he is doing and you continue to follow his lead.

A few moments later, a building suddenly emerges out of the blinding rain. You only manage a quick glance before Rhett pulls you inside, but it looks like an old feed barn of some kind. Rhett had once mentioned there were a few abandoned barns or storage sheds scattered around the property left from the days when the ranch had flourished. But as business dwindled and their herd got smaller, there wasn’t a need for all these buildings and the upkeep was costing them more than they were worth. So, the Abbotts had just forgotten about them.

This is apparent as you look around the space. Though there didn’t seem to be any lights in the barn, it is still bright enough outside in the storm to illuminate the space around you. Empty food containers and turned over crates are thrown haphazardly on the far side of the barn and you see several bird's nests up in the rafters. The roof is leaking in half a dozen places, rain pouring in and puddling on the hay-covered floor. However, the middle section of the barn has held up fairly well and you and Rhett are able to find a dry area to huddle together. 

Rhett stares out into the pouring rain as he pulls off his baseball cap, rings it out, and stuffs it into his back pocket. Shaking his head in disbelief, he turns towards you. Raising his voice to be heard over the rain pounding on the tin roof, he says, “What the hell was that? I ain’t ever seen a storm come on that fast. You alright?”

You shrug with a small smile. “Sure. It’s just a little water.” You look down at the sizeable puddle that has formed underneath your dripping form. “Well…. A lot of water.”

“Didn’t think it was supposed to rain ‘til tonight. Sorry our date was ruined.” Rhett reaches out and plucks the flower from where he had tucked it behind your ear earlier this afternoon. When he had placed it there, it had been lively and full. But now it hung limply in his fingers with half the petals missing. 

As he tosses it to the floor, you shake your head. “It wasn’t ruined! We had such a great time before the rain…. or at least I did. The rain doesn’t take that time away from us.”

“Guess that’s true,” Rhett admits. Then a small smile creeps across his face. “And I had a good time too. I’m glad you talked me into it.”

“See? I told you a picnic was a good idea!”

A small shiver runs across your skin as the wind blows through the barn carrying a mist of rain with it. Rhett notices and begins to look around for something to wrap around you. But there isn’t anything left like that in the barn. Finally giving up, he says, “Maybe you should just take off that dress. You’re never gonna dry off in that wet thing.”

“Oh!” You feel the heat blooming across your face. “I mean, that’s probably a good idea, but I’m not… I’m not wearing anything under it,” you admit shyly.

Rhett just chuckles. “I hate to tell ya, sweetheart, but that’s been pretty apparent since we got in here.” 

You glance down and notice he’s right. Your thin sundress has become practically see-through in its current soaked state as it clings tightly to your body and you feel your cheeks burn even hotter as you try to cover yourself.

But Rhett gently takes your hands and moves them aside. “Ain’t nothin’ I ain’t seen before. Besides, I’ve been imaginin’ takin’ this off you since the moment I saw you in it.”

His hands hover just above the straps on your shoulders, hesitating as he waits for your approval to continue. When you give him a small nod, he smiles and runs his hands across your shoulders and down your arms, pulling the straps down with them. Soon, your dress is pooled in a wet heap by your feet and Rhett takes a step back.

He’s right. He had seen you naked nearly a hundred times before. But that had always been in a bedroom or the shower or that one time in the back of his truck. Somehow it feels different– more vulnerable –to be standing bare in front of him in the middle of the day in an open barn. You feel so much more exposed, but as much as that terrifies you, you also feel a familiar heat begin pooling in your stomach.

And the heat only grows as you see how Rhett is looking at you. You didn’t know it was possible for someone to look like they wanted to lovingly worship every inch of you while simultaneously wanting to ravage your body senseless. Yet somehow, Rhett is managing it. His blue eyes darken several shades as they roam your body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

And when you shift your eyes down to escape the heady weight of his gaze, you notice that his wet clothes are not doing a much better job at hiding his body than yours had been. His t-shirt clings to his stomach, accentuating the hard muscles you know lurk just beneath. And as your eyes drift lower, you gasp at the bulge straining in his jeans. Never have you seen him this turned on just from looking at you. Usually, it took a fair bit of teasing on your part to make a noticeable impression, but even then it was nothing like this. 

You squeeze your legs together as you try to suppress your own building desire, but Rhett notices immediately. His eyes flash and he reaches out to grasp your hip. Pulling you closer, he uses the other hand to cup your breast, his thumb ghosting over your hardened nipple. You melt into his touch, leaning your head back as a soft moan escapes your lips. He repeats the motion and you feel a shiver of pleasure run straight to your core.

With your neck exposed, Rhett leans in and begins sucking on the tender skin just above your collarbone. You had scolded him in the past for leaving marks in places you would either have to explain or try to cover, but you know he loves it when you show them off. Show the world that he has claimed you as his own. So, just this once, you let him. 

You tilt your head so he has a better angle and he begins to travel up your neck towards your jaw, alternating between sucking and kissing along the way. But when he reaches the spot just below your ear, you turn his head so you are staring at each other.

Running your finger over his full lips, you purr, “Why is it fair that I’m the only one not wearing clothes?” 

His eyes flash. “Guess it ain’t. Wanna help me fix that?”

“Of course, baby. Anything you want.”

Your hands slide under his shirt and over his firm stomach. In a reversal of his removal of your dress, you gather up the soaked fabric as your hands slowly travel up his chest. You stare at his face the entire time, relishing in the small twitches of his jaw or fluttering of his eyes as you go. 

Once his shirt has joined your dress on the floor, you begin to trail your hands across his broad frame. Your fingers trace the tattoo on his chest and you remember when you went with him to get it. How stoic and calm he was as the needle drove the ink deep into his skin, leaving a permanent mark. Much like how he drove into you later that night after he took you home. That had been your first time with Rhett, though certainly not the last. But even in those early days, you knew he was not someone you would ever be able to shake off. That night he had inked himself onto your soul and regardless of what your future holds, you know he will be a part of you forever.

As your hands continue their journey downward, you press yourself against him as you reach his belt. In doing so, your chest rubs against his, and your bare thigh brushes against the bulge in his pants. Now it’s his turn to let out a soft moan as his eyes slip closed. Smiling, you move your leg up and down, slowly caressing him through his jeans. But just as you feel him twitch against you, Rhett pushes you away. 

Panting slightly, he murmurs, “You keep that up, sweetheart, and I’m not gonna last more than a few minutes.”

“What’s wrong, Abbott? Do I have you all hot and bothered?” you tease, trying to ignore the throbbing between your own legs.

Rhett gives a shaky chuckle as he runs his fingers through his hair, slicking back the damp strands. “Oh, like ya wouldn’t believe. But I’m not ready for it to end just yet. Still got some things I wanna do to you.” He reaches out and takes your hand, placing it back on his belt buckle. “But first, I thought you said you’d help me with this.”

“I did,” you coo. Quickly, you undo the buckle and slip your hand inside the waistband of his jeans. Squeezing him through his boxers so he bucks into your hand, you say, “And then I’ll help you with this.”

Rhett growls as he grabs your wrist, causing you to release him. “What did I just say?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you over the rain.” He squeezes your wrist tighter, and you know you are just about to push him over the edge. You stare at him, your eyes daring him to make a move. “Maybe you should say it again… with more detail.” 

His expression is almost predatory; his smirk is all teeth with a lusty possessive gleam in his eye. If anyone else looked at you like this, it would terrify you. But on Rhett, it makes you want to drop to your knees and give him whatever he wants. The heat in your core begins to grow stronger, and you feel yourself getting wet between your legs once more. Only this time, it isn’t because of the rain.

Rhett releases your wrist and brings his hands up to cup the sides of your face. Drawing you closer until your faces are only a breath apart. “You wanna know what I’m gonna do to you?” You nod eagerly as his deep voice envelops you, causing your breath to hitch slightly in your chest. “First, I’m gonna make you fall apart again and again on my fingers until you are beggin’ for my cock. And I’ll only give it to ya if you use your words to ask nicely. Know that can be hard for you sometimes.”

You moan as you squeeze your legs together, trying to give yourself even the slightest relief. “Rhett… please…”

“Uh uh. Not yet, sweetheart.” He brushes the hair from your face, his grin widening at your neediness. “But I’ll make it worth the wait. Gonna fill you up just how you like and fuck you until my name is the only word you can remember. Is that enough detail for ya?”

“Yes!” you gasp. “Please, Rhett! Just like that! I need it! I need you!”

He presses his lips against yours, the kiss frenzied and heated as he lifts you up so you can wrap your legs around his hips. Breaking away for just a moment, he gasps, “Well you got me, sweetheart. Now and forever.”

Taglist (I am also tagging those who I usually tag on my side blog because I am not cross-posting this over there due to the more mature nature): @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly,  @lorecraft, @heart-0n-fire, @nerdysuperchick,  @hederasgarden,  @yespolkadotkitty, @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @callsign-fox, @callsign-phoenix, @wildbornsiren, @lt-natrace, @superskittles, @wkndwlff, @rhettabbotts, @ryebecca, @yanna-banana, @lewmagoo, @basiccortez, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy,  @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @blue-aconite, @luckyladycreator2, @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch

[zeke-in-devildom]

Dissonance Chapter 17: The Covenant of Twins

“Zeke! Zeke stop! It’s us!” That was Belphie’s voice.

“You’re going to hurt yourself. Please calm down.” That was Beel.

Zeke found that he could no longer thrash or fight. He was completely enveloped in someone’s arms. It was Beel, he didn’t need to see to know. The gentle giant was holding him, near cradling him, against his chest. The landscape of his worst memory was fading away as he blinked his eyes rapidly, watching the scenery morph back into that angelic room he had not been meant to enter.

At least he assumed that it did, everything was a dizzying blur of colors, the tears in his eyes distorted everything as he sobbed against Beel’s chest, breaths ragged as he tried to ground himself back in the present. Why had he been shown that now of all times? It was a memory he had tried so hard to bury, and for the longest time he’d been successful. Not that he forgot what happened, he could never forget, but the details had remained blissfully fuzzy until now.

Someone was softly stroking his hair, that had to be Belphie’s delicate hand, and he could feel one of Beel’s much larger hands running up and down his back in soothing motions. They were both quietly murmuring that he was okay and that he was safe now. Of course it would be them. 

The twins.

Right from the moment he had come to the House of Lamentation the twins had been the ones to most attach themselves to him. Sure, all of the brothers seemed to quickly attach to him. They all vied for his attention, all of them tried to take care of and spoil him in their own ways, but none more than the twins. He had known they were twins, despite how much of opposites they seemed to be. Known and conveniently ignored that fact. 

Zeke didn’t want to think about it, acknowledge it. There was always a bit of bitter envy in him when he encountered twins in the human realm. They were together. Why wasn’t Eliza with him? Once again he childishly thought of how unfair it was. Life never had been fair or kind to him, though. He didn’t want to resent Beel and Belphie for being together. It was good that they were both alive and well. Zeke wouldn’t wish being separated from your twin on anyone. It was like losing half of yourself. He couldn’t imagine something more awful than losing a twin. Still, he couldn’t completely control that small, ugly anger that continued to burn like embers in his chest.

“What is Lilith’s room doing here?” Beel wasn’t talking to him, and Zeke realized that he had finally quieted from his crying. In fact his eyes were barely open and he felt empty and numb as he practically laid against Beel, barely awake and aware.

“Another thing Lucifer hid from us. We can yell at him later, though. Let’s get Zeke out of here.” Belphie sounded torn between anger, bitterness, sorrow, and concern.

“Yeah.” Zeke felt Beel lift him up, carrying him cradled like a child against his chest. He closed his eyes and just focused on listening to Beel’s strong, steadying heartbeat, and what the twins were saying.

“Who’s Eliza?” Belphie asked as they walked towards Zeke’s room.

“I don’t know.” Beel said quietly. They were both speaking in hushed voices, probably not wanting to wake him. 

“Lucifer probably knows.” Why did Belphie always sound so angry about Lucifer? Also he knew Belphie was probably right. All his information was probably in his file that Lucifer, Barbatos, and Lord Diavolo had when choosing him for the exchange program. His sister would be in his records, if they looked for it. At least he knew that they had not been openly sharing his private information with others, including Lucifer’s brothers.

“Eliza is my younger twin sister.” His voice sounded small, and hollow. There was no point keeping it from them. They were just going to ask if they had heard him screaming her name. It wasn’t as if he intended to keep it secret, it was just not something he enjoyed talking about. There was too much pain.

“You have a twin?!” Both twins exclaimed at the same time.

“Not anymore.” That made both demons stop, stunned. He opened his eyes and watched the emotions slowly cross their faces as they processed what he said. Shock morphed into profound grief. Suddenly Beel was hugging him fiercely, and he could feel tears start wetting his hair as the giant demon held him so protectively.

“I can’t imagine losing Belphie.” Beel admitted with a slightly wet voice. Zeke couldn’t see his face, but didn’t need to, he could feel the absolute pain and sorrow radiating off both of them.

“What…what happened?” Belphie asked quietly, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, and was loath to actually ask Zeke to speak of something so grim.

“Can we go to my room first?” Zeke was pretty sure they were alone in the house right now, but he felt exhausted and just wanted to lay in his bed and hide from the world. Even the house seemed gloomy now, as if it was trying to grieve with him.

Beel moved quicker now, carrying him to his bed and setting him down gently after Belphie pulled back the covers. Both twins crawled into bed with him, one on either side, sandwiching him protectively between them. It was warm and comforting and if he didn’t feel so drained and empty Zeke might have begun crying again. Neither of them spoke, both waiting patiently for him to begin speaking.

“We had just turned three. It was the weekend after our birthday. What we had wanted more than anything was to go to the zoo. Eliza was so excited about the polar bears. I couldn’t wait to see the tigers.” Zeke stopped and swallowed, thinking back on those old memories. He could remember it so clearly now, what he had tried so hard not to think about for fear of the pain they caused.

He felt the comforting hands of the twins on him again, running through his hair and rubbing at his shoulder, unhurried, just offering what solace they could with their presence.

“It was so normal. Father was driving, talking to mother who was beside him. Eliza was talking excitedly about some cows in a field as we drove past. She loved animals so much, didn’t matter what kind. I was looking out the window, watching the clouds. Honestly, at the time it seemed like I blinked and when my eyes opened again I was in a hospital. They told me it was three weeks later. I couldn’t remember anything. They told me it was a miracle that I had survived.” How many times had he wished that he hadn’t? 

“When I was much older they gave me more details, when I asked. Our parents died instantly in the crash. My sister held on for two days in the hospital, they did everything they could, but her injuries were just…too much.” He had been so angry at them for not saving her. They had saved him, so why not her? Why did he get to live when she died? It was a question he’d been asking himself over and over for most of his life.

“It was a drunk driver. I was told that he walked away from the crash with a few scratches and bruises. I lost my entire family, my whole world, and he was fine. Oh he spent some time in jail, and he had to pay for the medical expenses, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.” Why did that scum get to live while his parents and sister died? That was a much better question. Except he didn’t really want the man to die. Oh no, death was too quick. He wanted him to suffer. This was the source of so much of that bitter anger that burned in his chest.

Part of the reason he was so fascinated with his Curses and Hexes class was specifically his desire to find a curse nasty enough to set against the man that ruined his life. Zeke didn’t know if he could ever be satisfied that the man had suffered enough but he would just have to settle for what he could get. It would have to be enough.

Zeke was snapped out of his vengeful reverie by two sets of arms hugging him tightly. He found he didn’t mind being squished between the twins. Yes, part of him was bitter that they were whole, but a bigger part of him was glad for it. They were the only ones who could even begin to understand his pain. He knew they had all lost a little sister, but none but Beel and Belphie could truly imagine losing a twin. It was comforting, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone. They stayed like that, simply holding each other and not speaking for a long time.

“How did you even get in that room? We didn’t even know it was there until we heard you screaming.” Belphie finally asked.

“I noticed a place in the wall that seemed off, kind of like Lucifer’s secret study. When I looked closely at that design on the wall I found a riddle. When I answered the riddle I was suddenly in that room.” It had been stupid of him to go snooping. He should have left well enough alone, but the mystery novelist in him hadn’t been able to resist.

“The answer was Lilith. How did you know?” Beel questioned him gently.

Ah, now that was a harder thing to answer.

“The day I stayed home from the demon attack I had a…dream. It was more like a vision, of something that had happened. I was Lilith, I felt her fall, watched Satan’s birth fro Lucifer, and the deal that Lucifer made to reincarnate Lilith as a human. I didn’t mean to see any of it, it just…happened. In that room just now I had a similar vision, but it was of the accident that killed my family. The funny thing is, Lilith was there that day, when I lost everything. She put her wings around me, helped me. I didn’t remember until I saw it again.” Maybe that was why he’d had the vision in the first place, to remember that Lilith had been there. 

“She was there?” Belphie asked in a trembling whisper. Beel had started silently crying again. 

“Yes. I’m sorry. I know it’s probably awful hearing these things.” He hated to make them cry, to bring up these horrible memories.

“No.” Beel said quickly, wiping his eyes. “We’re so glad she was watching over you.”

“Yeah.” Belphie agreed quietly. “We might have lost you both otherwise.”

“You wouldn’t have even known I existed. I still don’t know why any of you care. I’m just an exchange student. I won’t even be here that long. Then I’ll be alone again and nobody will care. You’ll forget about me.” Being alone and forgotten, something he accepted, but also feared.

“Never. We’ll never leave you alone again.” Beel squeezed him tighter.

“I’m only here for a year, Beel. I’ll be back in the human world in the blink of an eye for you.” Demons lived for ages, after all. A human life was barely a blink for them, let alone a single year.

“Make a pact with us.” Belphie said seriously as he sat up. He looked more awake than Zeke was used to seeing him. “Even if you go back to the human world, if we have a pact, we’ll be with you as long as you live - even if we’re a realm apart sometimes.”

“Okay.” Zeke didn’t even hesitate or question it this time. With Lucifer and Asmo he had been worried about their motives, but with Beel and Belphie he just wanted that connection to them. He didn’t even bother stating that they couldn’t have his soul. Zeke already knew they wouldn’t ask for it.

The infernal magic wove around him, causing him to break out in goosebumps. It felt different, more intense, having two pacts seared across his soul at the same time. He felt Beel’s mark sting beneath his sternum, over his stomach - a very Beel place - and at the same time Belphie’s mark felt cold as it engraved itself on his back in the same location as Beel’s laid on his front. He could feel the magic flowing between both pacts, even that a shared experience. The twins were always connected, as they should be, and Zeke felt a sense of overwhelming contentment settle over him as his eyes began to droop. 

Beel’s gentle hands once more settled him back into his bed, and Belphie draped himself around him. Zeke felt warm and happy as he allowed Belphie’s magic to help ease him into a dreamless sleep while he recovered from the surging magic of his new pacts.

[zeenmrala]

The Ladies Nienna and Ayane

this beautiful piece was created by @kimageddon, commissioned by @stardustbee for my birthday and it has to be one of the most special and gorgeous pieces i have ever received!!! it was inspired by a fic i wrote for bee about the friendship our OCs have between universes, the second time they meet. nienna (left) is my oc who is also the reader character from my fanfiction by the light of the second moon and ayane (right) is bee's oc from her fic the dance of sun and moon. this piece is part two, part one was a gift from bee last year which you can find here here. i'll post the new fic below just in case any friends are interested. love you, thank you so very much!!!!!!!1

The lady Nienna sits alone in her gardens, on the edge of a shallow pond, beneath the branches of draping swaying trees. It is a fragrant dusk evening on Naboo, and the growing summer breeze licks at her skin, her lower arms exposed from her sweeping green gown. 

She is sketching privately in a little book, a habit from her youth that she was never able to forsake. Her drawings are much more profound than they were when she was a young woman, her skills and precision having improved over the years during her career as a portrait artist and art-critic. What has stayed the same however, is her muse. Her lover from her days as a young adult, and once again now, as a grown woman of thirty-five: the renegade Sith Lord Maul. Her reacquaintance with him did not go as smoothly as their first meeting all those years ago did, with petty squabbles and resentment and unspoken words muddying the waters of their reunion. But in the last year they have comfortably settled into a relaxed yet unusual dynamic. She cannot call it a relationship, no - he is much too damaged and maddened and chaotic for such a thing. However, whatever it is that they have now, it suits them well enough. 

Nienna assesses her work, the sketch is of her lover from their meeting a couple of days ago. He had paid her a surprise visit, handsomely stylish in new robes and a pendant around his neck, an emblem of a rising sun that signifies his underworld criminal venture, Crimson Dawn. She thinks that his new aesthetic suits him now that his frame has grown larger with age, power and wealth. The dark tunic and gold regalia fits the powerful vision of him impeccably. His durasteel legs gleam in the same way that his brushed chromium weapon does, the hilt of the thing bold and dangerous: he carries it constantly at his hip like another cybernetic limb. She hums softly as she looks over her rendition of this strange man that is inexplicably tangled up in her life, feelings of an even stranger love tugging at her heart. She thinks over all that they have been through together, all that they have faced alone. How they have found one another again. 

She notices a change in the air, then. A hazy sweeping density that plunges her into a soft weightlessness. She blinks rapidly, dropping her sketchpad to the plush grass as she stands. It is a unique dreaminess that she has felt before, in a life long ago, but cannot seem to place. She spins around, searching between the trees and exotic flower-beds as she senses that she is being observed. The forest before her morphs, the rich greens and browns of leaves and soil twisting into deep reds and hazy ochres of a rocky landscape. Before she can register the ominous curiousness of her current predicament, a silhouette emerges from the blur, the definition of the figure slowly morphing into full clarity. It is a vivid and feminine shape, tall and striding with purpose. 

A woman that is heavy with child.

She is wearing a black dress with silver detailing at the waist and the dark fabric flows around her exquisitely as she walks, her thin hand resting protectively on her large belly. Her pale shoulders are exposed, but the reddish light of the strange scene warms the tundra of her skin. A choker of gleaming metal adorns her throat, the necklace engraved with the emblem of a raven, bold and solid. She has dark inky hair that is swept neatly from her face, half is up, braided with a twisting delicacy at the back of her head, the rest of it straight and silky, falling shiny and rich down her back. 

Nienna becomes painfully aware of her own appearance, of her hair, which sits wild and bushy and curly around her head, her fingers stained with charcoal, her long dress, though custom-made, artisan and beautiful, has foliage and dirt littering the materials of her skirts from lounging in the grass all afternoon. Why must she always appear moonstruck and crazed, especially when facing strangers in the woods? It is a commonality of her whole life, her wild, earthy aesthetic always coinciding with strange meetings in the forest. She sighs, attempting to maintain her dignity and embrace her own rugged beauty in the face of the regal brilliance of the stranger's own. 

The woman stops when she is a few strides from Nienna, squints her eyes at her, as though trying to place her. Close up, she seems less ravishing and more…frightening. Ethereal wrath burns beneath her expression, the weight of experience roaring in her irises. Those eyes…

"It's you," says Nienna, recognition morphing her expression into awe, astonishment lacing her words. "Ayane. The friend from my dreams in girlhood." She tilts her head, takes in the image of the looming, elegant woman before her. "My, you've changed."

Her friend’s eyes are the same colour as she remembers, but where they were once the blue of open summer skies, they are now the iced rage of a stormy sea. Though she seems more mature and wise, there are no lines of age marking her skin. Those lines are around Nienna’s eyes though, the years of her life beginning to stain her complexion, the youth slowly being leached from her skin. Ayane looks frozen in time, yet vibrant with the wisdom of a lifetime. 

“Nienna,” greets Ayane, a soft smirk pulling at the corner of her lips. “It has been a while.”

“How are you here?” The shorter woman asks bluntly, her confusion overriding her politeness. She reaches forward into the red mist that has followed Ayane into her vergant gardens, wiggles her fingers in it. It's cold.

Ayane purses her lips, looks around her. “Curious, isn’t it?” Her palm circles her pregnant stomach as she wanders. A silence settles around them, both unsure of how to approach this odd reunion. A crater of years rests between them, a vast distance between universes, as well as the inherently perplexing nature of their meeting. Nienna has thirsted for knowledge since she was freed from her home planet, and has scoured the worlds in search of it. She is an intelligent and well read woman, the itch to learn and rid herself of that childish naivety she has always loathed in herself as necessary for her as breathing. She researched her dreams, her strange visions and the odd meeting she had with Ayane as a young woman, and has only discovered one potential connecting factor - The Force. It beguiles her, frightens her. Mystical and maddening, its clutches have haunted her for her entire life. Is it the cause of this meeting now, too?

Nienna watches Ayane closely, following her movement with wide, green eyes. Then the woman stops cold, and a wash of menace sluices down Nienna’s spine.

"What is this?" She asks sharply, danger rippling in her voice. Nienna follows her extended finger, which points to her sketchpad on the ground, its pages open to her newest sketch of Maul.

Nienna frowns, blinking. "My art," she answers defensively, not appreciating the sneering nature of Ayane's tone.

"Why are you drawing him?" There is confusion and accusation in her eyes as she glares at her. The grave shadow in her gaze starts to become literal, the whites of them darkening to black. Her anger burns her irises red, and her lips instinctively pull back, revealing sharp fangs. She all but hisses at her.

Nienna flinches. She is perplexed at her friend’s sudden wildness and grim transformation, at how she recognised her lover in the sketch. "You know him?"

“Know him?” spits Ayane violently, "He is my husband. The father of my children."

Husband? Nienna is dumbfounded, completely taken aback. “Impossible.”

Ayane looks down at her body, swollen with the very opposite of Nienna’s truth. “This babe will be our third.” When she looks back up again, her darkness has dissipated, her anger quelled by the reassurance of their unborn child. Her eyes are the familiar blue Nienna first recognised, her mouth and lips returned to normal. It is as though Nienna imagined it. 

Perhaps she did. 

Third. The word rings in her ears. Three children? How could he possibly reproduce? It is physically unfeasible. A fantasy. Nienna bends to the ground and picks up the book. 

“This sketch of him is an image from three days ago, Ayane. Look closer. At his lower half,” she insists, assuming this all to be some terrible mistake. 

The pregnant woman takes the sketchpad from Ni with gentle fingers. She straightens upright, then brings the drawing closer to her eyes. She looks over the subject of the drawing, making note of such a unique face, a face that definitely belongs to Maul. It is unmistakable, what with his casual expression of contempt, the imposing crown of horns, his handsome nose and jaw: her soulmate's features are as familiar to Ayane as her own body is. She sees the cybernetics of his legs, and her bewilderment grows. Why does he have those? Why is Nienna drawing him? 

“Who is he to you?” she demands coldly.

“I don’t have words for it,” Nienna replies truthfully, unable to make sense of what he is to her. Ayane stays silent for a moment, and Nienna tries to further explain, but the words do not come easily. “He is my liberator, my tormenter…my…” she tapers off. 

Ayane disappears from herself for a moment, her gaze vacant as she looks into the distance, as though she is searching for something. And she is, internally, reaching out to her bond with Maul, trying to pass the bridge that connects their minds in the Force. But there is nothing there. No bridge, no connection. No bond.

“I cannot feel him,” she whispers, fear and awe strangling the reality out of her. “Not here.”

Nienna’s sense returns to her at these words, and she recalls her previous experiences with Ayane. She is not from this world, this galaxy, this universe - that much is clear. Perhaps she and Maul exist together as husband and wife, as parents…somewhere else. A different set of circumstances, a separate path. 

Another Maul.

“Was he not bisected, where you are from?” she asked tentatively, her stomach twisting. Marriage. Children. How would he be capable of such things?

“Yes,” Ayane says sadly, to Nienna’s shock. “He was grievously injured in battle. But he was healed.” Her watery blue eyes meet the earthen green of Nienna’s. Nienna raises her hands to face, turning away from her friend. Healed?

“I don’t understand,” mutters Nienna, her heart pounding. “How does one heal from an injury of that magnitude?” She has never heard of such a thing, not once in her life. How does a man regain his legs, his reproductive organs, when they have been detached from his body? His survival itself was a miracle, and now this?

“We are from different planes,” assumes Ayane calmly. “My dimension is vastly dissimilar to this one.” She pauses, her lips pouting, her hand on her chin, her eyes glowering in thought. “It appears this…connection…that you and I have, Nienna, is somehow attached to our relationship with him.”

Nienna turns back to face her, and her expression is painted with disbelief. "We are connected…by him?"

“It is our commonality, is it not?” She asks, running her eyes over Nienna. “What is your relationship with Maul?” She spits, and she waits for that violent rage to erupt inside of her, the horrific rush of vengeance that rattles her bones when another woman is associated with him. Nienna doesn’t answer, and Ayane’s patience runs thin, unable to prevent herself from adding, "Do you love him?”

The air is sucked from Nienna’s lungs as she nods. “I do,” she admits breathily, in slight fear of Ayane, the image of her strange eyes and sharp teeth so recent in her mind. She braces herself.

But Ayane does nothing, says nothing, because she is taken aback by her absence of rage. Then she suddenly makes sense of it: it’s because the man Nienna loves is not her Maul. She is not connected with him in this realm, which is why she cannot reach him through their bond. It isn’t him, here, he isn’t hers. He is Nienna’s. Nienna has the same realisation, as she registers that she has not felt any resentment or animosity to Ayane since discovering their shared lover. That she has felt no need to lay claim to him at all.

“Oh,” Ayane murmurs, then smiles, the lack of fierce fury a soothing relief. She looks at Nienna, fondness in her eyes. A pause. “Nienna, this is ever so strange.”

This was not what Nienna expected to come from her friend’s lips. Compassion and empathy courses through Ayane, as she considers the Maul in this dimension, his disability and trauma. The toll this must have on her friend.

"I'm sorry," says Ayane softly. "That in this dimension you will not be able to bear him children."

Nienna snorts. "Don't be. I'd never have his children, even if he could give them to me." Ayane steps back, starting, her hands protective over her stomach.

Nienna’s eyes widen. "Forgive me. What I mean is that I never would have children. Not his, not anyone's."

Ayane seems confused by this. 

“I birth enough creation with my art,” Nienna explains. “This world, this galaxy, this universe. It's no place for a child.” She shakes her head. “Not here.”

“What about marriage?” she asks.

“No,” Nienna insists. “Absolutely not.”

“Are you…happy together?” asks the dark-haired woman curiously.

“That is a complicated question. Our…romance,” Nienna answers, “is not at all conventional.”

Ayane giggles, and it is a heartfelt melodic laugh that breaks the tension between them. “I suppose that’s an intrinsic element of loving him.”

Nienna nods, then pushes her hair from her face. Hesitates.

“Can I ask? Your eyes. They changed colour…”

“Ah yes,” Ayane says nonchalantly. “That happens. I’m not exactly human.”

Nienna does not need to know any more, doesn’t want to. She accepts Ayane’s answer, happy to move on. A hard lesson she has learned is that though truth is sweet and enticing to her, sometimes it is the best course of action to resist knowing more than you need to, more than you are entitled to. She has become rather skilled at treading that line.

“Tell me, Nienna,” requests Ayane, extending her pale hand towards her to give her back her artbook, “of your non-conventional relationship with my husband. I am curious.”

Nienna snorts a laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement, and Ayane begins to giggle in tandem with her. Nienna takes the sketchpad back from Ayane, then reaches out and takes her friend’s hand. “I shall enlighten you whilst I take you on a tour of my gardens.”

The two wander in the timeless dreamscape, and Nienna identifies and shows off her multitudes of flora as she weaves her life story into words. She tells her of the Moons, her youth as a surgeon’s daughter, Maul’s sudden imposition on her life and the harrowing changes he inflicted upon it. She leaves out the details of their physical relationship, because though integral to their story, it does not seem to have a place in this conversation. Nienna sensed the depth of Ayane’s jealousy that rages in her blood. It is less painful for them both this way.

The walk of the forest is hazy, littered with odd watery scenery that indicate they do not walk the physical realm of her world. It is perplexing, how they are together, why they are together and what relevancy it has to their relationships with the former Sith Lord. The two recall their time in the woods, all those years ago, how they both awoke with a physical remnant of the dream; their flower crowns. 

“I treasure that gift,” Ayane confesses. “I still have it, to this day.” 

“So do I,” says Nienna. The delicate blue crown made with flowers from Ayane’s world sits under lock and key, alongside her other most valuable and sentimental artefacts. It lies in the pages of her secret sketchpad that she treasured all those years ago.

After a pause, Nienna turns towards Ayane and asks, “What do you suppose is the meaning of our meeting tonight? Do you believe there is any rhyme or reason to these events? You are clearly much more knowledgeable and experienced in these matters than I am.”

Ayane sighs softly and shakes her head. “I have not the slightest idea. But I am glad that, for whatever reason, we were able to be reunited again.”

“Me too.”

The two women have now completed a lap of the entire gardens, and have returned to the spot where they were first reunited. They both perch on the edge of the pond, and Nienna retrieves her pouch of pencils that she placed between the rocks. 

She smiles softly, then places her sketchbook and tools on her lap. She has an idea, and is slightly nervous to ask Ayane about it. Eventually, she takes a deep breath, and flicks through to an empty page and looks at her friend. 

“Ayane, would you mind if I did a quick sketch of you? I am a portrait artist, I’ve spent my life perfecting my technique and collecting the faces of those from across the stars. It would mean an awful lot to me to put this beautiful evening to paper, to be able to draw…you.”

Ayane blinks slowly, her hand still resting on her pregnant belly protectively. She seems unsure, but after pondering it for a moment, she ultimately nods, and a tender smile forms on her lips. “Of course, my friend. I would be honoured.” She looks around herself, and reaches for her hair. “Do you want me to…should I…?”

Ni shakes her head. “No, you look great where you are. You’re perfect, Ayane.” 

And so she begins to sketch her muse, starting with an outline of the vampiress. Nienna’s wrists and fingers glide swiftly across the page, and she works fast but precisely, her expertise apparent in her quick fingers and the concentration painted on her face. 

Ayane feels awkward at first, and doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. She shifts, and looks at the ground, her body rigid. She looks more and more uncomfortable as the time stretches on.

“Try and…relax,” advises Nienna kindly when she notices Ayane’s discomfort. “Just look at the stars, at the moon. Watch the sky. Think of your family. Think of…him.”

Ayane nods, and exhales softly. She shifts again, and then looks up into the sky, and smiles. “I’ve always loved the stars, the moon.”

Nienna smiles, sketching as she replies. “As do I. It is a joy to be able to walk beneath the light.”

After a while, Ayane inquires softly. “Do you know of Dathomir, Nienna?” 

“I do.” 

“Dathomir is where I reside,” she says, looking around her at the abundance of flora, the vibrant greens and earthy browns. Nienna’s gardens appear to be the very antithesis to Ayane’s home of rock and red mists. “It is rather…different from yours.”

“Stars,” Nienna exclaims, “you live there? How do you stand it?”

“What do you mean?” asks Ayane, somewhat shocked. 

“It’s not the…um…most comfortable of environments?” 

Ayane nods, and smiles knowingly. “I suppose it can seem that way to some. For me, it’s my ancestral home, the residence of my kin. It is where I was born to be.”

“I do not have the same attachment to it. I went once, at the request of…him. It was not the most pleasant of atmospheres, to put it lightly. I haven’t returned since.”

Ayane giggles. “I can only imagine what the humidity did to your hair.”

“Exactly! It was awful. He said I looked like some kind of wild woman.”

Their laughter fades, and then the peaceful silence returns until Ayane breaks it. “Tell me Nienna, have you watched the moons from the Dathomiri mountains?”

Nienna pauses, and exhales. “No, I haven’t. I have yet to accept another of my lover’s invitations to his native home.”

“The next time he requests your presence, oblige him,” Ayane suggests. “Allow him to walk you up to the mountains. Watch the skies at night. It is the most beautiful thing - I can hardly bring myself to describe it. If your Dathomir is the same as mine, that is.”

The artist pauses in her sketching, and looks into the ocean eyes of her friend. “I will, Ayane. Thank you, that is very thoughtful. And I shall think of you when I look upon the moons of Dathomir. I will give the place another try.”

The two women sit beneath the Naboo night sky as Nienna continues to sketch Ayane under the moonlight. The breeze remains gentle and floral, and it brushes against them in a soothing caress, the leaves around them rustling softly. The evening stretches into the timeless dreamscape, and then, it is almost finished.

Nienna completes her sketch, drops her pencil and flexes her fingers and wrists. “Ah,” she sighs in slight pain. “My hands aren’t what they used to be.” She then shuffles over to Ayane and presents her the portrait. “What do you think?”

Ayane sucks in a sharp breath as she appraises the image of herself on the paper. Lady Nienna is highly regarded as being in possession of a rare and unique talent: in laying bare truth. She is able to present to the world, in full clarity, the hearts and desires of her subjects through their eyes and expressions. 

The drawing of Ayane presents a softened reflection of the vampire, as though Nienna has delved deep into her mind and forced forth the girl from her younger years. Hope and loss and confusion gleam in Ayane's eyes, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as though in anticipation - as though that young girl she used to be is poised and ready to run from her life. 

It's raw and candid and real: exquisite. 

"Oh, Nienna…" Ayane says, her voice trembling with emotion. "I've not seen this version of myself for many years." 

Nienna smiles softly, her eyes glazing across her work. "That's the person I first met. The Ayane I know." She meets her gaze. "The Ayane you are, deep down. My friend."

A tight fist of sentiment twists in Ayane's chest. Then, a soft breeze flickers the pages, revealing a self portrait Nienna sketched a few moons ago. 

"This is you," Ayane says. The woman in the sketch has darkness in her eyes, yearning warping the clothes she is dressed in in a strange darkness. Her face, though neutral in expression, screams for purpose and liberation. Haunted. 

"It's who I was. Who I am."

A pause. The dreamscape warps and glitches, and Ayane becomes slightly…transparent.

"It's fading." Ayane looks around herself, hesitance and resistance paints her expression. "Our time is coming to an end."

"Take this." Nienna tears out the self portrait, crushing it into Ayane's palm. "Remember me. I'll remember you."

Ayane's eyes water. "I hope to see you again, one day."

"As do I." Ni swallows, holding her sketchpad to her chest. "Goodbye Ayane."

"Nienna," Ayane says as she begins to fade, reaching her hand towards the shorter woman. "Remember the Moons."

And then she disappears, the crimson dawn of her home, universes apart, evaporates into the dark swamp greens of Nienna's gardens.

Ni takes a breath, the weightless feeling dispersing. She is grounded again. With charcoal stained fingers, she flicks to the page in her book that held the drawing of Ayane. 

It's still there.

-

[oscconfessions]

Oh my gosh, this community is giving me nightmares!! Literally!!

I was having a completely normal dream about two of my favorite games. There were dodos and dinosaurs wandering around and I was trying to tame a megasloth/wolf creature, just minding my own business. Suddenly, there's an awful screeching noise echoing through the air. I look to my right and there's this GIANT insectoid looking creature covered in brightly glowing dark blue markings that's appeared out of nowhere. All of the animals are scared of it, even the rexes and thrumbos back away from the thing. It takes notice of me and once again screeches before bolting in my direction. I start running away from it and maneuver over a wooden trap (that I don't remember constructing) which it passes over but utterly destroys, continuing to run unhindered. It eventually catches up and impales me in the torso, killing me.

I respawn in a city where absolute chaos is breaking out among the human and object people around me. Several of those monstrous insect creatures are running around, terrorizing and killing whoever they can. If they kill someone the body turns radioactive blue before transforming into another one of those things. If they only injure/touch someone that person gets infected and another horrific insect rapidly incubates inside of them for a few minutes before bursting out. Then the leftover corpse also morphs into a glowing blue beast, effectively creating two more of the blue horrors. The eldritch noises the creatures were making had some kind of cryptic symbol language, you could see the letters around them every time they "spoke". I was too busy trying to escape to figure out what they meant, everything had fallen to complete insanity.

The dream went on for a good while after that, mostly just survivalist stuff. I think towards the end of it I got pretty good at understanding the monster's behaviors and even managed to kill a few of them. Anyway, it was obviously derived from both Objectified and The Four Moons Initiative, maybe a bit of that one PPT2 episode with the jumpscaring monster objects. Some of the things people said and did were very similar or exactly the same as what happened in either comic. I recently found out about them both at the start of March and got a little obsessed, I've fully read each one multiple times. Maybe a little too obsessed if this nightmare means anything.

I usually really enjoy dreaming about objects, but wow, I've never previously dreamt something quite like this.

.

[writermask-0807]

A PRANK GONE TOO FAR - SMAUG X READER

A/n: heiii I'm baaackkkk. So this is a request from a fellow follower!! Im sorry this took me so long, but I wanted it to be perfect, which it still isn't. Also, I want to thank you for requesting!!! Also, can anyone tell me where to find the italics font?? Cus I can't find it...

Warnings: OOC smaug??

THE sound of hastened footsteps rapidly morphed into a full time sprint, bare, petite feet slapping against the damp stone floor echoing unceremoniously throughout the disturbed silence. The unusually loud noise came to a screeching halt as you crashed head-first into the hard cobblestone bricks below, tripping over your own feet in your haste and recklessness, a throaty yelp escaping you. Fear seizing you far more tighter than ever before, you scrambled up onto your trembling feet, casting a nervous glance over your shoulder, wondering whether he'd heard it or not.

When you confirmed that the Dragon was not in sight, you took the moment to calm down your roiling, knotted nerves, your flesh feeling as though there were bugs crawling beneath it, writhing and itching with goosebumps, your rigid spine swept with constant shudders that was from both the abnormal cold and dread. You felt the heavy weight of eyes rest against your skin uncomfortably, the nape of your neck burning as you felt the hollow sensation of sharp eyes bore into your skull, and you swiveled on your heel, glittering e/c orbs nervously darting from one corner to the next frantically, a wild desperation lancing through your veins. Though you could not draw the exact source of the prickling sensation of being watched, you felt it. It was a terror so absolute that it made your blood curdle with unprecedented fear.

Clank!

Your heart plummeted into the pit of your stomach, your eyes widening in pure, raw horror as you whipped around to see what the source of the sound was, sure that it was your end, a silent prayer on your lips. You were immensely relieved to find out that it was just the breast-plate of an old, dusty Dwarven armor clattering onto the cool flooring with a dull thud, conveniently at that very moment, scaring you out of your wits, as if you already weren't. Still, it did not fail to make you a little bit more fearful of what was to come, and the blissful, temporary relief was almost immediately flooded with panic, leaving you wondering whether he'd heard the noise. Your dainty palm flew up to your heaving chest in hopes of easing your hammering heart that pounded fiercely against your ribcage, the pumping organ threatening to carve its way out of the safety of your ribcage, and into your trembling palm in one way or another as it crept up into your tightly clamped throat, finding itself a permanent lodging there.

Beads of sweat gathered on your furrowed brow despite the frigid atmosphere that suffocated you, adrenaline coursing through your veins more fluidly than your freezing blood, your legs threatening to buckle underneath your weight and give way to your exhaustion as your thighs burned. Honestly speaking, the only thing that kept you alive and conscious so far was the pumping adrenaline, and your sharpened senses that remained on high alert in spite of the silence. 

Perhaps the fragile, blessed silence should have calmed you down, but it wasn't really quiet, not to you, at least. Your throbbing pulse crept into your ears and reverberated through your skull deafeningly, writing off any other sounds as simply white noise, the steadily rising beats of your heart occupying the invisible folds of space where the silence dwelled, narrating each passing second as if it were a ticking time bomb within your chest, and the soft, labored pants that fell from your chapped lips and the shortness of your breath growing more prominent with the bleeding second, that you feared they would be heard by the sharp, alert ears of your charge.

You both had been at it for approximately four hours now, and you were thoroughly exhausted. Your limbs were beginning to numb from both the cold and the strain you were pulling in them, and you were sure that your muscles were tearing and shredding themselves apart, tormenting your frail body in an agony so raw and painful that it felt as though someone was slowly peeling the skin from your bones, letting the blood gush out freely, unrestrained, taut muscles stretched upon your withering bones, and yet at the same time you were weighed down by a great fatigue. And you didn't mean a simply temporary tire; it was a great fatigue that was now thoroughly soaked into your flesh and blood, pumping through your veins, and clinging onto your very bones, a lethargy and lack of motivation seeping into the very pores of your existence, a bone-deep weariness that latched onto you with a burning vengeance. The adrenaline was slowly beginning to ebb away, and the persistent, burning ache within your limbs were starting to spread rapidly, the various bruises garlanding your frail body becoming more pronounced, your lungs feeling as though they were doused in liquid fire. It took everything in you to swallow the scream of mortal agony that threatened to rip through your throat, and you knew that the end was drawing near as your strength dwindled into nothing more than just a shred of will-power. And although you were sure he already knew that you couldn't hold out for much longer, Smaug showed no signs of stopping his sick game of hide-and-seek any time soon, and it was honestly beginning to frighten you. 

You truly hadn't meant for things to take such a rapidly detoriating change, but there wasn't anything you could do now to amend what you had done, because it seemed that your idea of a prank was not exactly approved by Smaug, and now, things had gotten too far out of hand. It appeared that your actions had awoken the more cruel side of him, the part you weren't even aware existed, and your mischief had finally become your undoing. (But jeez, why'd he need to get so angry anyway? It wasn't like you stole his precious hoard or something…)

Speak of the Devil…

" Oh, Y/N ~~~ " Smaug sang, and the call reverberated throughout the many abandoned hallways and corridors of the previous Dwarven hold, bouncing off the walls and reaching your ears as a vehement hiss, scraping against your eardrums harshly, chilling you to the very bone, and your skin crawled. His normally soothing voice had now darkened with an unseeing predatory grin, impossibly deep with cruelty as it rang out, colored with a dark undertone, voice rich with silk and velvet, and laden with the ripe promise of your impending doom that he would definitely, and swiftly deliver when he would find you. It echoed maliciously throughout the winding archways and labyrinths of the great structure, and you were unable to pin-point the location of his voice.

With the last remaining strength you possessed, you strained your screaming muscles and hobbled towards a fallen pillar, hiding yourself behind it. Your heart began to drum even more violently within your chest, erupting into an erratic racing so loud that it forcefully echoed in a deafening rhythm in your skull, morphing into a chorus of chaos as your pulse mirrored its rapid song, the brutal, hellish cacophony ringing so loud that you feared he'd heard it.

Your exposed, supple and now sallow skin was cool against the stone structure of the broken pillar, and it sent a sliver of fear trickling down your rigid spine. You folded your legs beneath your weight, and bent down so that you would be hidden from sight, ears perked for any sounds that might have escaped your notice. 

You made the wise decision not to move, and thank God you did so too, as you heard a slight rustle permeate throughout the freezing atmosphere, once again, shattering the delicate silence the cold corridors held. Your breath halted within your throat, hitched in your heaving chest and sat beneath your ribs silently, lungs burning with a red-hot intensity as you did so. Your delicate skin flared with a new set of shudders, bruised limbs spreading with a rekindled ache, eyes widening with edges of pure insanity, so much so that they might've even popped out of their respective sockets if you'd tried, and you swallowed thickly, a silent plea on your breath to whatever deity was up there to save you, as you held out a trembling palm to cup your quivering lips, so that no sound would escape from you. Your petite form shook with uncontrollable tremors, but you shed no tears. You weren't able to, your eyes wide and unblinking, almost as if some unseen force was prying your eyelids open so that you could feel them boiling as well.

 

In that moment, even that quiet sound inflicted upon you a pure, absolute sense of paralyzing dread, a heavy sense of foreboding settling into the pit of your stomach as a stone to water, and you couldn't shake away the horrible feeling crawling up your throat.

Everything had lapsed into another restless fit of silence, inevitable to be broken once again, the soft noise that had earlier ruffled the frozen moment gone, but a thick tension clouded the atmosphere, thickening the unbearably cold air with an ambigous and dark sense of foreboding. A bead of sweat trickled past your brow, despite Winter's icy breath smothering the air, sucking the soul out of you. When you were sure that enough time had passed, you released the sigh you'd been holding in, and watched as your breath shrouded the air in front of you, forming into something that was vaguely reminiscent of clouds of dusted frost swirling with the current of the winds. 

The silence was palpable, and too tempting as it simply coaxed you to break it, to break it and be heard. The sound of silence beat cruelly against your eardrums, filling you up with a sense of indescribable gloom and dread.

Mustering up enough courage to see if whatever made the sound was gone and the coast was clear for you to clamber up to your frail limbs and make your grand escape, you tentatively peeked out from behind the pillar, your smooth palm clasped tightly around the stone surface, gripping so tightly that your knuckles were painted the same shade of marble as the ivory pillar beneath your gaunt fingertips.

There was nothing. The seemingly wet, gray bricks of the claustrophobically narrow hallway stretched onto the horizon, creating an impossibly smooth surface that appeared too damp for touch. You suddenly appreciated the gloom-and-doom theme of the hallway, knowing that Smaug's bright scales would glimmer and glisten underneath the dim lighting, shimmering with a myriad of vivid colors. You had seen it before, knew how majestic it looked, and knew it would be a dead give-away to his surprisingly silent presence.

You released a relieved sigh, your shoulders slumping forward, the heavy weight that rested on them dispersing. Your arms fell limply by your sides as you let your weight rest against the pillar, exhausted, and even that miniscule twitch of action made the ache grow even more stronger, until you saw the corners of your eyes speckle with shards of darkness from a broken oblivion.

A soft, brittle pant slipped traitorously past your clenched teeth and drifted into the misty air, but you found yourself reveling in the rare moment of blissful ignorance, your heart strangely at ease, your worries slowly ebbing away with the flow of the seemingly frozen time, and perhaps that was partly because the Dragon was nowhere in sight, (and maybe the cause was also a slight touch of hysteria). Shifting your weight beneath your crumpled up form uncomfortably, you finally ripped your eyes away from the gloom of the seemingly never-ending corridor, and a greater horror awaited you.

There, in all of his magnificent glory, situated between the once empty space of two marble pillars, was your furious charge. You had no idea how he had managed to sneak up from behind you, and God knows how long he'd been waiting there patiently, for you to turn your head and meet his gaze. However, when the small shred of sanity left of you reconsidered this fact, you realized that he'd always been that way. Despite his hulking, colossal form, he had always been able to maintain a polished air of impeccable grace around him, and all the times you had sneaked off to explore the darkened nooks and crannies of the mountain, he had always managed to find you, in one way or another. Unfortunately, you did not possess his admirable elegance, and couldn't help the mortified squeak that fell from your quivering lips.

This, however, seemed to enrage him further, and the ever-bright plates of armor that were his scales shifted to the color of deep grapefruit pink, smoldering shades of raw tongues of bleeding crimson and auburn, and the waning blue of gloomy cerulean flickered ominously on his scales in the dimly lit fog, mirroring his cold fury. The vivid, lustrous splatter of bleeding colors were a stark contrast against the gloom of the dull background behind his towering form, and the thinly veiled clouds of rich colors shifted ever so slightly, a colorful cosmos so painfully bright that it hurt to look at, the very epitome of an elusive beauty. His nostrils were flared in anger, his sharp canines bared into an ugly snarl, anger brewing within his lustrous irises. 

Your heart quite literally stopped in mid-beat, plummeting into the pit of your stomach where a black hole formed, and chaos erupted in your head, distorted, withering voices wreaking havoc in your mindscape, filling your mind with incomprehensible, over-crossing thoughts and white noise. Sweat began to pour more vigorously down your brow as your eyes widened in pure, unadulterated fear, and your feet remained stubbornly rooted to the spot, escape out of the question. You felt a fear unlike no other, horror flooding your senses with a disassociative sort of panic, and you felt oddly detached, as if time had stopped for a few nanoseconds, numb from reality for a few long moments, before the whole impact of the situation slammed into you, bringing you back to your senses, burning with the white-hot intensity of a heated rod.

You let out a small gasp, and the world continued its steady pace once again, though the grains of time between you and the Dragon seemed suspended in the air.

You didn't dare move, fearing that if you did, he would snap, though your cramped muscles screamed at you to. Your skin crawled underneath his scrutinizing glower, and you felt as though his deep, molten orbs pierced through your flesh and stared at your very soul, almost as if he were assessing your weaknesses, waiting for an opening, a sliver of opportunity for him to sink his teeth into your soul. A shiver swept down your stiff spine, and this time, you were unsure if it was the cold, the thickening suspense of the seemingly frozen moment, or the fierce intensity of his glare, or a curious concoction of all of them.

Your eyes darted around frantically for an exit as you shrank further into the pillar, your aching back pressing deeper and deeper against the cool, harsh surface of the ivory pillar, a violent, raw desperation flooding your veins.

This appeared to be the opportune moment Smaug had been oh so patiently waiting for, as he slid closer to you, movements silent and predatory, almost lazy as he cornered you, a hungry predator teasing his fearful prey. " Tell me, dearest, are you afraid?"  He crooned softly, almost lovingly, but the soft tone of his voice did not fool you, because the rich, silky voice that spilled past his tightly clenched jaw was not his own, for it was too sickly sweet in its falsity that it felt horribly bitter and thick on your tongue, dripping honey, but embedded with an acidic venom, daring, mocking, taunting you.

But what frightened you the most was his eyes. Those deep, luminous orbs of amber and molten gold held a sharp, sadistic twinkle in them as they gleamed brightly in the dim lighting. They swirled with pigmentations of speckled hickory, bleeding a metallic lustre, holding the entire cosmos within their lustrous depths, star-tinted, and undeniably, terribly beautiful. But they were cruel, and there was a feral sort of look in his eyes, the sort of harsh, malicious glint that could make you bleed with just one uncaring glance, animalistic and raw and primal, almost as though he were dangerously teetering over the brink of insanity. His eyes seemed to glow brightly in the darkness as if they contained the sun itself within their deep golden depths, sly as they narrowed upon your shaking frame.

" I - …" Your voice came out as a harsh, raspy whisper, the caverns of your mouth suddenly dry as your voice crackled like yellowed parchment, the fear in your faltering tone never waning. You had no idea what to say, your mind suddenly blank and devoid of thoughts as the words wilted on your tongue, burdening you further.

" Yes?" The Dragon pressed as he circled you, his voice coming out as a slow, uninterested drawl, but there was a barely noticeable note of eagerness buried underneath the monotony of his dull wording. 

You swallowed thickly, hands clutched into tight fists, nails digging into the soft flesh of your trembling palm, threatening to draw blood as you struggled to form proper words. 

Finally, it seemed as though his patience was beginning to wear thin, because he stopped cornering around your trembling form, and stopped in front of you, his towering frame imposing, and striking fear into your thundering heart as it hammered desperately against your ribcage, threatening to jump out at any given moment. He seemed to hear your rapid heartbeat, as his eyes lit up with a feral sort of amusement, his lips twisting in the vague semblance of a cruel, foxy smile, and you couldn't help but be reminded of a serpent's forked tongue flicking out to taste the fear in the air, fear it detected from you. " Tell me, beloved, did you truly find your 'joke' amusing? Forgive me, but I failed to see the humor in it. Enlighten me as as why the 'brilliant' thought occurred to you in the first place."  Smaug said, and although it was oh so polite, appearing no more than rich velvet tumbling off of his lips in a low whisper, you knew it was a demand, a threat.

You swallowed the distressed cry that rose to your throat, and was now very aware of the thick crimson substance trickling down your skin as your nails sank deeper into your palm - 

"Well?!" 

You flinched as he raised his voice against you, the thunderous roar rattling you to the very core. You couldn't help the tears that welled in your lustrous e/c orbs as you finally cried out, sputtering and stumbling on your words. " I'm sorry! But you weren't waking and I didn't know what to do and I wanted to prank you and - " Your rambling was cut short when Smaug heaved what suspiciously sounded like an exasperated sigh, plumes of steam bellowing from his nostrils as he drew closer. 

Confused, you raised your head to meet his gaze shamefully, and spied what was dimly reminiscent to warm amusement flickering within his luminous orbs. " So you decided that the best solution was to stick coins up my nostrils? While I was sleeping?" He put a heavy emphasis on the last sentence, and you felt as though he was almost chastising you. You suddenly felt very small and very childish, and an embarrassed heat flushed your tear-stained cheeks.

The viciousness that had lingered in his words had vanished, the dark, sinister undertone that had previously occupied his voice gone, almost as though a switch had been flipped off. You suddenly realized it was just a facade, a mask he wore to intimidate you into speaking. As realization dawned on you, heat crawled up from your neck and tinged your ears a pink, your cheeks flooding with dark crimson, as you wondered just how much dumb you were. Sure, maybe it wasn't all that obvious, but you had known Smaug almost your entire life. This was a new low, even for you.

" Oh… " You murmured, your normally boisterous voice dropped to a soft, quiet whisper. Your charge shot you an unimpressed look that practically screamed," I'm not even surprised that you still have no clue." 

Seeing the rich amusement within his cognac, star-lidded optics, you knew he was teasing you, and you almost immediately shot to your defense, hollering indignantly, your arms flailing around madly, as though to prove your point. " H-hey it's not my fault that you decided to scare the living soul out of me! I wasn't able to think properly- !" But somehow, the thought that he could quickly change from your loving charge to a predator in a second scared you, and you felt a sudden surge of relief knowing that he'd never hurt you (at least not intentionally), and you felt bad for those who'd incurred his wrath previously. The thought brought a smile to your lips, the plump flesh curling into a bright beam, rivaling the warmth of the sun in all of its magnificent glory.

Smaug chuckled, a deep, pleasant rumble that vibrated throughout his broad chest, more amused at your childish antics than anything, 

"Consider it a reciprocation of sorts, for your earlier actions." He said, pivoting on his heel, heading back towards the treasury, with you hot on his tail. His eyes glistened like the dying rays of the waning sun, fondness reflecting in the rich, cosmic orbs as they melted into golden rays that circled an eclipse.

Even though his eyes were trained firmly on the corridor stretching before him, Smaug could hear the smile in your voice as you muttered something along the lines of ' We'll see soon,', and it managed to make his own lips curve into a semblance of a real smile, one that almost mirrored your own.

{Perhaps he ought to do this more often.}